#Cotton quality control

[scottbiffin]

Cotton Trading Chronicles- Life on the Road Between Singapore and Australia

Cotton is one of the world’s oldest and most traded commodities, with a history that spans centuries and crosses continents. The modern cotton trade is an industry rooted in tradition yet heavily influenced by the latest in global supply chain innovations, market analytics, and sustainable practices. The life of a cotton trader is dynamic, involving not just the daily hustle of navigating prices and contracts, but also a significant amount of travel between key trading hubs like Singapore and Australia.

For many in this industry, cotton trading is not just a job—it’s a lifestyle. Traders are constantly on the road, meeting suppliers, coordinating logistics, and ensuring quality. This post will take you inside the journey of a cotton trader as they travel between Singapore and Australia, giving you a closer look at the life, challenges, and unique experiences of those who keep the global cotton supply chain running.

Understanding Cotton Trading

Cotton trading involves buying and selling cotton as a raw material, and prices can vary significantly based on quality, origin, and global market trends. Cotton is not only a major commodity in textiles but is also used in a range of products, from medical supplies to paper.

Cotton trading is a global business with primary markets in the United States, India, Australia, and Central Asia, while trading hubs like Singapore serve as critical points for negotiation, financing, and coordination. Traders balance these demands, working with everyone from farmers to manufacturers, navigating various regulations, market pressures, and sometimes even extreme weather conditions that can impact production.

A Cotton Trader's Journey Between Singapore and Australia

In the modern cotton trade, travel is an essential part of the job. While virtual meetings are convenient, nothing replaces the value of face-to-face interactions when inspecting quality, negotiating contracts, or building relationships with suppliers. This journey often takes cotton traders between Singapore, a major financial and trading hub, and Australia, a key cotton-producing region known for its high-quality output.

The Role of Singapore in Cotton Trading

Singapore has become a global hub for commodities trading, and cotton is no exception. The country’s strategic location, strong legal framework, and world-class infrastructure make it an ideal base for traders. In Singapore, cotton traders manage operations and finances, secure contracts with buyers, and monitor the futures market. They work closely with analysts and other professionals who help them keep track of market trends, price fluctuations, and global news that could impact cotton prices.

Singapore’s role as a trading hub also means that traders have access to cutting-edge technology and resources. Advanced software and market analysis tools allow them to make data-driven decisions, optimize their contracts, and anticipate trends.

The Cotton Fields of Australia

Australia is one of the world’s most reliable cotton producers, known for its high-quality fiber. Australian cotton farms, primarily located in New South Wales and Queensland, are known for adopting sustainable farming practices and leveraging technology to maximize efficiency. As such, many international traders travel to Australia to source premium cotton for their clients.

When traders visit Australia, they don’t just spend time in boardrooms; they head to the farms. Meeting with cotton growers face-to-face is essential to understanding the quality of the crop, building trust, and discussing future orders. These trips also allow traders to better understand the challenges farmers face, including water availability, weather patterns, and labor issues. This knowledge is crucial for traders as it helps them make better-informed decisions and manage risks associated with supply disruptions.

A Day in the Life: On the Road as a Cotton Trader

Traveling between Singapore and Australia, cotton traders lead a fast-paced, demanding lifestyle. Here’s a closer look at a typical day for a trader on the road.

5:30 AM – Morning Market Updates

For a cotton trader, the day often starts early with a cup of coffee and a thorough review of the market. This is the time to check cotton futures, review recent reports, and analyze any overnight market movements. A drop in futures or a sudden change in currency exchange rates can significantly impact profit margins.

The early hours are crucial for making quick decisions, particularly if there's a need to lock in prices or hedge against market risks. Traders use a variety of tools to stay on top of market data, including proprietary analytics software and news from global commodity exchanges.

7:00 AM – Calls with Singapore Headquarters

Before setting off, traders usually touch base with their teams back in Singapore. This call often involves discussing the current market, reviewing client contracts, and identifying any updates or adjustments needed to meet targets. If any pressing issues arise—such as a delay in a shipment or an unexpected price change—traders collaborate with their team to create a solution.

9:00 AM – Meeting with Cotton Producers

In Australia, visiting cotton farms is a vital part of a trader's trip. Meeting producers allows traders to see the crop quality firsthand and discuss production forecasts. This face-to-face interaction builds trust and strengthens partnerships with suppliers, which is essential for securing high-quality cotton at competitive rates.

On the farm, traders engage in detailed conversations with farmers about everything from weather conditions to anticipated yields. This helps traders evaluate the quality of the cotton and assess potential challenges in the supply chain. They may even participate in quality inspections, examining cotton samples to ensure they meet the standards required by their clients.

12:00 PM – Lunch with Local Suppliers

Networking is an essential aspect of a trader’s job, and lunch is often a time to connect with local suppliers, logistics partners, and other traders. These lunches are more than just meals—they’re a chance to build relationships, discuss the latest trends, and explore potential collaborations. In the trading business, trust is everything, and taking the time to nurture relationships is crucial for success.

2:00 PM – Quality Inspections and Documentation

After lunch, traders often conduct a more thorough quality inspection of the cotton. They examine samples for fiber length, color, strength, and consistency. Cotton buyers and manufacturers have high standards, and any inconsistencies could lead to dissatisfaction or financial losses. Documenting these inspections is essential, as it provides a record that can be shared with clients and helps establish quality assurance for each batch.

4:00 PM – Negotiating Contracts

Afternoons are usually reserved for the negotiation process. Cotton prices can be volatile, influenced by everything from exchange rates to environmental factors, so pricing discussions require careful consideration. Traders must balance the price demands of their suppliers with the budgets of their clients, ensuring everyone benefits from the transaction.

Negotiations also include discussions about logistics, timelines, and any special requirements from the client. For example, a client might request organic cotton or cotton certified by a sustainability program, which could affect the price and availability of the product.

6:00 PM – End-of-Day Wrap-Up and Planning

After a day spent on the road and in meetings, traders finally get a chance to wrap up and organize their notes. They check in with their Singapore headquarters, sharing insights gained from the day and making any necessary adjustments to contracts or orders. This wrap-up session allows traders to review their goals, prepare for the next day, and ensure all details are in place for a smooth transaction.

Challenges in Cotton Trading

The life of a cotton trader is demanding, and the industry comes with its own set of challenges:

Market Volatility: Cotton prices are influenced by a wide range of factors, from weather conditions and currency exchange rates to trade policies and global demand. Traders must constantly monitor these factors to make timely decisions.

Sustainability Concerns: Modern consumers demand eco-friendly and sustainable products, putting pressure on traders to source cotton that meets these standards. This can limit options and impact profit margins, especially as sustainable cotton production is often more costly.

Supply Chain Disruptions: Natural disasters, transportation delays, and political changes can all disrupt the cotton supply chain, affecting traders' ability to meet client needs on time.

Client Demands: Clients may have specific requirements regarding the quality, origin, or sustainability of cotton, which can make sourcing more challenging and time-consuming.

Despite these challenges, many traders are passionate about their work. The cotton trade is an exciting and rewarding field that requires adaptability, strong negotiation skills, and a deep understanding of both the product and the market.

Reflections on a Unique Lifestyle

The life of a cotton trader, particularly one who travels between Singapore and Australia, is marked by long hours, constant learning, and a unique blend of challenges and rewards. Each day offers something different, whether it's negotiating with a new supplier, analyzing market trends, or inspecting a batch of cotton in the Australian sun.

For those drawn to this career, it’s more than just a job; it’s a lifestyle. Cotton trading requires a passion for the product, a willingness to navigate complex challenges, and the drive to bridge the gap between producers and consumers. It’s a journey filled with purpose, where every negotiation and inspection brings the trader one step closer to delivering high-quality cotton to the world.

So next time you see a cotton garment, remember the intricate journey that brought it to you. Behind that piece of fabric is a trader who has spent hours on the road, balancing markets, building relationships, and ensuring quality—all to bring you the best cotton possible.

[librawritesstuff]

So romance novelist Larissa Brown has created a website called “What Does Your Hero Smell Like?” to promote her books.

I TOOK ONE FOR THE TEAM ⬇️

And yes, I anticipated the follow-up question:

[headspace-hotel]

so many articles about Fast Fashion, not enough articles about what the hell is happening to the quality of clothes

Like okay. People own more pieces of clothing nowadays and they wear them a lesser number of times before throwing them out. BUT.

Why do we pretend like this is pure vanity or careless wastefulness, rather than forced by the qualities of the clothes themselves?

The other day, I was going through boxes of old clothes in the basement in search of fabric to practice sewing on. The difference in quality of the fabrics themselves is shocking! The worn-out old jeans from twenty years ago are MUCH thicker and tougher than anything more recent. My old baby clothes are made as sturdy as my work clothes from today.

In the past couple years, I have had entire seams rip out of clothes on the first wash. That's not normal!

Polyester blend shirts that feel cozy and soft when they are new, become scratchy and rough after 20 washes or so. I am trying to avoid polyester, but it gets harder and harder; the other day i couldn't find a single pack of crew socks that was 100% cotton. SOCKS!

Also, pilling is out of control. The newest pants I bought developed pills within a single day of walking around campus with a backpack.

These companies are trying to frog-boil us but touching clothes from twenty years ago, the useless crap of today would stick out like a sore thumb...

[artist-issues]

You know what’s great about Dr. Facilier?

He’s the perfect villain opposite both Tiana and Naveen.

He’s not exactly like Jafar or Ursula, who know they’re evil and delight in it as like, a lifestyle. He’s more like Scar. He’s introduced getting money on the street through cons and feeling satisfied…until Big Daddy LeBouf drives by with all his money and makes him feel insignificant.

You get the idea that something in life made him this way—there was a beginning to his villainy. You don’t get that sense from like, Clayton or Gaston.

So he’s a relatable character with flaws, to an extent.

But those flaws specifically play off of Tiana and Naveen’s characterizations.

Tiana has no real respect from her peers—she is in a position to be jealous of Lottie the same way Facilier is jealous of the Cotton King. But where Tiana simply works hard and refuses to let others make her bitter, Facilier has clearly taken shortcuts. Or…”the easy way.”

Then there’s Naveen.

Naveen has no thought beyond the present; he thinks they’re “on this earth to have some fun,” and frequently jumps without looking at the consequences. Leaps without looking! Doesn’t stop to find out if the girl he’s kissing is a real princess even though he knew his original invitation was to a costume party, forgets that he’s supposed to be getting married and plans on continuing his playboy lifestyle, wanders into a shadow-man’s shop. But eventually he learns to open his eyes to what’s important, and what will last, in Tiana. And he takes that seriously; if he marries her instead of Charlotte, he has to get three jobs.

Facilier, on the other hand? He not only does the opposite of Tiana and has taken shortcuts to get where he is—but he also suffers from Naveen’s flaw; he keeps making what are basically get-rich-quick schemes with his “friends on the other side.” When we meet him, he’s stressed and certainly on edge about failing—but that doesn’t stop him from asking for more and more debt from the demons, and he basically goes to his grave still making promises he can’t keep…like Naveen’s promise he couldn’t keep to pay Tiana for kissing him.

He’s got Tiana’s focus and Naveen’s charisma. He’s got Tiana’s lofty goals and Naveen’s dependence on others to do his dirty work.

He’s exactly like Tiana and Naveen put together, aged about twenty years, but with none of their good qualities. Perfect villain for those two main characters.

But he’s also the opposite of Mama Odie.

He entices innocents with what they want while she lights their way by explaining what they need.

He wants total control, while she’s satisfied with simply giving advice and sending people on their way.

He directly transforms his victims, while Mama Odie shows Tiana and Naveen how to work toward their transformation on their own. I mean, you guys noticed that she could have done it for them, right?

But she doesn’t, because she’s the symbol of that Disney Faith-Based morals: you act on what you know is true instead of taking the easy way to what you want. Facilier does the opposite: he promises to give you the easy way to what you want, and tries to tell you why you should accept his deals—but his reasons are all lies.

That’s how you write a villain, ladies and gentlemen.

[starrierknight]

𝟎𝟑𝟎. 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐲

You did his eyeliner and one thing led to another. Who can blame you, though? He had it coming (pun intended).

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 3.5k

pairing— soft dom!gn!reader x sub!getou

cw/tags— mirror sex, mommy kink (only by name, reader is otherwise gn), S&M, ruined makeup, dacryphilia, handjob, edging, orgasm delay/control, praise, humiliation, restraints (belt), dry humping/frottage, porn with feelings, plot what plot, petnames (pretty/sweet boy/thing), aftercare

The world was dark; the lights were low, and Suguru was where he should be—at your mercy. 

You were straddling his lap, your fingers gently cradling his face while your other hand intricately applied dark eyeliner to his eyes. He reclined against the headboard of the bed that the two of you shared. 

“All done,” you smiled, tossing the eyeliner pen elsewhere. You brushed a thumb over his cheekbone, admiring your work, as his inky black eyes fluttered open. 

His eyes were framed with luscious, dark eyelashes. They're like midnight and seemed to swirl like pools of ink; The subtle swirls within them add an element of dynamism, as if they hold secrets waiting to be discovered. They have a hypnotic quality to them, as if luring you to come closer and drown, tempting you to see just how deeply you'll sink, how far you'll fall into their depths.

“How do I look?” he asked lightly, enjoying the way you drank in his appearance like this.

“Gorgeous.”

His silky hair was undone, cascading down his shoulders and a tad messy where you’d held it previously to keep his head still. Suguru (to most people) was all severe edges, all strength and hard stares; But for you, he was weak. 

“Yeah?”

Responding with a soft and affirmative hum, your unoccupied hand glided along the surface of his T-shirt's lightweight cotton sleeve. A knowing smile played on your lips as you noticed the subtle tensing of his muscles beneath your touch. Suguru raised an eyebrow in response, intentionally tracing his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. Oh, he knew what he was doing—it was safe to say that you both had each other figured out.

His hand, which had initially been placed on your lower back, sinuously moved to grasp your thigh. In the subdued light, he gazed at you, the shadows lending a glint to his eyelashes. Inclining his head slightly, he swept the tip of his index finger along the edge of your mouth.

He gracefully shifted away, putting on an act of feigning unawareness to the searing intensity of your stare fixed upon him. He flashed you a lopsided smile, bringing his forefinger and thumb together.

“Glitter.”

Despite Suguru's move away from you, the proximity was still compromising. He returned his attention to your face, noticing your eyes had darkened from your interaction, your jaw clenched. Blowing the speck of iridescence from his thumb, he shut his eyes, making a wish. He raised his gaze leisurely to meet yours, yet your focus remained captivated by his lips. Those gentle, rosy lips of his held an irresistible allure—he couldn’t suppress the smile that curved them. Testing the limits, he snaked a hand around the back of your neck and, just under your jaw, dragged his thumb along the line of your jugular vein.

“Suguru,” you rasped, tone of voice laced with warning.

He traced circles into your skin, touch so light it was barely there. But you were aware—so painfully aware—that it was, and that he was taunting you. His hot breath feathered the base of your throat, and you swallowed harshly at the thoughts racing through your mind.

“Something wrong?”

Fuck.

Snatching his hand away, you gripped the flesh of his arm so tightly crescent indents from your nails embedded themselves into his skin. You didn’t like being teased.

“Suguru,” you said again, voice low and dangerous, ”You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“I don’t.” He toyed with the hem of your top, daring you to inch closer. “So, why don’t you show me?”

Swearing under your breath, your hand that originally rested on his cheek laced into his hair. You allowed him the liberty of a free hand, and his immediately smoothed down your back to the curve of your ass. He leaned forward, eyes closed, ready to feel your lips on his, only to meet the palm of your hand instead. He gave you a betrayed look. You smiled, eyes flashing appreciatively at the twinge of frustration that crossed his face.

As you twirled a lock of hair that framed his face around your forefinger, your attention was drawn to the shallow huffs of his breath escaping him. You trailed your fingers down the length of hair, kissing the tip before letting it go. The edges of your knuckles skimmed down his neck, past the crevice of his torso—satisfied with the wince he made as you adjusted your sitting position on his lap.

“Is that it?” He groaned, voice strangled with need. He wanted more—fuck—he needed more. Your lips on his, your hands on his skin—more. 

Your amused hum rang through his body, spreading heat to the core of his abdomen.

Tugging his hair, you forced Suguru to expose the vulnerable parts of his neck to you. You ground downwards onto him through the material of his pants, peppering his jawline with open-mouthed kisses as he let out a breathy groan; starting near his chin and making your way to the base where his ear met his neck. Biting down lightly, you ran your tongue over the sensitive skin, earning a gasp from Suguru. His fingers dug into your hips—painfully, almost—leaving his own bruises on you to match. 

So possessive.

Pulling away just a fraction, you caressed the bruised flourish with your lips, blowing a cool puff of air against the hot skin.

“Please,” he shivered; but God, revenge had never felt so sweet.

A feverish rush of heat surged through his veins, igniting a fiery lust. His stomach coiled and knotted with a mix of excitement and nerves, creating a swirling whirlpool of anticipation. At that very moment, there was nothing he wanted more than you.

With your lips still brushing the base of his ear, you murmured, “Please, what?”

“Please, mommy… just touch me, already.”

And you complied.

A tortured sound clawed its way out of his lips, a strangled moan that carried the weight of his desperation. He couldn’t take it anymore, your continuous teasing crumbling his old bravado. 

“Finally,” he mumbled against your mouth, causing you to laugh into the kiss.

His large hands pressed against your lower back, pushing your hips against him. For a second you broke the kiss, tugging the soft flesh of his bottom lip before soothing it with your tongue. Your chest was flattened against Suguru's defined muscles, and you were sure Suguru could feel the frantic beat of your heart through your ribcage. Eventually, the both of you had to pull away, taking in deep inhales of air. 

Grinding down lazily on his crotch, making a pitiable whine escape his lips, a sound born of both frustration and intense focus. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, his face contorting with longing. 

“Needy,” you teased, pulling yourself closer to him.

You nudged his legs open with your arms around his shoulders and neck, slipping your thigh between his. His breathing stuttered as your leg brushed against him, nudging his bulging cock constrained by the prison of his clothing. A tremor coursed through him, causing his body to shudder involuntarily. His nails scratched a path along your lower back, leaving behind a trail of sensation that mingled with a soft, needy whine escaping his lips.

You guided him steadily along your thigh, humping your leg, and he sighed, your hand reaching up to tangle in his hair as a shiver ran through his body. As you lazily ground your knee up against him, his hips rutted up, thrusting aimlessly, desperately searching for friction. His hand descended to the thigh suspended by his hip, fingers exerting a gentle yet possessive pressure as they made contact. Simultaneously, his other arm enveloped your waist, drawing you snugly against him, creating an intimate connection between your bodies.

He gasped and let out a hoarse groan as he used you to try and reach his high, burying his face in your neck and tightening his arm around you, keeping your upper body immobile. Your breathing was uneven, and your hips skittered along his thigh.

“Please, fuck—oh,” he groaned, and you felt his cock twitch in yearning through the material of his pants.

“Stop.”

“Wha–?”

You pushed him back by the shoulders to see his face clearly. “I have an idea.”

“Seriously? Now?”

You rolled your hips once, and whatever he might have said next got caught in his throat. “Maybe you can’t take it then.”

“I can take it,” he said through gritted teeth.

✦•···················•✦•···················•✦

The buckle clinked as you secured it around Suguru’s wrists, supple leather of his own belt binding them behind his back, and he’s left helpless. You smoothed your hands up to his shoulder blades, resting them there as you placed your chin on his shoulder, looking at him in the mirror opposite.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands tied behind him and stripped from head to toe in front of a full-length mirror, with you kneeling behind him, thighs pressed on either side of his waist. His eyes were set resolutely on the floor, pointedly looking anywhere but at his reflection, or you. 

“Is this okay?” you asked. He mumbled something so hushed that even from your seated position, the words remained unheard, carried away on the air before they could reach your ears. “Suguru?”

“It’s okay.”

You slowly kissed down one side of his neck, your hands running down his back and smoothing to wrap around his middle. You felt his muscles tense up under your touch, and goosebumps erupted on the surface of his skin as your breath fanned against it. You sensed his muscles coiling with tension beneath your fingertips, and a ripple of goosebumps surfaced on his skin, stirred by the caress of your breath. You held him steady in your arms, taking your time to worship him, and although he relaxed, he didn’t move.

“Then why won’t you look?”

His body seemed to sag slightly as he sighed. “It’s… embarrassing.”

“We go as far as you want, my love.”

It’s almost as if you could hear his thoughts slotting into place before he answered. “No. I want this.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Completely,” he answers, eyes lifting to meet you in the mirror.

The expression he’s wearing makes your heart jump—it’s earnest and nervous, and full of adoration for you. You tilted his head towards you, capturing his lips in a searing kiss; a reminder that the risk was worth the reward, and a reminder that he was trusting himself fully to you.

Simultaneously, one of your hands travelled down his body to his already hard cock, slowly stroking it to build up a comfortable, but intense, pleasure. Suguru moaned into your mouth, breaking free from the kiss, and pushing his hips into your hand just slightly, knowing you’d pull away if he was too insistent. His eyes had scrunched shut, and his body leaned into you, searching for the pressure of your chest against his back.

You slowed your hand a fraction, your lips attaching to his neck as you sucked another dark bruise onto his skin, and you licked the new blemish, making him exhale as you bit down on it with your teeth. You continued to leave a trail of lovebites and kisses along his neck, noticing his breathing getting increasingly laboured, and you loved the way his body began to twist and push into your touch. Slowly but surely, you had built him up so that satisfaction had morphed into desperation.

You slowed your hand until it was barely moving. “Remember what we agreed?” 

Your other hand raked its nails up the smooth expanse of his thigh, sinking into the plush flesh as the other suddenly quickened its pace. Suguru couldn’t help but sail into the stream of release, hips bucking upward, and so, so fucking close, your title on his lips. Right before the pleasure could roll over him, you pulled your hand away from his cock, and it was ruined. 

He choked out a whimper, chest heaving with exertion as his body shuddered involuntarily. 

“Keep your eyes on me, and no matter what, no cumming until I say your name. Got it?” He whined a weak ‘yes’. “Remember who you’re speaking to.”

“Yes, mommy,” he relented.

“Look up.”

“I can’t.”

Tender kisses dotted his shoulder, soft nips eliciting a gasp here and there. You knew exactly how to drive him mad with need, but he wouldn’t give in that easily. 

“Oh, but you will, sweet boy.”

The soft pad of your thumb teased his slit, swiping across the aching head of his dick. It was just the smallest taste of what you could do—of how easily you could bring him to bliss. More kisses and bites marked his now burning neck and shoulders, the tiniest pressure of your fingers torturing his sensitive length. 

Finally, instinct took over, and his eyes shot open the moment you stroked his dripping dick again.

“Follow my hand, baby,” you whispered.

He dragged his focus to your other hand, which was lifted just above him in the mirror.

With a deliberate slowness, your touch maintaining its gentle rhythm, you eased your hand downward to cradle Suguru's jaw. His resistance melted as he was compelled to confront his own reflection, captivated by the connection between your touch and his gaze—all desperate and needy for you.

The eyeliner you’d previously done for him was smudged, and the mascara on his eyelashes had dampened and clumped together with tears. He whined, eyes glistening, and the raw emotion on his almost painfully grimacing face had you enchanted for a second. His body had a thin sheen of sweat that gleamed in the low-light. His chest heaved, and he was arched into your hand as he searched for friction. He truly looked so beautiful like this, and you’d do whatever it would take for him to see that.

“Keep your eyes open, pretty boy. Don’t let them leave your reflection even for a second.”

You gave him a wicked grin before your hand pumped the fastest it had done yet, grip on his jaw tightening when he closed his eyes for just a fraction of a second. You stopped your movements, and he hurriedly opened his eyes for you again.

The cycle would continue, and each time he closed his eyes, you’d stop. Every time he corrected himself, you’d slow your pace as punishment, and every time he kept them open for a long while you’d speed up as a reward. 

It was maddening, and nowhere near over.

“Where’d that attitude go?” you asked faux-sincerely. “You can take it all, can’t you, pretty thing?”

“Please, mommy,” he whimpered.

Thick, pearly tears gathered on his lashes, welling up in his pretty eyes as they smudged the black makeup, and rolling down his flushed cheeks. They shimmered and streaked his face, baby hairs stuck to his sweaty forehead, brows knitted together and the frustration just kept building. 

“Look at yourself, baby. Look at how starved you are for me. Look at my hand between your thighs—your cock’s weeping—it’s aching for my touch. Look at your face, c’mon now. See it? You’re crying for me—such a pretty mess—you’re so gorgeous when you feel good. So perfect like this.”

“Please!” he cried out, “J-Just say it!”

You reached down, cupping his heavy balls, giving them a gentle squeeze and his mind goes blank. His mouth fell open with a silent moan, spit dripping from his lips down his chin.

“Won’t you put on a show for me, sweet thing?”

“I can’t—fuck—please. Please, mommy, I can’t t-take it,” he manages to moan out.

Your hand returned to his length, and your grip is feather-light. It’s moving at a torturous pace, barely even moving and yet he feels everything, though it’s not enough. Another cascade of tears spilt from his eyes, tracing damp trails down his cheeks, and a bittersweet ache coursed through him as the overwhelming intensity of pleasure bordered on aching bliss.

“Please, cum for me,” you moan sweetly, lips brushing against the shell of his ear and contrasting so greatly with the cruel smile you’re wearing.

“No, I c-can’t. Not until you–”

“Please, sweet boy, won’t you be good for me?” your deceptively saccharine words cut him off.

It provoked a near visceral reaction from him—shoulders drawn up as a chill ran down his spine. It’s like every one of his nerves was on edge, burning up from the release you kept denying him. Another broken sob escaped him.

“Just say it—please, mommy.”

“Doesn’t the suspense make it worth it, though? Isn’t it more fun to wait?” mockery dripped from your honey-like tone, the sadistic spark in your eyes glinting as he bucked into your hand.

The room seemed to pulsate with a heightened temperature, the atmosphere electrified. He felt like he was white-hot, a sensation akin to being searingly alive, as though your influence possessed an unnatural hold. He found himself incapable of resistance, unable to deny the power you exerted over him.

And yet, what if the punishment was worth it?

“I’ll leave you like this,” you chuckled, reading his thoughts. “Would you like that?”

“No! Please, I… I–”

“Beg for me one last time.”

The pressure had built so incredibly sweetly, and finally, you weren’t letting go. 

“Please, s-say my name, mommy. I can’t… fuck, I can’t take it,” he sobbed for you, the words broken with gasps and moans.

“Cum for me, Suguru.”

You saying his name tipped him over the edge, squirming as he rutted shamelessly into your hand. Unintelligible thanks spilt from Suguru’s bitten lips, face contorting in ecstasy as he let out a guttural moan. His body seized up, legs trembling, and tears streaming down his face when he finally let go, and you held his chin to make him watch his reflection. 

Thick spurts of cum coated your hand, and he’s moaning your title over and over like it’s all he can think of, watching himself come apart so easily for you and it just feels too good to be true. 

“Fuck,” he panted, aftershocks washing through his body slumped into yours, too exhausted to continue.

“You did such a good job for me,” you murmured, brushing the hair away from his face. “Now just let me look after you, okay?”

✦•···················•✦•···················•✦

The water sloshed around you both as you reached for a washcloth. Suguru was sat between your legs, full weight pressed against you as he leaned into the warmth of your body.

You cupped his face with one hand as the other gently wiped away the ruined makeup that stained his cheeks. His eyes were closed, and he rested the weight of his hand in your palm, enjoying the closeness.

“Suguru?” He hummed but made no move to speak. “I just wanted to say that I’m really proud of you, you know.”

He slowly opened his eyes, face softening at your genuine expression. You looked at him as if he were some precious gem, holding him so carefully as if he might shatter, like glasswork.

“Thank you for everything,” he said quietly.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before reaching over for the bottle of shampoo. You rubbed the liquid between your hands until it frothed, then weaved your fingers into the locks of Suguru’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly as you cleansed it.

“You’ve got Satoru’s birthday party coming this Tuesday, right?”

“I’ll be home late, then,” he sighed.

“Don’t worry about that,” you said, ”I was just thinking… you might have some issues covering up the marks.”

“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned, remembering that you had indeed barely left a square inch untouched from his neck down.

“Again?” you snorted, and he felt you shudder with laughter at your own joke.

“You’re gonna have to hide them for me.”

“Oh? And what if I don’t want to?”

“I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Could be worse,” you muttered, before tilting your head to brush your lips against his in a soft kiss.

He caught your chin in his hand, cradling it with his index finger and thumb. The feather-light touch tickled ever so slightly, and you could feel him smile briefly as you ran a hand through his hair. His fingers slid along the curve of your neck and threaded into your hair as his thumb caressed your cheek. You shivered, goosebumps rising on your arms, and he only took it as an invitation to lean in more. His hand stayed on your chin, tilting it towards him for easier access. A minute, an hour. All he knew was how soft your lips were against his own.

Eventually, his lungs burned for air and you broke the kiss, still so close that you murmured sweet nothings against his lips as you pressed your foreheads together.

Then finally, you barely catch it but it’s there, you hear in the barest of whispers—

“The water’s going cold.”

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms. .

[teaboot]

Yo I haven't done it in forever so I forgot that working at a sex shop gives you superpowers

1. The We-Vibe Tango is a low frequency and fully waterproof rechargeable bullet vibrator that we used to sell for about $150. A new model came out about a year ago so it's on sale now online for $47. Can confirm that shipping is discreet and they have a really good warranty, just keep the packaging.

*(I'm not sponsored to say that and nobody is paying me rn, it's just a legit good deal.)

2. There are essentially three bases used for lube: Water, Oil, and Silicone. Oil breaks down any materials other than glass or metal, and Silicone breaks down Silicone toys and sometimes condoms. Water is safe for everything but tends to dry out, so people don't like it- but if you add water or spit, drying water-based lube will slick right back up.

3. If your water-based lube has given you any itching, tightening, or burning sensations, you probably have a chemical sensitivity. Obviously everyone has different preferences, but my number one recommendation is Water Slide- it's a super reasonable price compared to other lubes, it feels natural, it's incredibly gentle on the skin, and it doesn't stain sheets.

**(Again, I'm not being paid for this. By anyone. At all. I'm just sick of hearing people come in and tell me they don't use lube cause it hurts, or that they're using fucking coconut oil in their vagina. Please, God, don't put coconut oil in your vagina.)

4. A lot of massage oils use almond oil to suspend other ingredients, and warming products sometimes use cinnamon. Always, always, always check people's allergies.

5. You can buy toys off cheap sites if you want, just be wary of quality and ALWAYS read the product description. I personally wouldn't buy anything that isn't Silicone, stainless steel, or glass, because unlike jelly, plastic, "fantaflesh", and Silicon, (which is NOT Silicone!!!) They are non-porous, sterile, and don't melt in contact with each other. This means that as long as you clean them properly and don't use the wrong lubes, they will not hold bacteria or break down, which makes them safe for both you to reuse and your partner/s to share. (And to switch between front door/back door, so long as you wash before going back to front.)

6. Cotton and polyester bondage rope are cheap and great to practice with. Silk sounds fancy and is very strong but be advised that a lot of silk rope is "Silk(TM)", not actual silk. Read the product description. (I personally am reluctant to spend more than about $2 per foot for mass-produced synthetic rope, but could be persuaded to pay more for ACTUAL silk, nylon, handmade ropes, or especially attractive colors/patterns/textures.) You want your rope to be at least as thick as your thumb and layered to avoid lacerations, and taut (not stretchy) to be sure you're in control of how much pressure you're putting on.

7. Choking someone by pressing on the windpipe is painful and inefficient. If you want to, stay very, very light, as it's a very delicate area. If you want a head rush, press down on the sides of the windpipe, just below the corners of their lower jaw. You will feel a pulse there. That's the carotid artery. It carries oxygen to the brain. Pressing there will allow them to breathe, but will still "choke" the air going to their head. It's faster and painless. Only hold this for 3-4 seconds if you lack experience. It takes just under 15 seconds to make someone pass out from a blood choke, and after that you risk causing *permanent brain damage*. If your partner passes out, release pressure immediately and keep their airways clear. If you're the one being choked, know that your only warning will be spotty vision and a dizzy sensation. Communicate with your partner/s and for the love of God, do your research first. I'm not a doctor. Please God, please do your research.

8. Don't reduce blood flow to any part of the body for more than 20 minutes. This includes cock rings. Take a break for an hour between uses.

9. Most 'dick pills' are just a stimulant, a mild vasodilator, and a placebo. Usually mostly caffeine. They are not worth $20 apiece. Take a minute to meditate, have a hot shower, drink some black tea, have a coffee, go for a run, whatever- you'll get the same effect. And no, there is not a single ethical and legal sex shop in the country that can sell you viagra. You would have better luck on Facebook. Do not buy viagra on Facebook.

10. There are no "male toys" and "female toys". Your only limitations are safety and creativity. If youre sticking something into something else, just make sure everything is clean, not too big, not sharp or abrasive, and can be taken back out.

11. If something "goes missing" in your vagina and you panic, you muscles will tense up and it'll it'll harder to get back. Relax and stand up. Wait a minute. Chill. Calm down. Jump a couple times. There's nowhere for it to go and worst case scenario, I promise the emergency walk-in has seen something weirder or worse in the past hour or so.

12. You cannot return toys that you buy and don't like and I swear to God if you come into my store with an opened product and try to give it back I will lose my shit

13. Actually while I'm at it, people who work at sex shops are more often than not not sex workers and even if they were, it would still not be appropriate to flash or grope them or ask them "what they use", I will run you over in the fucking parking lot

[asukaskerian]

#1 N°1 Eternal War God

Feast your eyes on the most badass cosplay you have ever seen! The font of manliness, the peerless master, the only rival Bing-ge will ever have...!!!

liuqingge_1.png ; liuqingge_2.png ; liuqingge_3.png

#2 N°1 Eternal War God

Perfect replica of Cheng Luan, I pumped iron for six months for the all-natural chest muscles hahaha, and there's even a little sword charm matching little sister Mingyan's for the gege appeal! This cosplay will be debuted in full during the next great Shanghai convention, come and get your photos after the contest! 

#3 Littlest Cutest YingYingYing

Awww the little charm is so adorable!!!! Secret brocon Liu-gege~¤* 

#4 Cang Qiong Mountain Stair-Cleaning Manager

The all natural chest is also cute >:3c

#5 Peerless Cucumber (Expert)

... Is that a repurposed Japanese kimono? Are you honestly saying that covering the sober, dignified, strong-and-silent Liu Qingge's body with fancy belts and embroidery to break up the outline of *the wrong garment entirely* and distracting the viewer via slutting it up is good cosplay?

My apologies, I have unfairly maligned you -- it's a YUKATA. For those who don't know the difference, it is exactly that of silk versus cheap cotton. 

Just like the difference between an actual effort-grown chest and one shaped with badly blended makeup. There are still fingerprints in the hollow by your left lower ribs. Tssk.

#6 grass your mother and fuck your horse

Everyone pack it up, the quality check expert has shown up to close the thread 

#7 Peerless Cucumber (Expert)

#6, I have no issue with the cosplay itself but don't present it as the best and manliest when you can't even be bothered to source a local hanfu. The cosplay contest judges will laugh him out of the lineup. 

By the way, regarding the charm... Tyrian does not mean *green*. You might assume this is Airplane's lackadaisical approach to continuity but out of seven color references to Liu Mingyan's sword charm, six were synonyms for purple and amethyst and other lazy bullshit, and the seventh was a reference to her veil, which is, let's consult the database... lavender!

#8 N°1 Eternal War God

Someone looked at my abs reeeeeal close there... Jealous??

You keep going about quality control like we could actually source authentic materials, you remember we're in real life? Who cares if it's not real so long as it gives the right feel? Spoken as someone who's never gotten off his gamer chair and can only piss on the efforts of others, do better if you can

#9 The People's Daily Salute To The Heavens

/eating popcorn by the bucket

(things are heating up in the war god fandom!!!!!)

#10 Peerless Cucumber (Expert)

You know what, I think I will. See you at the contest.

#11 The People's Daily Salute To The Heavens

:O GASP

#12 Littlest Cutest YingYingYing

#11 ditto, :O GASP

#12 Little Sister Connoisseur

#11 #12 ditto ditto, :O GASPGASP

#13 grass your mother and fuck your horse

Yeah ok i'll also give it a gasp.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Will Graham

Adjuvant - serving to aid or contribute; auxiliary

Advertency - the quality or state of being advertent; heedfulness

Anamnesis - a recalling to mind; reminiscence

Complaisant - tending to consent to others' wishes

Conniption - a fit of rage, hysteria, or alarm

Conversance - the quality or state of being conversant (i.e., having knowledge or experience—used with "with"; archaic: having frequent or familiar association)

Copacetic - very satisfactory

Cotton - to take a liking—used with "to"; to come to understand—used with "to" or "on to"

Design - to conceive and plan out in the mind

Dolce - soft, smooth—used as a direction in music

Dulcet - sweet to the taste; generally pleasing or agreeable

Edifying - instructive or informative in a way that improves the mind or character

Emprise - an adventurous, daring, or chivalric enterprise

Farouche - marked by shyness and lack of social graces

Finagle - to obtain (something) by indirect or involved means

Habitude - archaic: native or essential character

Inhesion - the condition of being inherent in something

Kaiseki - a highly ritual Japanese meal characterized by small portions, subtle flavors, artful presentation, and an emphasis on fresh seasonal ingredients

Lamb - a gentle or weak person; dear

Moonstruck - affected by or as if by the moon: such as romantically sentimental

Ornery - difficult to deal with or control

Radicate - to cause to take root; plant deeply and firmly

Rapt - lifted up and carried away; transported with emotion; enraptured

Saturnine - cold and steady in mood; slow to act or change

Stilly - in a calm manner; quietly

More: Word Lists

[venusandsaturnsrings]

every time someone normal seeming likes one of my tame posts i feel the need to post something deranged… like firing off warning shots to keep rent down… anyways…

did he like getting rough in bed? yes, most definitely, but boothill had never delved into anything further than smacking you around, choking you, or getting a bit mean with his thrusts and words. anything more… serious, for lack of better words, hadn’t been on his plate before mainly due to him not previously having a real relationship and not being super into little flings; something insecure still nibbled at his body. yet he still wanted to try something new and exciting that would let him have real control over you in a way he hadn’t before so, he began scrolling through forums and sites with his phones volume silenced as he perused different kinks and ideas for something that would scratch that itch. then he found it, just the kind of thing he’d been looking for.

preparation was nothing more than a couple minutes of thinking and testing the scrappy motels stability before he sat himself on the edge of the bed, hat thrown on the table that was missing something that made it rattle obnoxiously. he waited, metal and silicone uncomfortably strained and needing your touch in his stupidly tight pants, for your arrival. when you walked in, boothill was immediately on his feet wrapping his iron arms around you while cooing something about a surprise that made your gut stir. he kissed you sweet and gentle before taking you further into the room where in a neat row atop the bed sat an array of weapons you didn’t think he’d even be able to carry. some you couldn’t even identify with the sharp edges and complex triggers seeming to contradict each other. yet stood behind you chattering about testing, ‘all these beauty’s out on my beauty,’ was boothill who somehow procured all twenty-two; you counted. with a thick swallow, you asked what exactly he’d be doing to which he smiled all sharp teeth and practically demanded you strip.

naked and admittedly nervous, you watched as he plucked a long and slender knife from his charcuterie of weaponry. the blade was at least six inches and when he dragged it across the poor quality cotton and something trashy sheets, it made a clean slice through. even boothill seemed surprised, whistling quickly before bringing the blade to sit firm against your throat. he seemed eager and giddy and he hadn’t hurt you before so you doubted he would now but then he slide it across and you felt the bite of metal split your skin. ruby beaded and slipped down your chest as your eyes stung and he pushed you back to lap up every drop that threatened to slip down and away from sight.

he brought the blade across your whole body, silver nipping at every place he deemed appropriate until you were shaking and hazy beneath him. boothill hummed to himself more than anything as he finally brought himself between your legs for his prize.

“ya’ trust me a bit too much, sugar, but don’t cha’ worry,” he slipped himself through your wetness admiring the crystalline tears travelling your lashes, “gon’ take good care of this lil hole now. once ya’ wake up, we’ll have a nice big talk ‘bout yer silly head bein too dumb to understand danger. then, maybe, have a go at this with my gun. not gon’ blow yer brains out, promise. my darlin’s too pretty to be splattered on the wall…”

[owlcomics101]

”Clever Y/N…” Task force 141 x Velociraptor hybrid!reader Head cannons

Warnings: SFW (I am a minor), fluff, blood, language (cussing), mentions of animal abuse/violence (I do not condone), reader is gender neutral

gif credits: @Deshi Basara

Writers note: If this gets 100 notes I’ll make a series out of this like my fox hybrid one

Context/backstory: Jurassic world AU; The park had been long lost abandoned for over a decade now. What was once a park full of creatures of old was now the ruins to a new world. You were an experiment. A human with the qualities and characteristics of a Raptor. You had the raptor feet, legs, tail. Claws, eyes, and teeth. The task force was sent to Isla Nublar. Back to the old run down park to retrieve a weapon, but little did they know that the weapon was you.

Price: You see Price as your Alpha. The moment you two met you knew who was in control. Price. He’s the only man you will ever willingly take orders to. The only man you’re afraid of. A muzzle was a common occurrence for you. You were notorious for biting and teething anything you could get your jaws upon. Especially the task force members. Price is the most patient with you about this but this is a problem that needs to be fixed. He either muzzles you or distracts you with a bone like you would do for dogs.

“Ay!” Price pulls you away from his arm sleeve.

“What did we say about biting Y/N?” He glares at you. You immediately stop what you were doing and turn your attention to something else. “No biting ya muppet.”

Soap:

Soap was the one to break through to you. He never saw you as a weapon, you were just someone trying to survive. Find your place in the food chain. Soap always kept you calm and grounded even in times of danger or a threat to you and the others. Not even Price could calm you like Soap can. He was pretty laid back with you and let you do about whatever you wanted. He didn’t mind the nipping and teething as long as you were gentle. He was the one to help clean you after missions, including your teeth.

“Oi let’s see those pearly white’s.” Soap says as he gestures for you to open your mouth. You do as asked and he rests his hands on his hip proud of his work.

“Now there’s a smile!”

Gaz: Gaz is your trainer. Price thought it would be good practice for Gaz if he was your trainer. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two about teaching and be in Price’s shoes for once. You obeyed, but only when food was involved, otherwise Price would have to come down to motivate you to listen to Gaz. The training did well, you were a massive help on the field, but Gaz can’t help but feel bad about it all. You being a ‘weapon’ of massive destruction that he was in trusted to train. It held quite the pressure on him. He’s afraid he’ll turn you into the monster everyone thought you were.

Gaz watches you tear into one of the punching bags, he couldn’t help but picture the stuffing as intestines and flesh being tore out. He could see the cotton stuck in your teeth as blood dripping down and running off your chins

“Y/N! I think that’s enough for today…”

Ghost: You see Ghost as a beta. You sometimes take orders from him but only if you feel like it. The more irritated he gets with you and more and more you resist his commands and his attempts of control over you. You always snuck up behind him and he didn’t even need to call out to you because you were always there…He wasn’t sure what Gaz has been teaching you but the cold look in your eyes tells him that Gaz wasn’t the first to train you…You wear a head set around your head and neck so he could see out of you and see what your doing. Soap likes to call it Ghost’s “Nanny Cam.”

Price walks into the common room. “Has anyone seen Y/N? I told you all Y/N is not aloud outside unaccompanied!”

Ghost looks over to Price. “Y/N is eating Soap’s cookie stash.”

Soap jumps up wide eyed. “My cookie stash!? Ghost why didn’t you look at your nanny can sooner!?

“ITS NOT A NANNY CAM JONHHY-“

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

[st-danger]

hi st im new here but ur writing is amazing and hurts my dick alot and i was wondring if u coulld write smth with free use if ur comfy 🤭🤭🤭 ty ur amazing

Mind the content, perverts.

Swiss is just starting to nod off, drifting into sleep in his dark, pleasantly cool room under a thick comforter when he hears his doorknob turn and click. Creak of the hinge that follows has him cracking open a single gold eye to see the silhouette of a ghoul who's body language looks sheepish, even in outline.

"Hey," Aeon says, telling on himself instantly with the breathy quality of his voice. He steps in and shuts the door behind him, and Swiss gropes for the light on his nightstand. He blinks against the sudden flood of light while his pupils constrict and the full picture comes into view: Aeon's wearing a thin cotton shirt, socks, and flannel pants- tented. Obviously hard. Pink cresting his cheekbones, unruly hair looking even more unkempt for how he must have been running restless hands through it. For something so vulgar, he looks so innocent. Swiss yawns and nods, sleepy.

"Yeah," he murmurs, rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes. "Go on."

Aeon almost trips over himself, stumbling into his bed.

"Thanks," he says, and Swiss can't help the small smile; how is he supposed to find that anything other than endearingly awkward? The idea of feeling anything but fondness towards the newest summon and his neediness seems insane, though he will admit to a grumble of protest while Aeon jostles the bed climbing in, pushing the blankets away from him and he's exposed to the cooler ambient air. He doesn't bother to move- stays on his side, an arm tucked under the pillow, face half-smushed against it. Doesn't even try to pull his boxers down. If Aeon wants it, well, they've agreed that's his job.

"Need it again, huh?" Swiss says, eyes drifting closed once more. He's just so sleepy. He'll fuck him tomorrow, of course, but for now Aeon is welcome to do as he pleases and Swiss will put forth no effort. Honestly, depending on how furiously Aeon's going to rut against him, he might even end up falling asleep anyway. He hears the rustle of flannel, and then feels trembling hands begin to work the waistband of his boxers down, pulling them lower until they're bunched against his thighs, exposing the cleft of his ass. He does shift to help with this part. He's a gentleman, after all. Ask anybody.

"Uh huh." Aeon's voice is as unsteady as his hands, and it takes Swiss's deep well of maturity to only chuckle a little at the tone. At how horny and out of control and worked up the little critter is. Not from anything, just the weird thrill of a new body and new sensations. Can't help himself right now. Can't stop himself from getting stiffies. Can't keep from getting all excited all the time. He's like a naughty little puppy at the moment, and nobody, Swiss included, would ever dream of dampening his enthusiasm. The press of a warm body against his back, the feeling of him hard and blood-hot against his ass is delightful even through his tiredness. "Just- hard again," Aeon breathes into the nape of his neck. "Gotta cum," he says, quieter. Bashful.

He's not sure exactly what he expected right now. Aeon's done everything from jerk off onto him, to rub off on his boot. Fuck his thighs, maybe- that's what Swiss would have guessed for right now, but Aeon seems to know Swiss wouldn't be getting up to grab any lube for that, and there's no way Aeon has the modicum of self control needed in order to tear himself away long enough to snatch it from the bathroom counter himself. It would seem, however, that Aeon's so desperate he's just going to...hump him. Like he'd done to Cumulus the day before while she read, straddling her chest so he could press his straining, red cock against her still clothed tits and rock back and forth until he finished on her just like that. She's a real sweetheart, Swiss thinks. Let him collapse on top of her after. Stroked his hair and asked if he felt better while she finished the chapter.

Swiss can't help but yawn again as Aeon's hands settle on his shoulders and he begins to thrust against him stupidly. Oh, he'll be trouble for them all when he hits his first heat, and the collective agreement is that nobody is about to tell him what that is just yet. It'll either be the same or it'll be worse (and better), but a team effort undoubtedly. Aeon's movements shift him, rocking him back and forth.

"Needed it so bad," Aeon huffs, right in his ear. "Woke up hard." It sends a pleasant shiver down Swiss's spine, but that's as much as he can give right now. Tomorrow, for sure. Not now. The slide of his cock against him is delicious, though, no denying it. "Hard for you."

"I can tell," Swiss says, nestling into his pillow further, eyes drifting shut. "Really hard, aren't you?"

"So hard," Aeon almost wheezes, curling in closer to him, hands holding ever tighter while things turn ever more frantic. "Can't help it." He lets out a nervous wisp of a laugh. "I really- can't." Aeon draws his leg up, rests his leg on top of Swiss's so he can really get some leverage now. "So hot, Swiss, you're so hot. Oh- I don't think I'm gonna last," Aeon moans.

"Take your time," Swiss says around another yawn. "Clean me up when you're done."

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Venom

Miguel O'Hara x addicted gn reader

Warnings: Blowjob (Miguel reviving), rough, withdrawal symptoms. Drug use (venom), no beta we die like men. "Pretty" used once but not in a gendered way.

2250 words

It was an accident; becoming addicted to him was never part of either of your plans, but yet, here you were. Sitting patiently on a plush chair, looking up at him like he was your whole world. At This point he might as well be, considering his venom was the only thing keeping you going.

Funny to think it was an accident that got you both into this situation, but we should probably start at the beginning.

You were your world's spider. Strong, smart, and fiercely impulsive. Good at getting out of a bad situation because you were prone to getting into bad situations. Great qualities for a hero, but this time they really got you in trouble.

Miguel was an amazing hero. Strong, stoic, and a heart of gold, even if he didn't like showing it. He was also the only spider that doesn't have a spidey sense. Not that you knew that when you were silently approaching him from behind.

His back heaved, and his breathing was labored. Clutching his shoulder like a wounded animal, complete with claws half extended. You stopped when you were close enough to see the slight tremble in his whole body. Every muscle tensed and ready to spring at a moment's notice.

“You okay?” Your voice was soft as you reached a hand out to check on him. The next thing you saw was a flash of red eyes and white fangs so fast you didn't even have time to react. He was too fast for you to even feel the pain of his fangs sinking into your shoulder. One of his hands tightly gripped your outstretched wrist while his other hand clutched the nape of your neck. From an outside perspective one could mistake the pose for a tango.

A cool tingling sensation spreads through your veins almost instantly, completely paralyzing you. Yet still even in such a vulnerable position your spidey sense never rang. Slowly his eyes faded from that unnatural glowing red to his normal rich brown. He released you the moment he realized what he had done.

“Lo siento mucho, no fue mi intención-” Panicked and rambling through what you assume is an apology you simply stood there; paralyzed and helpless. His eyes were locked on to where your neck meets your shoulder, never looking away from his crime, and never looking you in the eye.

You should have been scared. Worried or intimidated would have also been appropriate, but all you felt… was excitement.

The venom felt like pure euphoria under your skin. The bite felt hot but each heartbeat sent a cool rush of endorphins deeper into your body. Filling every vein, every muscle, just everything with that beautiful menthol chill. There were no thoughts because it felt like someone stuffed your head with cotton. Was this what his villains felt? This was far too good for them. You silently slipped into your own thoughts; becoming completely oblivious to anything but your own heartbeat.

By the time you regained consciousness and control of your body you had been left in a secluded area of the spider society. A to-go container was left on a stool with a water bottle. This was too little to be a bribe, maybe an apology? Slowly your head started to clear. You wish it hadn't. As the feelings of the venom had worn off, and the physical effects were starting to fade you were left feeling like hot garbage. This just left you alone with a throbbing pain in your shoulder and a strange sense of emptiness.

You hissed in pain when you absentmindedly touched the bite. “Ow! …” Even now your movements were sluggish. Like a marinette fighting against its strings. It's dangerous for a spider to be slow, that makes them easy to squish. Dangerous; that was definitely the look in his eyes. It was stupid to want to see them again, but yet…

You needed to talk to him.

He's been avoiding you. It's been almost two weeks and every time you caught sight of him he seemingly vanished into thin air. The only problem with trying to track another spider is that you are all notoriously slippery.

“Miguel.” He continues to walk away from you, never even sparing you a glance. “Miguel!” You yelled, gaining glances from the other spiders in the hallway, and finally making him stop. “We need to talk.”

His head dipped slightly as he grumbled out a “Fine.” before continuing forward. His pace was swift, not even caring if you kept up with him, and he only stopped when the two of you were in a secluded room. Free from any prying eyes he finally turned to face you, but it felt more like he was looking through you. “Talk.”

His voice was colder than his venom. Low and dark, but you couldn't feel any real malice behind it. “I need a favor…”

His eyes cast over you, looking for any sign of what you were about to ask. He looked almost like he was on edge. Understandable considering how much he does to keep the multiverse intact.

After a deep breath you finally spoke again. “I… I need another hit. I can't even shoot a web straight! God, if Hobie wasn't there on my last mission I would be a pavement pancake right now!” Your hands started shaking. No, your whole body started trembling. Withdrawal had been slowly eating away at you since the incident.

His brown eyes narrowed as he watched you struggle to keep yourself together, slowly working yourself up to a near breakdown. “I never meant to bite you. I'm sorry, but I won't do it again.”

“But-”

“That's final!” He snapped at you with a slight snarl. He let out a sigh when he saw the despair fall on your face. “I can find something else to help you. I'll make something if I have to, but my venom is too dangerous for even one bite.” You nodded slowly, not wanting to anger him again. With that he walked past you and out the door. “I'll call you when I get something.”

…But it didn't work.

Trial after trial, and batch after batch, but nothing helped. The withdrawal symptoms only got worse. Until finally you were bedridden with a fever and sweating bullets, completely unable to move without wanting to throw up.

Miguel entered your medical room. A range of emotions; hurt, disbelief, anger, and hopelessness, all flashed across your face in an instant before you pleaded. All he did was put his hand up and you stopped. He looked…hurt, but finally he gave in. You needed this, and he was the only one who could help you.

It was finally time for him to take responsibility.

He pulled up a chair next to your bed. “Give me your arm.” His voice was low and hesitant, and you eagerly complied. After a moment of contemplation he opened his mouth wide enough for you to glimpse those glorious fangs before they sank into your forearm.

Your eyes all but rolled back in your head as that long awaited rush of euphoria flooded your veins. “Nnnmm~” it was only a moment before he pulled himself away, but it was enough.

“...When I first bit you I had just taken a dose of my spider stimulant. Think of it like a steroid, but radioactive. This should be less potent than that.” You half listened to his explanation, not really caring what he said but loving the sound of his voice. It's not like you could respond because of the paralytic effect so he continues “I will take responsibility for this. I'll help you wean off of it.” You moved your eyes slightly towards him as he stood up. “Call me when you can.” And again he left you alone; paralyzed, but delighted.

After about a week your symptoms returned. Shaky hands and difficulty focusing being the first red flags prompting you to seek him out. Without question he followed through with his promise to help you. Every time he sunk his teeth into you felt just as good as the last.

This quickly became routine. Every week, weather your symptoms returned yet or not, the two of you would meet like this. Alone together, hidden away from curious spiders. The rush you got never faded but the physical effects lessened gradually. You could move a little now, maybe even give single word responses if he asked.

His attitude also changed from a broken melancholy to something more enticed but conflicted. It soon became apparent that both of you were enjoying this, yet neither of you spoke of the palpable change in expression. That was, until you took that first step farther.

Now what used to be more akin to a medical procedure was more like a carnal rendezvous. It became rare to see his contemplation now, and the weekly sessions left no time for your withdrawal to return.

The sessions definitely helped with the physical withdrawal, but your desire only grew. Desire for his venom; desire for him. No, desire wasn't the right word. This was stronger.

Need

Slowly you reached out to his waist; muscles fighting every inch against the venom induced atrophy. Suddenly but gently he grabs your wrist before you can reach him. You shakily lift your chin enough to see him; his nostrils slightly flaring as he takes deep breath, his eyes completely locked on to yours, and his lips pursed together in a flat line.

Your mouth opened and closed fruitlessly, like a fish gasping desperately for water. Miguel felt a little pity but he couldn't ignore the butterflies in his stomach as you looked up at him hungrily. His own hunger only grew as the next words barely fell from your mouth.

“Please?”

“I'm not going to take advantage of your situation.” His heart squeezed as he denied your advances. His heart was beating rapidly, and it's been getting harder for him to control himself during these sessions. He could feel his will crumble as you looked up at him with begging puppy dog eyes. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “...but just this once I'll make an exception.” He released your wrist, and as he opened his eyes his stomach fluttered as the delight spread across your face.

Your movements were stiff and choppy as you staggered to kneel before him. His chest swelled with pride as you looked up at him with that eager doe eyed expression. Each movement was a fight against the venom that made you feel alive, and you were fighting for him.

“Still…hard…to…move…” Your words came slowly, and he patiently waited for each one; his red brown eyes never leaving your lips.

“Would you like some help?” His voice came out like a choked purr. Every passing moment you could see how excited he was getting. His now crimson eyes were a dead giveaway; as was the growing bulge in his suit.

You tried your best to nod; head barely moving an inch up and down, but the message was clear. Gently he cupped your face, thumb running across your bottom lip before sliding back towards your jaw line.

His suit receded to reveal his beautiful fat cock. He helped you open your mouth wide and pulled out your tongue. Once satisfied with your position his hand slid into your hair. His claws barely scraping your scalp sending a shiver rippling through you.

He took his sweet time placing his cock on your tongue. He wanted to give you a moment to back out before you lost the use of your words as well as your body. He let out a shaky sigh as he slid all the way into your throat. Your muscles were too relaxed to trigger any gag reflex and he had no issue going as deep as he pleased.

Slow movement shortly turned into a rough face fucking. His clawed hands roughly gripped your hair for leverage as he buried his bush into your nose with each thrust. It was heavenly.

His grunts were just as delicious as his cock as he picked up the pace once more. Any pathetic little noises you tried to make only gave his cock more pleasure. Your eyes rolled back as your head went fuzzy. The slight lack of oxygen and the effects of the venom making every sensation that much more potent and delightful.

“Merda-” His hips stuttered, and with a pained grunt he pulled himself away from your hot wet mouth. His cock twitched twice before erupting thick ropes of cum across your face. He had to take a few deep breaths until he was able to get control of himself again.

You looked like a dream. Kneeling pretty at his feet covered in his cum. You were all but ensnared in his web, and he loved it.

“When you're able to move more I may let you drink it.” He used his thumb to swipe some of his cum over your tongue so you can have a taste. “Right now I can't risk you choking because of the paralysis.” The taste was exquisite. It only made the euphoria of his venom still in your system that much stronger. If that's the boost a taste could do you were already drooling at the thought of a full dose.

Miguel was very easy to get addicted to.

Translation

Lo siento mucho, no fue mi intención: I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to

Merda: shit

[globalrebrand]

The Marriage of Music and Alchemy: Chapter One

Crewel is out of control with the whip cracking and Ace is fed up. He won't deal with tyrants on two fronts, but thankfully he doesn't have to. Ace and the Prefect have noticed how Crewel is looking at the new musicology Professor, and between the two them they definitely have what it takes to get their teachers together, and maybe grow closer with each other.

Too bad Crewel's a bit more emotionally constipated than Ace or Yuu could have anticipated, and unfortunately their dear homeroom Professor isn't the only suitor after the music Professor's heart!

Warnings: None!

A/N: Posting from AO3.

~ You start a new job and Ace hatches a plan. | 2.3K Words

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III

“Have you ever wondered where Crewel gets the money to dress so nice?” Ace whispers to Deuce, doing anything to avoid actually paying attention to the orientation lecture the Professor is giving at the lectern in front of the fresh cohort of first-year students. Ace fully recognizes he probably should listen and that Crewel isn’t just rambling for the sake of it. Instead of boring everyone to tears with one several-hour-long presentation about the rules, the staff seemed to think it was best to break up the deluge of information by doing it bit by bit every day of the first week during homeroom period. 

But it seems all the faculty’s efforts were for naught because, by SEVEN, this is dull. Ace can’t help but let his mind wander to anything besides the endless tedium spilling from his Professor’s mouth. So he poses the question to his peers, hoping Deuce and the Prefect can provide suitable entertainment on this uninspiring morning. He’s not really concerned with Grim's stances on the matter, not that he could actually probe him for answers anyway. The little beast is already dozing off on the Prefect’s lap.  

Despite his best effort to remain attentive, Deuce lets himself ponder Ace’s question, a slight frown twisting his lips as he considers his friend’s inquiry. He really can’t say he’s wondered about Professor Crewel’s wealth much. Sure, their homeroom teacher is always dressed impeccably, but it's not something he really considers as that exceptional. All of the teachers he’s been introduced to dress quite well, as far as he can tell. If anything, Professor Crewel’s attire might be the most distinctive for someone in his position, but then again, Deuce has never had an eye for luxury.  

Even today, he looks rather dashing. The summer’s sweltering shroud of humidity still lingers over Sage Isle, and their Professor is dressed for the weather. Today, his outfit is simple enough: a black linen suit and a burgundy silken short-sleeved top with a complimentary cotton square in his breast pocket and a gold watch on his left wrist. Deuce definitely thinks that Crewel looks cool and all and  he supposes everything the Professor wears seems like it's high quality, but it's nothing too crazy, right?

“Is his clothing really that flashy?” Deuce asked, clearly having deliberated on the nature of his professor's dress for quite a bit before speaking up. 

“Don’t let him distract you,” the Prefect admonishes in a terse whisper. Their hands are dutifully clasped on the desk, and their posture is straight as they do everything in their power to look attentive and alert to counteract the audacity of the chubby little beastie currently snoozing blissfully in their lap. 

Yet, alas, it is too late. Deuce has already bitten the hook and is now being steadily lured in. 

“Are you kidding? Look at his watch.” Deuce and the Prefect, despite their best interests, take a glance at Crewel's wrist. The silver and gold band is nicely on display as he reads out the rules and expectations off of a sheet of paper held upright between his thumb and palm. Even from their spots toward the back of the classroom, the watch dazzles brilliantly.  The Prefect can’t make out any details but the watch is certainly flashy enough to be reasonably expensive.   

“When my brother got his first job out of school, he bought one from the same brand, but Crewel’s is wayyyyy nicer. The gold face alone makes it probably two or three times more expensive.”

“How much did your brother’s cost?” Deuce inquires.    

“Five hundred thousand thurmarks at least .” Ace replied emphatically. 

"That means Crewel’s is…”

“At most 1.5 million thurmarks,” The Prefect chimes in, saving Deuce from doing any mental math.

Deuce's eyes widen in disbelief, but he keeps a hushed tone. “No way! That much?”

Despite their initial contribution, the Prefect pouts. They needed to play devil's advocate to get the boys to focus back on Crewel’s instruction and stop distracting them  each other. “Nice watches are often gifts. That doesn’t mean Professor Crewel is exceptionally rich or anything.”

“Well, then look at the logo on his shirt. It's from-” Ace begins before promptly being cut off. 

“Heartslabyul puppy in the back, cease your yapping. I know the semester is young, but I fail to believe Rosehearts hasn’t trained you properly.” Crewel scolds, his voice bright and sharp. Loud and pointed enough to successfully startle Grim awake. 

“It’s hardly the third day of-” Crewel begins rounding on the trio of disobedient curs who can’t keep quiet, but before he can fully settle into his tirade, someone gently knocks on the door, twisting the knob and slowly prying the door open.

The students can already tell whoever it is will hear an earful based on the way their Professor tenses and casts a glare to the door, but then it is only you, the newly hired Professor of Musicology, and Crewel’s posture noticeably shifts from hostile to something much more neutral and arguably inviting. The Prefect watches as Ace’s head snaps between the Crewel and the woman, clearly riveted by Professor Crewel’s newly changed attitude. 

“Oh, it's the new music teacher,” Deuce informs the group in case anyone is struggling to place her face, but Ace, with a twinge of annoyance, replies, “ Obviously .” 

Yours was a face he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. 

When Crowley introduced you along with other new faculty members it left much of the student body pleasantly surprised and rather eager to take music lessons. Apparently, according to Cater, you were certainly leagues above the former, cantankerous old music director in every way. At least aesthetically. 

Everyone knew you were a globally accomplished classical musician. Crowley was more than happy to boast about the details of your accomplishments, not that any of them would recognize you by anything other than name if that. However, they hadn’t expected you to look like you did, which was to say, like a smartly dressed and rather comely young woman. 

Ace remembers how several of the boys in his dorm wouldn’t stop raving about your looks, but it seems that Professor Crewel wasn’t immune to your charms either. 

Almost immediately after casting his eyes upon you, all of the anger on Crewel’s face vanished, a slight and (possibly?) warm grin appearing instead. 

“Good morning, Professor Bellamy. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Crewel rose from where he leaned against his lectern to stand at his full height. 

Ace and Deuce could hardly stop their jaws from dropping at their homeroom Professor’s change in demeanor as you stepped into the room.  

“I sincerely apologize for interrupting,” You speak softly, closing the door slightly behind you. “but it appears I’ve accidentally taken your roster.” Your heels clicked across the inlaid hardwood floors as you quickly stepped towards the front of the classroom, the papers in question stretched before you. 

Crewel walks to meet you mid-way down the aisle in two confident strides, something you clearly didn’t anticipate as you were forced to stop short with a bit too much speed, almost colliding with him in the process, but Crewel without skipping a beat caught your shoulders gently to steady you, and your palm inadvertently came up to his chest to further stabilize you. The prefect is pretty sure they heard a Pomefiore student squeal with delight at the interaction.     

It’s plain to see that you want to be mortified by your slight lapse in (as far as the Prefect can tell) preternatural grace, but Crewel doesn’t let you. He tilts his head in a gesture of concern as if to wordlessly ask, ‘Are you ok?.’ 

And Ace has to hand it to the Professor. It was pretty smooth of him to ask if you’re okay after his actions threw you off course. 

You were too rattled to respond properly, so you just pushed the mixed-up roster in your other hand to Crewel’s chest and looked away from his eyes, which, throughout the entire exchange, had been trained on your face.  

“Hmm. It appears you have.” Crewel responds looking down at the papers in question.

“Then this must be yours.” he then furnishes the list stashed among his papers with an elegant flourish.

“Ah, it is, thank you.” You take the papers and seemingly recover from your earlier flustered state. You turn to the class, “Pardon my intrusion, dear ones, for those of you enrolled in music courses,  I look forward to meeting you all later this afternoon.”

“Good day, Professor Crewel.” You nod your head deferentially in Crewel’s direction, and he nods with a coy expression.

“Professor.” He demures you, and you turn to leave the room. But Ace can’t help but look back to Crewel, who doesn���t bother to take his eyes off you until you’ve fully retreated from the room. 

As if by magic, Crewel returns to reviewing orientation materials, forgetting entirely about the tirade he was about to unleash and Ace and his unwilling compatriots. His prior annoyance seemingly cleansed from his body at your impromptu visit. 

“Did you see that?” Even the Prefect seems stunned by what they'd just witnessed. 

“No?” Deuce replies, “What was I supposed to see?”

“Deuce, if you didn’t see it just now, you never will.” The Prefect sighs exasperatedly. 

“How interesting…,” Ace mutters quietly, filing away the encounter away for later. 

____

The semester started off busy, but you felt that you had a better handle on things than expected. 

It was your first time teaching, really, and now you had six sections of 'boys' choir and orchestra classes and a host of private tutoring sessions after school. Not to mention, you’d signed yourself up for a host of faculty duties, from assisting the students with planning the cultural fair and facilitating a host of events with the broader community. You also thought it would be good to foster a stronger connection between Night Raven College and the Royal Sword Academy, but baby steps, baby steps.  

The training the head mage offered was minimal, but despite everything, a month in, you’ve been able to keep your head above water. 

Your students, for the most part, behaved. The first years were a little rowdy, and the second years were promising but conceited and overconfident in their abilities. However, many of the third years were quite excellent musicians and singers. You’d been quite surprised at their level of talent, but you supposed Night Raven College rears exceptional mages and musicians, and you’re going to make sure that the reputation continues to blossom. Sure, the student's inclinations are a bit devious at times, but you have sympathy as you’ve been known to have a bit of a naughty streak yourself. 

Like most mornings, your homeroom is in perfect harmony. Your first years are quite well-behaved. It seems like the mix of students from each of the houses is rather well distributed, but your homeroom students seem to skew towards Pomefiore, Diasomnia, and Scarabia students. Of course, with meaningful exceptions. 

You and Jack, a first-year student from Savanaclaw, quickly bonded over the variety of plants you kept in the music room. Without prompting, Jack took it upon himself to tend to them, showing particular affection to the various cacti sitting by sunny windows. 

At NRC, you were gifted quite a lovely little music room—well, not tiny by any means. It was storied and grand, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the sea, beautiful inlaid wooden floors, and equally elegant built-in risers with delicately curving chairs and iron music stands. And the piece de resistance, a gorgeous grand piano in a deep mahogany wood tone. Everything about the room was sumptuous. Even the domed ceiling provided the most indulgent and heady acoustics. 

Your homeroom was a much more standard classroom, joined to the music room via a small corridor with a small private bathroom. It truly could not be a more perfect setup. 

While you suppose that you should sit in your classroom for the morning advisory period, you and the boys found yourselves spending most mornings sunning in the music room as you gently plucked away at the piano. Everyone was in agreement that this was a much more preferable way to spend these quaint 30 minutes at the top of the day.

Some chatted amongst themselves while others stayed in the classroom to finish assignments. 

Occasionally, students from other classrooms would sneak in to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere you created, and you didn’t mind much as long as they didn’t cause any disturbances. As such, the Prefect from the Ramshackle dorm often found their way into your room, perched near your piano bench and usually venting about the Headmage and the crazy errands he’s been sending them on. You listen attentively and conspire the best way to help them be slightly more comfortable, but you fear that there’s little you can do as a junior faculty member. 

Still, you endeavored to try. 

_________

The quarter was off to a chaotic start, and as far as Ace was concerned, a big part of it was due to Professor Crewel’s overbearing nature. 

It was bad enough to have Riddle as Housewarden, but having Crewel as his homeroom teacher as well meant Ace was never going to get a break. 

Both had far too many rules. Sure, Crewel’s weren’t as draconian or as extensive as Riddle’s, but the enforcement was just as severe.  No talking above a specific volume. No finishing work in class. No eating! And that’s just in homeroom. Alchemy class was a whole other problem! The first years weren’t even allowed to do any actual alchemical experiments, but Crewel was still a horrid stickler for lab safety, even if the boys were only memorizing elements, compounds and minerals.

Ace slumped into a seat next to Deuce and let out a dramatic sigh that Professor Crewel promptly shushed. 

Grim wondered in the room a few moments later, sans Prefect.

“Where’s your handler?” Ace questioned snidely. In a horrible mood now that he was lamenting that his first year at Night Raven College was going to be a shitshow for reasons beyond his control. His brother said as much. ‘Crewel as your homeroom teacher, oof, you’re fucked.’

“I know you mean my henchman, but I’ll let it slide for now,” Grim replied, clamoring onto his the Prefect’s  normal seat. 

Yeah, they haven't been around in the mornings for the past few days. At first, I assumed she was doing something for Crowley. 

“Me too. But this is week two of no Prefect.” Deuce seconds. “We always meet up later in the day, but still…” 

“Nah, they like to sit in the music teacher’s room,” Grim assuages the boys worries. “I used to get to go too, but I’ve been banned. For no reason!”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly valid reason.” Deuce mumbles under his breath. 

“It’s way nicer in there, too, the music Professor is super chill. On Fridays, she even brings pastries for the class. Crewel should take a lesson.”

If Crewel were bothered by Grim openly bashing the atmosphere of his homeroom, he wouldn’t show it. He only flips to the next page in Gentleman’s Biannual , with his feet propped on his desk and a perfectly unamused expression across his features. 

“That’s it!” Ace exclaims, only to be met with another, more stern shush from their Professor. 

“No, I think I know how to get Crewel to ease up.” Ace whispers more quietly, but Crewel can obviously hear. While he isn’t giving the group his direct attention, Ace can see the curious arch of his perfectly manicured brow. 

“Crewel doesn’t need to, sometimes tough love is important.” Deuce tries to argue.

“I mean, sure, but you have to admit that sometimes his methods are overkill, like last Thursday.”

Deuce winces at the memory. 

 “So what’s the plan?” Deuce asks. 

“Grim, tell the Prefect to meet us at our dorm after class. They're our trojan horse, after all.”

“The tro- what?” Grim questions, entirely confused. 

“Oh my, seven, just fucking bring them!” Ace growls.

“Trappola! Watch your damn mouth.”

Series Masterlist

[javiscigarette]

Just Focus on My Love

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie just thinks there are better things to do than play a silly video game called Stardew Valley (or a very self-indulgent sweet baby boy Frankie fic)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ only!! No use of Y/N smut duh, oral (f receiving), a bit of body/pussy worship, fingering, squirting, spitting, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, he adds a finger just for funsies, creampie, cum play, frankie loves to run his mouth when he's horny, also I know this man has killed people but he is just a baby

Word count: 4k

A/N: Inspired by Focus by miss Charli xcx!! Also this is dedicated to all the real gamers out there who play Stardew. May your crops flourish. Also this may secretly be the first part of a lil series I'm cookin up but you didn't hear that from me!

Frankie finds you on the sectional in the basement in full veg mode. You’re sitting in the corner of the couch with your legs stretched out on the cushions in front of you with the lights down low.

You’re playing the same game you’ve been playing for months now, the game Frankie is slowly starting to despise. He had actually been the one to suggest finishing the basement and creating this little sanctuary for you to play video games.

But he didn't think about how if you started spending more time curled up playing your games, that would be less time spent with him.

“Babyyy” Frankie whines from where he’s standing near the foot of the couch, at the end of your outstretched legs. 

“Hi, Francisco” you reply calmly, not taking your eyes off the screen.

Frankie takes that as an invitation. 

You pause the game and giggle as he climbs on the couch before ungraciously collapsing on top of you. He rests his head on your chest that’s covered with one of his t-shirts. 

“Don’t distract me, Frankie” you say firmly between little giggles while he gets comfy. 

“No promises.”

He snakes his arms around you, trapping his forearms between your waist and the couch cushion You roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck to hold your control behind his head. You unpause and go back to the game and Frankie gives you almost five whole minute before he sighs again. 

“You’ve been down here for hours, bebita. What even is this game? Skyblue Valley? ” Frankie groans. 

“Stardew Valley. And I told you I’m so close to finishing the community center and I want it done this weekend” 

Frankie grumbles again and turns his head to look at you straight on, his chin resting on your chest, his face inches away from your’s. 

“But I’m bored and we should be spending time together. Strengthening our bond, yanno” 

You snort at that. 

“Strength of our bond?” 

“Yeah! Quality time! One of the love languages.” 

“Frankie, baby, we spent the whole day together. And as soon as I’m done with this we’ll spend the rest of the night together”

“C’mon, cariño.” Frankie whines.

He shifts around again until suddenly there’s some pressing hard against the front of your hip. It’s not surprising - Frankie can’t keep his hands off of you. He’s needy too, requiring almost the same amount of your attention that a 3-month old puppy would.

“Not gonna work, Francisco. You’ve gotta try harder than that” you say plainly, keeping your eyes glued to the screen. 

You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. 

Frankie immediately sees the challenge and lunges at it like a rabid dog. He narrows his eyes at you, his lips curling up in a mischievous smirk. 

“Frankie…” you try to warn him, already seeing exactly where this is going.

“Just keep playing your game, hermosa” Frankie says calmly, turning his head to rest his cheek on your chest again. 

He moves to unpin his arm from underneath you and starts to fiddle with the hem of your (his) shirt. The cotton is soft and worn, just like all the other shirts and sweaters that you’ve stolen from him.

He never complains, not even when half of his clothes end up on your side of the closet. He loves seeing you in them, seeing how they fit on your body, how they smell like you at the end of the day. He can never get enough. 

He slips his fingers under the hem and traces the pads of his fingers over the smooth skin of your stomach and your hips. It’s mindless, the way his hands roam your body, tracing paths that he’s traced millions of times before. 

He gets lost in it for a few minutes. He shuts his eyes and lets his hand drift all over you like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel under his fingers and his palms. It’s soothing for him too. Grounds him and reminds him that you’re real and you’re here. 

His palm is hot on your skin, leaving a burning trail as it roams your body, sliding over every square inch of skin that he can reach. It’s a simple and fairly innocent gesture, but you already feel something swirling in your tummy. 

Eventually Frankie remembers his mission and gets back to work. 

He slowly slides his palm from your rib cage down the front of you until just his fingertips dip under the elastic waistband of your sweatpants. He doesn’t stay there for long before sliding his hand back up to where he started at your rib cage. He repeats the process a few times, his fingers sliding further and further under your waistband. 

He looks up at you but you’re still unbothered, completely focused on your game. Internally, it's a completely different story. You’ve been wet since the moment he laid down and you can feel the damp cotton of your panties sticking to your core. He always gets you going like that. But you genuinely did want to finish this. And more importantly, you wanted to see what Frankie has up his sleeve. 

He pushes himself up until he’s sitting between your legs with enough room to slide your pants off, pulling your underwear down too in the same motion. Frankie parts your knees, slowly spreading you open and revealing your wet seam. His cock lurches almost painfully and he whispers “Jesus christ” to himself at the sight of your pussy already swollen and glistening without him even properly touching you. 

He settles between your legs once again, laying on his abdomen with your dripping cunt inches from his face. 

He takes his sweet time though and scatters sweet kisses on your inner thighs. He can’t help but stop every so often to nibble and suck at the smooth skin, leaving fresh red marks among the fading ones that he gave you yesterday and the day before and the day before that. 

He feels your muscles twitch under his lip and he glances up at you, but you’re still focused on your game. Damned and determined, he slowly kisses his way up your thigh and stops when his face is inches away from your burning core. 

With no further preamble, and because he can’t wait any longer, he dives right in. 

And he’s fucking ravenous with it. 

He flattens his tongue and groans into you as soon as the taste of you touches his tongue. He licks you from your leaking hole up to your clit before taking the swollen nub between his lips. He takes his time, sucking on your clit and flicking it with the tip of his tongue before letting go and licking back down to your hole where he dips his tongue inside, his head going dizzy when he feels you clench around his tongue. And the sound of it is crude, the sucking and slurping and his ragged gasps for air as he dinks you down and feasts on you. 

He’s greedy too. He spreads your lips open with his thumb and forefinger, holding you open so he can plunge his tongue inside of you as far as he possibly can with his nose bumping against your clit and he groans deeply into you again when he feels you clench around his tongue. 

Your eyelids flutter and your eyebrows draw together while your eyes roll back a bit. With a quick sideways glance, you see him with his eyes closed as he loses himself in you. Every bone in your body wants to sing but you bite back your moans, determined not to give in so easily.

Frankie takes his mouth off of you with a wet pop. He’s breathing heavily, delightfully out of breath. You haven’t paused your game yet, but your hands are motionless on the controller. Your chest is heaving with quick breaths and your bottom lip is red and puffy from you gnawing at it while you try to bite back your moans. 

He’s almost there. 

Frankie knows what makes you tick. He has spent hours and hours between your legs mapping out every inch of you and carefully studying your reaction to his every touch until he memorized every single little thing that made you shake and squirm and scream. 

So that’s why he uses both thumbs to spread you open before spitting onto your already dripping seam and listens happily to the groan he knew you would let out. He doesn't even bother looking up at you when you make a noise. He’s too enamored with watching the way his spit glides down your cunt before settling around your pulsating hole. With his mouth watering, he latches back onto you. 

And he’s messy with it. He buries his face in your pussy, overindulging in the way your slick leaks out onto his tongue and drips down his chin, moving his face side to side and smearing it all over his beard and your inner thighs until you’re both a mess.   

You’re quickly losing this battle and like clockwork, your thighs start to tremble just slightly. 

He’s got you right where he wants you.

He unwraps an arm from where it’s locked around your thigh and brings his hand up between your legs. With no warning, he sinks two thick fingers inside of you. He moans loudly against you when you gasp, your back reflexively arching and your hips grinding up against his face. 

Finally, you surrender and toss your controller to the side and grip onto Frankie’s fluffy curls instead. 

You moan his name, the sweetest sound on Earth Frankie thinks, as you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull his face impossibly closer into you and hold him in place there. Frankie doesn't miss a beat and sucks your clit in between his lips as he steady pumps his fingers in and out of you. He hums in delight, tingles running from his scalp down his spine and to his toes as you start to rock your hips against his face. The vibrations of his sounds against your core cause hot flames to start licking at the base of your spine. 

Despite your fingers tugging harshly in his hair, he pulls back from you just enough to mumble “Ride it, cariño. Ride my fuckin’ face,” his voice raspy and breathless before latching back onto your aching core. 

You listen to him because why the fuck would you not. You tighten your grip in his hair, and his jaw goes slack as you start to rock your hips up off the couch and back down again, sliding your dripping cunt up and down his awaiting tongue. 

Frankie could die happy right now. He moans when your thighs squeeze either side of his head while your hand on the back of his head keeps his face pressed into you so firmly he can't get a good breath. But he’d rather pass out than move an inch away from you right now. And the sounds he’s making are obscene, his muffled grunts and groans and whimpers going straight to your lower abdomen where the pressure of your impending orgasm is quickly multiplying. 

Everything feels so perfect, his fingers rhythmically sliding in and out of your pulsating hole, expertly stretching you out and filling you up as you hold onto his hair for dear life and ride his tongue, letting his scruffy beard scrape deliciously against your inner thighs. 

Frankie knows you’re close, he can hear the way your moans are quickly growing more and more desperate and can feel you clamping down around his fingers.  It’s time for his final move.

He pushes his fingers inside of you as deep as he can get and instead of pulling them out again, he keeps them in place and curls them upward. The sound you make is angelic and Frankie’s cock twitches hard from where it’s pinned against the couch cushion. He hasn’t paid a single ounce of attention to his throbbing length. And he doesn’t want to. He wants to, needs to devote himself entirely to your pleasure, so fucking desperate to feel you come underdone under his tongue. 

He breathes heavily through his nose as your hips start building up speed as you grind against his mouth. He keeps working his tongue while repeatedly pressing the tips of his fingers into your g-spot until there’s no more air in your lungs and your head is fucking spinning.  

It starts in your hips, the way your pace falters lets Frankie know what’s about to happen. He doubles down on his efforts and his eyes roll back when your thighs start shaking violently on either side of his head. 

“Frankieee” you whine, your nails starting to scrape against his scalp. He gives you a low and throaty growl a nonverbal way of saying “I’ve got you, let go for me. Give it to me, please baby” 

And you do. 

Your orgasm crashes down on you, knocking all the air out of your lungs as every muscle tenses in your body. Frankie doesn’t stop, not for one second, even when you start to gush around his fingers. The groan he lets out is animalistic, as you squirt against his face, your juices pouring down his hands and dripping down his face and chin onto the couch below him. 

You buck your hips and squirm underneath him as your pussy clenches with each wave of pleasure but he keeps his mouth glued to you, drinking you down. He can’t get enough. He keeps lapping at you, trying not to waste a single drop but it’s impossible with how hard you came. 

He keeps going as you ride it out, just basking in the noises you’re making and the feeling of your fingers tugging sharply at his hair, never wanting this to end. 

But your intense pleasure is fading away and sensitivity is starting to quickly replace it. You let him have his fill for a few more seconds as he desperately laps up everything you gave him. But it quickly becomes too much and you start to push him away. With a pitiful whine, he pulls back reluctantly and rests his head on your thigh. 

But you’re an absolute sight to behold in front of him. Your inner thighs and your puffy cunt are drenched, so messy and wet with a small wet spotunder the couch from your juices that Frankie couldn't lick up. Your inner thighs are rubbed red from his beard and there are crescent marks on the top of your thigh where Frankie was gripping you. 

“You’re so fucking sexy” Frankie whispers, watching your cunt clench weakly around his fingers as he slowly slides them out of you, moaning quietly as a small amount of liquid dribbles out of you and onto the couch. 

He tries to give you a break so you can catch your breath. But you’re just as impatient as he is. So you card your fingers through his hair before tugging slightly, a small mewl slipping past your lips. 

Frankie looks up to meet your gaze and raises an eyebrow when he sees the desperation still clouding your eyes. You just look back at him and whine pathetically but he knows exactly what you want. 

He doesn't tease you, doesn’t even mention the fact that your game is unpaused on the TV. Because he’s fucking needy too. And there’s a wet spot on the front of his briefs from where he was leaking precum while he was grinding mindlessly against the couch as he ate you out to prove it. 

And now, with you looking like this, he needs you bad. 

Without saying anything and keeping his eyes fixed on you, Frankie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he just finished eating a fucking 5 course meal and stands up from the couch to quickly shed off all his clothes. But he moves too fast though and hits his shin on the coffee table. You hiss and grimace at the sight but he barely reacts to the pain before kneeling back down on the couch between your legs again. 

Your mouth waters when you see his cock, impossibly hard and angry red, the tip wet and shiny with precum as it bobs between his legs, thick and heavy. 

“Gonna let me have you, cariño?” Frankie asks through a gravelly grumble before spitting in his hand and coating his cock in it as if you needed any more lubrication. It can’t hurt though, Frankie is thick and no matter how wet you are or how many times you take him, he stretches you out with a delicious burn. Every. Single. Time. 

“Yes Frankie, I’m please I need it, fuck” you whine. 

Frankie shushes you and lines himself up at your entrance, his fat tip pressing against your aching hole. You try to roll your hips up but he brings his free hand down to your hip, effectively pinning you in place with one broad palm. 

“Just take it, baby,” Frankie whispers. “Let me give it to you.” 

With a heavy sigh, Frankie pushes into you. He tries to go slowly, but you’re so wet that he sinks in with ease and it doesn’t help that your greedy cunt is practically sucking him in. He bottoms out with a broken moan and brings his other hand to grip your hip. 

You’re a mess underneath him, keening and moaning freely as your walls clench wildly around him. You know he’s not going to last long and being so close to the tailend of your last orgasm, there’s not much hope for you either. 

But Frankie is going to take as much as he possibly can from you. 

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size and the feeling of being stuffed full of him. The stretch burns pleasantly as your walls flutter around him. 

“F-Frankie, fuck you feel so good s-so fucking deep, baby” you babble in between moans and gasps for air. 

He tightens his grip on your hips as he pulls out halfway and drives back into you. His cock throbs inside of you at the sound of your moan. 

“I know, baby.” Frankie sighs. “But you take it so well. Always take it so well. Letting me stretch your perfect little pussy out, huh? Such a good girl making room inside in that sweet cunt for my thick fuckin cock, letting me fill you up. Your fucking perfect, cariño. So fucking good, I’m so lucky”  

Sweet, sweet Frankie. The human embodiment of a basket of puppies that runs his mouth and fills your head with filthy words behind closed doors.

Frankie knows he should give you more time to adjust to his size, but he can’t help himself. He starts to build up a steady pace, not wanting to waste a single second of being inside you, grunting at every beautiful sound you make. 

You just lay there and take it, moaning at the feeling of him splitting you in half as he pounds into you, desperately chasing after his own orgasm. 

He slides his hands down from your hips to your inner thighs before prying them apart and pinning your legs to the couch, leaving your pussy on full display for him. He lets out a strained moan when he sees the way your lips are gripping him as he pulls out and sucking back in as he slams back into you. 

“M’not gonna last long, baby” Frankie pants with his eyes glued to where your bodies are connected. You’re already hurtling towards your second orgasm but you manage to fight the overwhelming pleasure that’s rooting itself in your bones again to open your eyes and look up at him. You’re presented with the most gorgeous sight of Frankie fucking  you with no regard. His curls are flopping down in front of his eyes as he stares at where he’s disappearing inside of you, his jaw is slack and hanging open, and his heaving chest is starting to glisten with sweat. 

“Mmmm cum inside, Frankie. I wanna feel it” you moan when you feel his hips stutter.

He grunts before dragging his eyes up your body from your wet pussy to your blown out pupils. He stares into your eyes for just a few seconds as he keeps fucking into you. 

Then he winks at you. 

Knowing that can only mean trouble, you watch him with bated breath. He drops his gaze back to where he’s pounding into you. His eyes twinkle with curiosity as he moves one hand from your thigh and brings it to your mouth. 

He gives you just one finger, slips his index finger past your lips and watches intently as you swirl your tongue around his digit, getting it wet with your spit. When he’s satisfied, he pulls it out and brings it back down to your core. 

He slows down a bit and you gasp when he traces where he’s stretching you out with his wet finger. 

“Think you can take a little more?” Frankie asks, looking up at you while continuing to prod at your stretched entrance. 

“Yes” you moan, not giving it a second thought because if Frankie thinks you can, then you know you can. 

“Thank you, cariño” Frankie whispers.

You give him a weak nod and try to suppress the whimper that’s bubbling up in your throat when he stops moving until he’s still inside of you. 

You do whimper, well more of a strangled moan, when he starts to work his finger covered in your saliva into you, right alongside his thick cock. 

“Holy shit” you cry out, one of your hands flying up to claw at his bicep. 

“Is it too much?” Frankie asks, his eyebrows drawn together in concern as he tries to read your facial expressions and your body language. 

You shake your head fervently and squeeze your eyes shut. 

“N-no, keep going” you pant. “Feels so good, Frankie, please keep going.” 

And because Frankie is trained to follow commands so well, he keeps pushing his finger inside of you, cursing under his breath as you squeeze around his finger and his cock. 

“Jesus christ, baby” Frankie hisses as he starts fucking into you again. 

With the added thickness of his finger (which is ridiculously thick by itself), you genuinely feel like his ripping you open in the best way possible. You can’t hold on for much longer and the sounds he’s pulling out of you are insane and as he delivers you into the awaiting arms of your second orgasm. 

“C’mon, baby. Can feel every fucking inch of you squeezing me” Frankie huffs as he continues to plow into you. “Soak my cock, baby please. I wanna see it this time.” 

There's a long moan of his name and the sound of it bounces around in his head before traveling as a tingle down his spine. He watches you in amazement as you lift your hips off the couch as you start to gush around him again. He doesn’t stop pounding into you though. And the sensation of your slick leaking out around his finger and his cock and sliding down his to his palm and his balls as you clench around him is too fucking much. 

His own body takes him by surprise, his hips faltering as he starts to cum inside you with no warning. He grunts loudly as he empties himself inside of you and it’s so much that he can’t remember the last time he came this hard. 

The two of you stay there for a minute, just trying to catch your breath. Frankie starts to go soft and once the stretch isn’t so much, he slowly slides his cock and and finger out of you. He groans softly in his throat and watches with heavy eyelids as his cum, mixed with your own release, starts to leak out of you, adding to the dark spot on the couch from earlier.

As if he’s on autopilot, Frankie mindlessly gathers his cum that’s seeping out of you on two of his fingers before he pushes them back inside of you. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you, marveling at the way your hole leaks around them until you whimper and squirm at the overstimulation. 

He carefully removes his fingers and slides them into his own mouth because he can never get enough of you. Never ever. You watch with hooded eyes and a dopey smile as he licks your slick and his cum off his fingers, closing his eyes and making a small noise in his throat as he does so. 

He takes his fingers out of his mouth with a strand of saliva briefly and obscenely connecting his tongue to his fingers. He opens his eyes and gives you a goofy grin, too entirely pleased with himself. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. He laughs through his nose when you eagerly lick into his mouth in an attempt to get a second hand taste. 

After a playful bite to your bottom lip, he pulls back to look at you. 

“You’re greedy” Frankie teases with a smirk. “And messy” he adds when he looks down to the wet spot on the couch. 

The same couch that the two of you bought a couple months ago because ironically, your old couch was starting to collect some stubborn stains. Frankie knows you’ll give him shit about it later and will probably be the one on his knees cleaning the cushion in a few minutes, but he doesn’t care one bit. 

“Don’t even try, Morales” you say with a chuckle and an eye roll. 

Frankie giggles sweetly before ducking down to give you another quick kiss. He then straightens up and turns his head to look over his shoulder at the TV. He turns back to look at you with a shiteating grin. 

“You left it unpaused” he tries to say plainly, but the glee is evident in his voice.

He won. 

Your face drops from sated to stressed as you look over at the TV screen and see that the game has advanced three more days while Frankie was playing with you. 

“Francisco Morales!” you shout, reaching behind you to grab a pillow and throw it at him. He scrambles off the couch and runs away cackling before you can hit him.

[oliversrarebooks]

roger, whats it like being fitz's thrall? (aka how does it feel to be living my dream... im not jealous... totally not living vicariously through you...)

Masterlist

January 1922

TW: mind control, conditioning, blood drinking mentions of past abuse, fear of death

"You have to get up, sir." 

Roger gently shook the lump of tangled blankets and sheets that most likely contained a vampire at its core. The only real indication that his master was within was the soft groan from inside, a mumble that sounded a lot like "leave me alone."

"I can't leave you alone, sir. You have a show at 7, remember? If you don't rise and shine soon, you won't have enough time to do your hair and makeup and make it to the theater."

"Uggggggh. Why'd I schedule a show so goddamned early? What is wrong with me?" The pile of blankets huddled in on itself more tightly.

"...I suspect there may be several things, sir," said Roger, unable to resist the obvious opening and knowing that a bit of banter might put his master in a better mood. "Regardless, you did schedule the show, and you do need to leave the house for it."

"Horrible. Torturous. Excruciating." The bedclothes rustled, and Fitz poked his head out just enough to take a look. "It's so early that the sun is leaking around the curtains! The sun could kill me, Roger, you can't expect me to get up in those conditions. I could die."

"I believe that's what the curtains are for, sir. To prevent you from dying when you're unjustly forced to wake up during the day." Roger sat down on the side of the bed. He'd done this often enough to know when he was in for the long haul, and he was quite capable of patience -- a good quality to have when serving Fitz. "You were looking forward to this show, weren't you? It's a large venue, and you have your new rotating box trick."

"Mmm."

"I'm sure it will go over splendidly, sir, and you'll be afforded all the praise and applause you deserve," he said. Cheap flattery rarely failed to soften his master's mood. "Aren't you looking forward to seeing the looks of delight on your audience's faces when you perform your new trick? And besides that, aren't you looking forward to being paid?"

Fitz seemed to be lowering both his blankets and his guard. "I suppose so..."

"Excellent. Then forgive me for this, sir." Roger grabbed the covers and pulled them away, as his master produced a sound not unlike a dying cat.

With lightning fast reflexes, the blankets were wrenched from Roger's grasp, and Fitz was clutching them to himself and huddling in the middle of the bed. "How could you? How could my own thrall do such a thing? Heartless, you're simply heartless." He curled up under the blankets and stubbornly closed his eyes as if to go back to sleep.

"Of the two of us, sir, it's technically you who is heartless." Roger sighed. It was always most difficult to wake Fitz in the dead of winter. The long nights enticed his master to stay out too late sampling the city's nightlife, and the cold made him especially reluctant to leave his chambers, which, thanks to the radiators, were as hot as a furnace.

He reached down to the blankets, intending to tug on them again. This time, despite Fitz pretending to sleep, he was faster than Roger, and grasped his wrist.

Roger felt a delicious, drowsy warmth coming from his master's touch, filling his mind with cotton candy haze. It was blissfully dreamy and intoxicating, and, most dangerously, it was sleep-inducing, enticing him to shut his weary eyes and rest.

"Go back to sleep, Roger," Fitz lulled. "Curl up here. Keep me warm..."

Roger was swaying on the spot, eyelids drooping, rapidly losing himself to enchanted slumber -- but he'd been caught by this trap on plenty of occasions, and each time it ended with Fitz regretful that he'd overslept and missed his obligations. It was that memory that kept Roger just awake enough to wrench his arm away and mostly free himself from his master's dangerous temptation. Fitz was making sad little grabbing motions as Roger moved out of range of his hands.

"I'm afraid that if you wish to use your powers on me, you'll have to leave your bed to do so, sir," said Roger, standing several feet away. "The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you can get to the pleasant business of washing up." They both knew that it was a bluff. Roger had been under Fitz's thrall for many years now, and his master didn't need hypnotic touch to compel him, body and soul. But it was a bluff that usually worked.

"Fine, fine, you win." With one final dramatic groan, Fitz threw off the covers and sat up. "I'll take my shower, then. But I expect you to attend to me when I'm finished."

"Of course, sir." Roger watched as his master stumbled into the bathroom, and in a moment he could hear the sound of running water and upbeat humming. Fitz loved long, warm showers as much as he loved rolling around lazily in bed. He'd spend at least a half-hour relaxing in the steamy waters and performing his elaborate and ever-changing skin care routine, one which involved enough distinct products as to cover most of the vanity table.

This gave Roger plenty of time to make the perpetually disheveled bed, the foot-high pile of blankets, and the mountain of pillows in every shape and size. He made quick work of it, picked up the dirty clothes that had been tossed on the floor yesterday morning. 

Housekeeping was Roger's primary responsibility apart from providing blood and humoring Fitz's varied whims. With only the two of them in a reasonably sized flat, it wasn't especially difficult or time-consuming compared to when he'd lived on his own, before he'd been snatched off the street by a vampire. He'd even come to enjoy the simple chores. He wasn't sure how much of that was due to his own feelings or to Fitz's coercion -- his master grasping his shoulders and softening Roger's mind, whispering to him how much he loved to serve.

Really, it hardly mattered any more.

When he'd finished tidying up, Roger got down to the business of setting out his master's clothes. Serving Fitz was really about anticipating his moods more than anything else. With a large venue, he'd want something particularly flashy -- something on the warmer side for a chill day -- deep blue, perhaps?

The door to the bathroom cracked open, Roger's signal to enter.

The steam was blinding, mixed with the almost overwhelming scent of flowers, as Roger entered. Fitz was fussing with his hair, as usual, despite not being able to see it in the mirror. "You simply must help me out with this," he said.

"Of course, sir," said Roger, taking the comb from him. This was a ritual they performed nearly every night Fitz went out. Even as the years went by and Fitz grew from a young vampire to a seasoned one, he still seemed so irritated at not being able to see himself in the mirror, sometimes requiring excessive reassurance from Roger that he was still handsome.

Tonight, though, his master seemed deep in his own head as Roger ran the comb through his hair, taking some pomade in hand to smooth it back. He pulled the longer hair into a neat tail, the sort of style usually reserved for unsavory sorts, but then, Fitz didn't mind presenting himself as a bit unsavory. Roger's tense shoulders relaxed as faint hypnotic power flowed from his master's proximity, fogging his mind at the same time it increased his desire to help fix Fitz's brooding.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

Fitz seemed startled back into the waking world by the question. "Of course," he said with his fake smile plastered firmly to his face. "Just running through the show in my head. If I'm going to be dragged out of my bed and into the cold this early, it had better be worth it."

"I'm sure it will be, sir. You're looking quite handsome this evening."

"Obviously," he said, lacking the usual cheer that punctuated their banter.

With Fitz's hair squared away, the two then left the bathroom for Roger to assist dressing him. "While the rest of this outfit is acceptable, this bowtie is just not..." Fitz seemed to be fishing around, thinking of what could be wrong with the bowtie, clearly eager to find some minor fault to distract himself from his own worries. "It's blue, isn't it? You can't have blue on a night that's already cold and gloomy, that won't do. It must be red. The color of excitement and passion!"

"I don't know what I was thinking, sir," Roger deadpanned, picking up the blue bowtie that Fitz had tossed aside and fetching one of his half-a-dozen red ones.

Fitz allowed Roger to fit him with the new selection. "That's why you should leave the thinking to me."

"I'm not so sure about that, sir."

That got a genuine smile from his master. "Come now, when has that ever not worked out?" he said. "With this outfit and your expert attention to my hair, I'm sure tonight's show will be an absolute triumph."

"There's not a single doubt in my mind, sir."

As Roger adjusted his master's cummerbund, Fitz leaned in a bit more, in an unsubtle fashion. The undercurrent of tension Roger had felt all night bloomed into something more recognizable: hunger. His master desired his blood, and, as always, Roger felt himself falling into a pleasurable daze, one where all thoughts fled from his mind apart from offering himself to his master.

"I think I'll need to feed from you when I return. You don't mind, do you?" Fitz whispered in his ear.

"No, master," said Roger, shivering involuntarily. "It's my pleasure to serve you."

"And it's my pleasure to feed," he said, grinning with his fangs bared. "Yes, I think that'll be just the thing to lift my spirits. Something to look forward to after the show."

"Yes, sir. I'll also look forward it." He meant that -- he had long since given up being troubled by his desire for vampiric feedings. He'd felt that desire even for his previous master's painful, harsh feedings, and it was far easier to accept Fitz's gentle trance of bliss.

A few minutes later and Roger had wrangled a semi-unwilling vampire into two layers of winter coat and sent him on his way. Sometimes Roger went along with Fitz to the theater, to help with makeup or hair or just for support purposes, but just as often he was left behind to his own devices. 

He didn't mind either way. It was nice to have a few hours to himself. He often spent the bulk of the time painting, something he'd never gotten to do much of even before he was taken by vampires. He wanted to eat breakfast first, though, especially given that his master might be feeding later.

Roger did hope he was. Sometimes he instead chose to feed on his volunteer from the audience, and that was always a bit of a disappointment, denying Roger the opportunity to fulfill his primary purpose in life. But Fitz seemed interested in feeding at home, and if he was going to do that, it would behoove Roger to be well-fed.

Soon enough, a generous portion of ham and eggs was sizzling on the stove. Fitz had made a promise early on that he'd always keep Roger fed, and although he forgot and broke promises all the time, he hadn't broken that one. Unlike his previous master, he never punished Roger with starvation -- a particularly spiteful punishment, since it also seemed to lower the quality of Roger's blood. His previous master did seem to enjoy punishment more than feedings.

When Roger's former master had been destroyed in a duel, Roger had assumed he was going from bad to worse. That feeling had grown stronger when he'd been dragged to a secondhand thrall appraiser and his worth was assessed at far lower than it had been when he'd first been bought. At the time, Roger had been little better than a beaten dog, cringing at every sound, barely daring to speak or think. He'd lost hope for anything better.

And, well, Fitz was far from the savior he'd often imagined during those days. He was still a vampiric master, a dramatic one whose moods changed like the wind. He could still effortlessly control Roger's mind, and he made Roger do all the chores in the house. Roger still wasn't free.

But rather than beatings and torture, Fitz's "punishments" generally amounted to snippy words and extra chores. There was always food, and he was allowed to paint and read and relax. His master might have a terrible habit of tossing out every piece of clothing in his closet when choosing what to wear and then telling Roger to clean it all up, but compared to what life had been like...

He hoped that Fitz came home safe. He'd strongly prefer to not change hands again, even if it meant dragging a protesting vampire out of bed each night for the rest of his life.

Roger had busied himself painting a bird from an illustration in a nature book when he heard the front door creak. "It's goddamn cold out there! Windy, too."

"Welcome home, sir," said Roger, helping his master out of his frigid coats. He was pleased to see Fitz in a better mood than when he'd left. "I take it your show went well?"

"Of course! Didn't you say there wasn't a single doubt in your mind?" he said with a grin as he kicked off his shoes, leaving Roger to line them up neatly in the shoe rack. "The crowd loved it! The spinning box trick is a real winner -- I just need to think of some ways to jazz it up further -- perhaps doing up the box in spangles to really dazzle them..." 

He shook himself out of his train of thought, seeming to remember Roger was there. "All of that applause did have me work up an appetite, though," he said, stepping close and brushing his hand against Roger's. Roger could feel the influence flowing through him, stoking his need for the feeding. "Why don't you go start the fire? That and your blood will provide me with some warmth tonight, I think."

So he was going to feed. Roger tried to keep his face neutral to preserve a scrap of dignity. "Very good, sir."

Roger allowed himself to hum a bit of a jaunty tune as he stacked wood in the fireplace and lit the kindling, using the bellows to raise the fire higher. He could hear his master making a commotion in the bathroom, likely getting out of his fine clothes and washing off the stage makeup. By the time Fitz arrived in the parlor, the fire was crackling merrily.

"Ahhhhh," said Fitz, sprawling out onto the old leather couch and beckoning Roger close. "This is the life, isn't it, Roger?"

"It certainly is, sir."

"Well, I suppose I'm not technically alive. The point still stands."

His master put his hand to Roger's cheek, and Roger sank into the mind-numbing bliss that came from his power, the familiar sense of captivation and contentment. As always, he could feel his master's desire to feed, and as he dropped deeper into a trance, his hands came up to unbutton his shirt and pull his collar away.

"You really are an excellent thrall," said Fitz, and Roger soaked in both the praise and the sense of security that came from pleasing his master. "Now just relax and let me have what I need."

Sharp fangs punctured the old scars that would never heal, and Roger's pliable mind slipped further as his master began to drink. There was nothing but bliss and contentment and hunger and need --

-- and, as always when his master was anxious, the sound of ticking clocks and the undercurrent of a lonely void.

Perhaps the good reception to his show hadn't brightened his mood as much as Roger had thought.

Fitz drank hungrily as if to fill that void with his thrall's blood, and Roger could feel his senses buckling, his vision tunneling and his eyelids growing heavy. His master was overdrinking again. "Sir," Roger managed to say as he fought to stay awake. "Sir -- sir, you're --"

"Oh!" His master mercifully stopped. "Damn it, I'm sorry, Roger. I don't mean to do that, you know I don't."

"I know you don't," Roger parroted in a dazed voice, slumping against his master's shoulder, allowing his eyes to close now that the danger had passed.

Someday, his master was probably going to kill him. He'd drink too much blood, and Roger would fail to stop him in time, collapsing into his master's arms and closing his eyes for the last time.

But tonight was not that night, and Roger was glad of it.

Masterlist

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