#EMERGENCY MAID OUTFITS

[fisheito]

"Eiden and his companions accidentally run their carriage into two yokai wearing "maid costumes". To take responsibility and make amends, they set off to check out a maid café located in the forest—"

Girl that's just kuya and yakumo on their way back from the island

Wait ,no. Forest...

Girl that's just kuya and garu out for a walk

[bob--and--friends]

Bob's Live Models - Well it has been such and eventful evening I just had to sit down for a rest. I call the maid to order a nice cool drink and Who turns up? Penelope. Where's the phone, dial, "Emergency, which service do you require?", Erm medic please, and quickly.

Featuring, a girl that shouldn't be allowed out in that outfit @fieryfemale

[lokisgoodgirl]

Successional Pleasure: The Rite (II)

A Masterlist for The Rite is here A link to my regular Masterlist is here Summary: (2) Loki arranges a meeting, and you're offered the opportunity of a lifetime (w/c 4.8k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Thirsting for unattainable royals. Language. Heavy petting. Ridiculous Asgardian HC lore. Smuttish.

This morning the palace criers announced mandatory palace court attendance for all of Asgard.

Word travels fast, you muse as another person shoves into your shoulder; especially when the Odinsons will be in full ceremonial dress.

A swell ripples through the crowd, pulsing forward. Only one row of people stand in front of you, and the guards lining the jostling mass are becoming impatient.

You always make an effort for these events; everyone does. However bland and self-aggrandising the subject matter (and with the Allfather, when is it not?) – one never knows who’ll attention you’ll draw. But this time, it’s different.

This time, as you fixed your hair and let your solitary maid tighten the laces of your dress – there was only one person you wanted to impress. Him. Because this time, for the first time, he may actually notice you.

But that’s madness, you think as you try and focus. His lovers are legendary. He has his pick of…anyone. Literal deities.

But then, the memory of Prince Loki’s glistening chest emerging from the palace baths with wet hair plastered over his brow as he grunted through his orgasm erupts in your mind. That’s a memory not easily forgotten. In fact, it’s very easily encouraged. And each time you think of it, more layers appear.

In the extended, delusional version, he crosses the pool, the lapping water licking around his proud cock snug to his stomach as he wages a path to cage you by the stone edge and—

Trumpets blare. “They’re here,” a woman beside you squeals. Her hand flies to yours, clawing with unhinged excitement. The guards straighten, spears thudding against marble in ceremonial greeting.

He probably does that shit all the time; wanking in the palace baths with people he doesn’t know. He won’t see you amongst thousands of faces. That’s madness. But when it came to Loki Odinson, didn’t that make it more likely? Nerves tighten your stomach. The glint of their ostentatious headwear is the first sign of approach; two small figures against the expanse of the ancient doors floor to ceiling of the hall. Cheers thunders like a burst dam through a canyon as they move in sync down the wide aisle, each set of guards they pass thunking their staff in salute. Each thud made your pussy clench. And finally, you catch sight of his face.

It's the picture of haughty expectation at the wild crowds losing their minds as he passes. Every slice and draw of his bone structure is set like marble. He’s above it all; stunning decorative armour that would be absolutely no use in battle accenting broad shoulders at sharp angles. Impeccable posture, as ever. Today, the prince wears full leathers beneath – ridiculously fitted trousers which melded seamlessly to a forest green tunic stitched in golden trim.

To complete the act of war that’s his outfit, a stiff collar cut to the curve of his jawline sweeps up to his earlobes; a solitary curl of ebony hair lying against the leather, freed from his helmet. Thor wears the same red and garish gold he always does, beaming greedily at the crowds.

Your eyes roam over Loki’s sweeping entrance and you smile to yourself that the last time you’d seen him – he’d been naked. The woman beside you begins to breathe heavily as they draw closer. You have no idea, you smirk.

Loki’s cape billows with theatrical elegance down the open aisle, and you wonder briefly if his magic has something to do with it. Thor’s certainly doesn’t flutter around his ankles with the same effortless gravitas. Thor’s doesn’t undulate with every stride, timed with the military precision of its master’s thighs.

The guard in front of you lifts his spear, ready to thrust it to the marble floor. You hold your breath, biting your lip, their glory radiating with each falling step. And then, time seems to stop. Because then, Loki, Prince of Asgard, looks at you. His eyes flicker to the side, narrowing softly in your direction. A low dimple in his cheek flashes, only for a moment. And then - -thunk

The metal clang makes you jump out your skin, and by the time you get your bearings, the princes have moved on. They each face the platform, sinking on one knee with bowed heads while Odin pats down the cheers. He begins to rumble on, something about war, or tradition or blah blah.

The dark prince’s jawline is a work of art as he kneels in performatively rapt attention. With each swallow, his cheekbones flash. The golden helmet highlights the harsh lines of his face, lids dropping every few minutes as he struggles not to roll his eyes. You smile.

“Oh that’s good,” the woman beside you hums. You frown at her, concentration broken. It was her turn to frown. She shakes her head, gazing back to Odin. “Thor reached a treaty with Muspelheim.”

The next hour passes slowly, and for once, you’re grateful. When Odin stops, it’s the Crown Prince’s turn to regale the audience of thousands with his diplomatic success. Only half-listening, you use the time to your advantage, perving on Loki kneeling on the polished floor with those long, pale fingers clasped around one knee. When the dark prince stands, the rest of the high-nobles do the same. He whips his cape back, allowing the crowd a gratuitous view of his muscular ass and thighs flexing beneath tight leather while he unfurls. Loki’s imperious eyes scan the heaving crowd with an air of disdain. The look rolls like a sea wind, cold and unforgiving until you feel its weight land on you.

You’re pinned by that stare as plainly as though it’s his hands; his body. Goosebumps ripple beneath your dress. I see you, he mouths silently, subtly, before his gaze falls on his brother once more.

The royal family wave a final time before slipping to the doors at the back of the Great Hall. Loki’s attention hadn’t fallen upon you again, but the waiting. The anticipation; it was exhausting.

Around you, the bustle of a thousand conversations grows to a roar. The front rows of the crowd begin to file out and follow the same path the royal family had taken through the golden doors. High-court, only. Friends and family, that sort of thing. A huge curtain hangs behind the throne, buffeting gently from some unseen breeze. It’s a rich amber with threads of green and red and blue, shimmering patterns that no mortal fingers could accomplish woven over centuries, millennia even.

Gods, noted warriors and chancellors all dutifully bow to the empty throne before circling around the platform and disappearing behind the curtain. On their way to a feast, no doubt.

A set of bird-like fingers wrap around your wrist. With a yank you pull it away, whipping round to see the expectant face of a young boy.

“Get out of here,” you snarl. Pickpockets are rife at these sorts of things. The boy stares. Puberty hadn’t darkened a shadow on his skin, and despite his age, he was un-phased by the abruptness.

“You are requested,” he says, bored eyes searching your face. People jostle by your shoulders in annoyance. “By who?” you scoff. They’d try anything these days.

The boy tugs your hand. “Requested,” he says again as though it explains everything, turning and pulling you earnestly towards the line of guards. With a single glance at an insignia on his tunic, they part for him.

You traipse behind him at pace, clutching long skirts in one fist while eyes in the crowd follow you down the marble aisle against the sea of people and behind the mysterious curtain. “Name?” a voice grunts.

You look from the back of the boy’s head to the bulky figure in front of you. He’s dressed in robes of scarlet, the hint of a dagger’s hilt beneath a thick belt. A wiry red beard hangs down his chest, resting on a buckle of black steel. “I know you not…” he sneers slowly. “No names,” the boy snaps. He barely came up to the gatekeeper’s stomach. “She’s been requested.” The gatekeeper’s face crumples and his eyes dart to the emblem on the boy’s chest before standing aside, holding his tongue.

The youth gestures with his head to follow him, and you do…. down a short corridor flooded with buttery light. Delicate jangling of lutes and laughter ring to ornate cloisters, a glittering view of Asgard below the balcony-walkway taking your breath away. “Hurry,” the boy snips without a backwards look. “Master is not a patient man.”

He claps his small hands three times and a set of golden doors at the end of the cloister swing open. Thor comes into view mid-conversation, still wearing his ceremonial armour, a goblet spilling over the sides clutched in one hand as he gesticulates wildly. There’s a rumble of polite laughter. Your hand shoots out, grabbing the boy’s shoulder.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you mutter. He shoots a scathing glance over his shoulder, casting a salty look down to your feet and back again. “You have been—”

“—requested,” you finish petulantly. “Yeah, I know.”

Your ribs thrum as you walk through the doors, pulled by invisible hands. There can only be one person who harbours the desire to have you at this exclusive gathering. And even that’s beyond insanity. Has he mistaken you for someone else? The boy, that is. He’s a barely more than a child. You were about to ask where you should go, when you realise he’s gone. Casting a frantic look around the room it’s evident that familiar groups have already formed, jokes cracking in waves; picking at piles of nuts and fruit and meats. Frigga herself stands by an ornate silver trolley, ladling wine into a goblet while Lofn whispers in her ear. Your knees buckle slightly. There he is.

A small figure works through folds of silk and armoured angles to the back of the room. You follow him, before halting abruptly, steadying yourself against a table. The boy’s come to a stop in front of a shadowed figure, exchanging a conspiratorial nod. Loki Odinson claps him on the back, raising a goblet to his lips. He rests against a pillar, choosing to stay apart from the revels. Watching. Waiting. His eyes meet yours as he sips; dark and dangerous over a rim of gold. One brow twitches upwards in, you presume, greeting. Sweaty palms run slip the front of your dress and you fight the sudden urge to run. It’s pale blue, the finest you own. Which isn’t saying much. The same colour as his eyes, you realise.

The Prince lowers the goblet, cocking his head. He’s still adorned with the ensemble his part in the day’s festivities required save one, the helmet. Dark curls spill freely over the shoulders of the cape fastened to guards beneath, intricate folds of fabric worked to perfection.

He raises a hand, forefinger beckoning twice in subtle succession before lowering it again. Just like the baths, you think with a shameful thrill. Your gaze darts to faces you’ve only seen in paintings around the court as you glide over, trying to look like you belong - but no one bats an eye. Loki unhooks one foot from behind the other, nudging himself off the column. Leather boots gape teasingly around his calves. You wonder, if you beg like a common trollop, if he would fuck you wearing those boots. Only those boots—

“You’re not wearing green,” the Prince drawls. You open your mouth and close it again, irritatingly mute while his blue irises smoulder. “Usually they wear green.” You press your lips together, collecting yourself. “Who?” “Those trying to bed me,” Loki says.

“I’m not trying to—” The prince waves a dismissive hand. “—Catch my attention, then.”

You feel your cheeks heat under scrutiny, a very obvious swallow working its way down your throat. “I don’t know what you mean your Highness,” you say. “You summoned me.”

“Indeed, I did. So I imagine I must have a very good reason,” the Prince murmurs. He brings the pad of a fingertip to his lower lip, brushing it across the skin as you stand in silent bemusement. “Loki! Did you send for a jester? What fun!” You inhale sharply as Fandral slides into view beside your shoulder. His hair is on point this evening, a lush wave cresting over his forehead and swept to the side as his eyes trail to your feet and back to your face. “Oh, my mistake. Just someone getting a little a carried away with the rouge, it seems.” Your stomach tightens. “I’m leaving, your Highness,” you say with a lacklustre bow and a bitter taste in your mouth. “But you do not have my permission,” Loki growls quietly. His feet come into view on the floor and you raise your head, inhaling the sweet breath from his lungs clouding your lips. “More wine, Loki?” Fandral asks brightly, already pouring into Loki’s goblet. The prince’s eyes don’t leave yours, but his mouth hardens.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he asks through gritted teeth. Fandral looks at you with mock-surprise. “Oh yes, most recent conquest is it? Come for a peek behind the gilded curtain before you’re sent back to the depths of banality? I thought he’d run out of new faces.” He winks; it makes your stomach churn.   “She’s not a conquest,” Loki says, hovering the goblet by his lips. “Not one of mine, anyway.”

Your eyes dart to his and catch them narrow slightly. Fandral looks genuinely confused. “Well, what then? Why is she here? Who is she?”

Suddenly there’s a loud crash to the side. Thor stumbles against the table laden with wine-soaked pears and pastries and mounds of tartlets, knocking a pile of cold meats to the ground. He wobbles after them, kneeling on the floor and beginning to pick them off the stones as if they were jewels. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” Loki mutters, and you feel the gentle pressure of a hand on your waist. “Walk with me,” he urges in your ear and a shudder rolls down your spine.

“Loki?” Fandral calls as the figures around you start to blur and the Prince manoeuvres you through the crowd like a feather. “Loki, I must speak to you about the…matter, I’ll…later. Yes, later. Quite.” A wall of fresh air skates over your skin. You hadn’t realised how warm it was inside. The two of you come to a stop at the wall of the balcony, nails skimming against polished marble. Loki clears his throat.

“I apologise for Fandral he’s…” Loki looks up from beneath his lashes, a performative sheepishness softening his face, “well, himself.” You stifle a laugh, focusing on the edge of the moonlit waterfalls in the distance. Silence hangs between you, made louder by the jumbled festivities inside. “Why am I here, Prince Loki?” you whisper, not daring to look at him. “If it’s about what happened in the baths, I won’t tell a soul I swear—” “—It’s not.” Irritation begins to brew in your stomach. “Well then Fandral has a point. Why am I here? I’m no one.” “Exactly.” A prickle of heat rises up your neck, stinging your ears. “Am I a joke to you, your Highness?”

Loki’s eyes flashing in moonlight, but he says nothing. It stings.

“You bring me here to make a fool out of me in front of your friends? In front of Frigga? Frigga.” “I needed to see if any of them knew you.” Loki’s voice is eerily calm, his gaze as unflinching as a cliff jutting into night. “And clearly, they do not. Fandral would recognise you if they did; that little fishwife knows absolutely everything.” “Why would they know me? And what does it matter?” “It matters a great deal. To me, at least. And to you, perhaps.” You push a strand of hair back from your forehead, hating that its damp. The skin feels hot. Hot and flustered and clammy with embarrassment and…shit, arousal. Can he tell?

Black strings of lax curl blow gently around Loki’s jawline, pale lips stained with wine. “Tell me, my Lady…have you heard of the Rite of Successional Pleasure?” he asks, and suddenly all other noise vanishes from your ears save the hum of his voice.

Loki’s eyes run down the blue chiffon of your robe, wondering if he could peel it off and cast it skating across the stone with a solitary swipe of his hand. Allowing you a moment to collect yourself, he decides that yes, he could. “Surely just a legend, my Prince…” you answer demurely, busying your hands and staring off into the distance as an unmistakable waft of heat courses from your bare neckline. He licks his lips, feeling a smirk curl the corners.

“Aren’t we all?” he purrs. Their eyes meet. “I assure you it is very real. A relic, to be sure. But real enough. And I require a partner to enact this Rite, else my succession to Asgard’s throne will not be entrenched in law. I have waited too long as it is, as I keep being reminded.”

“That’s very…interesting,” you say.

Loki straightens. He hadn’t taken you for a dullard, but he does appreciate the delayed gratification of enthusiasm at the proposal. Loki can hear your heart thud faster; he wonders how much of that blood is flushing to your sex beneath the gown billowing about your ankles. You glance at him and quickly look away. It makes Loki’s stomach twist. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps events in the bath-house were simply…opportunity. Or worse, fear. You clear your throat. “What is it, exactly? The Rite of Successional…” “—Pleasure,” Loki finishes abruptly. He rolls his shoulders back, steadying the flurry of unwelcome nerves in his chest.

“One of my family’s farcical traditions. When Asgard’s twin moons are in perfect equilibrium within the heavens, once every half millennia – eligible members of the royal family suitable for rule must, in order to be considered for finite succession, perform the Rite.” “Which is?”

Loki’s eyes fall down the curve of your neck, hovering on your moist lips. He’d thought of nothing else in the days since the bath-house; those lips sucked between his teeth, stretching around his cock; swollen and wet and…

“Pleasure.” It comes out sterner than intended. “To be given, only. A king must not just be skilled in diplomacy, in combat, in war and sacrifice, but in giving pleasure,” he says, imitating the cadence of his father’s voice with a caricatural wave of his hand. “How else can Asgard’s citizens know we are to be trusted, to be benevolent, if is not documented in the annals?”

“You can’t be serious,” you say. “I thought it was a joke, like the other things.” “Contrary to belief, I can be very serious indeed, little owl,” Loki replies with a smile. It fades. The weight of the pet name plucked from nowhere hangs in the air like smoke as you fidget with a fold of your dress. Gods, how he hates that it’s blue. “I still don’t see what it has to do with me,” you posture meekly. Loki tenses, words hissing between his teeth. “Bifrost’s blood, woman. I’m asking you to be my partner for the Rite. Must I carve it in stone?”

The widen of your eyes makes his stomach flutter and you attempt a clumsy curtsey which makes Thor’s staggered collapse among the strewn meats look elegant. “I…I don’t know what to…I—” Suddenly, you look up. “Is it witnessed?” “Of course.” Horror blossoms in your eyes. “Oh…it’s very tasteful,” Loki says, inspecting his nails. “Much more so than the Ceremony of the Sacred Seed, I assure you. It relies more on…aural methods. For the most part.”

“I’ve never been invited to that,” you reply absently, and Loki notes that your fingers have curled around his wrist armour, steadying yourself. “When is the…the moon thing?” “Five nights from now,” he says, and your jaw drops. “I understand I’ve left it rather late, but I really am in rather a bind.” The irony of him practically begging this unknown woman of the court to bring her the greatest ecstasy she’s ever know wasn’t lost on Loki, but for the moment at least…he decides to restrain his natural urge to remind her of that fact.

“Your reputation will only be enhanced, I assure you,” he adds. “It’s a great honour. And I am, if I may say, quite renowned for my skill in that department.” “Why me?” she asked. And there it was. He grimaced. “Don’t lie to me,” she added bravely, and his grimace deepened. “The Rite will only be valid if the recipient has never known the touch of a god. Or, more specifically their…essence. Our essences must never have touched each other. The punishment is severe; there are tomes and everything; rules���how I loathe them,” he says, offering a weak smile. Realisation blossoms in your eyes. “And…I’m afraid my roster has been rather full these past centuries.” A small laugh erupts from your throat that makes it incredibly difficult not to shut you up with his mouth. “Surely you can’t have fucked everyone in the high-court?”

Loki bit back a laugh of his own. “Rather brazen, aren’t you?” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Regrettably, my options in that circle are limited to Fandral. And I’m afraid I cannot bring myself to give him the satisfaction he most desperately desires; it’s far too much fun tormenting him.” You raise an eyebrow and Loki scoffs, smoothing a curl back. “Oh, don’t act so surprised. I know what they must say about me.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, your Highness,” you say with a conspiratorial smile.

“Liar,” Loki replies softly. The sparkle of your mischief fades, and he finds he immediately misses it. “So, I’m…a last resort, then?” “Somewhat, yes.” You bristle, goosebumps rising along your bare arms in the evening chill. Loki watches them flare, fighting the urge to soothe them with his fingertips. Another eruption of his brother’s drunken laughter bounces from the archways.

“What happened in the baths,” she says, eyeing him warily. “Wouldn’t that count? Wouldn’t your…uh, essence have…travelled?”

A small noise scratches from Loki’s throat. “Far too diluted. Fortunately…we were rather far apart.” She moves a step closer, looking up at him beneath her lashes. Her scent makes his mouth water. “And besides, if memory serves you made rather a hasty exit.” “If I agree to this, what’s in it for me?” you ask with a coolness he isn’t expecting. He frowns. “Aside from the obvious?” You shoot him a scathing glare. “You’ll be an honoured guest of Asgard’s highest echelons until the ceremony; luxurious quarters, the finest garments…yours to keep, naturally. A feast in your honour, the honour of my escort, a place in Asgard’s history, and of course…my eternal thanks.” He waits until you turn fractionally towards him before deploying a calculated wink. Your expression is stamped with suspicion, and yet he sees the intrigue nestled beneath the veneer of resistance. He’s not surprised when you shuffle closer, glancing over your shoulder. “Is there um…practice, involved?” Loki feels his brows shoot up. “Practice? Norns haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? Our…”

He whips his cape as he spins, eyeing over his shoulder, catching the glint of Fandral’s flaxen hair hovering by the feasting table. “Our evidence of arousal cannot be in contact before the Rite…not a single drop, lest the entire ceremony be declared null and my honour as a successor questioned.” “Right,” you say stiffly. “Of course.” He can feel the heat of embarrassment radiating from your skin.

You need her, fool. Loki clears his throat with a dry rattle. “But we may…get to know each other. That is expected, at least. If you agree, of course.” You turn to him, eyes shimmering in moonlight. Loki wonders again how he could possibly have missed such a rare jewel in the drab sameness of Asgard’s court. He straightens as your finger runs over the metal at his wrist, trailing up the hem of his cape. “Are you allowed to kiss me?” you ask. A thick swallow works down his throat, his trousers tightening as you add, “What do the rules say about that?” Suddenly it feels as though he could be three-hundred again, unfamiliar nerves sizzling in his belly like fire. “I…there is no impediment to that particular act, no.” “Don’t you think it would be wise to…make sure we’re compatible before you make such a momentous decision?” A flush creeps up Loki’s neck above the high collar of his tunic as the clink of goblets and laughter continue inside the archway and he’s thankful for darkness. A muscle in his jawline twitches, fingers clenching and unclenching by his sides. There it was again, that audacity. So wilful, and yet…

In a flash his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you back with him into shadow. He slips a hand around your back, cushioning your spine as you meet rough stone with a gasp. Your sultry eyes look up at him with manufactured innocence.

“Let’s spare ourselves the virginal theatrics,” he hums, drawing his nose up the line of your cheekbone. The shiver that racks your body makes the toes in his boots curl. “You will be my partner for this sacred Rite?” You catch his lips with the brush of an autumn breeze, grazing against the words. The scent of you overwhelms him; a deep forest tang with overtures of a fragrant sweetness he can’t place.

He groans into the kiss, hungrier with every work of his mouth against the reach of your tongue. Loki’s hands slide up the swell of your breasts, each moan shivering from your throat into his making him want to explode.

As your fingers card through his hair, he realises the other hand is working down the harsh wall of tunic, sliding down his abdomen, hungry for the engorged lust strapped to his hip. There is a barrier, he thinks wildly, tempering his fear. There is a barrier. You squeeze. “Norns, woman…” he growls between gritted teeth, steadying a forearm against the wall behind your head as his gnawing kisses work down your neck. Stone veins spread in crunching crackles under the pressure. “Loki,” you gasp beneath him, bucking into the press of his armour into your endless curves. The realisation he can’t sate it hits with sudden, unwelcome clarity.

“Far too familiar,” he chides against your ear with a feigned derision that makes another moan snake from your throat. Loki’s cock throbs harder. “I remain your Prince, and you will address me as such.” You crush his lips with a kiss full of such desire Loki thinks he might shatter. His cock rubs against your stomach, harsh friction sending jolts of pleasure lancing through his body and suddenly, you break from him with a pant. “Do you want to know my name now, my Prince?”

His saliva rings your mouth; lips swollen and puffed. He nods twice, keeping his chin low on the second as his eyes flutter closed as you lean to his ear, whispering the word. Now that he knows it, he can’t imagine it being anything else.

“…and I’m no one’s last resort, not even a god,” you say, meeting his eyes. Loki steps back, jaw hardening as you smooth down the front of your dress. “I didn’t mean to imply—” “—Well, you did. So, if this still seems like a good idea in the morning, I expect to see you again under less…crowded circumstances.” Loki bit back the urge to protest, but as much as he was loathe to admit it…she had a point. Preparations for the Rite were usually conducted over months, and as he widened his stance, clasping his hands behind his back, a familiar coiffured sheaf of golden hair glinted and disappeared with suspicious urgency. “Unless you’d rather partake with Fandral?”

Loki’s stomach flips but he swallows down the urge to answer. “You’re familiar with my apprentice?” he asks. You nod. “He shall come for you at noon tomorrow.” A small smile flickers at your glistening lips. “Very well, your Highness,” you say, sinking into a curtsey that makes Loki’s cock ache before rising and gliding towards the open archway. He rolls his lips together, fighting the urge to follow you – but he’s already shown his hand too heavily tonight.

As you pass through the arch, Thor wobbles in the other direction, casting a quizzical glance backwards. “There you are, brother,” he slurs, slumping onto the balcony. His arm makes a heavy gesture towards the party, swinging wildly. “She is the one?” Loki bristles. “Yes, brother.”

“Finally. Norns preserve us, I thought you’d never make it. You know she is not suitable for the ceremony if she has been...sampled, already?” he asks as both eyebrows rise. Loki scoffs and throws his brother an incredulous stare. “I know that,” he snarls. “What do you take me for, some kind of rube?” Thor sighs, picking a slice of cured boar from his breastplate and dangling into his mouth. “Let’s hope you can satisfy her, then – in every way. For all our sakes.” Loki’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “If you can scrape past the requirements, we both know I shall have no issue.” “Mmm,” his brother hums. “If it wasn’t for the other matter her response will be measured on.”

“It’s all in hand, brother,” he lies, ignoring the thump of his heart, watching the bob of your head as you wind between intoxicated council members towards the door. “Five moons is more than enough time for that.” And beside him, Thor snorts.

Chapter Three: Measurement The Masterlist for the Rite is here Tags in comments (≧ヮ≦) 💕

[stsgooo]

The Moonlight Goddess.

✩࿐ summary: the toy that got tucked away, would eventually come back out to play.

warning(s): chapter 48.2 manga spoilers, unedited. wc; 3.2k

pairing(s): jinshi/fem!reader

a/n: caught up on the manga, feeling incredibly deranged. i will Not be speaking about chapter 65 as that was the craziest experience i've ever had at 1 am. also, i'll be reading the light novel soon :)) anyway, i hope you enjoy this random thing i cooked up.

part ii m.list ao3

WHEN MAOMAO SUGGESTED JINSHI TAKE THE PLACE OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, YOU WEREN’T ENTIRELY CONVINCED.

Sure, your master was a beautiful man who had won the lottery of genetics. But you weren’t sure if he could convince beautiful western women that he of the same level, if not above, as them. It wasn’t a slight towards him. A lack of confidence in his abilities. But the mere fact that this issue itself was presented as nonsense. Achievable for a god, perhaps. But not for someone as simple as Jinshi.

It’d been 50 years since the last time the convery had last visited and spotted this beautiful woman. Surely, these girls were aware of the effects of time and how… unkind it could be to some?

It all smelt bad.

“Uh, Maomao, are we sure this is the absolute best approach for this matter?” You had asked as the three others had come to some general consensus amongst each other.

Maomao had stared at you flatly and, for a moment, you ponder if she even knew who you were. “Have you ever dealt with unruly women, Y/N?” She asked in her usual monotonous manner.

You blinked, expression equally as flat as you regarded the younger girl for a beat. Her time at Jinshi’s home had been spent, primarily, with you and Suiren. It was fond to look back on, but the two months had been stressful and the girl was rather difficult to work with. She drug you around on one or two of her little investigations. Much to the disdain of you both. The only compliment she paid you in that time was that you were quick on your feet and able to keep up with. Something that you guessed wasn’t common.

Yes, you are rather unruly, Maomao. Was the reoccurring and unkind thought that passed through your mind.

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of unruly people.” You opted to answer instead.

The girl raised an eyebrow, “Women?”

You deflated, “Many.”

Unfortunately, being Jinshi’s maid had meant you had your encounters with women who, blinded by their fondness for him, would attempt to make random walk-ins. Something strictly forbidden unless it was the upmost emergency. Despite them being the ones in the wrong, it was usually you who suffered the brunt of their abuse until Gaoshun finally decided to inquire what was wrong.

You were quite used to unruly women.

Unknowingly, you'd guaranteed your place in Maomao's plan.

She placed her fingers against her chin, eyes squinted on you. "Do you use makeup often?"

You blink, a weary frown on your lips. "What?"

"Are you familiar with makeup and hair, Y/N?"

"Of course I am." What did she take you for? A lazy uneducated lady?

Maomao grinned, something that was dark and twisted, and you felt like you had somehow stumbled into a terrible trap. "Wonderful, you'll help with Jinshi-sama's makeup!"

"Wha- no, I-I have my--" You attempted to decline, but were quickly cut off.

"That's a great idea," Jinshi spoke up, looking rather delightful as his eyes moved to you. "No one I would trust more with this."

Seeing the glint in his eyes and the kind smile, you knew you could no longer remove yourself from this plan. With a bowed head, you turned to Maomao, prepared to receive your duty.

You suppose this is how you ended up here. Maomao and Gaoshun out to find an outfit that would suit the Moonlight Goddess. And you awfully close to Jinshi's face as you carefully apply the eye makeup.

Silently, you were thankful that he had his eyes closed, as his violet eyes endlessly and innocently staring back into yours would surely make your heart stop. The work had been silent for the most part. The both of you uttering only what was needed: close your eyes, please look up, tilt your head to the side. It was the easy back and forth you both fell into.

It made you realize that most of your companionship with Jinshi had primarily been in silence. You simply deciphering exactly what he wanted from the twitch in his brow or the look he would shoot. It'd never really been on your mind before. Although, it had always been an easy agreement between you that shouldn't be brought to question or pondered upon too much. Ever since the both of you were children. Ever since you were just being trained for the duties that would be carried out in the rest of your adult life. You'd both just been in this tiptoe waltz that carried you through life.

He didn't pry too much into your personal dealings and you never questioned his demands as your master.

Life was, in all ways, easy.

But still, you felt as though this plan was toeing a line. Asking too much, underestimating the intelligence of another.

You supposed Maomao was like that and Jinshi would easily follow her word.

Maomao. Jinshi. Maomao and Jinshi.

They are quite the duo recently. You knew it would be nothing good the moment he'd called for her in Lady Gyokuyou's with that glint in his eyes. The eagerness and curiosity similar to that of a child. The way he sought her out at any given opportunity. If you had to guess, you would say Jinshi is rather fond of dear Maomao.

It made you sigh heavily, your eyes narrowed on the liner that looked a little wobbly.

"Any mistakes, you can just retry, don't stress yourself." Jinshi spoke, assuming that your sigh was related to the unsteady line rather than the trail of thoughts plaguing your mind.

You blink, eyes focused on the kind smile that stretched over his lips. A slight pitter-patter took your chest. "No worries, Jinshi-sama, I won't ruin your looks." You shoot back, softly.

Jinshi's eyebrows raised, a soft snort released. "Oh, really? Are you teasing me now?"

"I do have the ability to joke here and there, sir."

"You barely do anymore. Joke, that is." Jinshi observed, a subtle frown on his lips as you applied a bit of glimmer to his eye lids. "You're very serious now, very on edge."

"These are serious times, Jinshi-sama." You replied back smoothly, feeling an indescribable ache in your chest. "I'm sorry if I'm not entirely entertaining."

Jinshi's frown seemed to deepen. And, suddenly, his fingers were wrapped around your wrist and his eyes were open to reveal the clandestine violets that glimmered into your very soul. His hold felt warm and all encompassing, a disorienting welcoming feeling that made you falter in your work. Frozen, you offered him your undivided attention as he appeared to struggle with himself. gave him your undivided attention. His brows were furrowed and the frown on his lips was entirely too childish for the man he claimed to be. His lips parted and he released a sound akin to frustration. He huffed and huffed and huffed. Then he stared into your soul-- still, he couldn't seem to find the proper words for his thoughts.

One of the many things that Jinshi struggled with often is that he simply had a greater outlook on life while being so terribly confined. A childish optimism that should've left him once he was grown, clung to his soul desperately and gave him a more bountiful outlook on people and life. He knew the risks, he knew the dangers, he knew the nastiness of the world, but still stayed kind.

You know it was one of the many things his mother tried to change about him. That and his attachment to things. That was something you'd encountered first hand.

"You have your reservations about this, I can tell."

When he spoke, you weren't entirely sure what he'd say. There were times he was too insightful, too smart for his own good. It used to amuse you, now you only worried when it'd come across as unseemly.

Jinshi stared up at you, glittering eyes kind and approachable, his fingers squeezed gently around your wrist. "I don't want you to feel like you can't speak your mind." He continued as if he had no idea who you were. What you were. What you were to him.

Your gaze bounced between his own, a small frown breaking the perfect exterior you always desperately kept up. Maybe he was still stuck in the past. Maybe he was still enchanted by who you both used to be to one another.

The past was usually more lovely than a future unseen.

"I'm actually told not to voice my mind."

"By who?"

"Everyone."

There's a moment where Jinshi looks as if he's remembering something. Something distinct and obvious. Something that he had completely disregarded in the back of his mind for whatever reason, for however long. It must be pleasant, to not be constantly reminded that the people around you are paid or contracted to be by your side. Must be nice to have a choice.

Master. Servant. Master and servant.

That is all you and Jinshi shall ever be.

"I see," He uttered, eyes briefly tracing the tiles on the floor before fluttering back up to you with a new spark of determination. "But I'm ordering to speak your mind! Freely!"

You stared back flatly in return. Was he oblivious what freely meant? Ordering me and then saying it's of my own volition can't both be true.

Jinshi would put you into early death.

"Well, I, uh," you found his eyes to be too vibrant, to be staring too intensely and too welcoming. You turned your gaze away, desperate to grab some type of bearings over yourself. But, alas, his hand was still wrapped around your own. His skin scorched yours, tainted it with the warmth that was all his. "I think that this plan will not go entirely as you all hope."

"Is that so?" His voice is like a smooth honey, soft and all too endearing.

You hum, nodding, "Yes, uh, I believe they want you to fail, sir. And to have a rather unsavory thing to report back." Jinshi simply hummed in response. You could feel his eyes almost stroking against the side of your face. "I just think that they won't react the way you and Maomao hope they will. This is no slight to your or her intelligence, of course. Just a mere observation."

"I know what you mean, no worries." Jinshin's thumb was now slowly and softly stroking the butt of your palm. A soothing action that brought your eyes back to him. Captured in the way he serenely observed you. "What exactly about this makes you uneasy? Maybe I can ease you."

It didn't sound like an offer, but a promise. If his words weren't enough, his eyebrows were drawn together in careful contemplation. He wasn't going to walk away from this conversation without you both reassured in some capacity.

"What if they want to talk to you?"

Jinshi might had fair and delicate features, and a soft voice, but it wasn't nearly feminine enough to pass. If anything, they'd grow more suspicious. Then they'd report back about what a joke they all were and then Jinshi could suffer some type of punishment for his embarrassment. It wasn't that you were too pessimistic or didn't believe in the little group, but that the women's request felt bad all around.

A set-up if anything.

So, you took a deep breath and focused on that reassuring circle being drawn into your skin as Jinshi contemplated this for only a moment.

"Then I'll have the apothecary cover for me." Jinshi smiled, all too bright and all too reassuring. "We've already decided that I'll swim across the pond-- give me a vanishing effect and she'll deter them elsewhere."

You furrow your brow, all too worried, but bow your head instead of voicing such. "Of course, I have no doubt in you, Jinshi-sama." You reassure.

There was a beat of silence, then, "You're my oldest friend, you know?" You tense. Frozen into you bow, your wide eyes stare endlessly at his feet. His tone is tender, soft, almost hesitant, as if he wasn't sure if he should be speaking these things aloud. Yet, he continued. "You're the only one, beside Gaoshun and Suiren, that has stuck by me without judgement or doubt. I thank you for that, but I also fear that we've grown apart."

"I suppose we have." You uttered, trying to ignore the clench in your chest.

"Even as children, we started to grow apart." He continued to observe.

Because of your mother. Because of her fear that you'd end up like him, like your father. That disgusting and vile man. How could she not know you'd never be like him?

There was a day, a very distinct day, that you and Jinshi had been separated for "his own good". Your birthday. You had waited him eagerly in the main courtyard, being able to slip away from your duties out of kindness from Suiren. You waited and waited, until Gaoshun had approached. His expression downtrodden and dark. He informed you that it was no longer proper for you to play around with the boy you so dearly adored. Said his mother commanded it.

If he plays with a toy too much, take it from him.

You used to be bitter, resentful, and angry over it. Only eight-years-old, you had clung onto any companionship you could and he had given the illusion that he'd be there forever. Until he wasn't. Until you were a toy to be tucked back into the chest, forever forgotten with time.

He would be there forever, but you only merely a pawn for him to use as he pleased. To do work and to never grace the same level as you had when you both were only children, not yet exposed to hierarchy. Pure and innocent.

Now, you were mere servant and master.

Finally, you willed yourself to pull away from his hold, turning around to pick through various hair products. "It's been a long time, Jinshi-sama. We're no longer children."

"Hm."

As you reached for a brush, he pressed against your back. His hands coming to rest against your own with a delicate, featherlike touch. He was suddenly surrounding your ever sense. His warmth enveloping you into a hug that was almost earth shattering. Your lips parted and your eyes wide, you tensed as his lips brushed against the top of your head.

"I think of you often," his words are a whisper against you and your eyes, if possible, widen further as you almost lean back into him. "I sometimes wish I could just reach out and...and hold you, like we used to. Is that so bad?"

"Jinshi-sama, this is rather inappropriate!" You whisper back, not daring to look back at him in fear for how quickly you'd crumble.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating from his chest into your back and sending various chills down your spine. "If I'm making you uncomfortable, then please, tell me."

You don't open your mouth, as much as you wished you would deter him, you were rather eager to keep this up for a moment longer. To have something to think about and something to cherish later. Surely, this wouldn't happen again.

Instead, your attention goes to keeping your heart steady as Jinshi gently turns you around. His eyes heavy as he stares at you earnestly, lips quirked up barely. Your hands came up to clutch his forearm, gently squeezing as he did the same with your shoulder. You felt your heart stammer and a sweat collecting on your brow, this was definitely something frowned upon. To be so close and to breathe his same air-- as he exhaled, you inhaled the rich oxygen.

Suddenly, Jinshi's eyebrows furrowed and his fingers reached out, gently tucking some hair from your face. "What did they teach you to make you tremble like this?" He whispered it to himself but, thanks to your proximity, you heard it.

It made your ears redden, your lips pressed together. Did he really not know?

Before you could even speak, the door to his room were opened. Both your heads snapped to the door where Maomao and Gaoshun stood, both varying degrees of expressions on their faces that brought shame to you both. The four of your frozen in your respective places, staring at one another dumbly. Your hold on your master slackened and Jinshi took that as a sign to move first.

Jinshi made a rather odd noise, jumping away from you, face red and wide awkward smile to the two at the door. "Did you find the goods?" He asked as he approached, nervous fingers moving about.

Maomao, bless her soul, decided to ignore whatever it was they had walked in on, moving forward with a bundle of things in her arms. "Yes, Jinshi-sama."

You nervously pulled yourself from the table, turning your back to the three, hoping to conceal the red hue on your face. You really, really, hoped that no one would say anything.

Your hopes were tarnished as Gaoshun stepped up beside you.

The man was family. He'd been there for every milestone, or the rather unruly years when you found yourself in trouble more often than not. You'd grown accustomed to reading into his expressions more than his words. He was more open there, his only weakness.

That's why you withered when you saw that aghast expression on his face. The glimmer in his eyes that said it all-- he knew what was happening.

You ducked your head at the same time you heard Maomao ask, "Why isn't your hair done?"

You mustn't get ideas above your station. You are there to serve your master. Nothing less, nothing more.

That is the first thing that they taught you when you were "of age".

You are to give your life to your master. Any inappropriate behavior will be punished, severely.

That's the second thing they taught you.

There were many things that contributed to your regression. That made you cower away from who you used to be. Going from a loud troublemaker to the polite, obedient lady that lived to serve her kind master.

But as you watched Jinshi, or more correctly, the Moonlight Goddess dance elegantly at the edge of the pond. As you witnessed the light hit just right an illuminate him in a way that would send even the most beautiful angel into a rage. You realized one thing.

You would never tell Jinshi of those things.

Someone as beautiful and perfect as him, untouched from the life that you lead, shouldn't be exposed to the things he confined you to.

All you could do was gaze upon the Moonlight Goddess, utter your most daunting praises and wants, and tuck it all away.

You mustn't get ideas above your station.

You were a lowly maid after all. Someone so dignified and beautiful wouldn't settle for you.

"My hair is still wet!" Jinshi's voice bounced off the walls, a scowl etched on his face.

You bowed your head as you entered, towel tucked in your arms. "I have a towel for you, Jinshi-sama."

As you ruffled his hair with the towel, watching his shoulders relaxed you thanked the Moonlight Goddess.

A coward like you would never belong with a Goddess like him.

[plushibo]

Walking in Wearing a Maid Dress

Characters included: Aether, Xiao, Neuvillette, Gorou, Itto

Total word count: 2.4k

He/Him Reader

Warnings: slightly suggestive, maid dress referred to as being “provocative”, maybe ooc Aether and Neuvillette?, Gorou’s is slightly cut off but i didn’t want it too long lol, cursing (in Itto's)

A/N: when reading x readers, do you prefer third person pronouns (they/he/she) when talking about the reader, or do you prefer second person pronouns (you/your/yours)? I prefer third, but I wanted to know your opinions!

He drummed his fingers along his thighs as he waited. He had never been a very patient person, however, knowing his boyfriend was preparing a surprise for him made him all the more impatient. Aether tried to distract himself from the questions that swarmed his brain. You had clearly prepared for this, especially when he found out that you left Paimon with enough money to keep her occupied for at least a couple of hours.

Aether hummed to himself, laying his head on his arms and wondering what his surprise would be. A present? Or maybe you had some big news to share! Maybe you had gotten that job you were looking into. That would be amazing. He grinned at the thought. He was always so proud of you, no matter what you did. Aether didn’t notice the door quietly opening and a figure silently slipping through the crack.

You eyed your boyfriend as you debated whether or not you really wanted to do this. Venti had bought it for you, insisting it would look great on you. And, it did(not that you would ever show the outfit to Venti)! You just weren’t too sure if you liked how much skin was showing. With a deep breath, you coughed quietly to gather Aether’s attention. His head shot up and he blinked a few times with a blank expression. You could see the sudden redness start to envelop his pale cheeks.

You laughed softly, fiddling with one of the ends of the dress. It was short, only barely covering half of your thighs. It had come with a garter that was perched prettily on your thigh, right under the ending of the dress. The dress itself was colored in Aether’s signature colors- gold and white. Where one would usually find a deep black, it instead glowed with gold. Your gloves went up to your elbows and were white with little golden bows. Your maid cap was skewed slightly on your head, but it was so daintily set there that Aether couldn’t complain even if he wanted to.

“Love?” You mumbled, feeling scrutinized under his eyes. His expression was unmoving for a moment longer before he stepped closer to you.

“Darling, what are you wearing?” He asked. You visibility deflated. His eyes widened and he backtracked, “No, no, no, no, that’s not what I meant! You look, I mean, woah. You’re mine?” He whistled softly. You laughed, shoving him lightly.

“Aether! Stop!” Your words weren’t very strict. Did you truly want him to stop flowering your self-esteem? Not really. He chuckled, allowing a smirk to fall onto his lips.

“Stop? But, darling, we’re just getting started. You can’t expect to walk in here like that and receive no type of reaction.” He reasoned, moving to wrap his arms around you. Your cheeks felt warmer as he held you close to him, swaying softly as his hands drifted over your body. “We still have a few hours until the emergency food returns, anyway, might as well use it well.”

The moment you walked into his field of vision, he was gone. You weren’t surprised to only see the remnants of his black mist starting to fade when you reached the balcony of the Wangshu Inn. Your appearance was certainly new to him. The maid dress you wore bore his signature colors- green, black, and white.

You debated giving him space or not, but then you decided that this was for him. Surely he should see it! “Xiao?” You called. When he didn’t appear in front of you, you knew he was watching you from somewhere you couldn’t see. You chuckled quietly. Even when he was embarrassed, he still wanted to see your newest mischief, you supposed. 

“Xiao, come on!” You said into the wind. “If you don’t come down here, I’ll walk downstairs in front of everyone.” You almost felt a change in the wind, almost as if he was trying to determine if your threat was credible or not. You crossed your arms and turned towards the stairs. Within seconds, the man himself appeared before you. You went to speak, only to immediately be teleported to your room at the Inn. “Xiao-”

“Why are you wearing that?” Xiao asked. He avoided eye contact, his arms crossed. He would look intimidating if it wasn’t for the deep pink coating his cheeks. 

“For you.” You teased, swaying on your feet. “I thought you might like it.”

“Well. I don’t. Take it off.” You stared at him for a second before shrugging. You went to pull it off before he stopped you. “Stop! What are you doing? Do you have no respect for the Adepti?”

“I was only following your instructions.” You said with a fake pout, leaning over to him. “Don’t you like my outfit, baby? I had it custom made. Look!” You spun around, showing him the white part of the back of the dress. “It has your tattoo on it!” Sure enough, the back of the dress had his green tattoo imprinted on it. You felt him reach out to feel it for a moment before he coughed. You spun around to see him blushing even more furiously as he avoided eye contact at all.

“I-It’s clothes. Nothing more, nothing less.” He replied, grumpily. He couldn’t look at you at all, avoiding staring at any part of you unless it was your shoes.

You smiled sweetly, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, “Cutie.” You replied. Within seconds, the black inky substance had taken his place, leaving him nowhere to be found. You chuckled to yourself, landing on the bed, “Well, that was longer than I thought he would last.” You mumbled to yourself with a grin and a laugh.

Exactly how he appeared, Neuvillette was a gentleman. One could tell simply by looking at him that he would be respectful to all who speak to him. This fact applied to all, including you, his fiance. After the many years of being together, he was still just as respectful and polite. And, as much as you liked this, you really wanted him to lose his calm for just a moment.

The plan came perfectly. You had found an intricate blue and black maid dress with matching thigh-highs, gloves, and a maid cap. It was risque and showed much more skin than you usually did. As soon as it arrived, you were giddy to try it on. You suited up quickly, knowing your fiance would be returning home soon. You stood in the mirror, staring at yourself.

Your grin widened as you saw how flattering it looked. It was shorter than you had thought it would be, and somehow, more revealing. The neckline was lower than you thought and there was a little window on your stomach. You looked fantastic, though and you couldn’t wait to surprise him.

The sound of the door of your shared home opening made you laugh in excitement, hurrying to prep your stance behind the door of your bedroom. You heard his deep voice call your name, searching for you. You heard him walking around the house, dropping his stuff in his home office before heading over to the bedroom. The door opened slowly.

“Dearest-?” His head poked into the room, freezing when he saw the way you laid out for him. His eyes roamed your body without an indication of his thoughts. He slipped into the room, closing the door behind him before chuckling softly. “Dearest, I see you found yourself a new costume?” 

You grinned at him, spreading your legs slightly more. “Yep. And this is all for you.”

He shook his head softly, the smallest of smiles appearing on his face, “No, I believe this is for you, dear. You look wondrous.” He stalked closer, moving to press his lips to your forehead delicately. “You have an eye for fashion.” You narrowed your eyes. Surely he was jesting? Why wasn’t he making much of any reaction? He noticed your stare and chuckled again. “Expecting more, darling? Well, I can certainly give you more, if that’s really what you want.” You nodded excitedly, sitting up on the bed. He hummed quietly, leaning onto the bed over you, “Well, then let’s get started, hm?”

You were tired of waiting for Gorou to give you attention. Every day these past few weeks, your husband had barely returned home. And when he had, he would hole himself in his office and go over his strategies over and over again. You respected his job and you knew it was very important and you would never want to get between that. But at some point, he needed to give you some type of attention, right?

Well, he hadn’t. It was annoying you. How he would walk in after days of not being home, only to kiss your forehead and move to his office where he would spend all of his time before leaving again in the morning. This time, however, you had a plan.

You didn’t want to take too much of his time, as he was a busy general and you didn’t want to sabotage his efforts or plans or anything, but you needed some attention. You bought a maid dress that fit his uniform’s colour scheme and decided to tease him the next time he returned home. You weren’t sure when that time would be, but you hoped it would be soon. You hated being so lonely all the time.

Fortunately for you, he arrived home only a few days after the clothes arrived. He greeted you like normal, saying how much he missed you and loved you, pressing his lips to your forehead before heading to his office. You frowned at his lack of effort before remembering what your plan was. With a grin, you hurried to your, supposed, shared bedroom and found the dress. Quickly, you prepared the outfit and made sure every part was put together. You glanced in the mirror. You looked good.

With a smug grin, you stalked towards your husband’s office. You opened the door and stood behind his desk. He didn’t lift his head, simply writing a note on a map. “Babe?” You called, trying to earn his attention. His head tilted in your direction, but his eyes remained focused on his paperwork. He hummed softly, inquiring what was wrong. You frowned before trying again, “Gorou?”

He sighed softly before glancing up. He froze once he saw you. His eyes went wide and he quickly turned red. His eyes locked onto your exposed thighs and you were pleased to see his tail begin to wag faster and faster. “Do you like it, baby?” You asked, suddenly very nervous of his reaction. What if he was upset?

Gorou’s eyes snapped to you, “Wh-What?” He asked, completely breathless. You hummed, giving him a little spin. “Wow.” He said quietly. Before stepping over to you. His tail was wagging uncontrollably still. “You look so, so good, my darling.” His hands shook slightly before they became still on your cheeks. He rested his forehead on yours. “I can’t believe you're mine.” You could feel your face get hotter. “I have to say this is unexpected. Why are you dressed like this?” His eyes got wide once more, “Is it our anniversary?!”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “What? No. Do you not know when our anniversary is?” He rubbed the back of his neck and said the date of your anniversary. You hummed before nodding, accepting the answer. “You’ve been distant. I haven’t seen you in a month.”

“You see me weekly?”

“But not really. I see you for fifteen minutes when you first enter the house and when you leave, but I don’t see you between those times. I just wanted you to give me attention.” You gestured to your outfit and his cheeks burned again when he looked down. His hands landed on your waist. 

“Well, you certainly got it.” He replied, moving to kiss you passionately.

“Babe-” Itto whined loudly, nearly dragging his knees on the ground as he groveled for you. Your cheeks felt warm from embarrassment as you glanced at the people walking by in the streets. “Please!” He begged, his hands clasping together.

You walked over to him and pushed his arms down, trying to pull him to his feet. “Itto! What the fuck?! Get up, we’re in public!”

You felt him stand with you, allowing you to pull him quickly. He quickly wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up, spinning slightly. Your face was squished against his cheek.

“Baaabeee-” He whined again. “We have to buy it! We were just talking about something like that!” The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow as she fiddled with the packaging on the purple maid outfit Itto was begging you to buy. “I just know you’ll look so fucking perfect in it, baby.”

You smacked his arm lightly and he pouted as he set you on the ground. “Itto, we are in public, stop yelling about our private discussions!” You hissed quietly, pulling out your wallet and placing the mora for the outfit on the counter. “I’ll buy it, just stop putting attention on us.”

Your words fell on deaf ears as he whooped excitedly, taking the packaging and grabbing your hand, rushing in the direction of your house. You made a noise as you were yanked in the direction. You tried your best to keep up with him as he held your hand until you reached the house. He pushed the packaging into your arms, instructing you to change into it.

“Now?! You have a meeting with the gang in twenty minutes!”

He puffed out his chest with a giant grin, “I am the one and oni, Arataki Itto! The meeting starts whenever I arrive!” He said. You rolled your eyes with a small grin before heading inside and changing quickly. Perhaps if you were quick, you could get him to his meeting in time. 

His eyes practically bulged out of his head when you exited the bedroom in the outfit. You smirked at him as his mouth fell open comically. “Like what you see?”

“Fuck yeah, I do!” He announced, wasting no time in walking over and pressing his lips to yours. He pushed you back into the door behind you. “Y’know I think I like it when you look like this. Maybe we can use it more often.”

You moaned softly and carded your fingers into his hair. “Itto- your meeting-”

“Fuck the meeting.”

[libraryoffandomsuniverse]

Being Rhaenyra Targaryen's husband would include:

Masterlist

Okay this is my 3rd time uploading this, because tumblr was being a whiny bitch. This turned out much longer than I expected and I'm already planning on writing more in this au. I combined book and show canon, although I kept the Velaryons as black. I also renamed some of Rhaenyra's children and gave her 1 more.

This is not team green friendly or kind to Alicent. At all. Reader is a petty bitch who adores his wife and whose love language is murdering their enemies in various secret ways.

Warnings include murder, forced infertility (Viserys), Rhaenyra and Reader scheming for the throne.

You're the oldest son of Rhaenys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon. Greatness is in your blood.

You're proud - how can you not be? You're the oldest son of the Sea Snake and The Queen Who Never Was, the heir to High Tide and the next Lord of Driftmark. You're the second rider of Silverwing, after Queen Alysanne. You are cunning and clever - everything your parents could wish for in a son. You have a lot to be proud of.

After fighting in the Stepstones and being knighted, you emerge as one of the chief candidates for Rhaenyra's hand.

The brothel incident still happens in this au and Rhaenyra still sleeps with Criston.

When your betrothal is announced, you both agree to do your duty. And although you aren't Daemon or Criston, you are still handsome and a warrior. Doing her duty will not be difficult for Rhaenyra.

You quickly fall in love, much to both your surprise. Rhaenyra falls first, your loyalty and ferocity in defending her sneaks past her defences.

You fall harder, her wit and hidden darkness, the type that matches yours, pulls you in. Her soul speaks to yours and feels familiar on some level.

By the time Jacaerys is born, you're incredibly happy and in love with each other.

Your darling boy is quickly followed by Lucerys, Baelon, Aegon, Gaemon and eventually (after a few years) your twin daughters Visenya and Aemma.

Your royal apartments are rarely quiet because of your children. They adore their mother's hugs, love to hang off your shoulders and follow you both around the Red Keep like little ducklings.

Being the best dressed couple in Westeros. Rhaenyra likes it when you match and often coordinates your outfits to do so. Sometimes it's matching her dress to your doublet, other times it's more subtle like you wearing ruby beads in your locs to match the precious stones in her bodice. It makes her feel like you're on a team and she knows you feel the same way, judging from the little smirk and raised eyebrow you give her when you see her and the maids going through your wardrobes.

You and Rhaenyra love to gossip together. It mainly happens in bed after you make love. She tells you the latest rumours her ladies in waiting told her and you reveal the scandals you heard from your manservant and squires.

You encourage her to be more visible to the common folk. You know that if she has their love, then any attempts to usurp her will fail. Your little family becomes regular fixtures in King's Landing as you explore the city and restart Queen Alysanne's charitable ventures. Rhaenyra starts heading sessions for women to raise any issues.

You know it's working when you hear people talking about the Realm's Delight and the Sea Dragon and praising your efforts in improving their lives.

The sight of you both racing your dragons high in the sky is a frequent occurrence. It started as a way to unwind after the small council meetings. As your family grew, your children joined in, strapped into yours or Rhaenyra's saddles. When they grew old enough and their dragons were big enough, they followed you on theirs.

Dividing your time between Dragonstone and the Red Keep, although visits to Driftmark are also regular events.

Laenor frequently pops in to visit and spoil your children.

Corlys and Viserys both compete to be the favourite grandparent, but you and Rhaenyra know that Rhaenys is the real favourite. For the sake of peace, you won't reveal it.

Despite Daemon and Laena staying in Pentos, you keep up a regular correspondence with them. You even arrange to meet in Driftmark with your children a few years into your marriage. Your children bond quickly, while the adults watch on and tell stories.

Being married to the heir to the Iron Throne isn't easy and there are many people who would see that Rhaenyra never becomes Queen.

As her consort, you consider it your duty to make the path easier for her.

Your first victim is Criston Cole. After murdering Joffrey Lonmouth, you expect him to get punished. The news of Queen Alicent accepting him as her sworn sword leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, particularly when you have to break the news to Laenor.

Along with your pride, one of your greatest attributes is how protective you are of your loved ones. Joffrey was Laenor's lover as well as one of your good friends.

It takes a little while to plan, but one day gossip erupts about Criston being found drunk in a brothel that's particularly debauched, even by the standards of King's Landing.

You seize your chance and tell your goodfather that perception is important, that such a knight like that cannot be allowed to guard the royal family, especially the Queen. Viserys ignores Alicent's protests and Criston is gelded and sent to the Wall.

Speaking of Viserys, you know that any sons he has will be pitted against your wife.

You also know that his health isn't very good.

You decide to help him by giving him a tonic that your mother swears by, along with some lotions and creams. "Two drops of this with your morning meal every day and you'll soon feel better, Your Grace," you persuade him. "And wouldn't it be wonderful if you could meet your future grandchildren?"

Your father told you once you could sell water to a fish, such was the power of your silver tongue.

Viserys' health does improve after taking the tonic and the lotions that are massaged into his skin fix most of his pains.

However you failed to mention that the tonic and lotion both have herbs which cause infertility if used over long periods of time. Your mother only uses the tonic, and does so sparingly.

Viserys and Alicent only have Aegon and Helaena as a result of your actions.

You and Rhaenyra work hard to charm lords and ladies to support your cause.

You go on progress across the realm, flattering and courting all the noble families you meet.

It quickly becomes known that to be one of Princess Rhaenyra's ladies in waiting is a boon for attaining a fortunate marriage. In turn, you surround yourself with ambitious lords and their sons who want to advance their own interests.

It's a delicate dance, but you were taught how to make alliances by your parents, plus your charisma and ability to speak to anyone makes you one of the most popular members of the royal family.

Any attempts Alicent makes to gain allies for her son are countered by you and she can't stand you.

She tried to make Rhaenyra bring Lucerys to her when he was born, but you shut that down. "I wasn't aware that the Queen was in such poor health that she couldn't come herself to meet the newest member of our family," you say with a mocking smile. "The King is already coming to meet his grandson and I'm sure he would wish for Her Grace to join him." The sour look on the Queen's face when she finally arrives, only to find Viserys holding your baby boy, is a sight you'll remember for weeks to come.

You're Rhaenyra's greatest weapon and she despises how popular you are. You weren't supposed to be this politically adept, your children weren't supposed to be that lovely and polite and Rhaenyra was not supposed to be the heir when Viserys already has a son.

She says so to Larys Strong, who decides to do something about it without telling her.

You survive the pathetic assassination attempt because of a loyal servant.

Rhaenyra finds out what happened and she is furious. When she finds out Larys did it? He's a dead man walking.

His body is found in a secluded corridor at the bottom of the stairs. It's fairly obvious that he slipped and fell in a tragic accident - the servants had only finished cleaning and polishing those stairs the day before.

You thank your wife for avenging you with a sapphire necklace and several rounds of insatiable sex that eventually results in your son Aegon being conceived.

Unfortunately Lyonel Strong takes this as his chance to resign as Hand and return to Harrenhall, something you and your wife are unhappy about. You will miss him and his unwavering loyalty and fairness.

You miss him even more when you find out Otto Hightower is returning to King's Landing to be Viserys' Hand again.

The return of her father emboldens the Queen, although you and Rhaenyra are more than a match for them, both during the Small Council meetings (which you are Master of Ships) and outside them.

Eventually though, you decide to take care of the problem, although your wife cautions you to be careful.

A year after becoming Hand again, Otto Hightower is dead. His health had been declining for some time, even before he returned to King's Landing, but the poison you'd had your spies slip into his furniture and clothing certainly made his end quicker.

You knew he had a food taster, so you had to be careful to make it appear natural. A quiet conversation with Daemon had pointed you in the right direction.

Although it appeared to be natural, you knew that Otto's last days were a living hell. A fitting end for such a man.

With his death, you recommended Viserys make Lyonel Strong Hand again or even name Rhaenyra to be the Hand, as preparation for her future role.

His decision to name Rhaenyra as Hand is one of the only good decisions he's made.

It gives her more experience in governing the realm, particularly when he starts to become more frail.

After several years of this, she is confident in her role. She will be a magnificent Queen and you're truly honoured to be her consort.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 21

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I am very tired.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As promised, the king acquires you a full outfit to face the cold. A fur trimmed hat to replace your standard linen cap, a pair of lined hide gloves, and thick boots that go to your knees. He has bolstered you to face the elements but you are wholly unprepared to face the corridors as the glances of soldiers and servants meet you with a new glint of judgement.  

You wear the king’s cloak as before. You keep your head low under the hood as he walks ahead of you. It is a farce. A poorly acted charade. How naive you’d been for so long not see through it all. You were the perfect fool for an intent audience. 

You descend and come out to the west of the castle, through a door beneath a sharply peaked arch. The snow continues to heap over the land though the winds have relented. The king pauses as you emerge and reaches to take you by the wrist, as if he fears you might be lost in the powder. 

He walks you across the yard towards the stables built across a flat of land nestled along a curved rock wall. The doors creaks as he pushes through and the heat of braziers and horses’ bodies greets you within. Sniffs, snorts, and knickers rise in the air as you walk between the stalls. There is one in which a single horse resides, the rest crowded in pairs and trios. 

You look up at the steed’s dark snout, it’s eyes even bleaker as it snuffs out harshly. It’s nostrils flair at your approach and the king clicks his tongue at the beast. It raises its nose then shakes its head. It’s ebony iris fixates on you as its master touches its braided mane. 

“Roach,” you murmur into the dry air. 

“You remember,” he comments gently. 

“Yes,” you watch the horse as it watches you. It bows its head, nose coming close to yours, fuming hot breath around you. It sniffs the trim of your hood. 

“Let the animal see you,” the king advises. 

You bring your hands up and push back the hood, letting it hang over your shoulders. You stare at the dark eyes. Roach continues to twitch his nose in your direction then further dips his head, pressing against your chest. Uncertain, you bring your hands to touch his soft ears. 

“Ah,” the king sighs, “Roach is rarely partial to any but me. Even I receive a nip or too from the curmudgeon.” He chuckles and touches the horse’s thick neck. “others have nearly lost a finger and even sacrificed garment or two.” 

“A creature so volatile, he makes a good war horse?” 

“She,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, apologies.” 

“I doubt she minds,” he muses and pets her long nose as she raises her head. “She is restless. She would do good for the exercise.” 

He lowers his hand and unclasps the stall door. He pulls it out as you step out of the way. The horse clomps through, kicking impatiently as it blows through its lips. The king moves parallel to you and draws you before him. Before you or Roach can react, he has you aloft, urging you onto the horse’s unsaddled back. 

“Hold tight,” he girds and puts his hands to the horse’s shoulder, “come, Roach.” 

The horse starts and you press your hands to her back, clamping on with your thighs. You rock with her motion to keep from slipping. You duck with the mount as she bends through the door the king holds open. The winter snows dusts down on you as you emerge. 

The king drags his palm along the horse’s side and swings himself up with little effort. He sit behind you, Roach not missing a step or buckling at his ascent. He pulls you snug to him, tugging up your hood as the chill nips at your cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and clutches a swathe of the horse’s braids. He whistles and leans, guiding the horse away from the castle. 

“She is obedient,” you remark at her agile response. 

“I prefer mares for that reason,” he returns. You wonder if it is a quip meant for the queen or yourself. Perhaps both. “It isn’t very far, though the path is steep.” 

You nod and stare at the white expanse, a few jutting rocks pocking out above the carpet of snow, leafless branches reaching out here and there. The horse carries you to a ledge, narrow and treacherous, and you lean back into the King Geralt as the edge has you dizzy. He slips his hand beneath your cloak to squeeze your hip. 

“I have you, treasure, you needn’t fear,” he assures.” 

“Yes, your highness, thank you,” you touch his knuckles and shiver. 

“Sweet summer maid,” he purrs as he draws you snugger. “This winter is harsh but I will keep you warm.” 

You shudder and hang your head. For so much comfort as he offers, you find little. It isn’t only the snow which chills you. 

You ride on, the impact of hooves softened by the layers below, the air hollow and biting as it seeps beneath your hood. The sky ripples grey and seems to darken as you descend the curling path along the cliff’s edge. At once, you are plunged into thick blackness. 

The world levels out and the king shifts, sliding off the mount to land on his feet. You peek over your shoulder and see the grim light through the mouth of the cave. The king touches your leg and you turn, letting him help you from the height. Roach kicks and spits. 

The king frames your waist before he releases you. You listen to his steps as he moves through the dim. There’s is a scratch as he strikes flint and flame illuminates his shadow. He bends and takes something from the ground. He pauses and works with one hand, wrapping something around the thick stick. He lights the length of linen around the wood’s tip, a torch to see you along. 

“She will stay, she is not keen on confinement, especially underground,” he girds and removes his own cloak, draping it over the horses back, “the air enlivens me, I shouldn’t need that much.” 

He wears a leather coat, sewn of thick strips of black and studded with silver. He approaches you and bends his arm, offering it gallantly as a gentleman might with a lady. You hesitate and hook your arm through it, hugging his elbow as he leads you deeper, the torch flickering with each step. 

You enter a tunnel with rocky tendrils stretching from top to bottom, encased in layers of ice and frost. The flame illuminates the frozen layers. Deeper and deeper you go, quiet as your curiosity mingles with concern. Where are you going? 

Your boot slips on a slippery patch but the king keeps you upright. You thank him and bring your other arm across to steady yourself on his bicep. You feel his muscle bulging beneath. You do not doubt his promises. He will keep you safe. Down here, but you doubt what he might do without. 

He raises the torch as the air thins and you the cave opens up. You look around as the walls lay beyond the breadth of the torches glow. Your eyes are drawn by the icy fingers hanging from the ceiling. There is one close to you. You reach to touch its pointed tip. 

“Icicles,” the king says, “be careful of the thin ones, they might fall.” 

He moves the torch to show more, all around you, light fangs the line the cave, lining the edges. The flame sparkles on their eerie translucence. Then the king lowers the light and you look down beneath your feet. You’re stand on ice! 

“Your highness,” you instinctively pull yourself closer to him, your soles sliding as you try to walk further. 

“It will not break,” he assures you as he urges you on, “this cave never thaws, even in the warmer months. They call it the Moth’s Den.” He leads you across the ice and your eyes catch on the icicles, thick and thin, some pointed, some reach to touch the floor. You hear an odd hum, almost a buzz, and he sweeps the torch before you. 

You stop to gape at the wall before you. It looks soft and fluffy, almost like fur. Then you lean closer and see the wings. Pale silver moths, fluttering in place, clinging to the wall. Their fuzzy bodies line every morsel of the space. 

“Snow moths. Harmless creatures. Unlike their summer counterparts, the detest the light,” he extends his arm and a circle along the icy wall is sudden bare as the moths move to avoid the glare. “When I was a boy, I always wanted to have one as a pet. I could never get one past the entrance before it escaped and flew back to the depths.” 

You blink and lower your hand from his arm, though you stay hooked onto him, “I didn’t think this was your home.” 

“As a boy it was. At least, that’s how I saw it. My father, king of the day, sent me here to train with Lord Vesemir. As much to keep me out of trouble. I am not unaware of myself. I was not the best behaved. Vesemir took me in and he bides no mischief,” King Geralt explains, “though he does not rule without compassion. He taught me many things more than discipline. He taught me,” the king peers over at you, “that my heart should be heard just as plainly as my mind. If you do not balance them, then it will all topple.” 

You look back at him. Your chest aches deeply. Doesn’t he know you don’t have that privilege? Can he not see that you do not get that choice? Even for a king. 

You might never had cared for Lady Rezlyn and her gossip. You think it cruel and unkind. Often you wonder if she spoke less of others, if she might gain more friends. You never engaged much in Merinda’s whispers either. But you heard them and you know what becomes of mistresses. 

The other woman. That’s what you’ll become. A whore. A name to be spat. A figure to be avoided. A maid might be ignored but she neither favoured or despised. She just is. She has her purpose. A mistress only has the stain put upon her. The one who taints who my walk away, but she never will. 

“The ice becomes you, treasure. The cold it... pales to your beauty,” he smiles down at you. His gold eyes are vibrant and his fine features are even more admirable in the limn of the flame. 

He lifts his chin and takes steady steps away from the wall and leads you towards a jutting stone at the other end of the cavern. He bends to plant the torches base in the crevice at its foot. The torch leans but stands on its own. 

He faces you, untangling from your arm, and puts his hands on your shoulders, “I want to know what you think. Tell me. Do you like my homeland? Do you like the winter?” 

Your lips part and you glance up. Your eyes wander around the space and you turn your head. You raise your hands to touch the king’s leather gloves. 

“I think I do,” you answer. You can’t deny the beauty even if it is deadly. “I might think differently should I meet a bear or a wolf.” 

“It is why you must stay close, treasure, I would never let a beast get anywhere near,” he avows, “I refer to all beasts. Be it man or animal. You will always have me. You needn’t be afraid.” 

You lower your eyes. You can’t say the truth. He knows it but he refuses it. His is a king, he might bend even the world to his whim. You let your hands trails down his forearms. He drops his hands and takes yours. 

“Will you tell me more? About when you were a boy?” You ask, hoping to forget the present a little longer. You are intrigued to think of this man as just a child. It is a rather impossible concept. 

“Hm, well,” he lets go of you and moves around you. He comes behind you and presses himself to your back. He rocks you as he turns you to admire the cave, “I would come to these caves and talk to myself...” he laughs rockily, “you see, if you holler loud enough, your voice bounces back at you. Lord Vesemir, he is not always in the mind for conversation and horses can be just as finicky.” 

He continues to turn you with him. Even without his cloak, his warmth seeps into you. 

“And I would gather bouquets of frostwart and white willowrods for they are the closest to flowers that grow here. I would put the bunches all around, as if I was too be coronated. I was told every day I would be king and I wanted to be ready, but mostly, I’d pretend I was at tourney. I would have my practice sword and I would parry with the air. The air was not so mean as Vesemir with his jabs.” 

You listen, closing your eyes, trying to see it in your head. A white-haired boy with his golden eyes and flowers and swords. Now a man who’s marched through blood and dirt. How time changes more than the seasons, it transforms all. 

“What of you, maid? I want to know of you. When you were a child, did you frolic with the rabbits and the squirrels?” 

You go rigid. You try to pull away but he has you caught. You lean back and exhale heavily. 

“The life of a maid isn’t very interesting,” your murmur. 

“You were always a maid? Even when you were young?” 

“Always,” you affirm. “I emptied pots, brought Lord Dustan his boots, though at times, Lady Jazlene required a playmate...” 

He’s quiet at the mention of his wife. You feel the crack in your heart. Your nose is numb and tingling. 

“Yet, how did you become a maid? Before that, was there nothing?” He asks. 

“Please, your highness--” 

“I bid you call me by my name.” 

“Geralt,” you utter, “please, I beg you, I wouldn’t speak of before.” 

“Did you have parents? Siblings--” 

“None of it,” you hiss and elbow away from him, throwing your arms out to keep balance. You spin and shake your head, “please. My parents are dead. Long gone. And the memories I have of them are nothing more than that. They’ve only ever been dead to me.” 

He is taken aback, his face pale and cheeks tight, “treasure, forgive me, I only... I want to know everything of you--” 

“You know what I am. I am a maid. That is it. That is all I can ever be. I am not a lady, not a wife, not a queen,” you clap your hands together, the impact softened by your mittens, “you cannot make me anything different, king as you may be. I will only ever serve, and you will only ever command.” 

His lips part and he steps towards you, “that isn’t true.” 

“It’s what must be true,” you look to your feet, “might I make a request?” 

“Anything,” he says. 

“Take me back to the castle,” you raise your eyes.  

He nods solemnly and reaches for you, “as you wish.” 

[nats-firefly]

trust me love me f*ck me

sugar mommy!carol danvers x reader

summary: you let your sugar mommy dress you in a maid outfit and have her way with you

warnings: groping, fingering (r receiving), strap-on use (r receiving), oral (r giving (implied) and receiving), spanking, there's one pussy smack, carol in a sweatpants, captain kink, heavy use of petnames, orgasm denial, maid outfit, praise, carol is very condescending, smut 18+ only

warnings clearly stated, please don't report

gif source

You handed Carol a glass of water as she played her video game. Your eyes stayed glued to the way her fingers pressed the buttons on the controller, almost spilling the water on her.

“Careful baby,” She teased. “If you make a mess you’ll have to clean it up.”

You smirked, straightening yourself up and smoothing your skirt down. Carol bought you a maid outfit that barely covered your ass last week, she asked you to wear it when you were in her house. She didn’t actually expect you to do house chores, that wasn’t your role as her sugar baby. Your role was to please her, and you’d let her put you in whatever outfit she wanted to. The rewards, monetary or not, more than made up for it. 

“Sorry, Captain,” You answered, turning to walk away before she stopped you.

“Come here, sweetheart,” She shifted her eyes towards you before focusing back on the game, a smirk gracing her features. “Kneel.”

You dropped to your knees, placing your hands over your barely covered thighs. Carol continued playing the game, barely acknowledging your presence. It was fine at first, but the more you watched her fingers flex around the controller, the more your mind wandered. Carol knew what she was doing. 

When she leaned back into the couch further away from you, the strap previously concealed in her baggy sweatpants now strained against the fabric. You whined before you could process what you were doing. Carol smirked, sending you a glance and focusing back on the TV. You shifted in your place, not daring to move too much.

“Is there something you want, princess?” She said, enjoying the way your thighs clenched as you nodded. “Words.”

“Yes, Captain,” You said with a whine. She continued playing the game, raising her eyebrows prompting you to continue. “I want your cock.”

Her actions were fast. She paused the game and tossed the controller to the side, pulling you up by your jaw. You looked at her through half lidded eyes. 

“That’s not how good girls like you talk to me,” Her voice was stern, her pupils blown with lust. Every now and then you had to break her rules for attention, your mistake was letting her see your smirk. “Stand up.”

You did as you were told, standing up at her side before she pulled you to between her legs. Her hands slid up under your skirt, goosebumps covering your skin. You felt her fingertips ghost over your underwear, your knees almost giving out under you at the small contact. Carol hummed under her breath enjoying the way your breath hitched at her contact. She roughly turned you around before pushing you down to bend over. You supported your weight with your hands on the coffee table, feeling the cold air brush against your now bare ass. 

Before you could even look back at Carol, you felt her hand come down against your ass in a loud smack. Your hands gripped the edge of the coffee table, the pain quickly turning into pleasure. 

“Do you like it when I punish you, baby?” She asked, running her hand over the emerging handprint on your ass. You whined, leaning back towards her. Her hand came down on your other ass cheek, making your whole body jolt. 

“Captain,” You whined, arching your back so she had a full view of the wet spot on your underwear you were sure was evident.

“Of course you like it,” She said, ripping your underwear and running her fingers over your slit. “Look how wet you are from it.”

Her hand smacked your pussy, before sinking two of her fingers into you. You leaned back into her touch, eyes rolling to the back of your head with pleasure. Incoherent moans and words left your lips as Carol fucked you with her fingers. Her touch spread fire through your body, bringing you closer to the edge with each thrust. 

“C-Captain, I- fuck,” You moaned, knuckles tightening on the edge of the coffee table. “I’m gonna cum.”

Carol hummed. “If only you could.”

She pulled her fingers out of you, a desperate whine leaving your lips before she pushed you forward as she sat back down on the couch. A throaty moan filled the room as you felt her tongue start working against your pussy. Her hands spread your cheeks apart, giving herself more access as your knees faltered under you. You moved your hips against her tongue, feeling her moan against you. 

Carol ran her nails down the back of your thighs, the sensation making you see stars. At this pace, you wouldn’t last much longer. When Carol pulled away, a string of saliva mixed with your arousal connected her lips to your pussy, the cold air sent goosebumps down your legs. 

“Stand up, angel,” She said, tapping your ass after kissing one of the streaks her nails left on your skin. You did as she said, turning around as she guided your hips. “Take this off for me?”

You nodded breathlessly as she ran her hands over your thighs with pure adoration in her eyes. “Help me?” She smirked at you, taking your hands in hers. “Please, Captain.”

“That’s my good girl,” She muttered, bringing your hand up to her lips. “Come here, princess.”

She pulled you down onto her lap, making you straddle her as she captured your lips against hers. You moaned against her lips as her tongue explored your mouth, yielding all control over to her. Her hands made their way to the back of your outfit, pulling the delicate zipper down. Her lips trailed down your neck as she slid the sleeves down your shoulders exposing your chest. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” She mumbled against your skin, her lips making their way down to your collarbone. You leaned back, entangling your hands in her hair as she marked your chest. She moaned against your skin as your nails scratched her scalp. Your hips started grinding against hers, the large strap deliciously rubbing over your now ripped underwear.

“Captain, please,” You moaned breathlessly, continuing your movements. Carol hummed in response, lost in the way your chest felt against her lips. You grabbed her face, pulling her out of her own self inflicted trance. “Please, Captain, I need you to fuck me.”

“Fuck, baby,” You saw her pupils dilate with lust. “I want you naked.”

You stood up, letting the piece of clothing fall to the ground along with your ripped up underwear. Carol shimmied her sweatpants down her legs, her strap now in full display. “Come here.”

You straddled Carol once again, letting her line the strap up with your entrance. Her hands gripped your hips as you slowly sank down on the strap, moaning as it filled you to the brim. Carol litterred your chest with kisses, sucking at just the right spots. You moaned, starting to move your hips against her as she started kissing up to your mouth. 

Carol’s hands massaged your chest as you started riding her strap, moaning loudly when she took your bottom lip between her teeth. “Who do you belong to, baby?”

“You,” You said breathlessly, feeling her strap hit exactly the right places inside you. “I belong to you, Captain.”

“You’re doing so good, princess,” She moaned, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your back arched, Carol could tell you were getting dangerously close to the edge. Her thumb started circling your clit, making you cry out in pleasure. You dug your nails into her arms, desperately chasing your high. “Are you close?”

“Fuck,” You moaned, leaning back so Carol could watch as her strap moved in and out of you. “Captain, please let me cum.”

“You can do better than that, baby,” She said, changing the pace at which she played with your clit. Your body shook in pleasure as you held off your orgasm.

“Please, Captain, please, let me cum,” You begged, desperately needing a release. “Only you can make me feel this good, please, let me make a mess for you.”

Carol seemed satisfied, but wanted to drag this out a little longer. She pulled out of you almost completely before slamming you back down onto her strap, filling you once again. You moaned loudly, the wet sounds of your arousal and skin snapping against each other filling the room. 

“Cum for me, angel,” With a few more thrusts you were pushed over the edge, your body shaking against Carol’s as you came on her cock. Carol continued to help you through your orgasm, your entire body going limp. “You did so good, baby.”

“Thank you,” You mumbled against Carol, feeling her hand soothingly rub up and down your back. “You’re good at this.”

Carol chuckled, continuing to soothe you as you fully recovered. “You made such a pretty mess for me,” She mumbled, bringing your lips together once again. You let her lazily explore your mouth, your mind still too hazy to fully comprehend anything. Carol's hands softly rubbed up and down your thighs, occasionally moving to squeeze your ass. It wasn’t long until you were starting to grind your hips against hers again. She hummed against you.

“Uh, uh, remember,” She tutted, stopping your movements. You whined as she slipped the strapon out before setting you back down kneeling on the floor between her legs. She slipped off her harness, chucking the strap aside to reveal her glistening cunt. Your mouth watered. “If you make a mess, you have to clean it up.”

[adairtrashart]

i wanted to draw this either way

but ye shamelessly using maid dress nari and youtooz promo outfit lamb and goat to get more eyes on the fact i have emergency commissions open

[starlovesganyu]

Your Maid outfit is one of my favourite posts on tumblr, can you make one for the Honkai girls(especially Bronya)?

at your service! (part 2)

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

coming home to you in a maid outfit!

thanks for the ask!

various characters x gn!reader

characters: bronya, fu xuan, himeko, topaz, sparkle

warnings: none

not proofread

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

bronya -`✮´-

• she was pretty tired coming home from another busy day at work, but opening the front door to you in a maid outfit jolted her wide awake

"w-what are you...why are you in a maid outfit?"

• your bow and "at your service" only serves to deepen her already intense blush

"h-hey...you don't have to act like you're my subordinate"

• she'll go along with it after realizing that you actually want to be her maid for the night

• will ask you to do tasks that help her relax, like cooking her dinner or giving her massage

• she knows she shouldn't be staring, but you just look so stunning in the maid outfit she can't help but let her gaze follow you around

• she doesn't want to make you work too hard, so after you finish cleaning up the dining table she bashfully asks you come cuddle

• it's also because she can't bear not having her hands on you anymore

"for my final request...c-can i kiss you?"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

fu xuan -`✮´-

• when she opens the door, she'll freeze up, her a beautiful shade of red creeping into her face

• she'll just stand there stunned for a couple seconds, before clearing her throat and attempting to regain her composure and hide her surprise

"...what's with the outfit?"

(you) "at your service master diviner!"

• her eyes widen and her face grows even more red at the unexpected display

• she tries to say something, but stutters over every word

• the fact that you look so damn cute in the outfit doesn't help her at all

• finally, she tells you to sweep the floors, then darts off into the bedroom, emerging a couple minutes later looking a lot more composed

• asks you to do a couple more things around the house before she feels bad for making you work

"my final request is...if it doesn't bother you...in the future, can you wear the uhm...maid outfit again?

• this must have been the "exceptional event" she foresaw in the matrix that morning

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

himeko -`✮´-

• when she opens the door, a smile blooms across her face, and her eyes sweep you up and down

"awww baby, what's with the outfit? you look amazing though!"

• she dotes over you until you're blushing from head to toe, but you still manage to stutter out the line "at your service", which invites another round of praise from her

• once she has you thoroughly flustered, she asks you to help her clean the kitchen and bedroom

• doesn't try to hide the fact that she is taking in the sight of you in a maid outfit-you just look too pretty!

• she also struggles to keep her hands off of you

"good job! now, i think my cute little maid deserves a reward after all that hard work!"

• your face is promptly covered in gentle kisses, leaving you bright red and a little dazed

• she steps back and admires her work, chuckling a bit to herself

"you might want to wash your face a little more thoroughly tonight. it seems a lot of my lipstick got on you"

• there's a hint of sadness in her eyes when you change out of the maid outfit that night

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

topaz -`✮´-

• she'll jump a little, her eyes widening and face turning red

"w-what's going on?"

• she stumbles over her words, trying to keep her calm in front of the breathtaking view before her

(you) "at your service!"

• she lets out a nervous laugh as she steps into the house and closes the door behind her, almost tripping on numby on the way in

• who knew one the ten stonehearts would be a nervous wreck in front of her girlfriend?

"at my service you said? b-by the way, y-you look good in that"

• i think you've discovered a new weakness of hers...

• she'll just ask you to make her dinner, too nervous to ask for anything beyond that

• when you inevitably catch her staring, she'll apologize and look back down at her work report (you'll catch her staring many, many more times after her first apology)

• when you finally change out of the outfit to get ready for bed, she breathes a sigh of relief, but there's also a look of disappointment in her eyes

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

sparkle -`✮´-

• she'll be stunned for maybe half a second before she's slowly circling you, getting every angle of you in the maid outfit

"oh my..."

(you) "a-at your service!"

• a smirk forms on her face as she continues to look you up and down, head-to-toe

"at my service, huh..."

• she'll take one final look before abruptly wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you in close

"not that i'm complaint, but since when are you suddenly up for being a maid...?"

• she inquires, pulling you tighter into her embrace, feeling the soft fabric of your uniform on her fingers

• doesn't give you a chance to answer before she's skipping away, telling you to clean the house

• you're only a little bit into cleaning before she tells you to stop, and start on another task, repeating this cycle until she's bored

"alright alright...that's enough"

• she suddenly gets serious, which is a incredibly rare occurrence

"y-you actually do look good in the outfit..."

• her getting all bashful makes your heart melt, and you have to resist the urge to pick her up and just shower her in kisses

a/n: thanks for reading!!!

[lovelyhan]

— underlying pretense (a teaser) ⟢

pairing: wonwoo x reader

summary: being two of the most popular streamers across the board, your subscribers often speculate if your constant bickering with wonwoo has some underlying pretense. little did they know, the two of you have everything on display on a single, unsuspecting twitter account. 

word count: 1k words

tags: fuck buddies, not quite enemies to lovers but it's the thought that counts, streamer!wonwoo, streamer!reader, smut

warnings: wonwoo n reader run a shared p0rn account bc they're fllthy like that, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: no hardcore smut tags needed just yet, but do Not interact with this post if you're a minor, still.

Wonwoo doesn’t make it a habit to watch your streams for two reasons. 

The first is because you’re one of his tightest competitors in the streamer market. Giving you even a single view means that he’s contributing to your rise in popularity, which is very much detrimental to both Wonwoo’s pride and his career. 

Not that someone who only plays boring open-world games can easily dethrone one of the most renowned competitive players on the platform, but he learned the hard way to never underestimate the charms of a cute girl who knows her way around both technology and the wallets of her subscribers.  

The second reason is…somewhat related to the first.

They’re all hanging out in Seungcheol’s apartment when Vernon opens up a Twitch stream to watch. Wonwoo is in the middle of a petty but intense Fruit Ninja competition with Mingyu on their phones, so he doesn’t get to see which streamer he’s watching. Vernon is the type that likes to give newbies a chance, though, so at that moment, Wonwoo couldn’t really care less.

But when he hears a familiar, high-pitched voice dish out her opening tagline for every stream, even Mingyu notices the way Wonwoo's face scrunches up with distaste.

“Can’t believe you pulled a Koyahngi and Chill while Wonwoo’s in the same room,” Seungcheol laughs when he returns with some beer. “We all know he’s allergic to the sound of her voice.” 

“Hey, I think it’s cute,” Vernon says. “Her outfit is, too. Look.”

Wonwoo, still stewing in his annoyance, doesn't move an inch, while Mingyu scoots closer—glancing over Vernon’s shoulder before letting out a wolf whistle.

“I really don’t see the benefit to playing Stardew Valley in maid-cat girl fusion cosplay, but at least she’s still in theme—oh, shit.”

Seungcheol looks at him once he settles himself on the sofa as well. “What’s wrong?”

“My phone died while I was in the middle of a game,” Mingyu whines. “Wonwoo-hyung, lemme borrow yours. We still haven’t decided who’s buying takeout tonight.”

While Wonwoo would’ve normally responded by scoffing at Mingyu to just borrow a charger from Seungcheol, he completely ignores him—stern eyes glued to his phone as he types away at rapid speed. The moment he hits send, Wonwoo hears a soft chime ring over Koyahngi’s lo-fi background music. 

You pause for a moment from whatever introductory segment you have planned and tell your viewers you’re just going to answer a text. Wonwoo’s friends are none the wiser when he receives a reply the moment you put your phone back down and interact with the chat.

🐈‍⬛: What did I say about wearing that outfit?

🐈: hmm, can’t remember :P

Fucking brat.

“Hyung?” Mingyu calls out after emerging from Seungcheol’s room—presumably to hunt for a charger—when he spots Wonwoo already halfway to the door. “Where are you going?” 

“Friend’s having set-up problems. He texted me asking if I could come over and take a look,” he reasons calmly as he slips his shoes back on. “I’ll head back here once I’m done.” 

Seungcheol pouts at him. “You better! Mingyu over here told us you’ve been busy with some girl, that’s why you couldn't hang out with the boys anymore.”

Vernon glances behind him to shoot Wonwoo an incredulous stare. “Wonwoo-hyung? With a girl? You’re not just making stuff up, right?” 

Mingyu immediately springs into action, blabbering something about how Wonwoo isn’t the heartless prude people thought he was, but Wonwoo really doesn’t give two shits about how his friends perceived his sex life. In fact, he was more interested in what’s playing on the screen of Vernon’s iPad—the view now unobstructed because the youngest has deigned to move away.

Again, the second reason why Wonwoo doesn’t watch your streams is related to the first. 

You’re literally his tightest competitor, but when he sees you all dolled up in your stupid fucking catgirl outfits, he’s suddenly no different from the degenerates vying for your attention in the chat.

And there is nothing else that Wonwoo hates more than being thrown off his game like that.

Funnily enough, he’s reminded of the very thing that started this constant back-and-forth he’s been toeing around with you for a better part of the year when he slips into the driver’s seat of his car. Just before he can drop his phone into one of the cup holders on the middle console, a Twitter notification lights up on screen. 

Wonwoo would’ve thought it was from the account dedicated to interacting with his viewers outside of streams. He’s got a decent number of followers there after all. Except the notifications for his official Twitter account have long been muted because of the massive online traction his tweets gain everyday. 

No, this one’s from another account entirely.

He feels no shame, opening up the most recent video you put up. What he does feel is a sick sort of pride at the sheer amount of engagement that the video received overnight—those faceless Twitter accounts in the replies looking for other desperate fucks to recreate it with. 

This is one of Wonwoo’s favorites. Part of the select few that he actually deigned to keep hidden in the gallery of his phone for…future use. He can barely contain his own heady arousal as he watches the same clip he took with his own camera the previous night. 

Those desperate little noises you made. The way your body writhed while getting a good dicking down. And how you were so fucking eager to slide Wonwoo’s cock back inside your cunt after having him cum all over your tits. 

Seeing you wearing the same goddamn fishnet bodysuit beneath your stupid maid costume on the stream not only made him pop a hard-on in the middle of boys’ night, but also called for drastic interventions, so to speak.

🐈‍⬛: Finish up that stream asap. I’ll be there in 20. 

🐈: fuck you, i just started 5 minutes ago

🐈‍⬛: You know I don’t like it when you talk back, right?

🐈: fine

🐈‍⬛: What?

🐈: …yes, daddy

🐈‍⬛: That’s what I thought.

end notes: hehe i hope you like it so far! i think it will take me a While to finish this, and i didn't want the blog to go stagnant for too long, so i thought, eh, why not post a teaser? edit: thank you for giving the teaser some love! the full fic can now be found here!

[sfblah]

The Cleanup Crew - Tactical Maid Service - Chapter 2

[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]

Now to meet the rest of the main cast. Things still haven't really gotten tactical yet, but should I finish the third chapter sometime this century I promise this series will actually live up to its name eventually lol.

Female sneezes - Various causes

Operation "Crackers"

Cleanup Cafe. A cafe. With maids. A maid cafe.

And today, with one more maid than before.

Over an hour remains until the cafe opens, but she goes around back to the staff entrance anyway. Her hand stops short of the door handle, and her shoulder-length ponytail sways in the breeze for a moment before she finds her resolve and steps inside. 

The break room is more or less what she expected: a table, a few chairs, a series of lockers, and an outdated computer in the corner. The only thing that might seem out of place in any other cafe is the collection of weapons displayed on one wall. Pistols, rifles, shotguns, and so on, most of which she recognizes from various video games. Her eyes drift across a few empty pegs, and she can only hope she wasn’t supposed to bring her own.

“Ah, Miss Bucket, you’ve arrived.”

A low, calm, and mature voice, but it still startles the maid enough to make her jump. It sounds like the same person she’d spoken to after her assessment, but there’s really no way to be sure. And… ‘Miss Bucket’? She really should have done more to assert that that would not be her nickname.

A tall, proper woman emerges from around the corner, blonde hair in a claw clip updo and clad in a black and white maid outfit. Sharp but tired eyes pierce through the large, circular lenses of her glasses, and Bucket finds herself frozen to the spot.

“Uh. Hi,” she stammers, unable to give even a little wave. Why is she so anxious? She already got the job. Just clock in, collect a paycheck, and…

“Again I’d like to welcome you to The Cleanup Crew. You may call me ‘Kerchief,’ or simply ‘Manager.’ I hope you enjoy your first day with us.”

Bucket fidgets in place.

“Um, yeah. You too. I mean… Yeah.”

“Please don’t be nervous,” commands Kerchief, her flat tone of voice doing little to reassure her new subordinate. “I’m sure you want to meet the rest of the team, but first, I have an assignment for you.”

Bucket gulps. Is this going to be some kind of initiation thing? Something to get blood on her hands and keep her from running off and snitching? Kerchief begins to move away from the weapon wall, and Bucket enjoys a moment of relief before her manager pushes open the door to the kitchen.

“Your first task is to prepare something to eat. It could be a meal, a snack, anything that strikes your fancy. Then, you are to come out to the floor and serve us as if we were your customers. I think that would be a lovely way for you to introduce yourself.”

After Kerchief disappears into the next room, Bucket takes a second to shake out her nervousness, wiggling from her feet all the way to her head. She skips through the door, and… It’s just a kitchen. No command center, no vast collection of weapons. Hardly any euphemisms for murder to be found. For better or worse, the maid has little time to catch up before Kerchief is already on the way out another door.

“We’ll be right through here, Miss Bucket. See you soon.”

“Wait, I…”

And the door swings shut.

Bucket limply lifts her hands and lets them fall back to her sides. Great. Time to navigate this whole-ass restaurant-ass kitchen, because she definitely knows how to do that. Gotta start somewhere, just open a cabinet, any old cabinet.

Seasoning. Condiments. Is salt a condiment?

The pepper grinder lays on its side, along with a sprinkling of that black and gray dust. Bucket frowns and shuts the door, grumpily pressing her fingers across the underside of her nose as she turns away.

Just make something simple. More involved than handing out ketchup packets, but this didn’t exactly seem like a Michelin star operation.

Bucket squats down, checking the cabinets below the counter this time. Her eyes clench shut and she gives her pudgy nose an upward wipe with her palm, still feeling a peppery itch somewhere inside. Then, once she finally has a chance to look… Flour!

Perfect! Flour goes in all kinds of stuff, like bread, and other things made out of bread. Bucket grabs the bag, struggling with its surprising weight for a moment, and slams it down on the counter. She spies a stack of mixing bowls at the other end of the counter, and she slides over the biggest one she can get her hands on. Ready to finally get started, she tears the bag of flour open and begins to pour.

Suddenly, Bucket’s mind and expression both go blank. Flour continues to flow as the maid’s teardrop-shaped nostrils flare and constrict. Like it or not, it seems the pepper is ready to leave.

“ah… ah-ahh…”

The last of the flour falls into the bowl as Bucket’s breathing begins to heave and hitch. The bag wasn’t big enough to completely overfill the bowl, but a veritable mountain of white powder stands before her nonetheless. At least, until…

“aaAAH-CHOOOO!!!”

The hapless maid sneezes up a blizzard that envelops half the kitchen. Her face and clothes above the waist are completely covered in flour, a few clumps falling away as she weakly opens her eyes. She barely has time to realize what happened before her face scrunches up again and she delivers another “haa-CHHHOOO!” into the bowl.

After the second explosion of flour settles, Bucket cringes and cracks one eye open. The blow is softened ever so slightly by the kitchen’s already largely white decor, but the powdery mess is undeniable.

“Oops…” she mumbles, sheepishly rubbing an outstretched index finger back and forth under her nostrils. After a look over her shoulder at the door to the cafe floor, Bucket makes a token effort at brushing herself off as she runs back to the break room. Partway there it occurs to her that she really should be doing this outside, and so she flings herself through the exit door. Maybe she can change into a fresh uniform and pretend none of this ever happened. Just sweep the flour out and then the wind will… Th-the wind will…

“ah-ahh-ahhh-CHOOO!!”

A layer of white bursts away from the maid as she sneezes again. She snuffles and rubs a finger hard under her nose, bending it from side to side. And when she straightens up, Bucket finds salvation gazing upon her from across the street.

Paying no attention to any potential traffic and still blotchy with flour, Bucket flees to the catty-corner convenience store. She clumsily ducks down to hopefully avoid being seen through the cafe’s front window, and a moment later she sneaks her way back with equal care, hugging a tub of premade frosting and a box of club crackers to her chest.

“Um… H-hi, master. Sorry for the wait,” Bucket stammers, finally emerging from the kitchen. One hand holds a plate of frosted cra- Frosted cookies, while the other timidly rubs her nose. Her voice cracks when she sees not one, not two, but three fellow maids seated around a table. One of them is Kerchief, her manager from earlier, but the others are new to her.

On the left is a pale, gloomy maid with a bob of green hair and long, straight bangs that completely cover her face above the cheekbones. Including both eyes. If she even has eyes. And on the right sits a boyish, muscular maid wearing a lopsided smile. Dark skin, short and spiky black hair, and a bandage across the bridge of her long, upturned nose. Both turn to face their new companion, and each gives a little wave. Bucket swallows nervously and resumes her approach.

As she arrives at the table, muscle maid leaps from her chair and rushes over.

“Hey there, Bucket! Pleased to meet’cha!” she exclaims, offering a hard slap on the shoulder. Her other hand flies to the plate and pops a frosted cracker into her mouth.

“Ooh, nice cookies,” she says as she chews. “Sweet and salty’s a good mix. Anyway, call me Duster!” She pauses to swallow. “And this is Mop!” She gestures to the green-haired maid, who ‘looks’ up at Bucket and wordlessly waves again. “Welcome to the team!”

Kerchief, Duster, Mop, and Bucket. What a world. Settling into panic mode autopilot, Bucket deposits her plate on the table and sits in the one vacant chair. Mop and Kerchief each take a cracker of their own, and Bucket feels a massive weight lift from her shoulders when neither offers a complaint.

“What’s your secret ingredient?” Mop suddenly asks, startling Bucket out of her trance. Her lips part, but before she can bullshit an answer, her nostrils decide to respond for her. “Well, I… I… ah… ahh… CHOOOO!!”

[raineandsky]

The Villain's Housekeeper

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)

“Here.”

The voice positively makes the hero jump. They whirl around to find the villain, refusing to meet their eye, a bundle of clothes in their arms. 

The villain shakes the clothes for emphasis. “Take them.”

The hero reaches out, hesitantly, to take the pile out of the villain’s grip. “Are these for washing or…?”

“No,” the villain snaps like it’s obvious. “They’re for you.”

The hero frowns, glancing down at the clothes now in their arms. Jeans, t-shirt, zip-up hoodie. Normal clothes. “The maid outfit’s getting old,” the villain defends quickly. “You can wear these, but if I decide I want my maid back you put it back on. Understand?”

The hero nods numbly, running their fingers over the fabric. The villain waves them off idly. “Go change, then.”

The clothes are smooth, soft, thankfully loose against their body. The hero takes a moment to stare at their reflection in the bathroom mirror. They’re a little more dignified; a little more themself. They’ve no idea what possessed the villain to show them such a kindness, but they’re not about to complain.

The villain throws them a half-genuine smile when they emerge. “Shame,” they say, as if they didn’t just hand the hero these clothes. “You have nice legs. Sad to see them go.”

The next time the villain’s cruelty slips up is when the hero is standing over the kitchen sink, meticulously cleaning out the steadily-growing pile of dishes on the side. The villain is at the table, staring rather intensely at an array of paperwork, as the hero lets their gaze lock out the window. To beyond.

To the garden. To the birds, and the trees, and the flowers and the bushes and the blue sky and the road and—

“You wanna go outside?”

The hero pulls their gaze back indoors, to the villain, and it occurs to them that the villain’s never had official villainy business out around them before. They’re watching the hero with an unreadable expression. “What?” the hero asks dumbly.

“What do you mean what?” the villain’s face pulls into a much more readable grimace. Their eyes flit momentarily to the window behind the hero. “I mean do you wanna go outside?”

The villain settles at an old patio table with a sigh as the hero takes in the fresh air, like a parent watching over an exploring child. They wander the garden, never quite out of the villain’s sight, feeling the breeze on their skin, the sun warming their face. They eventually lie down in the grass to stare at the clouds drifting by overhead, free. 

“Thank you,” they say after a bout of surprisingly comfortable silence. The villain makes some noise of acute offence.

“Can’t have you suffocating in the house.” A pair of sunglasses sit on their nose, saving them from the squinting the hero’s taken to. A smile tugs traitorously at their lips. “Those bushes need cutting back, anyway. There’s pruners in the shed.”

-

The villain’s fumbled a few times. They’re embarrassed. Why are they being so nice to the hero? To their nemesis? The hero’s sob story sure as hell didn’t work on them. They’ve messed up, sure, but they recognise that. They’re going to rein that in. The kindness stops now.

That was the plan, at least, until they’re watching the hero work their way around the villain’s bedroom armed with another long duster. The hero reaches up for the top of a picture frame when they yelp, the duster clattering to the floor. The villain is on their feet instantly, more in surprise than anything, with a harried “what?”

“My arm, I– I don’t think it’s—” The villain only hears the first two words, practically shoving the hoodie from the hero’s shoulders to assess the damage. The bandage that the villain first saw in the living room is soaked crimson red.

“Jesus,” is all the villain can think to say. “Sit down.”

“[Villain], I think—”

“Sit.” The villain’s tone leaves no room for dispute, and the hero obediently sinks down on the bed with a sigh. The villain yanks a first aid kit from their nightstand, much to the hero’s blatant surprise, and sets it down on the covers.

"You never know," the villain defends shortly.

They carefully—carefully, god, what a softie they’ve become—unfurl the bandages from the hero’s arm. The wound there is a lot worse than the hero let on. The villain sucks in a breath to ram the insult back down their throat about how stupid the hero is for letting this fester.

They make themself busy changing the bandage over, binning the old one and gently cleaning the blood from the hero’s skin. The hero watches them with an air of disbelief that the villain pointedly ignores.

“You let this go on too long,” the villain snaps, incensed. “Why were you working when it was this bad?”

“Because—” The hero frowns confusedly. “Because you told me to. I can keep going—I’ll just be more careful.”

“It won’t heal if you don’t give it time!” the villain continues. They finally grace the hero with an irate glare. “Why didn’t you just stop?”

The hero’s brow furrows again, ever-so-slightly. “Because I won’t survive if you kick me out.”

The hero looks miserable. The villain should laugh at them. Should revel in the position they’re putting the hero in. Should tell them that they deserve it.

But the hero’s downtrodden expression gets turned to their hands like they hold answers, and the villain can’t even muster an insulting smirk. Seeing them like this—it hurts.

They pack the first aid kit away to distract themself from the feelings surging dangerously close to the surface. "I won't," the villain says quietly, and they mean it.

(Next part)

[undermine-the-instinct]

Imagine being a personal maid for hire. Maybe you work at some business or organization that services maids or cleaning help. And let's say that youve been requested. You have a good track record and you do your work well.

But these people!!

Okay, imagine being called to clean the residence of the cavalry captain. He says he's hardly there so it's so dusty, and he never has the time for personal cleaning. Alright, whatever. But when you get there, the place…it's literally covered in dust. There are spare bottles of wine and clothes strewn everywhere. Oddly enough the bed is made and the bathroom is clean too but everything else? Horrible.

When he does decide to sleep in his bed rather than the office, he hires you in the mornings to cook some breakfast and perhaps a lunch, and clean up whatever he leaves behind. Easy. If he would shut his mouth. Always with a grin and some cute catchphrase. One time you come in early, with the spare key he had given you, and you arrive in time to see him at the mirror, putting on his eyepatch, hair in disarray and half dressed. You flush, but you're a professional, at least until he smiles, and you know a flirty quip is sharp on his tongue.

You flee with your red face to the little kitchen. Horribly enough, he follows you, half dressed and all, still sleepy eyed and voice low. He mangescto trap you between his body and one of the counters, and you try to glare at him and not look too flustered by his gaze and the open plane of his chest. You ask if hes enjoying himself. And low voiced he says yes, he is. He now knows your weakness and exploits it. This is an ongoing thing.

_____________________

You get called to the Favonius Headquarters to clean there too, since your company is often hired for this place. You try to avoid the cavalry captain. You usually succeed. You end up in the office of the acting headmaster, and you want to wince at the coffee mugs everywhere, the pens and papers. She smiles so wearily, pale gold in the Monstadt sun and you think she should be brighter.

She's too young to look so tired, you tell her. She laughs and says you're too pretty in that outfit, that she'll get distracted at this rate. But then she flushes and tells you to forget what she said. Jean says that everything is an organized mess, she knows where everything is but could you please get rid if these mugs? And pass her that pen please? If you don't mind please hand her that paper and deliver this document to miss Lisa? Well, the bags under her eyes are so heavy, and she seems so stressed so–wait, no, you do mind! But it's already too late, you're already at the library.

_____________________

Thankfully, Miss Lisa isn't too messy. There are a few stacks of books everywhere though, leading you to trip and fall into her forever open arms. Or ample bosom.

She lets you go with a squeeze or a wink, and tells you you should be wearing something cuter than the droll work clothes you usually wear. You don't comment. She corners you in dark corners and presses unto you when she's reaching around you, or above in a higher shelf for a book. She smells so nice, like books and dried flowers and something richer underneath.

She helps rety your apron in the back, smoothes down your stray hairs. If she catches your eyes from across the room she smiles, pouts a little. You try to focus. Miss Lisa is a flirt, and the quips she throws or the pecks she gives you on your forehead or cheek is….sweet, but unprofessional! You're not here to dilly dally! You go back to dusting, and the cloud that emerges is the only thing that keeps her away.

_____________________

You were called as extra staff for the Angel's Share once too. Apparently the partying had gone on so long and was so rambunctious that some extra help was needed, since there weren't enough workers and the off duty ones wouldn't make it in time or at all. Luckily your company is prepared to work at any moment. You actually didn't really wanna go so late, but a hefty tip was surely reserved for you. You cleaned quickly, and efficiently, and you jolted when the young Lord Ragnvindr came up behind you and paid a compliment. You had bumped into him earlier, bussing tables, and he had simply righted you with a quick arm around you, steadying you. His hand was so big and warm, like a brand against your belly, you blush just thinking about it. He made a jest that he should hire you for his manor instead, and you chuckled good naturedly. He offers you a drink, on the house, but its much too late for a drink now, you say. Besides, you don't really like to drink on the job or otherwise, it clouds your judgment and then how will you get home? He chuckles and says you have a point. You dont think you imagine the flare in his eyes. The pleasant, idle conversation between you two is obliterated when a green clad bard falls onto the table between you two.

_____________________

He is young, and he reeked of wine, clothes wrinkled and skewed. He still drunkenly sang, off tune but still beautiful, slurring about if he saw a God before him. He rose back up and teetered, and you gasped when he fell atop you, his mouth a hairsbreath from yours. You caught him and the open wine in his hand split, staining your white apron. He just giggled against your cheek while you both glared down at him, slurring out half hearted apologies. Weeks later he was still apologizing to you and still trying to get you to let him buy you a drink, if he could pay that is. "How about you buy me a new apron!" You had called out. Two days later, at your company, a brand new, frilly white apron was waiting for you, crisp and cute. A single dandelion came with the gift.

_____________________

Why the hell were you here? When your company said they'd extend their services anywhere, at any time, you didn't think they'd send you to Dragonspine!! You had to set some boundaries! It didn't matter whether cute librarians or cavalry captains flirted at you, or acting grandmasters smiled at you over coffee. Or even if young bachelor Lords smiled at you and gave you free drinks in the house, boundaries!! No matter how good the pay was, or how cute your frilly new apron— Okay, but this guy was actually pretty cute. What was with the people you were sent to? They were all attractive!!!

Okay, so he had a chemical reaction that's safe to clean but he needs the mess cleaned up before the knights check in and realize he wasn't doing any work. Okay. Got it. It's easy enough to come off, and you're not at risk of loosing your fingers, and you ask questions about what project he's doing now.

He answers your questions easily, and you almost feel bad for bothering him, but then you remember you're dealing with hazardous chemicals. Consider it part of the pay. A few weeks of cleaning and conversations later, you arrive early and catch an open notebook on his desk.

It's your face and form that graces the pages. Pages and pages. You in your winter work outfit and silly frills. Your duster and sprays. Cleaning, talking, laughing. Most embarrassingly perhaps is just a simple front view sketch. But the way he drew your eyes, your cheek and the curve of your mouth…

You blush, not having noticed his gaze, or how he walks in at that moment. He speaks and you jolt, as he explains how he couldn't just let such a lovely specimen go unnoticed. He smiles, really smiles for the first time, soft and a little bashful.

�� ☆ ☆

The next day you head over to your boss, because you just cant take this anymore! You're a maid for hire, not a hostess or drawing model or barmaid or whatever! Your heart can't take this! You need to be transferred!

Luckily, your company is opening up a few new branches, and as their best worker. They'd like to send you to represent them! Alas, the pay is great but the travel is very far.

Liyue, Inazuma, or Sumeru. One of the three. Your choice, dear. Your boss doesn't even give you time to leave or think it over, because they need an answer now. Your choice dear.

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Motion Sick

Sicktember 2024 - Prompt #6 Dizziness/Vertigo

Words: 4,440

Pairing: Tanizaki Junichoru x Tachihara Michizou

POV: First person

CW: Mentions of nausea and throwing up, but no graphic descriptions

Junichirou’s Perspective

I can feel my stomach churning, and that familiar acidity rising in my throat. I’m going to be sick. 

I knew I shouldn’t have come along, the agency didn’t even need me for this trip. It was Kenji who insisted that I come along so I wouldn’t miss the dolphins in the bay. He doesn’t know about my terrible motion sickness and being as spineless as I am, I couldn’t say no to him.

Now I wish I had.

It’s late afternoon but the summer sun is still high in the sky, the weather hot and sticky. My back aches and I feel lightheaded from being bent over the railing for so long.

Then I get an idea. It’s probably stupid, but no one is paying attention to me so I should be safe. I plug in my earbuds and press the dial button for the first contact in my phone. At first, the ringing is uncomfortably loud then the call is answered and his voice fills my ear.

“Jun? You good? You only call if there’s an emergency.”

I don’t answer right away, letting Michizou’s warm voice wash over me. I swallow thickly.

“Junichirou?”

“Sorry,” I whisper

“What for? You’re not hurt, are you? Why are you whispering?” Panic enters his voice. I shake my head before remembering he can’t see me.

“N-no. I’m-“ My voice fades out as my stomach roils, threatening to send its contents back up. I think I’d die if I puked while talking to Michi on the phone, that’d be way too embarrassing. I shouldn’t have called. “It’s stupid. You can hang up if you’re busy.” 

“I’m not. I’m at lunch with Gin and Higuchi. I'm glad you called too, cuz they were being all disgustingly lovey-dovey. And I’m sure whatever you called me for ain’t stupid. What is it?” Despite the loud conversations around him, his voice is comforting.

“I . . . well, I’m getting motion sick and I think I’m gonna puke. I . . . uh . . . just thought that hearing your voice might distract me a bit.” It sounds dumb as I say it.

He doesn’t answer, the line crackles in silence.

“See, I told you it was stupid.”

“No, it’s not. Where are you? In a car?” His voice is calm now, with a serious tone and I can imagine his expression, cool as he thinks through the situation. The background is quieter now like he’s stepped even farther away from wherever he was.

“On a boat, we’re looking for evidence in a murder case that was dumped in the bay. The waves are bad today though, so . . .”

“So that’s why we’re whispering.” I can see him nodding to himself. I smile at the thought, “Where are your meds?”

“I left them at home,” I admit.

“Of course you did. I’d bring you some, but . . .” He laughs, the affectionate teasing sending warmth through me. “So what should I do?” The teasing turns to sympathy.

“Can we just talk? About anything.” The desperation leaks through as another wave rocks the boat.

“Sure. . . .” He hums trying to think of a topic, I find myself tapping out the rhythm on the railing focusing on it instead of the rocking of the boat. He ends the melody with a flourish, “Today I ran into Elise, you know, the Boss’s kid or whatever.”

I turn on the camera and nod, still not trusting myself to speak. Michi seems to get it.

“Yeah, well she somehow bribed him to wear not only a maid outfit but a nurse outfit and one of those supposedly “sexy” devil costumes. She showed us all the pics. It was a riot but I felt kinda weird looking at them, you know. Like it was an invasion of privacy, and also if the Boss knows I saw them he might give me desk duty indefinitely.”

I laugh, so hard that my stomach pain increases fivefold but it feels good.

“That’s the only really funny story I have for today, some other stuff happened too, we had an assassination job, but if you think you’re gonna puke maybe I’d best not tell you those. . . . Anyways, want me to make dinner tonight. I might need your help, but I can do most of it. I know being sick always makes you tired.”

I think I can speak again, I take a breath, sighing when I find my stomach has settled down considerably. “Yeah, I would like that, make it something light though, a soup or something.”

“Cool. And, uh, don’t feel bad about calling, I’m happy to help. And seeing Gin with Higuchi was making me miss you a lot, I miss you right now.” He sounds awkward, still new to expressing emotions so blatantly. My stomach clenches, not out of nausea, but wanting. Seeing him over the phone isn’t enough, I want his arms around me, his lips brushing my cheek.

“I miss you too, but I guess I should let you go before Gin and Higuchi get suspicious.” I’ll admit even I can tell I sound pouty, but I know the longer I stay on the call the more likely it is for one of the other agency members to catch me.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But promise you’ll call me back if you start feeling bad again.” I can hear the worry in Michizou’s voice even as he tries to hide it. It makes my heart flutter in my chest.

“Okay,” I say the word but don’t hang up, neither does he. We exist for a moment in comfortable silence.

“They’re so wrapped up in each other I think we have at least another hour before they realise.” He rolls his eyes.

I smile.

He starts telling me about how Akutagawa was being creepy while referring to some short story about some gate, and I bask in the warm glow of his voice and enthusiastic facial expressions as he talks. Soon I’m laughing so hard I drop my phone, my earbuds yanked out of my ears. I can faintly hear Michizou complaining about how I “dropped” him.

I bend down to pick up the device but someone is already handing it to me. Kenji. 

My breath catches and I feel nauseous again. Maybe he’ll be really nice and won’t tell.

He stares at the phone screen, and Michizou stares back, as if maybe if he’s still enough Kenji will think he’s just a photo. Or maybe he’s in shock. After a second he clicks off the camera and hangs up belatedly.

“Why were you talking to the Bandaid guy? Is he your friend?” Kenji asks it with no malice whatsoever, but if he knows he might tell the others, not realising the ramifications.

I think about asking who he’s referring to, and playing dumb but it’s too late for that.

“Oh, um, we were just . . . He’s my friend, but you can’t tell anyone okay.”

“Okay! Is he nice like Cool Hat-san?”

I snort at his nickname for Executive Nakahara. “Well, he’s nice to me, but he can be a little mean sometimes, you know.”

“Oh, he’s just like Cool hat-san then!”

“What do you mean?”

“Cool hat-san always seems so angry but one day I saw him and Dazai-san snuggling with each other through the window of Dazai-san’s dorm. And he must be a really good hugger because Dazai-san kept telling him not to stop. I was only walking by so I don’t know the rest, but they seem also to be good friends.”

I’m so shocked that I can’t answer for a whole minute. I’m not sure what the hell is going on between those two but I know they weren’t snuggling. Before I can form an acceptable reply, Kenji asks: “Is Bandaid guy a good snuggler?”

If I was drinking or eating anything I would have spit it out. I can feel my entire face heating up. I’m not sure whether I’m saved or doomed even further because Atsushi is walking over to me.

“Junichirou! What’s wrong? You’re all red!”

“Ohhh, I . . . uhh, I’m just seasick is all, I hate boats!” I groan again, patting my stomach to add extra effect.

Atushi nods, “Oh, I didn’t know. Are you alright? Should I bring Naomi?” He sounds unsure and cringes as he says my sister’s name.

“No!” It comes out too quickly, I force myself to sound calmer, “Don’t bring Naomi, I can handle a little sickness myself. I’ll be fine with a few deep breaths.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

Atsushi walks back towards the boat’s cabin.

“Maybe you should call Bandaid guy again, tell him to bring you some medication when we return to the dock,” Kenji says, too loudly, because Atsushi turns back around.

I expect him to make a scene but he just walks over calmly.

“Who’s ‘Bandaid guy?’”

“A friend.” I can hear the shaking in my voice. Atsushi hates the mafia, he’ll never trust me again if he were to find out.

He squints as if thinking then his eyes widen, he stares straight at me. He knows.

What should I do? What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?

“I see. Hope you feel better.” is all he says before walking off again.

WHAT? WHY? Isn’t he going to tell? How is he just okay with that?

-

Everyone else is so busy with the evidence being pulled up from the seafloor that I’m alone again.

The anxiety has turned back into motion sickness, even worse than last time, so despite already being caught once, I do the only thing I can think of, I call Michizou back.

He answers on the first ring.

“Worse?” he asks

“Yeah.” is all I can manage.

“How bad?”

“Bad.” I cringe at the croaky sound of my voice.

“Okay. What can I do?”

“Just talk?”

“Sure. I already told you most of the funny things. Does it matter the topic?”

“Nothing gory.”

“Hmm.” I hear him shuffling around, “How about this? It’s a collection of poems, I got it from my brother . . . it’s what they sent back when he, well, you know.”

He takes my silence and heavy breaths for a yes and starts to recite the poetry. I close my eyes and lay down on the boat deck soaking in his gentle words.

Kenji’s Perspective

After a long day, the boat is finally back in the dock and we’re all gathered at the rail where the ramp will drop for us to get back on the ground, all but one.

“What the hell is he doing?” Yosano-san asks, pointing to Junicihrou-san lying on the boat’s deck with his earbuds in. He looks serene.

“I dunno,” says Atsushi-san.

“I think he’s talking to a Band-Aid guy, or maybe he’s listening to music.”

Oops. What do I do now? I’ll have to apologise to Tanizaki-san for revealing the secret.

“Baindaid guy? Is he a doctor?” Yosano-san asks

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, but no, I don’t think he’s a doctor. I saw him on Facetime, he looked way too young.” I shrug. 

I did recognise him, from the raids on the office, but I don’t know his name. I hope she doesn’t ask if I know him. I’m a terrible liar. Thankfully Atsushi steps up.

Atsushi’s Perspective:

I tap Kenji on the shoulder and he steps back.

If you’d asked me to lie even a few months ago, I’d have totally flaked, but these past few months of excusing for gaps in time have improved my skills greatly. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.

“Maybe he’s a friend from school? The siblings go to the local High School, right? Surely the two of them must have some friends besides us to see when they’re not working? If not that’s sad.”

Yosano-san nods, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Maybe? But they’re pretty weird so I’m not sure. They've never mentioned anyone. If it is a friend, though, I’m glad. Maybe Noami will find a nice boy to get attached to instead of her brother.” She sounds doubtful. I don’t blame her.

“Eh, well just go and get him. I’m sure he’ll tell you if you ask.” Kunikida-san says

I can’t help frowning at this. “Yeah, he probably will.” It comes out louder and more bitter than I intended.

“What’s that face for?” he asks.

“He’s scared of Yosano-san, and you know it. It’d be unfair to use that against him. He probably doesn't want to tell us, so don’t make him, okay.” I’ve never snapped at him before, and I’m not sure if this qualifies, but I don’t want Junichirou to say anything he isn’t ready to yet. 

Ryu told me about them as soon as they got together. And . . . I know that Motojirou-san has a massive crush on Yosano-sensei

She frowns back at me. “Okay? Jeez. What’s got you so intense about this so suddenly?”

“I- I, he just looks really relaxed. If he’s not in pain from the seasickness anymore, does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” She concedes, still looking very suspiciously at me. After a tense moment of staring, we both nod. The boat is almost to the dock, and Junichirou is still lying on the deck.

Kunikida-san is walking over to him, probably worried about his schedule, we were out here longer than planned. The last thing he wants is for disembarkment to be delayed. Poor Junichirou. 

Kunikida’s Perspective:

I have patience for Junichirou’s affliction, of course I do, but if he doesn’t get up soon, we’ll have to carry both him and the evidence off the boat. I’m sure Kenji wouldn’t mind, but, still . . .

As I look down at him, it’s impossible to miss that he looks more serene than I’ve ever seen him, and on a boat of all places. His breathing is steady and even. He’s hovering on the edge of sleep. I wonder what he’s listening to. White noise maybe? Surely not waves?

I almost don’t want to wake him. Alas, it’s necessary.

“Tanizaki-kun, please get up. We’re at the dock now. You won't feel ill anymore.”

He doesn’t stir. After a moment I give him the lightest of taps with my toe. 

“Mmm, Michi? No. Let me sleep a bit more, okay? I’ll have soup later.”

“Michi? Who’s Michi? It’s me, Kunikida-san. Your superior at the agency.”

He jolts up, eyes wide. Is this “Michi” his girlfriend? If so, I can see how that would be embarrassing.

“Wha– I-I’m so sorry. I thought, uh, I thought that you were, uh, my . . . brother. Yeah, my bro Michi, uh, you know.”

Brother? But, he has no other family members besides Naomi, as far as I’m aware.

I look him dead in the eye, daring him to continue. He powers down his phone, probably ending whatever audio he was listening to.

“Tanizaki-kun, you don’t have a brother.”

He blinks slowly, processing. “M-maybe I do . . .”

“Tanizaki-kun. I don’t really care who you were talking to, but you do need to get up. Come on.”

He looks distinctly relieved as I help him to his feet. He sways a little but seems alright overall.

-

When we return to the office, the President relives Junichirou of his duties for the day.

“Go home, Tanizaki-kun. Rest up.”

“T-thank you, sir.” Junichirou bows deeply, still looking a little shaken.

Poor boy. Today wasn’t easy on him. Kenji apologises for suggesting he come along as he goes, but Junichirou shakes his head, saying it’s fine, telling him not to feel guilty.

Junichirou’s Perspective:

It’s nice that Noami agreed to stay at the office to help out with paperwork in my place. Even a few months ago she would have never.

After lying down for so long, it feels odd standing up. My head spins and my legs feel heavy. I still feel hot with the embarrassment from earlier with Kunikida-san. 

When I’m far enough away from the office, I pull out my phone and dial Michizou again.

The car park feels way too large, and heat radiates off the concretised ground. Since when did the earth rotate so fast? Maybe it’s just me?

“Hey, Jun, you hung up on me earlier, what happened? Are you back now?”

“ . . . Yeah, and I th-think I’m gonna pass out. P-please come pick me up.”

“Shit! Yeah, where are you?”

“Uhh, everything a bit fuzzy honestly.”

“Jun? Shit, uh, stay awake okay, er, sit down if you can, yeah?”

“Yeah.” I do, leaning against some stranger’s car. It does help. “I’m sitting, I’ll share my location.”

“Okay, I’m coming.”

-

I open my eyes to the screeching of tyres. It’s close, but I can’t bring myself to move, too afraid I’d only fall. Which I guess doesn’t make much sense since I’m already sitting.

“Jun! Hey, Jun, you good?”

Michizou stands over me. He crouches down, tucking my hair back.

“Hey, come on, let’s get up.”

He starts to lift me but his body is too warm against mine, I shove him off.

“Too hot.”

“Sorry. I’ve got water.” He holds out a thermos, I take it eagerly, almost dropping it, but it doesn’t fall, only floats. It’s cool. I watch it in awe for a minute.

“Jun? Are you alright? You need to drink.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m just a bit out of it.” I must be more ill than I thought, It’s obviously just Michi’s ability that’s making the thermos float.

“Okay, tell me if you feel sick again.”

“Yeah.” Carefully, I take a sip. The cool water does wonder, the fog clearing so quickly it makes me a little dizzy again.

“Better?”

“Much.”

“Good, I have meds at home, and soup too, you’ll need to eat.” He says as he opens the door for me.

I don’t realise that he’s given himself the driver’s side until I’m already under the safety belt, hand movements on autopilot.

“Wait, Michi, you know I have to drive. If I don’t I’ll get sick again.” I start to unbuckle the belt, but it’s a bit harder than usual, with so many straps. Michizou puts a hand over mine to stop me.

“Juni.” It’s a sweet nickname, one he almost never uses. I can count the number of times on one hand, and this is only the second. It makes me feel ready to melt. “You’re all dizzy and shit. Let me drive, yeah? We’ll be home soon.”

“But . . . I’ll get sick again.” It’s babyish of me, I know and I hate how whiny I sound but, “Michi, I really don’t want to be sick again.”

He leans over the console, hugging me from the side. He smells nice, and the motion is gentler than usual. He rubs my shoulder and runs his fingers through my hair. The small action does wonders for the blooming headache, “I know. But you’re not good right now. Just this once? You’re always fixin’ me up when I’m down, so let me help you today.”

His hands feel so good that my eyes start to close. He’s right, there’s no way in any universe I could operate a vehicle like this. And he’s a better driver than me on my best day, more experienced.

“Yeah, I’m dumb.”

“No, you’re not,” he assures. “Just close your eyes. I’ll wake you at home.”

-

When Michizou’s voice draws me from sleep I open my eyes to the sight of the out kitchen counter overhead light. It’s off, sparing me from a worse headache. Am I . . . on the counter? He must’ve carried me in and put me here. I blush a little. There’s something cool on my forehead, a flannel, I think. Do I have a fever? I thought I was just seasick, but maybe . . .

“You’re really warm, not a fever, but I think you got heat stress,” Michizou informs me, his voice drifting in from the bedroom.

“Oh,” Is all I can say. I notice that he’s stripped me down to my pants and tank top. I do feel better. “Why am I on the counter, though?”

He blushes this time, “I dunno, I figured the sofa would be too hot since you’re kinda sweaty.”

“Makes sense.” Our sofa is very warm, and covered with blankets that Gin and Ichiyou-kun gave us.

The room only blurs a little when I sit up. I wring the now slightly warm cloth out in the sink.

“Google said a cool bath would help bring down your temp and with the headache. How sick do you feel? Do you wanna eat first? Or can the meds wait.”

I consider myself for a moment. I’m still a little queasy. I was asleep so I didn’t get sick in the car, but the ride didn’t exactly help. The medication would bring relief, but I’m still worried whatever I eat might come right back up. I hate throwing up. You’d think it’d be easy after all this time, but it hurts. Maybe if I wait it out, the queasy feeling will go away. “Bath first, I think.”

“Kay, I’ll run the water.”

-

The bath fills quickly, and because I don’t have to wait for the water to cool, I can get in right away. It feels like heaven after all day on the hot boat deck. I just soak for a minute, listening to Michizou finish dinner in the kitchen. He’s not amazing at cooking, but he can make about five dishes really well, and soup happens to be one of them.

Michi was right, I am sweaty. I should probably shower.

Lazily, I drain the tub and turn on the shower nozzle. Standing up reminds my stomach of the boat, but the cold water helps.

-

“Soup’s done. There’s cucumber salad too, and watermelon cuz Gin went to the farmer’s market. I gotta cut it though.” 

“Mmm, sounds good. I’m almost done.” I hope my stomach can take it.

“You decided to shower?”

“Yeah.”

“Feeling better?”

“A lot.”

I hear him start to return to the kitchen.

“Wait.”

“Yeah? Do you need help?”

“Could you wash my hair?” I’m grateful he can’t see me, it makes the request easier. I’m so used to having affection sort of forced on me by Naomi, as pure as her intentions may be, that it’s made me shy to ask for it.

“Sure, let me just wash my hands. Be there in a sec.”

-

I hear the tap shut off and Michi’s footsteps, almost silent across the wooden floor.

The door opens. He smiles, softer than his usual fanged grin. He’s holding a pitcher and a stack of clothes. I must’ve forgotten do get mine.

I sit, waiting patiently as he fills it.

“So, did your colleagues find the evidence they were looking for? For all that trouble, they better have.”

The phrasing makes me laugh. “You’re so formal sometimes.”

He looks down, focusing on the label of the shampoo bottle, “Yeah well, my mum had high standards for me growing up because of my brother, she beat it into me before I left. Some of it stuck, I guess.”

I smile, not that can take away all he’s been through, but I can try. “They did find it, I’m not sure what it was though.”

He laughs at that. “Tip your head back.”

I do, letting the cool water cascade over my head.

-

He helps me up.

The clothes in the stack are a mix of mine and his. I borrow from him so much it’s hard to keep track. Well, I say that, but our styles are actually quite distinct. I don’t care, not really. His black tee is well-worn and comfortable.

While I finish dressing, he dries my hair. It’s at times like this when our two-centimetre height difference is noticeable. He doesn’t have to reach up at all. It’s kind of hot, I won’t lie.

-

Thinking about food is one thing, but at the sight of it, I’m suddenly queasy. Not from motion sickness, per se, but just the anxiety that I’ll be sick again if I eat it, a vicious cycle.

“Michi, ‘m gonna-”

He helps me to the sink, rubbing soft circles over my back. 

I haven’t eaten since breakfast, but since I managed to avoid being sick on the boat and in the car, it’s all coming back up. The smell and sight make me sick yet again until my mouth feels disgusting.

“Shit, you’re really not feelin’ good, huh? Maybe I should take your temp again.”

“N-no, m’ not ill. Just worried.”

He seems to get it, as he shifts his hands slowly, running them down my side until his warm palms are against my upset stomach. “I promise, food will make you better, it always does.”

“Y-yeah, I know. M’ just dumb.”

“You really gotta stop sayin’ that.”

“Sorry.”

“That too.”

“Sor- I mean,d pens’t this gross you out.”

“Not really, I’ve seen worse. Besides I’m used to it . . . oh, not from you. You’re fine, I, uh, just had this friend, you know. Anyways, are you good for sec? I’ll get water.”

(A/N: Fukuchi’s always getting hungover lmao)

I nod.

He brings a glass with ice, fills it and hands it to me. I swallow and spit, repeating the process until I can’t taste the bile anymore.

“Better?”

I nod again, still shocked by the rudeness of it.

“You need only eat a bit, just to have something in your stomach before you take the pills. I’m not keen on a repeat of last time.”

There’s that formality again.

Last time. I had a bug so I took paracetamol without eating, got sick then passed out in the bathroom for a few hours.

“Me either.” I let him lead me to the table.

True to his word, and what I know in the back of my mind, the broth is harmless. I manage nearly a whole bowl with a small serving of salad before downing the medication with tea.

-

“See?” He’s smiling as we settle down on the sofa, “You’re fine now.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Now that I’ve cooled down, I miss his warmth again. I pull him closer until he wraps his arms around me.

“I’m so happy that I have you . . . I love you, Michizou.”

Maybe he didn’t hear, but then he leans down, lips brushing my ear, and whispers “Love you too, Juni.”

Suddenly the film isn’t nearly as interesting, not as much as Michizou’s finger in my hair anyway, making me feel all warm and fuzzy. I’m tired today, and I dislike lying, but maybe I’ll tell the President I’m still not feeling so good tomorrow.

Gosh, the things we do for love.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 14

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, cheating,some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

You wake with a snort. You slept so heavy that the room disorients you, sitting up before you fully take in reality. The tenderness brings the memories flooding back; in your throat, in your hips, between your legs. Yet, you feel lighter, looser.

You fall back and grip your head, alone in the strange bed, the white duvet tangled around you. You don't remember him leaving but you're happy he did. It would be twisting the blade to have to wake up to Lloyd's dumb mustache. 

Shame creeps up your neck and tinges your cheeks. Fuck. It shouldn't have felt so good. The sight of the man repulses you, his voice drives you mad, and yet…

You groan as you think of Colin. Your husband. You're married. Even if you walked out, it feels awful. You're exactly what he accused you of. You're just as bad as him.

Little steps. Legs over the edge of the bed, stretch, breathe, stand, get your bearings. The day behind you is a promise of what’s to come. Of the deal with the devil you’ve made. It wouldn’t surprise you if all that shit turned out to be reak and Lloyd was in fact Lucifer incarnate. It’d be the least surprising thing about him.

On your duffel, is another outfit waiting. You cross the room, a shiver rolling up your spine, not just because of your nakedness, no, because of the subtle reminders of him. The scent clinging to your skin, the tingle of his touch still wandering over your thighs.

You dress, a white halter top that ends mid-stomach that can barely restrain your chest, and a high-cut skirt that offers either a peak of your stomach if pulled too low, or of your ass if too high. Either way, you’re dressed to his desire, ready… free for use. That thought rots in your head as you see yourself in the large circular mirror above the pristine white dresser. 

Disgusting. Not him. You.

There’s a bathroom attached that you hadn’t explored the day before. You get ready, trying to gather a semblance of normalcy, of sanity, building the courage to face the house beyond those walls. To face that man and his unwavering need.

You got back to the bedroom, a pair of black shoes you didn’t notice before at the foot of the bench. You put them on and pick up the small clipboard waiting on your duffle, previously hidden beneath the skimpy outfit. A schedule of meals and cleaning. It’s almost like your previous job, a tidy little checklist to keep you going.

A steady buzz turns you around. Your phone lights up on the nightstand. Do you need to look? You know who it is. He must be pissed. Well, so are you. He just spent a week away with another woman and what, he’s going to be mad at you for leaving, for finding something else. Not better, just honest. Lloyd might be scum but he doesn’t lie about it.

A chime fills the hallways beyond your door and your ankle threatens to bend before you get your footing and scuffle over to listen through the wood. You hold your breath. The doorbell chirps again, again, pressed frantically.

“Maid!” Lloyd hollers, his voice muffled.

You take your cue and emerge, wobbling perilously as your anxiety makes you uncertain. You’re not ready to face who you know is waiting at that door. You make a careful descent, your shoes promising a painful landing with one misstep. You stop short at the bottom and look down at yourself. Fuck. You can’t answer the door like this.

The bell rings over and over. You look around, a tablet is propped up on a console table tucked against the wall, you see Colin jabbing at the button, the perspective skewed by the angle of the camera. You shake out your arms and pace, you can’t, you can’t–

“Jesus,” Lloyd snarls and bare feet slap down the steps, “you got one thing to do,” he mutters and you spin to see his naked ass blur by. You’re stunned by his shameless march to door as you stumble and trail after him.

“Sorry, I was working up to it–”

“Cut it out,” he snaps his fingers at you to silence you, “this fucking asshole.” He swings open the door, exposing himself to the morning without hesitation, “you woke me up.”

“You–” Colin’s voice cuts short, “where’s my wife?”

“Guy, let’s not play around, she’s getting some rest. Well-needed, I must say–”

“Don’t fucking–” Colin growls and suddenly Lloyd shifts back as the other man hurls himself forward. Their struggle brings the unwelcomed guest into the entry way as they hit the door, caught up in a furious entanglement. You back away as they collide with the wall.

“You’re trespassing,” Lloyd snarls and hooks his leg around Colin’s, bringing him down with an expert swipe. Your husband lands on his back and wheezes, “asshole.”

“Me–” Colin croaks as he rubs his chest, trying to catch his breath. His eyes find you, watching numbly as you cross your arms around your middle. “You…”

Lloyd slides out a draw from the console table and you wince as you watch him take out a slate gray shape. At first, you can’t believe it. A gun with a long cylindrical attachment; like a movie but very real. Your heart lurches and you choke.

As Colin pushes himself up on his elbows, Lloyd aims the long barrel at him, “look around, your wife is just fine. I got her put up nice and pretty. Something you could never give her–”

“Slut–” Colin growls.

“I don’t give warnings but right now I’m telling you to choose your words wisely,” Lloyd sneers and you can’t help but notice the twitch between his legs. Christ, he really is a freak.

“You said you didn’t–” Colin begins as he looks at you, “you didn’t know this guy.”

“She’s gotten to know me pretty fucking well,” Lloyd snickers, “but she didn’t lie. I was fucking around with you. Both of you. It’s kind of a hobby I have. It just turns out you’re a piece of shit.”

“Hey–”

“She knows. I know. Let’s not pussy foot around. So you’re gonna shut up and she’s gonna say her peace. If she has anything left to say to you.”

You glance between them, shuddering as your eyes crawl up Lloyd’s long arm and the gun, “can you put that down?”

His eyes roll over to you and he scowls, then scoffs, retracting the gun and scratching his head with it.

You sniff and try to look at Colin. It makes your eyes burn, you wiggle your nose to keep from spilling over. You stare above him, you can’t face him.

“I’m going to file for divorce. You can go be with her.”

“Her? Who?” He sits up.

“I know. Ally. Your boss. Your ex.”

“What? No–”

“Stop. Stop lying to–” your voice cracks and you swallow, not wanting either man to see how broken you are, “stop lying to me.”

“Me?” Colin shakes his head, getting to his feet, “so, you don’t even try? You go straight to this douche–” 

Lloyd tilts his head and waggles the gun in Colin’s direction. You turn to him and wave him off, “please.” He relents and sighs.

“Maybe think about what you did. Why I had to find someone else, babe. I love you but… we both know things weren’t perfect. You’re always too tired and, well, you changed.”

“Changed?” You frown.

“You’re miserable and well, you kept saying you were going to eat better, get in shape…”

You put your hand to your chest, you can’t breathe. It’s exactly what you thought but it stabs deep. You push your lips together as your cheek trembles. Finally, you meet Colin’s eye.

“Fuck you,” you snap as you stomp towards him, “go away. Go fuck her then. Skinny, perfect, bleach blond bitch. And I’ll stay here. He might be the worst person I’ve ever met but he’s got money and… he makes me cum so–” you shudder at your own words, “get the fuck out.”

You spin on your heel, steps echoing as you pass Lloyd and head for the kitchen. You have to start on breakfast, have to do anything to distract you from the well brewing behind your eyes.

“Just like everything else, you’re not even going to try,” Colin sneers.

“She said go,” Lloyd interjects, “do I need to help you find your way, boy?”

“Don’t hurt him,” you toss over your shoulder as you reach the archway, “he’s not worth the energy.”