#and her taste in men was HIGHLY questionable

[laurapetrie]

So much jewellery was flung at her in the opening months of her queenship that she may have struggled to keep up with it all. Her clasps were capped off by emeralds, her buttons were set with diamonds, and for her brooches rubies were crafted into the shape of flowers, then trimmed with diamond and pearl petals. There were earrings and French hoods trimmed with gold. She had seven diamond-and-gold rings. The ladies of the privy chamber circled Catherine’s little waist with golden girdles or double rows of pearls routinely interrupted by rubies.

[Later, during] the great purgatorial wait for a horrible finale, Catherine was once again ‘taking great care of her person’. Like a candle flaring before it went out, she had apparently never been more beautiful than she was during that winter at Syon. Staring death in the face in a mood of hubristic hedonism, she became as preoccupied with her toilette as she had been at Hampton Court. She made the most of her denuded wardrobe, dressing and coiffing herself, donning her few remaining jewels. Preening in her loveliness, Catherine kept her pulse beating at Syon with the appearance of someone who might live for ever; but in her more sombre moments, when no amount of make-believe could distract her, Chapuys heard from her servants that ‘her only prayer is that the execution be secret, and not in public’. - Gareth Russell, Young and Damned and Fair

[zaldritzosrose]

Bring Me To Salvation (Criston Cole x Whore!Reader)

Summary: Ser Criston was nothing if not dutiful, steadfast in his dedication to his role as protector and knight. All to the detriment of himself. A chance meeting with a Silk Street woman began to open his life to delights far outside his usual tastes.

TW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, mentions of sex work, submissive Criston, edging, orgasm denial, handjob, Criston being a sad, pathetic, whimpery mess.

There will be a part two.

Words: 3859

The life of a Kingsguard came with rules. Rules on how one must act in public, how to live one's life. No marriage, no titles. But what had become Criston's downfall was one rule.

Abstinence.

Well, a Kingsguard was not forbidden from sex itself, but from fathering children of their own. But Criston took his vows to heart. Complete abstinence reduced the risk of siring a child, a logical path. Duty meant everything. For the most part.

That was until he was chosen to protect Princess Rhaenyra. He had done his best, resisted for as long as he could. But every man breaks. And Criston’s resolve broke one night, letting the princess entice him to bed.

He had foolishly hoped she may feel more than lust for him, but he was left with nothing but bitterness instead. Years passed, and he watched her not only fawn over Prince Daemon, but also Ser Harwin.

That hurt him most. It weighed on him and turned his countenance sour. Something akin to hatred burning in him as he watched the princess birth bastard after bastard. Criston did his best to push his focus elsewhere. Swearing himself to Queen Alicent and helping her sons train and learn to be men.

And it worked. For the most part. He was not quite the same man he had been, he was highly strung and tense more often than not. But the two princes were a distraction he welcomed.

Until Rhaenyra and her sons returned. Walking through the Keep as if nothing had changed. The two dark haired princes joining Aemond and Aegon in the training yard as though they belonged there.

To make matters worse? Ser Harwin was there to greet them.

Criston held his ground as he sparred with Aemond, the younger prince having grown to be an excellent swordsman. His brother however, had taken the role of spectator. Sitting on the sidelines and pouring cup after cup of wine down his throat.

“Well done, my prince,” Criston praised, as Aemond once again proved himself skilled.

He could feel eyes on him. Jacaerys and Lucerys watched intently, but those were not the eyes Criston could feel. He turned slightly to find Ser Harwin glaring.

“Is there a problem, Ser Harwin?” Criston asked, motioning for Aemond to take a break.

Criston rolled his shoulders, frustration rising in him as Harwin smirked.

“You seem a little tense is all, Ser Criston,” Harwin called back, smirking wider as Criston scowled.

Even Aegon snorted a laugh in response, earning him a glare from Criston. Tense was an understatement. Criston could not remember a time where had actually been relaxed.

“And you seem far too relaxed, ser, do you not have better things to be doing?”

The tension was clear, so thick it could have been sliced. Harwin simply shook his head and walked closer, clapping Criston on the shoulder.

“You need to enjoy yourself more. Spend a little less time playing knight.”

Harwin walked away before Criston could respond, and with a tight jaw, Criston turned back and began sparring again. The words ringing in his head.

Weeks passed and the words Harwin had spoken continued to bother him. It was not the first time anyone had told him he took his duty too seriously. But it was the first time it had bothered him so much. Maybe it was because the words came from Harwin, a man whose mere presence was enough to frustrate him beyond belief.

But at the same time, maybe all those people were right. Did he take himself too seriously? Surely it would not be too out of the question for him to take some time for himself?

Those thoughts were soon knocked from his mind when he was called to the Queen’s chamber.

“Ah, Ser Criston,” Alicent smiled, though the expression seemed strained.

“I have a request, that needs the utmost discretion.”

Criston nodded and listened to her instruction. And what he heard did not surprise him at all. He was to retrieve Prince Aegon from one of King’s Landing’s brothels, yet again. The prince had a taste for all kinds of depravity and Criston knew it was not about to be an enjoyable endeavour.

He was dismissed and made his way through the city as the sun fell. And it was not long before he found the right place. Whispers of the silver haired prince led him quickly to his destination.

With a sigh, Criston entered the whorehouse, finding the Madame and demanding Aegon be brought to him. The woman did not hesitate, disappearing to search for the prince.

Criston waited patiently, two Kingsguard behind him as he averted his gaze from the debauchery around him. He was not a prude, but at the same time he was not as comfortable here as other men may be.

But in averting his eye, he found the gaze of you. There was no doubt you were one of the girls working here. The soft silks draped around your body were not something he saw many noblewomen wear. The second he caught your eye you smiled, making your way through the crowd and towards him.

There was something about you that had him entranced. Eyes that seemed to bore into his, see into his very soul. It was like you knew just what he desired the most.

"It is not often we get Kingsguards in here, ser..." you almost purred the words out to him.

Just by looking around the room he was in now, this place was built for the deepest and most depraved sins. So, it was no surprise Aegon had ended up here. People were draped over every available surface in every possible state of undress and debauchery.

Criston simply nodded at your words. Aegon has already been dragged out to him, already demanding to be left alone. Criston broke eye contact with you momentarily to glare down at the prince.

“Your mother wants you home, my prince. There are two guards outside for you.” Criston said simply, and Aegon wailed profanities at him as he was dragged away.

But you were not deterred. He did not know when you had closed the distance between you both, but soon your rounded nails tapped his armoured chest. Kohl lined eyes gazing up at him and he internally chastised himself for the desire that pulsed down his spine and through his cock.

"We cater to all tastes here, ser...I am sure I can find something you will enjoy."

Criston’s mouth felt dry at those words. The way you let every syllable roll of your tongue, the feeling of your hand on his chest. No, he could not let himself break so easily again.

“A pleasant offer, I am sure, but I must return the prince.”

He did not wait for your response before turning to join his fellow Kingsguard at the door. But that did not stop you calling out to him before he left.

“The offer will always stand, ser, should you desire it.”

Weeks passed before Criston even thought of you again. He put his focus on serving his queen and keeping the royal children safe and protected. But when he was alone, his thoughts would drift back to you and what you had promised.

But nothing came of it until Princess Rhaenyra and her children returned to King’s Landing again. Bringing back the anger and bitterness that seemed to linger and simmer within him whenever he saw her. Reminding him of everything he almost had. What was worse? She now had Prince Daemon at her side. Not only now as her uncle, but as her husband. A custom he never understood, but it only deepened his resentment further.

The King organised a ‘family’ dinner, something that every member knew would not end well. But when the King made a choice, no one was ever truly willing to go against it. Tensions were high as it was.

Criston took his place in the dining hall, where he could easily watch each member of the family he was sworn to protect. And he did his best to ignore Rhaenyra and her family entered the hall, barely acknowledging his presence as they sat.

The dinner passed with little consequence, save for the childish remarks passed between the four young princes. Criston did his duty and escorted them all back to their chambers before returning to the Queen’s side.

“Is there anything you need from me, Your Grace?” Criston asked, standing just inside the doorway to her own chamber.

Alicent looked at him with a smile.

“No, Ser Criston, you may retire if you wish,” Alicent replied, but Criston could sense that she had something more to say.

“Thank you, Your Grace, I will see you again in the morning.”

He turned to leave but Alicent, as expected, called him to stop.

“Actually, Ser Criston, there is something,” she said, walking closer to him.

He stopped, turning back to her and waiting. Her face was coloured with concern and it had him on edge. But he said nothing.

“I have one request to make, and a concern to raise.”

Criston nodded and Alicent continued. Explaining how she felt the tension that had settled in him recently. Whether it was due in part to Rhaenyra’s arrival or something else, she did not press him for an answer, but it was her request that surprised him.

“Please, take some time for yourself. Find a way to relax.”

The knight was silent. He could hardly deny his Queen’s request, though it was not phrased like an order, it felt like one. He made a promise that he would take her request to heart. But he had little idea on how to do that.

He soon left for his own chamber, making quick work of stripping himself of his armour and settling into his bed. And it was only then that his thoughts began drifting back to you.

"We cater to all tastes here, ser...I am sure I can find something you will enjoy."

“The offer will always stand, ser, should you desire it.”

He could not get those words out of his head, combined with Queen Alicent’s suggestion of finding something to relax him. His mind went back even to Ser Harwin’s jibe about his tense demeanour.

“You need to enjoy yourself more. Spend a little less time playing knight.”

He knew he should not. His honour and duty warred with his desire to take up your offer. Would it be so bad? To visit you once, to see if you could be the ‘something to enjoy’?

It took only mere seconds more of thought for Criston to pull a cloak from his wardrobe and make his way quickly down the quieter side of the Keep and out into the city.

Tonight was a quieter night, for a brothel. A few regular patrons were in attendance, but none had yet to call for your services. Yet.

You heard the heavy swing of the door, and the Madame calling your name over the soft chatter of patrons and whores. You fixed your silken robe, making a smooth path through the room and out to the entrance. You assumed it would be one of your regulars, your talents were quite…specialised.

What you did not expect was the Kingsguard, Ser Criston, stood before you. He looked so different, unencumbered by his armour. He seemed to shrink in on himself, as if he was already regretting coming here.

The Madame nodded to you and left the pair of you alone.

“I see you took my offer, ser?” you said softly, closing the distance between the two of you.

Criston seemed to stiffen a little, making it clear he did not frequent these places often.

��Please, do not make me regret it.”

You simply smiled, taking his hand and noting the coin in the Madame’s hand as you passed her. The knight had paid, you were his for the night. Criston’s eyes drifted over the room around him, seemingly the main area of the brothel. It was quieter than when he had been here last, and he felt himself relax a little with that knowledge.

And thankfully, you continued to lead him down a corridor and to a private room. You both entered in silence, yet it was not uncomfortable. Your hand was soft in his, and nothing about you made him feel as though this was a mistake.

It was only when you crossed the threshold did you let go of his hand, urging him gently to sit down on the bed as you closed the door and lit some of the candles littered about the room. Criston took this opportunity to take in his surroundings. The bed was large, dressed is plush fabrics in deep tones, the headboard half covered with plump pillows.

The rest of the room, however, took his interest.

The wall to his right was home to a large glass fronted cupboard, showcasing a plethora of oils and scents that he knew immediately were what you used to ready yourself. The wall to his left was something entirely different. Locked chests that had him wondering what was hidden inside. Something about you told him that you were more than just a typical woman of the Silk Street.

“Now, my sweet knight, what have you come here for?” You asked, walking back over to him and reaching gently up to run a hand through his hair.

Criston, despite himself, leaned into the touch. Eyes closing as he let a soft sigh escape him. What exactly had he come for? He did not really know himself.

“I was hoping you could help me…relax.” His voice was quiet, a low rumble that was tinged with the faintest hint of shame.

You realised then, that you would have to start from the beginning. Bring him out of whatever cloud of shame he seemed to be hiding in. You made quick work of his cloak, taking your time and letting him ease into the whole situation.

“Shall we start with some wine?”

Criston nodded and gladly took the cup when you handed it to him. Letting the sweet liquid ease his mind. You sat beside him on the bed, your hand moved back to his hair and began to rub soft circles into his scalp. Criston could not stop the way he leaned back into your touch again, soft sighs leaving him as your lips soon latched on to the skin of his neck.

The pleasure you gave him was slow, but intoxicating, seeping into his veins and pulsing down through his cock. He felt you smirk against his skin as you noticed the prominent bulge in his breeches, watching it twitch as you pressed a firmer kiss to his throat.

“We will start simple, kiss and touch until you are comfortable…”

Criston could only groan in response, all thoughts leaving him as your palm found his cock. Palming him through the fabric, the heat of your hand and the plump flesh of your lips sending his mind into a void of nothing but pleasure.

His hips chased your hand, desperate for whatever friction you could give him. But at the same time, you could tell he would need instruction. Permission to give in to his desires.

“You can touch me, sweet knight.” You whispered into his ear, taking one of his hands and placing it on the swell of your breast.

Your now free hand untied your robe, letting the smooth silk fall from your shoulders and exposing your bare skin. You revelled in the soft groan that left the knight as his eyes opened, widening as he took in everything that was happening.

The bare skin. The warmth of it beneath his palm. The gentle friction of your hand against his hardened length. But he wanted more.

“Please…”

He could not seem to form any more words. While he was not the most eloquent of men, he could barely process that you had him speechless from the first touch.

“Please what, my darling? Tell me what you want, and you shall have it.”

His fingers tugged at the soft bud of your nipple, the way he licked his lips giving you a good clue as to what he wanted. Your hand in his hair guiding him down and letting him bury himself between your breasts. He may not know it yet, but everything he was doing told you one thing.

The stoic knight was submissive. Desperate for affection, no matter where it came from. In need of having someone else take control away from him. And you were more than happy to do that for him. It was your specialty really. Taking powerful men and reducing them to panting, begging messes of themselves.

You tugged his head back, already seeing the damp and wide-eyed look in his eye. Telling you, your assumption was right.

“Stand up and take off your shirt.” You ordered, letting your voice taking a little more of a commanding town and smiling when you saw his cock twitch in response.

Criston hurried to remove his shirt, throwing it behind him and waiting for your next instruction. Just the idea of being at your mercy, at his pleasure being held solely by you, had his skin heating and his cock already leaking onto the fabric of his breeches. You licked your lips, letting him wait just a little longer before your next command.

“Now, strip bare. Let me see you, Ser Criston.”

He had never removed his clothes faster, near tripping over himself as he kicked away his boots before pushing his breeches down his legs. He could tell immediately that this was what you enjoyed. The smug expression, the commanding tone, it suited you perfectly. Your eyes roamed his now bare form, watching the flush that coloured his chest and moved higher under your gaze.

You stood from the bed, letting your robe fall entirely from your body as you closed the distance between you. He held his breath as you touched him, soft hands starting at his shoulders and working their way down, mapping every inch of his muscled form.

But when you reached his cock, his knees felt like they would buckle. It had been a long time since anyone but himself had touched him so intimately and he was already on the brink of overstimulation.

“Now, we can do this two ways. I can be gentle, bring you to your release with my hand, my mouth or my cunt…” you whispered, pressing your lips to his jaw between words.

“Or…I can do what I know you really need. To surrender. To relinquish the control, you hold on so tight to.”

You punctuated your words now with gentle squeezes to his cock, not quite enough movement to make him come, but enough to have him grunting under his breath. He did not know what to answer. Deep down, he knew that the second option was what he wanted but he was too embarrassed to say the words.

His silence, however, was not acceptable.

“Words, I need your words.” Your hands stilled on his cock, and he could not stop the whine that left him when your movements stopped.

“Please…the se-second…please…” Criston was verging on incoherent, and you had barely started.

A mix of shame and desire surged in his veins, a war raging in him between grabbing his clothes and fleeing and staying at your side and following your every command. You could see it, his eyes flicking still between the door and you. You resumed your movements slowly, working up to pumping his cock faster and faster and watching how he slowly but surely folded under your touch.

You pressed your lips to his, feeling him melt under your touches.

“You will not come unless I say. You will only touch me when I say.”

Criston nodded quickly. He may not have known it, but his body did. Relaxing into your touch and surrendering completely. You released his cock, another whine leaving him, but he knew from the look you gave him that he would not be without your touch for long. You ordered him to lay down, walking over to the cabinet and taking out a small bottle of oil.

“We will start slow, ease you into it. Let your body get used to the feeling of submission…”

Criston’s head fell back against the sheets, feeling the heat of your body as you crawled up to lay beside him. Your lips kissed a trail down his body, supporting yourself with an arm on either side of his torso. His moans were soft, the evidence of just how much control he had already let slip.

Your kisses covered his entire body as your hand sped up, working his cock until Criston was panting and begging beneath you. And when you felt him twitch in your palm, you stopped. Denying his orgasm and forcing a harsh whine from his lips.

“I..I..?” Criston stammered, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead.

“You will come when I tell you to. Not before.”

Criston sighed in frustration, but the combination of the denial and your words sent a rush of desire through him. He nodded, and you began your ministrations anew.

Four times. Four times you denied him before his body was so flushed, so sore, so slick with sweat that he began to give in and beg you.

“Please, it hurts…I need to…please...” His voice was pathetic almost, he could hear it. If he was not so deep into his arousal, he would have been embarrassed.

Your hand wrapped him tight, the other slipping down and adding pressure around his stones, massaging and squeezing until you could feel his cock twitching again. His eyes searched for yours, waiting for the permission he needed.

Those sad brown eyes, wet with tears and filled with desperation. If you were crueller, you would have denied him a fifth time.

“So good, well done, you can come, my sweet knight.”

That was all he needed. With a rough, strained moan, his orgasm ripped through him. Leaving him panting and gripping tight at the sheets beneath him. You could not help but smile. There was something quite satisfying watching strong men like Criston fall apart at your hand.

Eventually, your hands slowed, moving from his cock to his stomach and hips. Stroking soft circle into his skin as his breathing slowed. He sat up on his elbows, wiping a hand over his face to clear the tears and sweat.

“I am impressed, ser, not many submit so easily.” You praised, planting a kiss on his hip before sitting up between his legs.

Criston huffed out a laugh, his mind still in the throes of pleasure and almost unable to form any answer except for one.

“Thank you.”

Criston left your side in the early hours, but not without the promise of his return. And your promise of more means of…exploration.

Even after one meeting, Criston could feel himself walking lighter, less tense.

Maybe, just maybe, you would be his salvation.

@bucknastysbabe @elaratyrell @fairyslunaluna @towriteloveontheirarms @aemondsbabe

[razorblade180]

Furina:Aether? So you know how I have a flair for dramatics?

Aether:I’m highly aware of this, yes.

Furina:*holds hands* Well right now I need you to understand that I’m not being dramatic when I say this. *looks left*

Arlecchino: *standing in the distance*

Furina:I am physically going to cry and shake if I have to see her often.

Aether:Hmmm I see.

He kisses her forehead and hugs her. Furina sorta…melts into the embrace rather easily.

Aether:Feeling better?

Furina:No, but this is really nice. Don’t let go yet.

Aether:Honestly she wasn’t on my radar. She’d have to be pretty convincing for me to even consider it. I’ll probably skip.

???:But what if you didn’t?

Aether:*looks right*

Lyney and Lynette:Hear us out. What if we told you she had a few redeeming qualities?

Aether:Do you see Childe here?

Lynette:…

Lyney:We need a new plan of attack.

Wanderer: *watching* How did I get in here if that’s the bar?

Mona:Because Aether has questionable taste in men.

Wanderer:You’re dating me.

Mona:I didn’t say mine was any better.

[trekmupf]

Puberty in space part II - this time with a military obsession 🎖️ 🪞 🪢

Pro

Everyone chilling at the bridge drinking coffee. Also McCoy being randomly at the bridge again.

Spock immediately taking charge when Kirk is gone and being super competent is really sexy of him

Spock saying Hipp Hipp Hurra

Bones accepting Spock's position as leader – direct opposite to the previous episode – by giving input, but following his orders, literally standing by his side on the bridge

The landing party in full gear!

The monster in the entrance was the salt being from episode 1

Everyone who is such a military fanboy is highly suspicious

McCoy's judgy eyebrow is completely out of control when they meet Trelane (and Sulu behind him has a whole journey)

Kirks face when evil guy shows up on the bridge

Spock being extremely bored by Trelane's antics, immediately seeing thorough his Bs and calmly telling him off is also extremely sexy

Kirks heart eyes face when Spock tells the guy off

The sexism is interesting - unlike the accidental / timely sexism in other episodes it's very clear that the way he sees women is bad, racist and upsetting

Also Kirk making it LOOK like it's about possessing the women and being jealous when he's manipulating Tralene, playing into the human traits he expects and wants to see (his aggressive and forceful behaviour towards Teresa is nicely contrasted to the scene on the bridge, where he's very nice to her again)

Generally the way Kirk sees through from the get go and manipulates him at every corner despite him being so powerful

The way McCoy leans on the console on the bridge during the turbulence

Kirk very confidently cocking a gun with a little smile and shooting with barely any flinching is weirdly sexy

The last convo between Spock and Kirk is fun, content wise but also Kirks heart eyes at Spock and Spock's utter confusion

The set design inside the castle is insane, but in a fun way; seems like they literally ran around the nearby studios and grabbed whatever they could (which suits who Trelane is)

Generally the idea of getting the surface level of humanity without any substance comes up in so many ways- understanding us and our behaviour, the decor, the missing taste from food and drink

The make up on our guys is just wonderful, especially Spock's, McCoy's and Sulu's; Generally the crew is just beautiful here

The music changes with the set pieces /scenes and is very fitting

The idea that this is literally a fanboy cosplaying 18th century earth is hilarious

Knowing the plot twist at the end that Trelane is just a child makes William Campbell's acting easier to bear and actually quite good – he IS like a child whose interest is earth history and humans and he finally gets to play. He gets irritated immediately, has tamper tantrums and zero emotional control; he basically just copies phrases and infos you would get from books without being able to question them, he likes the history equivalent of action men, he wants everyone's attention and gets angry when no one wants to play with him

The noose's shadow during the "court room scene" gives the setting a threatening aura (it also looks so cool)

Con

another superbeing, that somehow relates to earths past and is powerful, but this ep is less meaningful / good than the others; same goes for the humans as war / predator species

the fact that the way Trelane is written and acted serves his actual role as a child doesn't make his antics easier to watch, he gets tiresome quite quickly

even though the ep is self aware of the sexism and makes sure its bad the female characters are still just decor and plot points instead of characters with shit to do. they literally cling to Spock and bones in the background, which??

the entire last third after the mirror smash is too long, too flip floppy (it was all a test! also he's a child! -> they didn't commit to it enough and yet too much for it to work)

also the pacing was super shit

the last fight scene is way too whimsical and silly and the guy is just so annoying (at least Kirks pants were tight)

This screenshot looks like a promo pic for a guy comedy in the 80's

Counter

Powerful being testing humanity

Brains over brawl

Trio ready to sacrifice (Kirk is ready to die for his crew)

Quote: "I object to you. I object to intellect without discipline. I object to power without constructive purpose" - Spock

(literal heart eyes - Kirk)

Moment: See Quote

Summary: An episode with a less interesting (and more annoying) blue print for TNG's Q that's one of the shows earlier entries about mysterious and powerful enteties using humans for entertainment. Even though other episodes realized that set up better later on this episode gives Spock plenty of moments to shine (and plenty of opportunities for Kirk to send the biggest heart eyes in his direction)

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[ireadwithmyears]

the art of experience: part 1

we all start somewhere

Part 2

Pairings: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Commander Cody/fem reader

Word count: 3.5 K words 

Tags/warnings: 18+: minors dni, smut, threesome, lite dom/sub dynamics, experience/figuring things out/slight awkwardness in the beginning, oral (F and M receiving), inappropriate use of the force, no plot

summary: Your main objective when you were hired and subsequently assigned to  The Negotiator was to be a beacon of support for the troops, providing them with kindness and a boost of morale. Somehow, you highly doubt that your superiors would have intended this to be a part of your job description. You just prefer to think of it as going above the line of duty for your all too deserving men.

Or 

You enter into a new and thrilling dynamic with Obi-Wan Kenobi and Marshall Commander Cody. Thus begins an exciting series of escapades

Authors note:: Months ago,  this started off as me in my head going man, I love Codywan so much but I also kind of just want to be in between the two of them, then was tentatively pitched to a couple friends on here, @vodika-vibes and I shared quite a few thirsty thoughts on Saturdays, if I recall correctly. Anyways, I finally had the guts to turn my food for thought into a series, and if you want more information on that, specifically, check out the notes for this on my AO3. But regardless, I hope I’m not the only one who has dreams of being in the middle of a Codywan sandwich, because there is a distinct lack of content to feed this desire out there. But if you also happen to share it, then I really hope you enjoy this.

“Sorry, hold on, I’m sorry I um...”

You had convinced yourself that there was absolutely nothing a person like you could do to help out in the war effort against the Separatists. You weren’t a medic. You weren’t a fighter. Hell, you couldn’t even serve as a passable mechanic to help repair banged-up ships. You’d probably, in all likelihood, end up electrocuting yourself or blowing up a ship while you were still aboard it.

So when your great aunt, most likely with the intention of getting you to do something, anything that got you out of the house, suggested that you join up with one of the Republic's newest war relief force efforts—the Doughnut Cart Girls, groups of women armed with sweets and baked goods being sent aboard ships with troops to provide them with morale boosts and cheer—you thought, “Yeah, if nothing else, I can do that

Your poor, dear, sweet great aunt would be absolutely mortified to know that her suggestion had led to you being in quite possibly the most scandalous position of your life in the private quarters of one High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi—in between not one but two high-ranking officers of the GAR.

For your part, however, you couldn’t be more thrilled. 

Lying flat on your stomach, completely naked on the edge of the bed, you’re propped up on your elbows, hips raised by several pillows that arch your back just so. Obi-Wan is right behind you, his eagerness and impatience displayed by the tight grip he has on your thigh, and the way you can practically feel his eyes burning into you, staring down at the place where he knows if he were to lower his head slightly, he could be tasting you right now.

You both make a lovely tableau, but the only person with any actual ability to unpause this frozen moment—and who seems to be enjoying the anticipation that he draws out from both of you so easily by deliberately withholding that permission—is standing directly in front of you.

It’s one very calm, almost to the point of stoicism if you didn’t know any better, Marshall Commander Cody, whose only dead giveaway is the slight twitch of amusement that persists to pull up his lips as his eyes fall to you, hearing the uncertain question in your voice as you shift around on your elbows. You suddenly wish you hadn’t spoken and tainted the sanctity of this stillness. It would make you laugh really, if he wasn’t looking at you with such an intense focus, as if you’re caught in the centre of his orbit and you’re all he would like to look at. The three of you had gone over so much in negotiations and yet this, such a simple thing, had been overlooked.

“Yes?” he prompts, linking his hands behind his back in an effortless show of authority, looming over you and making your stomach twist just a little more as you glance down at the floor. “What is it, lovely?”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” you blurt out, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “My plan was to, well, wing it, but I…” You helplessly wave a hand, unable to look directly at his length protruding expectantly just beyond your reach. If you leaned forward, your lips would brush against him.

The thought makes your cheeks burn. “Force,” you scold yourself sternly. “Get it together. This isn’t middle school.”

This had never been a thing your previous partners had been brave enough to ask you for, and you, if you were honest, didn’t care enough to push, considering how useless they all had been when trying, or maybe the proper term was not trying, to get you off. You had decided that when, if ever, the time came, you would give it your best shot and let experience and four years worth of college improv classes be the best teachers. Now though, confronted with the reality of not one, but two men intently watching your every move, the weight of encroaching failure threatens to crush you, making you feel more than certain that this isn’t just something you can improvise and make look like a convincing effort.

You let your elbows drop, and you're met with the momentary solace of your heated cheek pressing against cool bed covers, hiding your embarrassment from their intense gazes.

“I just don’t want to disappoint,” you conclude, your voice coming out slightly muffled and more than a little bit sheepish against the sheets.

If you weren’t so intent upon imagining a hole opening up in the ground that you could vanish into, you would have had to bite your tongue in an attempt to hold back your laughter. This could be funny. This could be hilarious, considering how thoroughly and thoughtfully details had been discussed and arranged before they even entertained the idea of getting you undressed. It had been going so well, everything falling into place like pieces of a puzzle, and yet, here you are, ruining the moment with your lack of knowledge and embarrassing amount of inexperience.

“Dear one...” Obi-Wan’s voice is warm and smooth as honey as his lips brush against your shoulder and his hand snakes beneath you gently to guide up your chin. “Is this something that you want to do?”

Bless him. Bless both of them, really. You know that they would never, ever try to push you to do something—even as trivial or widely accepted as this—if you weren’t comfortable with it, and it’s that knowledge that allows you to quickly nod your head. 

“I do,” you reassure quickly, adding a small, nervous laugh. “I just don’t know how,” you say with a shrug.

“That’s okay.” His assurance is whisper soft, almost seeming to be carried by a physical brush against your skin that settles and soothes you despite your anxiety. He leans forward to kiss your cheek. “We all have to start somewhere.”

He looks up, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he meets Cody’s gaze, and continues to speak. “And I happen to consider myself an expert in getting Cody off. So, I propose that I am perfectly suited to teaching you the art of it.”

This causes Cody to roll his eyes in fond exasperation, but they soften around the corners when he hears your small laugh, your shoulders beginning to drop away from where they’ve been hunched up towards your ears as the discomfort and embarrassment in your posture seems to ebb. 

“May I, sir?” Obi-Wan asks, looking up at Cody with those big blues that make it hard to deny him on even the best of days, and he sighs, nodding in acquiescence. 

“I’d start with your lips,” Obi-Wan suggests, his voice a soft rumble as his own lips dance along the exposed skin of your neck, always gentle and warm with only the barest hint of teeth—a stipulation of Cody’s when negotiations had begun. 

The man hid his possessive streak behind a neutral, composed mask. But when he had stated with firm decisiveness that he was to be the only one permitted to leave marks along your visible skin, well, you had had to press your thighs together quite tightly to stop yourself from reacting too extremely. 

“Just explore, and I promise that, short of biting him, there’s nothing you could do that won’t lead you to finding something he’ll enjoy as long as you can pick up his cues.”

You don’t see the smirk that overtakes his features as he leans forward, but you do witness the results. Later, you’ll learn that that smirk means mischief, maybe even trouble and a guarantee that it’s intended to put Cody on edge, which it always does. But right now, you watch, intrigued and maybe even a little bit scandalized as he unabashedly reaches forward, giving Cody’s balls a generous squeeze before retreating and listening to the commander's accompanying gasp.

“Lucky for you,” he continues, unfazed except for the telltale tilt of his lips that indicates he’s quite pleased with himself, “Cody’s cues are quite easy to read if one takes the time to listen.”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody murmurs, a low warning edge that seems to be very familiar to the other man creeping into his voice. 

The Jedi has the decency to duck his head. “Sorry, sir,” he demurs, though to your ears he doesn’t sound apologetic at all as his lips return to your shoulder.

From the small scoff Cody makes in the back of his throat, he’s disinclined to believe him either. 

You don’t give him long to waver on that though. Emboldened by the lips that brush along your skin and Obi-Wan’s encouragement, you lean forward, readjusting yourself on your elbows. 

You close your eyes and allow your lips to tentatively explore, kissing up the length of him as if it were any other part of his body, slow and delicate. A controlled, shivering breath from above you indicates that your efforts are being appreciated, and you reach out a hand, trailing it along the edge of the bed until it reaches the broad muscle of his thigh, fingers skimming along it lightly until they come to rest, latching on and feeling it flex and tense beneath them.

“Oh.” A quiet groan greets your ears as your tongue lightly swirls over his balls, a hand, soft and gentle, caressing over your hair. It doesn’t push; it doesn’t insistently tangle to nudge you forward. Cody just strokes, feeling the soft strands beneath the pads of his fingers as he watches, intrigue and pleasure dancing within his brown depths.

“Open your eyes,” Obi-Wan whispers, his voice suddenly very close to your ear which sends a shiver through you as your tongue glides up towards Cody’s glistening tip. “Look at what you’re doing to him already.”

You curiously flutter your eyes open, only to watch his carefully masked expression of control fracture when you take him between your lips, giving the head a small, teasing suck before pulling back. His eyes widen fractionally, and his lips part in a silent “oh.”

“Open your mouth,” Obi-Wan instructs, his hands drawing a trail of heat that tingles down your sides as they traverse their way towards your hips. “Nice and wide. Take him slowly.”

You do, leaning forward and capturing Cody between your lips once more, carefully easing your mouth over him, the deep sigh falling from his lips letting you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Good,” Obi-Wan breathes, and it’s a little embarrassing how that one word so softly spoken and the warm timbre of his voice cause you to blush. “Can you tighten these up a little?” His lips again brush against your cheek, and you have to wonder if Cody is still able to feel a muted sensation because his own breath stumbles. You hollow out your cheeks, enveloping Cody in your warm, wet heat. He groans long and low, and Obi-Wan smiles, his lips against your neck.

You don’t need him to tell you what to do now. Slowly, you begin to move your head, lavishing every inch your mouth can reach with attention as you suck, feeling how heavy he sits against your tongue.

It’s Obi-Wan who stifles a low noise now, the sound appreciative, and you swear you can feel his hips minutely buck, the whisper of a firm erection pressing against your ass.

“Isn’t she a sight, Cody?” Obi-Wan asks, his chin resting against your shoulder as he watches, enjoying the view. His lips tease against the shell of your ear as he leans in to whisper, “You’re all stuffed full of him, dearest, and you’re doing beautifully.”

“She is,” Cody hums in agreement, his eyes fluttering as he is torn between wanting to enjoy how warm, tight, and wet you feel around him and wanting to watch your efforts as you work.

The praise sends a heavy wave of pleasure through you, your eyes fluttering beneath their combined attention. You respond by letting out a soft hum around Cody, pulling back to flutter your tongue around his cockhead before taking him fully back into your mouth. Each sensation pulls something new—a soft, surprised curse, a tightening of his hand clenching into a fist at his side, and breath with control that you can tell is becoming harder and harder to maintain accompanied by a whispered, “good girl,” causing your eyes to widen in response.

“She’s figuring it out on her own, love,” he murmurs, and you’re so distracted by the feeling of running your tongue along his underside and feeling how his other hand instinctively tightens in your hair to stop his hips from twitching forward that it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about you. “You have your own task, Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, sir,” Obi-Wan says with far too much enthusiasm. You can practically hear the smile in his voice accompanied by the soft shifting of him moving down the bed.

Your lips tighten around Cody as you feel Obi-Wan, the slight tickle of his beard, and his lips, followed by his tongue, running along your lower spine, causing your eyes to widen. It’s a testament to Cody’s impeccable sense of control that he remains still, allowing you to adjust to Obi-Wan’s teasing explorations before giving your hair a light, prompting tug.

“You aren’t allowed to come until I explicitly give you permission to,” he says, his voice low and holding the slight threat, the promise of consequences to come if you were to disobey. “Is that understood?”

It takes you a moment—eyes widening with distraction as Obi-Wan’s tongue teases the sensitive juncture of your inner thigh—but slowly, you raise your hand, lightly tapping against the edge of the mattress, the pre-discussed signal for consent if you were in a position where you were unable to speak.

“Good girl,” Cody says in a pleased rumble, his fingers dipping to trace along your lips still wrapped around his cock, eyes closing as he feels himself enclosed in your mouth. “Gods,” he breathes, giving his hips a testing nudge forward. “Such a pretty mouth.”

He tilts his head, looking off behind you. “So quiet like this,” he observes, punctuating his words with another short thrust. “Let’s see if Obi-Wan can change that, hm?”

He doesn’t give you time to wonder at the meaning of his words before a warm, wet tongue is easing between your lower lips, swirling delicately over your entrance before gliding towards your clit. The flat of the muscle slowly presses against it, causing your hips to buck and a surprised whimper to fall from the lips still wrapped around Cody’s cock. The reverberation of sound causes him to let out his own low groan, his hand in your hair now beginning to guide you forward.

Cody lets out a low chuckle, even as his fingers grasp firmly on your hair, causing a tingling, yet strangely not unpleasant sensation at the back of your head as he begins to fuck your mouth in ernest. You can tell he’s holding back, only pushing past what is comfortable but never going too far, letting your expressions dictate the force of his thrusts, for which you are grateful.

“Do that again, Obi-Wan,” Cody orders, tugging at your hair until only the head of his cock still sits between your lips and you’re looking up at him with wide eyes. He watches you languidly swirl your tongue around the tip as he continues. “I want to see the look on your face when he plays with your clit.”

Obi-Wan obliges—eagerly, if his hands latching onto and spreading your thighs further apart are any indication. His tongue flutters over the small bud, causing your mouth to fall open in a whine, your eyes going wide as his lips begin to suckle and he lets out a soft hum that makes your hips twitch.

Several things happen in quick succession. 

Cody, taking advantage of your parted lips and opened mouth slowly guides you back down, giving you enough time to inhale through your nose in preparation. Obi-Wan, his hands digging into your thighs, sweeps his tongue over your clit one last time, relishing in the soft moan he pulls from you before gliding to your entrance, letting out his own pleased sound as he circles around your slit, gathering your arousal on his tongue before his eyes flutter and he presses it inside.

“Mmmm.” You’re unable to stop the moan that is pulled from your lips as you’re drawn closer towards Cody’s pelvis, your nose lightly pressing against the mound of soft hair you discover there. Obi-Wan’s tongue continues to explore, lightly curling within its confines until he’s brushing up against a spot that is completely maddening, causing you to arch your back and buck your hips against his face despite the grip he has on your thighs. Cody, watching the way your cheeks flush as he looks down at you, begins to retreat, only to watch with a pleasured intensity as in a slow, deep thrust he pushes back into your mouth again, the noise of satisfaction rumbling through him sending sparks straight between your legs.

And then, just when you think there’s nothing more they could do—when you are only able to focus on Cody’s hand in your hair, your jaw slack as he lets himself use your mouth for his pleasure, with Obi-Wan’s tongue pressing into you in slow, deep, and rhythmic strokes that have you actually mewling—there’s more.

Something happens that you can’t describe as a specific sensation as much as it is a feeling. It’s warm, pulsing in waves directed squarely at your clit that up until this moment has been dormant with neglect, now throbbing with a warm, molten heat that builds and builds and builds and—oh, fuck! Is he using the Force?

He gives a low sound that perhaps could be a chuckle as you feel his lips curl upwards against you in a smile as he continues to show you the skills of his tongue. It’s almost as if he can hear your thoughts even as the only things that fall from your lips are muffled, cut off whimpers. In response, as if to say, “Yes, darling, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” what feels like a ball of slow, building energy rolls across the nub, fluttering and growing until your clit is surrounded by his pulsing, heated desire.

You can’t help it. You can’t help the way Cody’s cock slips from your mouth and your head throws back and you’re whining, actually whining—not in the soft, needy way but in the high-pitched, desperate, in the throes of something you couldn’t stop even if you dug your heels into the ground and tried with all your might kind of way. It’s embarrassing the way he has so effortlessly, easily, and thoroughly made you come undone, not that you could remotely bring yourself to care as it hits you.

Down come your elbows, your head unable to remain balanced, falling with a soft sound against the mattress as your orgasm seems to wash through you like a wave, traveling through the tips of your tightly curled toes to your tensing and flexing thigh muscles beneath Obi-Wan’s fingers all the way up your back, arching and squirming, resulting in sounds that fall from your lips that you would not have predicted you were capable of making.

And then it fades, slow and gentle and leaving a flush, a tingling heat against your skin as you, almost by some invisible force, are guided to anchor yourself within your breath. Someone, without words, gently coaxing it to settle and slow as you look up, dimly aware of the sweat that’s gathered at the base of your scalp.

And then you realize that you’re looking up directly into the face of Cody, who, despite his cheeks being flushed from the talents of your mouth, appears perfectly calm, composed, and controlled with his hands laced behind his back and oh, the scar that curls around his eye only highlights the glimmer of his disappointment as he contemplatively looks down at you, his gaze heavy and considering. Before he even raises a displeased eyebrow, before he even speaks, you’re hit with the weight of having done something that you were explicitly told not to do.

“Hm,” he muses, reaching down and running his fingers through your hair in a surprisingly gentle stroke that ends in an even more surprisingly sharp tug as he commands your gaze skyward, causing a soft “mm” of pleasure-pain to fall from your parted lips. When he next speaks, his voice is too measured, too conversational, sending alarm bells streaking through your mind, one after the other like passing sirens on the street, making your heart pick up in speed with the euphoric, enticingly dangerous blend of wanting to bow your head in apologetic submission or cower away and flee from the ire of his disapproval.

“And here I was thinking you were sweet and obedient.”

And with those words, you come to the understanding that you are so irrevocably fucked, and despite the anxiety that twinges in your stomach that always accompanies a misstep, having to bite down on your instinctive guilt of disappointing others, you find, for perhaps the first time, that you couldn’t be more delighted.

[hexidous]

Pretty As You Feel

Part II to Silk and Sweat. I highly recommend reading part I for context.

Series Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Summary: You find yourself back at the club Joel manages and try your best to seem unafflicted. As hard as you try, you may end up playing it a little too cool.

Warnings: Depictions of stripping, general adult content, oral sex, fingering, spitting, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, the holy trifecta, praise Joelsus

Word count: 4.4k

-

Slowly sinking down into the epsom salt bath you drew, you feel your tense muscles begin to relax in the hot water.

You imagine Joel behind you, enveloped in his strong embrace. His touch lingered on your skin, your nerves still whirring from his strong hands.

Enough, you think.

You had a rough night and he helped you get through it. Nothing more.

Unfortunately, you were used to men feeling entitled to your body because you chose to put it on display. They pay for a show and get angry when they want more.

When you were young and new to the life, you developed your own mantra to cope with the way you were treated.

What happens to Starla doesn’t happen to you.

What happens to Starla doesn’t happen to you.

You repeat it over and over, distancing yourself from the woman you pretend to be.

It works when it’s a random, rowdy customer causing you to question whether or not the money is worth the shit you put up with. It doesn’t work with Joel.

The way his face contorted into disgust and rage as he pulled that pathetic man off you flashes behind your eyes as you try to relax. How he beat a man bloody for you with ease, seeming to be holding back still.

You think of his face donning a similarly intense look, possibly indecipherable out of context, as he slammed his thick fingers into your desperate cunt.

Joel was a man no little mantra could force out of your head.

-

You mindlessly worked on whatever jobs came in, the days coming and going in a dull blur. A week went by and you had only petty design jobs coming in, alongside the occasional copywriting gig you’d pick up eagerly.

It wasn’t enough to pay the bills.

You trudged through five thousand words about cooling units and designed a logo for a shitty tech start up before calling it a day. Well, your day called itself because you didn’t have any more work to do.

“You got any rent money this month?” You ask the bemused cat laying on your desk, stopping mid lick of her belly to stare at you. “No? Shocking.”

You scratch behind her little ear before getting up from your chair. “I guess only one pussy is bringing home some money tonight.”

You start to put a bag together, rifling through folded dresses.

Which one would Joel like the most? You find yourself asking.

He strikes you as a man who likes a tasteful woman, not one eagerly putting everything on display. Obviously you didn’t have any modest dresses to wear, but you opted to toss in a few of the less skimpy ones.

Trying to breathe through your nerves, you watch as the bright red sign comes into your view. You park off to the side and grab your bag, clutching the strap tightly.

Play it cool, you warn yourself.

You greet the host at the front desk as you walk past her. You arrive a little later this time, the club already bustling with movement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got superstar Starla in the house tonight,” Tommy teases in his sultry club DJ affectation.

Joel’s head snaps up from the clipboard he’s holding. You smile and shake your head at him with a roll of your eyes, conveying your disbelief over Tommy’s silliness.

“Glad you decided to come back,” he tells you as you pass by his preferred spot on the floor, tucked away between the bottle service section and private dance room.

“My bank account didn’t give me much of a choice,” you half joke with a shrug before heading to the dressing room.

You don’t feel the need to find an isolated section this time. You take a seat at one of the many chairs lined up facing the stretch of illuminated mirrors. A couple other girls are seated along the row and a few flitter behind you, going to their lockers or on and off stage.

You slip your clothes off, folding them neatly and setting them on the counter.

The dress you decided on for the evening was short and black with long sleeves. The top came down to just low enough to tease at your cleavage. The dress was tighter on you than it used to be, but it hugged your curves nicely. There wasn’t room for a bra beneath it, but the back of it looked much better without one. It was a thick lace pattern, tightly woven flowers and loops dancing down your back, coming to a V-shape at the lowest point of your back. You strapped on some matching black shoes, grabbed your wristlet, and stashed everything else away in your locker.

You make your way through the narrow dressing room and walk up a few stairs leading to the hallway behind the stage, ending with the DJ booth.

“Ready for my spotlight,” you tell Tommy, poking your head into his booth.

“Here’s my superstar!” He bellows happily. “The night can finally begin.”

“Do I have to pay you up front to not torment me?” You joke.

“That was just a little first day hazin’,” he assures with a sly grin.

You turn from his booth and walk back down the dimly lit hallway, toward the pulsing red light of the club.

You exit just beside the stage, taking a good look at the dancer occupying it. She’s naturally brunette with blonde bangs and chunky highlights. Her face dons multiple piercings, one at the center of her bottom lip, a stud on her high cheekbone, settling like a sparkly little tear, and many in her ears. Her tattoos were all black and ornate, slithering across her body, perfect with her fluid, sensual movements.

You take your eyes away and head to the bar, turning slightly to continue to watch the dancer on stage.

Tommy’s voice dwarfs the song playing as it reaches an end. “Give it up for the fine, the feral, the absolutely fierce Fiona!” He bellows enthusiastically. “Now don’t be too scared gentlemen, she don’t bite… much.”

You’re ready for your first drink so you wave to the first man you see walk through the club like an old friend.

“I feel like it would be hard to forget a face so beautiful,” he says, putting a hand on the back of your chair. “But I’m terribly sorry to say I don’t remember you.”

“Oh you don’t know me,” you admit, pretending to look bashful. “But I’m new here and wanted someone to talk to.”

“Well I am honored you chose me,” he says politely before holding out his hand. “David.”

“Starla,” you tell him, shaking his hand softly.

“Oh come on, honey, I know your name ain’t Starla.”

“Look where you are, David,” you poke. “What did you expect? For me to say, ‘Hi, I’m Annie Mae, just a simple girl lookin’ for a husband.”

“Shit, you got me there,” he says after a beat, holding his hands up and feigning surrender. “So, you want a drink, Annie Mae?”

“Why, I’d love one.”

-

You don’t rush things with David, you know you’re not far off in rotation and it would be nice to have someone stage side for you.

Sure enough, you hear Tommy call you up for the next song as he transitions the music.

“Come see me up there?” You ask as you finish your drink and grab your small sequined clutch.

“Of course, darlin’,” he promises with a smile.

You take long strides to the DJ booth,

“Hey,” you say, getting Tommy’s attention. He turns to you but you cut him off before he can deliver whatever cheesy line he’s churning. “I know it’s not typical strip club music, but can you play Jefferson Airplane’s Somebody to Love?”

“Oh, my brother will love you for that,” he tells you. You cock your head, wondering if his brother was in the crowd, maybe David, but don’t think much of it as he starts to call you up.

“Alright gentlemen, get ready for the sensational, sensual, downright sinful… Starla!”

You take your cue and fling the curtain back dramatically as soon as the song begins.

You know the song well, adjusting your movements from soft and flowing to harsh and abrupt as the melody changes.

You climb the pole deftly before snaking around it and then finally dropping down down into a split on the floor.

Your eyes, I say, your eyes may look like his

You swing your leg around to face the small crowd and bend your knee slightly. You’ve got one hand gripping the pole beside you for leverage as you arch your back and lift your ass, rolling your pelvis slowly. David’s eyes are locked on you. Your gaze moves to the left, unable to help yourself.

Joel’s eyes are locked on you too.

You don’t break your stare until you see David making his way toward you. He sits beside he stage and you crawl toward him, flipping your hair dramatically before rising to your knees, playfully toying with your breasts. You shimmy your hips and bounce up and down like you’re riding an invisible ecock. He slips a twenty in the waistband of your thong as you hold it out. You snap it back and give him a wink.

You casually turn your head toward Joel and find him still staring. Your heart rate picks up, despite already thumping hard from your dancing. He had never watched you so brazenly.

You finish your song and thank David. You try to focus on steady breathing, fluid movements, and not looking back at Joel.

A few more men come up to tip you, though not quite as generously, until finally your set ends.

“I told you he’d like it,” Tommy jeers from his booth. You walk toward him, quickly throwing your dress back on and adjusting your suffocating tits.

“Who?” You finally get to ask. “David?”

“No,” he scoffs. “Joel. Didn’t know he was my brother?”

“Huh. I guess not,” you say in a flat voice, trying not to give hint to any emotion.

“Well you did the song justice. He doesn’t usually watch the girls on stage.”

You try not to blush or seem like you care at all, giving a quick, “Hmm.”

“Probably just zoning out, thinking about getting high in the basement while our parents were at work. I’d hear that shit blasting all the time,” he says with a laugh.

Your stomach drops. Maybe he hasn’t been staring at all, just lost in thought. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

“I used to barge in, asking him why his room smelled so bad," Tommy laughs. "He'd get so mad, moodier than any teen girl."

You smile at the thought of Joel as an angsty teen. "Well I better get back. Think I got something real special with Dave out there."

"Get 'em, superstar," he calls out as you walk away.

-

You get a few dances out of David. He tries to get your number or buy you another drink, but you decline.

When you emerge from the private dance room, you're not really sure where to land next. It's slim pickings with most of the men already occupied.

You hear your stage name called by one of the girls sitting at a table of dancers. You walk over and sit down at an empty seat.

“It is Starla, right?” A pretty brunette asks. You nod in response. “I’m Tiffany.”

You exchange pleasantries with the women. You’d known almost all of their names already, it was easy when you heard Tommy announcing them every 10 minutes. But it was nice getting to know them, feeling like less of an outsider.

You chatted casually with the group, tipping them off to the still seated man you had just danced with.

“He just wants to think he has a chance in hell,” you scoff. “Easy money.”

One of the girls, a petite woman named Amber, stands up from her seat and makes her way over to him.

“God damn Joel looks sexy tonight,” Tiffany huffs from across the table, her eyes settling just over your shoulder. “He doesn’t even have to fuck me. Just spit on me. Anything.”

Tiffany notices your silence among the other girls agreement and calls you out.

“You seriously don’t think so?” She asks incredulously.

“I mean, he’s alright,” you lie.

“Right, you’re into Tommy,” she prods teasingly.

“No I’m not,” you scoff.

“He’s fun, but he’s easy,” Tiffany laments. “Joel is a challenge and fuck if I don’t love a good challenge.”

You try to quell the jealousy that begins to brew in your gut.

“Tommy will fuck anyone and Fiona will fight anyone,” another girl says with a laugh.

“They’re fucking but not exclusive,” Tiffany explains. “Doesn’t stop Fiona from losing her shit though.”

“Remember when Valerie blew him in the DJ booth? Bitch went full Monday Night RAW,” a tan, dark haired woman called Raven recounts, evoking laughter from the small group.

“You might want to keep it on the low, Starla,” Tiffany warns. “Fiona’s already caught whiff of you two.”

“Hand to god, nothin’ to smell,” you swear. You weren’t eager for Fiona to hate you but you were comfortable knowing no one had any idea of your infatuation for Joel.

“He’s got a nice dick,” Raven says with a shrug, a couple girls nodding in agreement.

“Before Mary Jane left she told me that Tommy is big but Joel is huge,” Tiffany admits. “Lucky bitch.”

Your cheeks run hot again as you picture Joel’s intimidatingly large bulge inches from your face. You also can’t help but angrily think who the fuck is Mary Jane?

“Well this has been informative, thank you ladies,” you tell the group as you rise from your seat. “But I better go find someone who’ll help my poor landlord pay off his Ferrari.”

-

The night is winding down to a late end. You hear Tommy play Closing Time as he tells the customers they don’t have to go home but they can’t stay here. It seems very on brand.

“Starla,” you hear Joel’s deep voice call to you. Your pulse quickens and skin becomes tingly from the mere sound of your stage name on his tongue. He continues once you step closer, “I must have tossed your paperwork by accident. Can you hang back for a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” you tell him, unsure why it couldn’t wait another day. Not that you mind.

You’re slow to get everything together, taking your time organizing your bills and bag. It may just be missing paperwork, but you wanted the club to be empty on the off chance something more may happen. You give it another minute after the last girl leaves the dressing room before making your way to Joel’s office.

You knock lightly on the open door to announce your presence. He turns around and stares at you with an intense look written across his handsome face.

“You wanna suck my cock?” He asks, his demeanor taking a 180 since he last spoke to you.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah,” you reply, stunned. “I really do.”

“Tommy seems to think you wanna suck his,” his gravely voice speaks with a snarl. “That true, too? You just another slut tryna fuck every man who won’t pay you for it?”

“Nope,” you reply cooly, forcing your tone to stay even as your heart tries to escape your chest. “Just a slut who can’t stop thinking of you every time she makes herself cum.”

“Christ,” he mutters, running a palm over his growing cock. Your rapid heartbeat moves lower.

“May I?” You ask innocently, taking a tentative step forward.

“No,” he barks. You take a startled step backward.

He stands up and closes the distance between you two, towering over you now that your seven inch heels are replaced by a pair of comfy slip ons. His broad chest heaves as he stares down at you, the look in his eyes almost scaring you.

Joel brushes past you, leaving you alone in his office.

“Anyone here?” He bellows out to the empty club.

He’s met with silence so you follow him out.

“Wait here,” he tells you as he walks toward the club entrance. You hear the heavy lock fall into place.

Your head is swimming with anticipaion as he stalks back to you. Hell, your panties are too.

“Move,” he commands, pointing to the bottle service area. You do as he says, walking up the few stairs that lead to the semi private area.

The open facing entrance had the trademark red silk curtains strung open. Joel pulls them closed, leaving only the light filtering through the top of the curtains and three quarter wall to illuminate the small area.

“Alright,” he says, facing you. He rubs his hand over the thick cock straining against his pants. “Y’say you want it so damn bad, better make me believe it.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, biting your lip with anticipation as you take him in.

“Excuse me?” He says with a cocked brow, bringing his hands to his hips.

“I will,” you assure in a breathy voice. His brow stays cocked. “Sir,” you add meekly.

“Atta girl,” he says, his gravelly voice sending chills down your spine.

You slowly sink to your knees before him, looking up to meet his dark gaze.

Your hands shake as you bring them up to undo his belt. You don’t think you’ve been this nervous in front of a man since you were a teenager.

You reach into his soft, elastic boxer briefs and grasp his heavy cock, barely able to fit your hand all the way around it.

Your eyes widen as you take him in. His cock is literally mouthwatering. You press your tongue flat against his thick head, precum already beading at the top. You let your pooling saliva run down his shaft before tracing your tongue over the vein that runs down the length of it. You pump his dick slowly with one hand and while sliding his underwear down further, freeing his balls. You duck your head low and bring them into your mouth, gently licking at them.

You hear Joel groan quietly from above you. You look up to find him peering down at you. “Such a good girl,” he says breathlessly.

His praise sends warmth through your entire body. You return your mouth to his cock but gently cup his sensitive scrotum, squeezing lightly. Your jaw feels tight trying to fit his entirety into your mouth without accidentally scraping your teeth against him.

You remember Tiffany’s words from earlier and think how you love a good challenge too. Especially ones that paid off.

You feel the head of Joel’s cock reach the back of your throat and you gag a little before forcing a deep breath in through your nose. You do your best to relax as he starts to thrust his hips up into you, meeting your eager movements. Your free hand grips him at the base, gliding in time with your mouth. You use your thumb to add pressure to the underside of his dick, mirroring the action with your tongue as well.

Moans are escaping with his deep breaths. You look up again and see his eyes clenched shut and his mouth agape. The way his brows furrow and lips curl into a snarl the same way when he was enraged and aroused turns you on endlessly.

You quicken your pace, aching to feel him come undone.

“Wait,” he says weakly, getting closer. “Stop, stop, stop,” he pleads in quick succession.

But you can’t. You’re too drunk off his pleasure to ever quit.

His orgasm spills over, unleashing hot spurts of cum onto your tongue. You swallow him without hesitation.

You tilt your head up, pleased with yourself, but he’s not blissed out like you were hoping.

He seems… angry. Or turned on still. It was really fucking hard to tell.

“Thought I told you to stop,” he snaps.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you mewl.

“Sorry,” he scoffs. “Get up.”

You stand to face him, searching for something other than anger in his expression. He grabs you by the back of your hair, yanking back roughly. You let out a gasp.

“Since ya like swallowing so damn much.” You watch in awe as he spits directly in your open mouth. It partially paints your puffy, sensitive lip. “There you go.”

You swallow his saliva, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. It’s ironically the closest thing you’ve had to a kiss with him.

“Don’t I get a thank you?” He half questions, half demands in a harsh tone.

“Thank you, sir,” you tell him softly, giving your best innocent doe eyes.

“I guess you didn’t want my cock buried in that pretty pussy, huh?” He taunts.

“I want it so bad,” you whine, “but I wanted to make you feel good.”

His expression softens. “You did, baby,” he says, moving his hand to cup your cheek.

Your heart swells at the pet name and newfound tenderness.

Joel moves his hand again to lift your dress and dip past the waistline of your panties.

“So wet from sucking my cock,” he hums. “I should just leave you like this. Aching for me.”

You don’t want to beg but you shake your head quickly.

“You need to be punished somehow, sweetheart.”

“However you want,” you pant desperately.

His eyes fall on the couch behind you. He takes a few steps before turning to sit on it. He extends a hand out to you.

Tentatively, you make your way toward him. He holds your hand in his as you stand between his open legs, feeling a shyness take over.

“Over my knee, baby,” he tells you.

You turn to the side and bend forward until your hips are resting on his strong thigh and your forearms are resting on the couch. Joel yanks your underwear down swiftly.

Before you can brace yourself you hear a loud smack and feel the sharp sting of his hand. You hiss through your teeth, wondering how many more you have left.

He slaps his hand down again in the same spot, causing you to yelp this time. As he continues, the pain begins to mix with pleasure. You keep yourself from rubbing against his thigh without his permission.

He delivers another blow and you moan loudly. “Fuck, Da-“

“Say it,” he coaxes. “Who am I?” He asks with another sharp slap.

“Daddy!” You cry out, tears threatening to spill over.

He lands one more smack before switching to a soft caress. Your skin is so sensitive, it sends a harsh shiver through your body.

“Your ass looks so pretty covered in my handprints, baby,” he says, continuing to run his fingers lightly over the reddened skin. “You did so good for me.”

“I’m sorry you had to punish me, Daddy,” you sniffle, the tears finally coming down.

“Come here,” he tells you, repositioning your body to face him, straddling his thighs. You study his face in the dim lighting. His eyes always looked a little pained, you realize. Deep set lines etched themselves in his forehead over the heads, softer ones around his eyes. Your gaze wandered over his prominent nose and strong jaw, covered in graying, patchy scruff. He’s not your usual type and yet you couldn’t think of a man you’d ever found more attractive. Your eyes landed on his full lips, dying to kiss them.

He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, closing the gap between your faces. His lips felt somehow softer than they looked against yours. You part your mouth eagerly and he takes no time to enter your mouth. His tongue expertly licks at yours. You moan desperately into his kiss, grinding your drenched pussy into his half hard cock.

“Please,” you beg him.

He chuckles gently at you. “You’re expecting an old man to fuck like a teenager.”

You let out a huff, wishing you had listened to him.

“I won’t leave you hanging, sweetheart.” He brings his hand down between you, rubbing your clit with his thumb for a moment before pushing two thick fingers into you with ease. “But you gotta get yourself off this time.”

You start slow, dizzy with lust as you move yourself up and down on his fingers. He curls them slightly, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.

“That feel good, baby?” He purrs.

“So good, Daddy,” you answer, quickening your pace and grinding down on his palm.

He brings his free hand up, pulling the straps down on your dress. He ducks his head down and his mouth is at your chest, surely salty from sweat. He licks and kisses over your breasts before dragging his nose up your neck, inhaling your musk.

The simple movement send you that much closer to the edge, the pleasure threatening to bubble over at at moment. You chase your release, bouncing and grinding on Joel’s hand while you think about the orgasm you gave him moments ago. The twisting coil in your center comes free as you cum on his fingers with a loud cry.

“Good girl,” he praises in a strained whisper before planting a warm kiss on your forehead.

You come down from your high with shaky breaths. He takes his fingers away, wiping them on his already ruined pants.

You throw your arms over his shoulders and bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, trying to burn it into your memory.

He lets you stay that way for a while, running his hand up and down your back.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs in your ear. “We gotta go.”

You hate that you have to leave. You would sleep at the club if it meant spending more time with Joel. But you relent, climbing off his lap and retrieving your underwear.

Joel is first to exit the room, you follow slowly behind and see him emerge from his office with your bag in his hand. You hold your arm out to take it but he ignores your gesture, carrying it for you as he walks you to your car.

Yours and his are the only two left in the lot, well beyond close.

“Text me when you get home,” he tells you, giving you your bag back.

He pulls his phone out and hands it to you for you to put your number in. You enter it in alongside your real name and save the contact.

“I will,” you promise. “Goodnight, Joel.”

He bids you goodnight with another kiss on the forehead.

It’s late and you are beyond exhausted when you reach your apartment. You pull your phone out and see one new message from an unknown number.

Joel Miller

You smile, and send him a quick text back.

Home.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

All Too Well

Pairings: Chuck Grant x reader Summary: So this a little fic inspired by a moodboard that the very lovely @sweetxvanixlla requested and is also inspired by my recent trip to Henri Chapelle American Cemetery in Belguim. I highly recommend if anyone gets the chance to visit an American Cemetery then to do so. It’s a very emotional and moving place to visit. Warnings: death, mentions of war, PTSD, grief, post war reunion.

“Come on, Y/n. You’ve got to get up,” Chuck called, sticking his head around the bathroom door, toothbrush hanging from his lips as he looked upon the form of his sleeping girlfriend. “Y/n, come on. We’re going to be late otherwise.”

Y/n groaned and reluctantly crawled from beneath the covers, moaning incoherently at Chuck as she wandered into the bathroom, dragging the covers behind her like a child. Chuck just grinned, smacking her backside as she walked past. She shrieked and turned round to face him, scrunching her face up in annoyance. Chuck just grinned back at her, rinsing his mouth from the fluoride taste and placing his toothbrush back in the bathroom cabinet in its pot.

Chuck Grant didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky with Y/n, she was funny, smart, beautiful and she’d put up with his teasing ever since Toccoa. She followed him out of the C47 on D-Day, fought beside him in Carentan and shared his foxhole in the Bois Jacques. Even when he was injured she stayed by his side, holding his hand as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

Half an hour later, the car horn outside drew Chuck from his thoughts. It was Floyd Talbert, his battered green Chevrolet pulled up onto the pavement outside. He was giving them a lift to Easy Company’s first yearly reunion. The men had all kept in contact after going their separate ways back in the States and between them, George and Bill had organised for them to all get together. Most of them were bringing their wives and girlfriends along and Chuck was pleased to have Y/n by his side.

“Y/n, come on, Tab’s here,” Chuck called, starting in amazement as his girlfriend appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a baby blue dress flowing around her frame and her hair was curled and pinned neatly to the back of her head. She looked as beautiful in that dress as the day she had in Aldbourne. Chuck kept the picture of her from their first date in his jacket pocket and it went everywhere he did. “I’m coming.”

They hurried down the path, Chuck shutting the white gate at the end of the pathway. “Hey Chuck,” Tab greeted him as he hopped into the front seat beside his friend.

“How have you been?”

“We’ve been good. Can’t complain. How about you?”

Floyd looked at him confused but did ask any more questions. “Yeah, I’m okay. Doing the best I can but I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.”

They mainly travelled in silence after that, with the occasional conversation and Chuck reached across to hold Y/n hand, squeezing it gently.

Floyd pulled into a parking space and watched in amusement as George Luz came barrelling across the car park towards them. “TAB! CHUCK! YOU MADE IT!” He shouted, throwing himself into both the men’s arms. Floyd and George were laughing and chatting as Chuck helped Y/n down from the truck, taking her hand with a smile. “Well let’s face the music. George is as wild as ever.”

Y/n sniggered, “did you honestly expect him to change.”

“No, not really.”

“Hey Chuck, come see the others,” George grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the building where the other members of Easy Company were already waiting.

The reunion was going well, Chuck was so glad Y/n had talked him into going. He’d been reluctant at first, still haunted by the nightmares of the friends he had lost, he didn’t know if he could face seeing the men he went through hell and back with.

“So how’s things going with Vera?” Chuck asked, leaning against the bar beside Eugene Roe, nursing his beer that he came accustomed to enjoying while staying in Aldbourne.

“Real good, there ain’t a day goes by where I’m not smiling anymore. It helps to have someone to get you through each day,” Eugene suddenly looked up a little shocked. “Oh Grant, I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean to… well you know… I just… I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for Gene? Y/n and I are very happy. We moved into our new house a few months ago, and it's all going well.”

Eugene rested his hand on Chuck’s arm, “Grant, it’s okay to not be alright. None of us are ever going to be alright again, it haunts us all but I know things will get better. I have to believe that.”

“Gene, I’m fine. I couldn’t be better. Y/n and I are very happy.”

Eugene bit his lip as if trying to find the right words to say. He looked over Chuck’s shoulder where George and Floyd had both appeared and had heard the conversation.

“Chuck, I know you miss Y/n…” Floyd began and Chuck turned around to face him.

“What do you mean? Y/n is right there,” he pointed through the crowd to an empty corner of the room and waved. “See she’s waving at us.”

“Chuck…” Floyd approached carefully, resting his hand on his friend's shoulder. “Y/n isn’t there Buddy. Y/n isn’t here. She died, Chuck.”

Chuck snorted, “No she didn’t. If she’d died, who have I been living with?”

Chuck had to admit that the house was often quiet but Y/n had never been very loud spoken, and only one side of the bed had ever looked as if it was slept in, and there was only one toothbrush in the cabinet…

“No, but she’s right there…” Chuck trailed off as he pointed to the empty corner, Y/n was no longer there waving back at him.

“But… but where is she?” He cried, feeling hot tears fall down his red cheeks as the realisation hit, turning to his friends and demanding answers. Where was his girl? What happened?

“She got hit, Chuck. The same night Bill and Joe got hit. She was trying to help them, remember?”

Chuck couldn’t remember. No, he couldn’t remember any of it. Y/n had been with him though. When they left Foy and moved on to Noville she had been there. When they found the concentration camp she was the first one to help them. When they were in Austria she had been there watching the baseball game.

“But where is she, Tab? Where is she?” Chuck slid to the floor, sobbing and clutching hold of Floyd who sat beside him, hugging his friend firmly. He knew none of the men there would judge him, they only watched in sympathy as Chuck fell apart. They had all been in his position at least once since the war ended a little over a year ago. “She’s in Belgium, Chuck. She is a cemetery in Belgium.”

“I need to see her. Please can we find her?” Chuck buried his head into Floyd’s neck.

“Sure thing, Buddy. We’ll find her.”

3 months later

Chuck didn’t quite know what he expected when Floyd first told him that Y/n was buried in Henri Chapelle American Cemetery in Belgium. For some reason that seemed to make it real. George, Eugene and Floyd had gone with him, feeling as though he’d need some kind of support when it all fell down.

The car park was empty but they could already see a few rows of neatly placed white crosses beginning to appear. Chuck was reluctant to get out of the car at first, he wondered that maybe this was all a bad dream and that soon Y/n would be kissing him and telling him it was time to get up.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Floyd asks when Chuck finally found the courage to get out of the car.

“Maybe if you could come part of the way with me?”

The three men nodded, following Chuck up the long, concrete paved pathway and up the steps, following the steps down the other side. All four of them gulped as they looked upon the rows of parallel, ivory crosses, each row was diagonally and vertically lined up to perfection. Some of the crosses had flowers placed at the base and some weren’t crosses at all but the Star of David instead stood proudly above its soldiers.

“Didn’t realise how many there were going to be,” George choked, trying to hold back the tears for Chuck. Eugene squeezed his hand gently and nodded, tears trickling down his own cheeks. Many of the US soldiers had been repatriated back to the States after their deaths so they could be returned home but many remained in the fields of the country they died. Y/n didn’t have a family to repatriate her and so she lay beside her other fallen comrades.

The men followed the path down the steps, looking upon each row. The names of men they had never had the privilege to meet were etched into their minds, each life that was taken far too soon. When they reached the right section for Y/n's surname they all considered turning back, avoiding it would be far easier than facing the truth. They had all seen her die, had all seen her lifeless frame fall but none of them had ever wanted to relive that experience again.

Floyd watched as Chuck walked down the rows, wondering if he should follow his friend but accepting that this was something Chuck needed to do alone.

Chuck felt great relief with each name he read not finding Y/n amongst them, but his relief was short-lived and sure enough halfway along the second row her name appeared - Y/n Y/l/n, SGT 506 PRCHT INF 101 ABN DIV, OREGON Jan 9 1945. As each letter sank in Chuck felt his throat tighten and his heart still in his chest. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe, a sob wracking his frame as he fell before the cross, gripping hold of the white stone as if he could pull her back into his world.

“Please, Y/n. Please,” Chuck wailed, his short fingernails digging into the grass at the base of the cross, grounding himself as though his grief may pull him from Earth. Chuck had been told that sadness comes with anger but he felt no anger now, only unimaginable pain.

Ever since the reunion his grief had come in waves, small waves at first, sometimes without warning like when he’d open the bathroom cabinet and there was only one toothbrush when there should have been two. This wave of grief was different, it was violent and Chuck felt as though he’d never be whole again. Y/n had always told him that only brave people cry because they are brave enough to show they are vulnerable but Chuck didn’t feel brave, he felt broken, more broken than he had ever felt throughout the whole war.

“Why did you do this, Y/n? Why did you leave me?”

“I never left you, Chuck, I’ll always be here just waiting for you. What we had was a masterpiece but this war tore it all up.” Y/n placed her arms around Chuck, holding him close to her.

“I’d like to be my old self again but I can’t find him, Y/n.” Chuck sobbed, grabbing hold of her arms and pulling her even closer.

“I’ll wait for you Chuck, I promise.”

Chuck closed his eyes, savouring their last embrace. “I loved you so.”

“Back before you lost the one real thing you’ve ever known.”

“It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well,” Chuck whispered as Y/n faded from his embrace and he was left once again floating alone in his ocean of grief.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @desert-fern @mayhem24-7forever @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @hesbuckcompton-baby @sweetxvanixlla @noneedtoamputate

[teecupangel]

billiam’s mistress being from a big irish immigrant family and they see a picture of the man that impregnated her and she’s like “He was hot to me!” And her younger brother would probably like “Yeah, hot from be near Hell’s doorway,”

Connected to The William Miles Gets A Woman Knocked Up Grieving Desmond’s Death idea (and its minisequel and The Reader having a bad time and making it Basim’s problem) and the Statistically speaking she would be 30~40 years younger than him.

Considering Squirtle was taken away from their mother and Abstergo has shown that they don’t mind killing innocents (ex: Elijah’s mother), it’s highly possible that this happened when Squirtle was just born.

Maybe their mother tried to look for William to let him know that he has a child, posting his picture on social media. (A spur of the moment choice brought by the sudden realization that she now has a child and all alone and… might also be the painkillers, who knows?)

That’s how her brother learned of the man in the photo and questioned her taste of men as a way to make her laugh.

That’s the last time he saw her.

Next time he visited the hospital, she was dead and her baby was also pronounced dead.

It was too much of a coincidence.

Not to mention, he tried asking around about the older ‘gentleman’ that was her baby’s daddy and one of his close friends who worked for some private security company told him to stop looking for the man.

He was bad news.

And that was how…

Squirtle’s maternal uncle started to look for William Miles, believing him to be the one who killed both his mother and, as far as his uncle knows, themselves.

Bill only learned of her death a day late, Erudito’s photo flagging system being slower than Abstergo’s.

He remembers her.

And he learned that she had a baby who apparently died due to complications or something?

No.

It was Abstergo.

Abstergo has his kid.

.

It would be funny if Squirtle’s uncle (and mother) were descended from Liam O’Brien. Sure, Shay Cormac would be the most obvious choice.

But Liam would be so left field.

Or…

Anne could also be a good ancestor.

Or if you wanna doubledown on the possible importance of their bloodline to the Isu: Ciara. XD

[loftylockjaw]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Pedro’s house PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) & Pedro (@rangervazquez) SUMMARY: Wyatt wants that vegetable lamb. Pedro isn’t giving her up. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

—

Plenty of people wondered how Pedro came into ownership of a veggie lamb. It was no word of a lie, what he said online. He and his colleagues went to clear up the highly Instagrammable greenhouse seating that people like to use in the winter. They’re less used in the summer because it’s too hot. The lambs didn’t seem to mind it, as they’d taken up residence in a corner. After some deliberation, the Rangers had decided they could be veggie lamb foster parents until they found some expert or another. Which sounded good to Pedro, right up until Baabara was sitting on his kitchen table and looking expectantly at him. He had turned to the good people of Wicked’s Rest when he’d tried and failed to google a care manual, and got some support. Wyatt told him they eat dandelions, which checked out in terms of them having survived in the town. Pedro had already watered her, and she wasn’t mad at him anymore…he hoped. He decided to send Wyatt a message about the offer to come by with advice. Thanks man, I’d be super grateful for any pointers with this little lady. Maybe I’m pushing my luck, but could you bring lamb milk?

—

Pedro was pushing his luck. Wyatt really had no intention of helping with this thing much at all, unless that feigned help would get the park ranger to relinquish guardianship over the stupid creature… so he decided to play along, assuring the man that he’d bring the milk. But he would only go so far for a bit, so the milk in question wasn’t that of a sheep. It was goat milk, because that’s what he’d had in his fridge at the time. 

Making his way over to the address given, the shifter waited patiently at the door to be let in after knocking. When it swung open, he did his best impression of a good samaritan. “Howdy there, neighbor! Hear you got yourself in a bit of lamb trouble!” He hoped that his southern accent (peculiar as the cajun dialect was) might win him a few points in the trustworthy category with Pedro, having found that to be the case in the past. Sounding humble, simple, and saying it all with a smile went pretty far for getting people to do what you wanted. 

Stepping inside as he was permitted, Wyatt followed Pedro to where the creature laid in a pot full of dirt, now looking between the two men with ears flipped forward and perked straight up. He had to admit, the creature was cute… not that soulful eyes or a pitiful cry had ever stopped him from eating what he wanted in the past, and now he had a real taste for these things. They were by far the most delicious meat he’d ever imbibed, and he wanted more. Needed more. He passed the milk (that had been warmed and switched to a mason jar that had no label) to Pedro, figuring that the request for a bottle was never part of the deal, and that he must already have one around here somewhere. 

“I gotta ask, friend… where’d you find her, anyway?” Where there was one, maybe there were more. And if he couldn’t get Pedro to give up this lamb, perhaps there was a nest of them somewhere in the woods that he could stake out and raid. The thought of it practically made his mouth water. 

—

He’d lived in Wicked’s Rest pretty much his whole life, and people often reminded him why he didn’t have any particular desire to leave. Sure, it could be weird - but it was their own brand of weird. There was always someone, or multiple someones, willing to help out. The fact that Baabara was adorable really helped, that was true. The feeling of relief when Pedro opened his door to let Wyatt in and saw the milk - finally, he would be able to feed her! They tried with some of the pet food they put out for four legged friends at the park rangers’ hut, but none of the veggie lambs were having any of it. “Oh man, thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver for real.” 

He set the milk down on the table near Baabara, who duly bleated at them both. “Okay! Diva. It’s like she knows who she’s named after.” She seemed to also know that nobody could resist a cute little sheep in a pot. “They just showed up out of nowhere! We found them in a greenhouse out in the park. Poor things must’ve wanted to get out of the weather. Janet from work was gonna call a friend who’s in the creature sanctuary business.”

—

“Streisand or Walters?” Wyatt asked with a chuckle. Ah, okay, so there were more. Living in a greenhouse in the state park—one that Wyatt was pretty sure he’d seen at least once before. “That’s wild! Are the others still there, or did all the rangers adopt one for themselves?” He really hoped it was the former, but had a sinking feeling that it’d be the latter. If that was the case, he was going to have to work extra hard to get this girl out of Pedro’s possession. 

He hadn’t decided yet if he was above shifting and just taking it by force, honestly. 

The smarter thing to do would be to get the name of this person who ran a creature sanctuary… there were untold goodies to be found in a place like that, after all. “That’s good, though, about the sanctuary,” he agreed through metaphorically gritted teeth, managing to maintain an upbeat and positive appearance. “Who runs that? Never heard of nothin’ like that out this way myself, but I spend a lot of time in the woods n’ find all sorts of troubled little critters… would be better to pass ‘em off to someone who knows what they’re doin’ than tryin’ to rehabilitate ‘em at my own cabin!” He never tried to habilitate them, of course. They were snacks, 100% of the time. Still… he glanced back to Baabara and clicked his tongue. “I do got a beautiful sunny patch that the last lamb I fostered seemed to just adore, though. Just the right amount of shade, sheltered from other things in that area, easy for me to water n’ feed…” As if to really sell the lie, Wyatt reached out and scratched the lamb beneath the chin, grinning when she let out a soft bleat and closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. 

“She fruitin’ yet?” The lamia leaned over the table to look around to her backside where there was more plant than animal, searching for those incredibly delicious sweet treats he’d scarfed up the last time. “They’re fuckin’ incredible if you ain’t tried ‘em yet, man.”

— 

“Streisand, ‘course.” He grinned, rather proud of his naming skills. No ranger worth their salt would have left a small defenceless (they were defenceless, right?) lamb in a pot out to fend for themselves. Hell, the team lead Betty would have taken them all home to live in her veranda if it wasn’t for the fun conversation that would have ensued with her wife about why there were multiple veggie lambs sunbathing in there. If there hadn’t been people out there who knew how to handle them, perhaps she’d have got the team to write the manual on these little guys. “Yeah. we decided we’d all be good foster parents. Seemed like a better idea at the time…but this still works better than leaving them there by themselves with some food. Poor guys.” He’d figured Baabara herself would be the best judge of character when it came to deciding where she ended up, and she seemed pretty chill about Wyatt’s presence. “Never met ‘em myself. They’re an old college buddy of Janet’s.” For all he knew, they might have been a retiree who dedicated their whole house to the weird and wonderful creatures of Wicked’s Rest. It had been Janet’s sixty-somethingth a few months back. Pedro might have seen photos when he was sitting next to her on desk duty after his injury, but that was a bit of a blur. “I figure they kinda ended up doing it by accident when folks got word they had a talent for animal-handling.” Wandering around to have a look to see if Baarbara had been hiding some fruit, he didn’t think she had any yet. Although, he didn’t know if any of the others had fruit either. The whole species was kinda new to him. “Aw, cool! You got another lamb for her to hang out with? Didya give it a fun name?” Baabara should really go back to her - siblings, he presumed, but they didn’t exactly investigate the little guys’ family history. “Do you make fruit?!” He addressed Baarbara directly, who opened her eyes to bleat at him. He got the impression that the answer depended on who was asking. “I don’t see any, but I think she’s trying to say she isn’t down for sharing the fruit.”

—

Fuck. So they were scattered to the four winds, then. With a resigned, inward sigh, Wyatt accepted that he’d probably only be getting one lamb out of this deal. Though, as they spoke of the fruits the lambs often sprouted, he wondered if planting one of those fruits would grow another lamb… he’d have to have Mateo help him investigate, since the mare was the one with the green thumb, as it were. 

Nodding thoughtfully and doing his best to not look disappointed that Pedro didn’t have a name or any other kind of information on this creature-keeper, the lamia figured that finding Janet would be his next step on that particular ladder of overzealous hunting. He wouldn’t do this much investigating for anything other than vegetable lambs. They were just… so, so good. 

“Uh, yeah! His name is… Q-Tip.” That was a pretty good one, honestly. If he didn’t have every intention of immediately eating any veggie lambs he got his claws on, he might actually name one that. Lifting a brow at the lamb’s protest, Wyatt chuckled. “Maybe she ain’t old enough yet.” Maybe he ought to be patient… even though that wasn’t really his style. But he did have a decision to make: smash n’ grab this lamb and ruin and future opportunities of getting more info out of Janet later (at least in a way that wouldn’t end up with her hurt, scared, and/or dead), sweet talk Pedro into giving up Baabara, or be patient. Ugh. Patience. 

“They don’t live long, you know. They’re kinda like rats. Two, maybe three years tops.” He lifted his gaze to meet Pedro’s. “Hard to… say goodbye.” Eugh. “But it only gets harder the longer you wait.”

—

Was the fruit that good for it to be sigh-worthy disappointing that it wasn’t ready yet? He would have to convince Baabara to let him try some. If she wasn’t old enough, that was fine, she could take all the time she needed. Besides, he hadn’t even fed her yet. He didn’t have a bottle or anything, so he would have to try offering her it in a bowl. Maybe once Wyatt left; he wasn’t sure how well she’d take to eating around strangers.

Some animals didn’t like that. He himself was technically a stranger - one she was getting accustomed to, though. 

Pedro smiled. “Q-tip’s a good name. How do you tell how old a veggie lamb is? Apart from the fruit?” Janet’s contact might know. Mock-offence written on his face on Baabara’s behalf, he struggled not to laugh. “You’re not like a rat, are you, girl? You’re like a fancy little hamster. I had those as a kid. It’s sad, but…as long as they get a good life, right?”

—

Pedro wasn’t picking up what he was putting down, obviously. That meant that sweet talk was probably off the menu, didn’t it? That left patience, if Wyatt even managed to find this Janet lady, and… god, nope. Nuh uh. That was absolutely not a skill he possessed. He’d just keep this one alive until it fruited, then attempt the whole planting thing. And promptly have the most delicious lamb dinner of his life. 

“... listen, man. You seem like a nice guy, really. And it was awful nice of you to adopt this little snack, but I’ll be honest with you: I’m here to take it. So I’d really just appreciate it if you could make this easier for the both of us and give up the goat. Er, sheep. To me.” 

—

He’d really put his foot in it now. Baabara couldn’t possibly understand, and so it was his own guilt he was reading into the expression on her innocent, harmless little face. She did not look pleased. No wonder he got himself killed. He didn’t want to do that again. At the same time, he couldn’t just sit down and watch such a defenseless creature get taken away to become a snack. 

“You were supposed to help, Wyatt!” Pedro shouted, stepping in front of the pot. “Get out of my house. Before I call the cops.” 

—

Wyatt scoffed. “I am helpin’ I’m helpin’ me! You don’t get it. You’d get it if you fuckin’ ate one of ‘em.” He narrowed his eyes at Pedro, common sense abandoning him as he let them shift from blue to yellow, as crocodilian scales started to appear on his hands and up his arms, fingers turning long and webbed and tipped with sharp claws. He didn’t want to hurt the man over something like this, that was kind of ridiculous, but he was angry. And maybe there was more anger than was sensible that was coming from other sources, but regardless of the reason, it was an unfortunate truth that Pedro was now the target of that frustration. 

“I’m comin’ back for that thing,” he threatened with a snarl, deciding he could let it go today. He knew where Pedro lived, now. Knew where he kept her. Knew where to find more, maybe. Hopefully. As he stuffed his anger back down into the hole it should’ve stayed in, his features returned to normal. With an irritated huff, the lamia snatched the bottle of goat milk he’d brought with him and turned tail to stomp back to the front door. “Mark my words, couyon! You better keep three eyes on ‘er!”

[songsofhome]

Answer these questions and tag 10 people you want to get to know better. Thanks @allwaswell16 for tagging me <3 <3

Last song? Supergraphic Ultra Modern Girl - Chappell Roan

Last Book? Of Mates and Men by @bananaheathen all was going well until I got to a really sweet sweet moment between Liam and his Dad while I was on an airplane, luckily I was able to pretend my moderate sobbing was due to the very turbulent landing in gale force winds we were going through so I’m counting that as a win.

Last movie? Sleeping with the Enemy. Moved on from my horror movie marathon during Halloween to thriller movies in my collection. We are old school in this house I have a DVD collection that covers an entire wall of my lounge, I’m quite proud of it.

Last tv show? The Secret Lives of Morman Wives. Holy shit that was entertaining! It’s like we don’t drink, no hot beverages, no sex before marriage but most of us got married early cause we got pregnant, half of us are divorced and our current husbands/boyfriends are gamblers and prowling tinder (or Grindr lol!!), we started Momtok and promoting vibrators on our ig pages while admitting to a swingers scandal then getting so plastered drunk we get arrested for throwing chairs at our current boyfriend!! As I said highly entertaining.

Sweet / spicy / savoury? Sweet

Last thing googled? Best way to cover up hickeys…don’t ask but it ended with me watching my 19 yr old daughter using concealer and foundation on her 16 yr old brother to cover up his first ever hickeys from his first girlfriend before he had to go to the dentist. This they do NOT put in the parent handbook!!!!

Current obsession? Custard pies. I love custard pies even though I can’t taste them (thanks Covid) I am trying to not be obsessed with custard pies cause it’s wrecking havoc with my wasteline but they are just soooo good!

Looking forward to? Wicked movie about to release in a couple of weeks!! I can’t wait!!

I don’t know who’s been tagged already or not so I’ll tag: @wingslikeiicarus @theirloveisgross @fondlyfonding @lovingstheantidote @sunflowervoltwentyeight @sunkissedlouis @heartshaped-lou @travelingtwentysomething @larry-lives

Only if you want to do this guys and if anyone else would like to do this just say I tagged you haha!!

[mixelation]

do y'all wanna read some plasticity crack

spoilers kinda maybe

this takes place in the far-flung future after ~events~ land tori in konoha, the exact details of which might get changed around. but she keeps dropping icha icha references while looking pointedly at kakashi for a reaction

xxx

“Maa, you could crash with me,” Kakashi offered. He brushed his toes against Tori’s ankle in one long, purposeful motion. 

Tori blinked at him, doing her best dumb-cow-eyes routine. 

“What, like on your couch?” Naruto asked loudly. 

“Something like that,” Kakashi agreed, not looking away from Tori. 

“Rei-san, I highly doubt Kakashi-sensei has a very good couch--” Naruto started, but Tori ignored him. 

Kakashi was giving her eyes. Kakashi was hitting on her. Holy shit. What the fuck. 

“I wouldn’t mind… surveying… the couch,” Tori finally said, working extra hard to keep her voice even and unaffected. 

“It’s decided then,” Kakashi said, then wrapped an arm around her waist and flash stepped them away from the ramen stand. 

“...Aah,” Tori said as a sort of belated reaction when Kakashi put her down. She thought a regular civilian woman probably wouldn’t like being grabbed by a ninja and forcibly moved to a secondary location. 

“Sorry about that,” Kakashi said. “I wanted to be sure Naruto got your bill.”

Kakashi had also, very conspicuously, left his student to pay Kakashi’s bill as well. Tori didn’t comment on this. When she just sort of stared at Kakashi instead of making a real response, he cleared his throat. 

“Anyway. I thought maybe you’d like…” He cleared his throat again. “I have some Icha Icha fanzines, so if you wanted to look…”

“You’re nervous,” Tori observed, letting herself crack a grin. She wanted to point and tease and be mean about it, but she had to stay in character. “That’s adorable.”

Kakashi made a pained noise in the back of his throat. 

“I would like to see your porn collection very much,” Tori said helpfully. Kakashi made the noise again but led her towards his apartment complex. 

Kakashi lived in a completely normal apartment building, with open-air hallways between units, and he brought her up to the third floor. Somewhere around the second floor, it finally fully Tori that she was maybe being invited over for something a little bit sexier than reading fanzines and flirting. 

The thought made her miss a step, and Kakashi grabbed her arm to steady her 

“You okay?” he asked. 

I’m fucking NOT, Tori thought even as she nodded and smiled. Kakashi was inviting her over sex. Kakashi wanted to fuck her. 

Did she want to fuck him…? 

Maybe. Tori didn’t usually have much interest in men, but Kakashi was nice and funny and she did like him… Plus, the fan part of her had a lot of questions about Kakashi’s sex life she could easily get answered this way. 

Also, if Obito found out, he would probably lose his goddamn mind. 

Yeah, I should definitely do it, Tori decided, following Kakashi into his apartment. For science.

Kakashi’s apartment was, given what Tori knew of him, bizarrely normal. It was an open plan, with the kitchen separated from the living area by an island. One corner of the room had a little dining table and several large book shelves. It was clean and neat if not a little lacking in decorations, and the couch did look comfortable enough to sleep on. 

You know. If Tori ended up sleeping there. Which she might not. 

“Do you drink?” Kakashi asked. “I think I have sake somewhere…”

Tori stood awkwardly in Kakashi’s kitchen while he rifled through cabinets. They were less bare than Tori might have predicted, and Kakashi eventually produced a bottle of plum sake. 

“I think this is the type you’re supposed to drink cold,” he said, frowning at the label. 

Tori ended up seated on the couch with a beer from the fridge while the sake chilled. It was not a very good beer. Kakashi apologized lamely with something about keeping it for friends with no taste. 

Which friend? Tori wondered. Gai? Genma? Were Kakashi and Genma actually friends, or was that fanon?

Tori wanted to quiz Kakashi on this, but it seemed unwise to blatantly interrogate the badass jounin. Instead, she settled for watching him pull books and zines off his shelves. 

((I think if this scene sticks around i'll tone down him blatantly hitting on her LMAO. more like him genuinely being like DO YOU WANT TO SEE MY COLLECTION and tori belatedly being like: ......am i being hit on?))

[boxenstopp]

green carnations - 1.7k words

pairing: florist!charles + rich boy!max

summary:

Max seeks out the flower shop of a highly esteemed, and eccentric, florist, in order to mend his relationship with his girlfriend.

The florist, Charles, makes him question his intentions.

OR

Charles and Max are big dumb idiots, and Max really wants to know what green carnations imply.

LINK HERE or read more

A/N: prompted by @sennaverstappen and green carnations have ties to gay men.

It’s been a long time since he’s gone on a drive by himself. It’s a surprise, after all. Or at least that’s what he’d told them in order to get off his back.

Every window is shiny, reflecting the summer sun into his eyes. Ugh, he hates summer sometimes. Heat and all. Both the good and the bad seem to be able to bite him in the ass regularly.

Max steps out of the car, parked a couple blocks away for safety’s sake, and makes the short walk to the florist. He passes a couple shops, blatant tourist traps meant to lure those who clearly don’t have taste, and stops in front of a large, stained glass and wood door. The front is decorated with large carved flowers and Max thinks it’s a bit overdone.

He steps inside anyway (he drove all the way there for a reason) and the bells jingle lightly, alerting the owner to his presence. The inside is spacious but just as embellished as the outside; flowering vines hang from an ornate chandelier, rows of roses in multitudes of colors and scents decorate the hall, and a skylight gleams above a bed of tulips.

Something else catches his eye, though. A figure, dressed in a shirt patterned in rose and ivory, walks towards him with a smile. He has dimples set in his face, and green eyes that speckle under the dappled light. There are 2 rings on his left ring finger, and a golden snake curled around his right index. This unknown man, the owner, most likely, waves at him, and Max waves back. There’s no reason to. They’re only 5 meters apart.

“Bonjour monsieur, flowers?” He asks, gesturing everywhere, really.

“Did you get the call and brief from my team? I’m Max Verstappen.” Max answers. Of course he wants flowers, what else would he go to a florist for?

“Ah, yes.” He confirms. “You are Mr. Verstappen?”

“Yes.” Max replies, stepping further into the store, admiring the numerous flowering buds. One surprises him. “Flowers can be green?” He asks, pointing towards the tea-colored blossoms in the bed labeled ‘carnations’.

“I do not think you want those, monsieur. I have a dozen pairings already laid out for you, if you would like to come into the back.” He turns away, gesturing for Max to follow him.

“Why would I not want them?” Max demands from behind him.

“Ah, monsieur, you have a girlfriend, yes?”

“Uh, not right now. That’s what the flowers are for. Did you read the brief?” Max wonders what he’s missing out on. If only the man didn’t have his back turned.

“Yes, of course I read your brief. Far too short, by the way. It was very hard to figure something out. But that is not the point. You want a girlfriend.” The man states as if it’s a fact. Maybe it is to everyone else.

Max just hums and enters the back room. The lights are more focused and bright in the room, with a setup that looks part craftsman and part photographer.

“Here I have the pairings.” The florist says, placing down the bouquets of carefully arranged flowers. “You can also get a vase, there are some on the shelf for you to pick.”

Max looks over them for a couple seconds. What did she say was her favorite color? He can’t exactly remember. Women always love roses, though, so maybe he should pick the one with those. There’s a bouquet that’s yellow and orange with bits of blue that smells like some sort of soap. It looks artsy, like her hair, which is blonde and ginger, so it fits, he supposes. He points to it.

The man stares at him blankly.

Max points to it again.

The man raises his eyebrow at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“Pack it up! I have other things to do.”

“You cannot have chosen already.”

“What, do your customers normally take all day to choose? Are you paid by the hour?”

“Tell me why you chose it.” The florist crosses his arms and ignores Max.

“Why do you need to know? Can’t you just bill me? I have a dinner date.”

“Why are you getting flowers?” God, could this man just let him leave? He didn’t need to flex his muscles.

“Are you sure you read the brief? You don’t sound like you did.”

“Mr. Verstapppen. I read your brief. Now will you please tell me what you see in those flowers.”

“What I see in them?” Max squints at him judgingly, and then looks back at the flowers. “A good relationship, hopefully.”

“A good relationship, he says.” He scoffs, “You should not be getting flowers just to get flowers, monsieur.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Then you aren’t thinking correctly. You are getting these flowers to get back with your girlfriend, yes?”

“Yes…” Max looks at him questioningly.

“Why flowers?”

“Because it’s a relationship… that’s how it works.”

“Max. Can I call you Max?” He asks, looking over at Max. Max nods at him. “If you get flowers, you should be thinking about the life those flowers will live. The emotions they will inspire. When your girlfriend looks at the flowers, she should think of your shared love.” By the end he looks quite red in the face, as if just thinking about the usage of flowers was getting him worked up.

“But-” Max tried to interrupt.

“No.” He counters, looking down at the bouquet Max chose. He bites his lip adorably and fiddles with his rings. “If you do not understand what you are saying with your flowers, then she will not too.”

He reaches out and messes up the flowers he’d carefully arranged, plunking ones out of almost every arrangement. “Pinks and reds for love, yes?” He asks, holding up a red rose. “White for purity and maybe a bit of blue or purple. For some remorse. It should not be overwhelming. It should not be boring. It should be you.” He looks furious at the idea that a flower bouquet could be anything but ‘you’, whatever that means.

“Mister, I think you do not understand.” Max sighs, bringing his hand up to brush through his hair.

“Charles Leclerc.” Charles’ eyes immediately catch the movement, “Then make me understand. You are not telling me with your flowers. When you think of your love, what comes to mind?”

“Absolutely nothing. Most people don’t have wet dreams about flowers like you seem to.”

“No no, that cannot be right.”

“Fine. The green carnations in the front there.”

“No.” Charles is frustrated, gesturing to himself and to Max in a way that doesn’t explain much of anything.

“No? What do you hate about green carnations so much? Why aren’t they in any of your bouquets?” Max’s voice is high and teasing.

“Max. You did not study floriography and you clearly don’t know your history either.” Charles’ voice isn’t. It’s been growing lower and lower ever since he brought up green carnations again.

“I guarantee you that I have a better education than you.”

“And did you major in the same things I did?” Charles is deadpan.

“Just- Shut the fuck up. I do not want to be late. Pack up this bouquet, and you know what? Add some of the green carnations.” Max turns to leave.

“Have you looked at the bouquet? I spent at least an hour on it, I will not ruin it with green carnations.” Charles calls from behind him.

“What, do you hate the carnations because they’re ugly?” Max replies back.

“Max! That is not what I said.” Charles stares after him. “Please, a symbol of your love should not be manufactured by someone else.” Charles says, begging slightly.

“Right. Our love.” Max didn’t really want to address it.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know why you think we love each other.” Max turns back to face him. “Did you even look me up? Her father’s the owner of the largest hotel branch in the world. I’m not throwing that away.”

“I never look up customers, it’s quite rude that you think I did.” Charles says, smirking as if he’s got the upper hand.

“Right, you’re a fucking saint. Let me get this straight, okay? I do not love her. She most likely does not love me. It’s that simple. Just give me the flowers, yeah? I’m not going to be late to this.”

“You- Don’t disgrace the language of flowers for this idiotic sake. She has all the reason to love you, but you are not showcasing that by getting one dimensional flowers.” Charles says in a weird tone, gazing right into Max’s eyes. It makes Max a bit uncomfortable.

Max looks away, “Don’t suggest some weird ‘finding your inner tone’ course. I don’t need a thousand color palettes contrasted with my face.”

Charles looks at him oddly. “No, no. Has no one ever seen you?”

“What, are you seeing my soul or something? Is that something you majored in too?”

“I don’t see your soul. I see the reflections of your soul. You see, your eyes are pearl-like, I think they would look good with my light blue irises, for hope. And you have a very wide, joyous smile. I think I would add these small, white chrysanthemums. Akin to the stars, yes? They will mean loyalty. I am thinking of a sky, a beautiful blanket, encapsulating how you radiate and how you protect.”

“Right.” Max’s eyes are boring right into Charles, who’s looking at him proudly like he’s just exhibited some sort of great power. It makes Max a bit flustered.

“You are. Ah. You are blushing.” Charles is back to smirking, this time accompanied with his dimples. They don’t help the crisis Max is in.

“Shut up.” Charles can’t possibly have come up with those ideas from 20 minutes of arguing.

“Maybe I will add some green carnations, then.” Charles says, and walks right past Max and into the front room, picking up his clippers.

“You haven’t told me what they mean yet.”

“Can’t you figure it out?” Charles asks him, winking horribly. It’s cute either way.

“Wha-” Squinting at the flowers. He misses when Charles comes back up to him.

Charles kneels (weird) and holds out his lush, freshly picked green carnation, “Go out with me?”

“I literally have a dinner date in less than an hour, Charles.”

“Please?” Charles looks up at him pleadingly.

“Sure.”

[writingreadingandwhateverelse]

The darkness enveloped the small village as Nicolette crept down the stairs. She knew exactly where to step as to not make a sound. She made it to the door and opened it softly, the cool air rushed at her, and she shivered, tugging her shawl closer to her. She confidently walked down the path, she knew exactly where to step even in the dark. She avoided a large tree she knew was coming up and made sure to avoid the Backberrys’s garden, they were awfully sensitive about it. She continued, accidently stepping on a flower, Brutus’s wife would be furious if she knew. Luckily they wouldn’t find out. She wound through the forest with the skill of an assassin. She finally made it out of the village, and she immediately felt free. Free of everything, of the expectation, of her parents, of the pressure, if only for one night. But that was enough. She still had a long walk to go. It was another three miles walk to the very outskirts of the city. But it was worth it. She kicked a rock down the path as she walked, humming to herself softly. This journey was the best part of her week, a time where she got to be alone and do what she wanted, a time her family could never know about. Her parents would be furious, after all journeying alone was improper for a lady and the fact that she was going to a tavern wasn’t much better. She knew her parents would never find out, she was too smart, too careful to ever get caught. She was almost caught once when her brother Charles saw her start to leave the house one night. He asked her where she had been going and she lied saying she forgot to water the vegetable garden. He believed it and was too dim witted to figure out she was lying. Who waters a garden at night? Nicolette chuckled to herself at the memory, her older brother was strong and an excellent farmer, but he was, well, not the sharpest tool in the shed. She however was as quick as an eel, she didn’t mean to brag or think too highly of herself, after all that was unbecoming of a lady, but it was true, she was far smarter than all the boys in her village. However no one actually acknowledged that. Her talents were often used for cooking porridge and tending to the garden. She sighed softly, once again wishing for something bigger, something beyond her simple existence in the village.

Nicolette suddenly yelped, “ow���, as she ran into an oak tree. She was too lost in her thoughts and momentarily forgot where she was. She rubbed her sore head, then looked up recognizing the tree. Its large spiny roots pointed in the direction she needed to go. She was close. She lifted up her skirt and ran carefully as not to trip on any rocks. She did that last time and had to make up an excuse to her parents as to why she was all bruised. She made it to the tavern and stepped inside. The sound of laughter filled her ears and the smell of ale was so strong she could taste it. It was dimly lit and the hearth did nothing for the dark, it only made the room even hotter. She struggled through all of the people, and she tried to get to the counter. A group of drunk men stood in her way, singing some song about a woman. One man wobbled, nearly running into her. She shoved him out of the way, and he turned around but was too drunk to notice it was her who hit him. He shrugged and went back to singing. She finally pushed her way to the counter, and was slightly out of breath. She sat in the chair trying to compose herself. She tied her black, now sweaty, hair back into a ponytail.

The bartender walked over as she tucked a few dark strands of hair behind her ear. The bartender walked over and said, “Ahh Nicolette, almost thought you weren’t coming.”

Nicolette said, “I always come, Thomas, you know that.”

He chuckled and said, “I suppose I do, what can I get for ya?” Thomas knew her response but he always asked anyway.

She waved her hand shooing away the question, “Nothing thank you.”

She didn’t care for alcohol it made one weak and vulnerable. Unaware of their surroundings and easy to catch off guard. Plus it made a person look like an utter idiot. Her father had come home drunk a number of times, he always acted a fool, and her mother despised it. She made him sleep in the stables once, he had blacked out, and woken up in mud, manure, and hay. She had no desire to end up like that. She preferred to have all her senses in good use.

“Are you ever going to order anything?”

She pretended to consider it and said, “no”.

Thomas let out a heavy sigh and walked away mumbling under his breathe. Nicolette smiled to herself, it was always fun to mess around with Thomas, just a bit. She turned her head away from the bar and towards the patrons sitting at tables. She watched drunken men clumsily flirt with women who disgustingly refused their advances. Men played cards, occasionally shouting at each other, arguing over the rules. The whores cozied up to men, hoping to get paid. She reveled in the noise and excitement of the tavern, it was comforting in a way. It offered some form of fun in her otherwise mundane life. She heard a loud laugh and turned in her seat. She saw a group of boys that she recognized from her village. Godrick, the oldest of the boys but certainly not the brightest. Jarl. A rather effeminate boy. And Randal, the youngest, desperate to prove himself. Of course there was their ring leader, Tieran. He was tall and muscular, practically all the girls in the village fawned over him. He always strutted around, his chest all puffed up. As if he was better than any of them. She lived a few cottages down from him, and often was caught up in his antics. What was he doing here? This was supposed to be her spot, all she wanted to do was get away, just for one moment. She watched Tieran burp loudly, which made his friends laugh, and she rolled her eyes. She turned away, she couldn’t get caught. Thieran could tell the other villagers and if it reached her mothers ears, she’d be dead. She looked back at their table when she heard a loud bang and the shatter of glass. She saw the broken glass on the floor and Tieran started at it before he and his friends burst out in laughter.

Thomas marched over and said, “What do you think you're doing you fools? You’ll pay for that.”

Tieran smirked and said, “No I don’t think we will.”

Thomas grew red in the face, “You think you can just go around and break things that aren’t yours? You’ll either pay for it or work it off.”

Tieran got right up in his face and said, “Like I said…no.”

He laughed and yanked Thomas’s hat off. He tossed it to Godrick, and Thomas ran after it, and the boy threw it again, this time to Randal. Nicolette watched as they continued to throw the brown patchy hat and Thomas ran after it. Nicolette stood up and walked over. Her instinct to protect herself left, she wanted to humiliate Tieran, and at least protect a little of Thomas’s dignity. They threw the hat in the air again, and she shoved Jarl out of the way and caught it. The boys turned their heads towards Nicolette.

The fabric was rough in her hand, and there were even more patches up close. She wondered for a moment if she should just throw it away. Instead she handed the hat back to Thomas. Then turned to the boys and said , “How immature are you?”

Tieran glared, clearly upset his fun had been ruined, “Mind your own business Nicolette.”

She raised and eyebrow and said, “Pay for the glass and I will.”

She really didn’t care that much about the glass or Thomas. But the thought of humiliating Tieran was too good to pass up. He was insufferable.

Tieran clenched his jaw, clearly indignant. He said, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Nicolette knew just how to play the game. She nodded, “You're right. I can’t. How about we make a bet instead? An arm wrestle. If I win, you pay for the glass. If you win I’ll do well…whatever you’d like.”

She wasn’t worried about losing the bet, after all she would never make a bet she couldn’t win. She was too smart for that.

Tieran said, “Why should I take the bet?”

Nicolette chuckled, ready to reel him in like a fisherman would a fish. She said, “Because if you don’t, you’ll look like a coward in front of your friends.”

His eyes widened slightly, she knew Tieran would never refuse a bet, especially one from a girl, he’d be seen as a coward. It didn’t take long for him to consider it.

He said, “Alright it’s a deal, but when you lose you have to kiss me, and I’m not talking about a little peck.” His friends laughed and slapped him on the back.

Godrick laughed,”Ha ha. Pucker up Nicolette.”

Rodney, eager to be included, said,”Yeah, pucker up”

Nicolette rolled her eyes at their mocking. She wasn’t surprised by Tieran’s request. She had seen the way he had looked at her. The long stares, the puffed out chest, and the constant showing off. She once saw him attempt to shoot a deer in front of her. He missed by a mile. He was always so confident, so sure of himself, and his friends always backed him up. She relished the chance to knock him down a peg, to humiliate him in front of his friends. She wasn’t deterred by his request, like he expected her to be, in fact, it made it easier to humiliate him.

She smirked, matching his own face, as she stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

He stuck out his own hand spitting on it, and stuck it out. She pulled hers away with a simple,”No.”

The boys howled with laughter, and Tieran mocked,”If she’s afraid of a little spit, imagine how she’ll feel when I kiss her.”

Nicolette had so many comebacks but she reminded herself to save them for later, after his defeat. He had to believe that she was nervous, if she came off too confident, he could back out of the deal. She sat at a chair across from him, Tieran put his arm up on the table, leaning forward. Nicolette followed suit, placing her arm on the table, some sticky substance made it’s way through the sleeve of her dress and onto her skin. She grimaced, this was a nice dress, and her mother would be furious. Nicolette shook her head, reminding herself she had more important things to focus on. She clasped hands with Tieran. She felt his blisters, rough against her skin, from years of working on a farm. She took a closer look at his large biceps and for a moment felt a flutter of nervousness. What if her plan didn’t work? It would be absolutely humiliating if she lost. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, she wouldn’t lose. She had a plan and as long as she followed it she would win.

Tieran snapped, “Are you going to keep daydreaming or are we going to get started.”

Nicolette stared into his eyes, “Let’s begin.”

They tightened their grip on each others hands. His grip was so tight it was turning the tips of her fingers purple. Jarl yelled in his high voice, “Go!”

Tieran jolted his arm to the left and Nicolette had to strain to stop it from hitting the table. Her hand hurt from his pressure and it felt like her wrist was going to crack. She tried to push back but she couldn’t. She was inches away from the table and it was clear he was winning. His left side of his mouth quirked up with a satisfied smirk. His friends egged him on and Tieran pushed down even harder, his veins popping out in his arm, a dark blue against his tan skin. Nicolette's arm was shaking and she knew she couldn’t hold out for much longer. She leaned forward. Close enough to him, that he could feel her warm breath against his cheek. She positioned herself in a way where she revealed just a hint of cleavage. She saw Teiran’s eyes dart low for a moment, but then he looked forward again. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he focused on forcing her arm to the table

She leaned even closer, her lips touching his ear, “Let’s forget about this foolish competition and do something more enjoyable.”

Tieran looked up at her searching for signs of deceit, his hand loosened slightly. She saw a flicker of desire in his eyes. She had him. Time to reel him in.

She smiled seductively, “Come on, I know you want more than a simple kiss.”

That was enough, his hand loosened significantly and she tightened hers. He noticed but it was too late, she shoved his hand to the table with a thud, and she smiled triumphantly. Tieran’s eyes flickered from her to his hand on the table, then back to her, his mouth slightly agape.

Nicolette smirked and said, “I win.”

Tierans friends were silent now. Randal shuffled awkwardly, and Jarl opened his mouth to talk then shut it again. It was clear they didn’t know how to respond to the situation. For the first time, someone had outsmarted their leader. And worse, it was a girl.

Tieran stared at her, not seeming to comprehend what happened, then he scowled and said, “You cheated.”

Nicolette knew this response was coming and she was prepared, “I didn’t cheat.”

He yelled, “You lied to me!”

The entire tavern went quiet looking at him for a moment before turning back to their chatter. Nicolette said, “Would you like to tell your friends what I lied to you about?”

His friends looked at him curiously. Tierans ears turned bright red. He looked furious but remained silent, not wanting to embarrass himself anymore.

Nicolette patted his cheek and said, “Now I believe there’s a glass you need to pay for.”

Thomas smirked from where he was watching and said, “You heard her. Pay up, boy.”

He just stood there and Nicolette teased,”Come on Tieran, don’t be a sore loser.”

He growled from his throat and took out a small coin pouch, filled with coins that he had clearly been saving for a long time. He slowly placed it in Thomas’s hand and the pouch clinked as it fell.

Tieran turned to Nicolette, his eyes were like the fiery pits of hell and they bore into her soul. He said, “You're a lying whore.”

Nicolette smiled innocently, not scared by his intimidation, “And you're pathetic, losing to a girl.”

Randal let out a small and Tieran glared at him. He said,”I’ll get you for this Nicolette, I swear it.”

She rolled her eyes, he wouldn’t dare touch her, the village was a very tight knit community after all. She said, “Yes I’m sure you will.”

She sauntered out of the bar laughing to herself. Tierans face when he lost was something she never wanted to forget. She had humiliated him, would he even show his face at the village? She nearly tripped over an overgrown tree, and awkwardly looked around before continuing to walk. She only walked a few feet when she heard someone running after her. For a moment she was worried. What if Tieran was really coming after her. She bent down and picked up a rock to defend herself. She turned around, raising the rock only to see Thomas.

“Nicolette! Nicolette!”

She sighed but stopped, and set down the rock. She knew he wanted to say thanks but she really didn’t want to hear it. She tapped her leg quickly and crossed her arm. She had to get home soon before someone realized she was gone.

Thomas was slightly out of breath, clearly not in good shape. He said, “I just… wanted to thank you…you didn’t have to…do that.”

She responded,”Your right I didn’t.”

He shifted awkwardly, that wasn’t the response he was looking for. He said,”Right…well drinks on me anytime.”

She doubted she would ever take him up on that offer. But she could tell he obviously wanted her to respond graciously. She decided to give him what he wanted, “I might take you up on that, thank you.”

He beamed, “Have a goodnight, and be careful out there.”

Nicolette walked away and said, “I know, I always am.”

She didn’t bother to listen to his response. She could see the sun peeking through the trees. She had to get home now. The veil of night had lifted and it was time to go. Nicolette lifted her skirt and ran, barely keeping herself from tripping over loose stones and twigs. They cuther legs and leaves tangled in her hair. If her parents found her like this they would definitely ask questions. She ran even faster, gasping for breath. She was close and she didn’t even bother to stop herself from stomping on the Backberry’s yard. She made it to the small cottage she called home and quietly slipped through the door and into the kitchen. No one was up. She took a deep breath, the air refilling her lungs. She ran her fingers through her hair trying to make it semi presentable. She looked down at her dress, it was covered in dirt, and that strange substance from the tavern, it was torn at the edges. She would be in a lot of trouble. That wasn’t the only thing she was worried about. It was the look in Tierans eyes, his promise of revenge, he looked so intense, so serious. No…no. He wouldn’t try that, he wouldn’t dare, he wasn’t that stupid. She took a deep breath to calm her racing thoughts. She was about to head up to her room, hide the evidence, and get some rest before breakfast when a voice said, “Where have you been?”

[my-my-my]

Yeah! You are back!

Would it fancy you to do something with Aizen’s preferences when it comes to “entertainers” at a tea house in the red light district? Plz and thnx!

This one was fun to think about!! I think Aizen's tastes are particular, and as pretentious as it sounds, "refined". He's also secretive and manipulative - he's very much cognizant of how he's being viewed by others. The type of entertainers would need to make sense to what other people project Aizen to be.

But that's not to say he can't have fun 😉.

🌺 CONTEXT 🌺

Going by my limited knowledge of how the courtesan system worked in Feudal Japan (in which Sereitei is loosely modelled off of), Aizen, prior to his captaincy, would likely be entertained by oirans. I think he would have 2-3 oirans he would visit regularly, and as his rank was more established, would just really visit 2 oirans he preferred the most.

These oirans would be entertainers who were not only well-versed in traditional entertainment such as the musical kind, but also in whatever politics occur in the Sereitei.

Aizen is an intellectual person, so these oirans would need to be eager to learn and be receptive of what he shares. It's one thing to talk (he was a teacher after all), but Aizen also wants to be engaged.

Where the corruption kink might come in? Well oirans are not the highest level of courtesans, that in fact, were tayu. These entertainers did not engage in sex work and only catered to the elite.

She would be a "gift" to Aizen when he establishes his captaincy.

At the same time, this tayu wouldn't have sex with Aizen - he would need to woo her over.

But Aizen is the Master of Charm after all, so he sees it as a game between this tayu and him. When will she cave and give in?

TW: corruption kink, sex work

Tags: @stygianoir

Note: I took heavy liberties in how the courtesan system works in Sereitei. The basis is similar to how it was in Japan, but I modified it to fit Soul Society! I'll also probably flush this out more and post it on AO3 later lol.

This was Captain Aizen's fifth visit to your tea house, more specifically, fifth visit to you. You hated to admit you were counting.

You blushed deeply as you recalled the first time you met him. There were whispers in the red light district about how a lieutenant got promoted, but at the time you paid no mind.

Months went by and you nearly forgot about it, until your matron announced that you would be entertaining someone new rather than your regular, noble clan, patrons.

You had very little interactions with the captains of the 13 Court Guards. The only ones you knew of, were Captain Kyoraku (who had his own little harem of women he frequented in the district) and his friend Captain Ukitake. Your seniors would speak highly of them, but admitted that they didn't visit them as often.

Which to you, made sense, these were military captains, their visits for entertainment should be few and far between.

But that wasn't how you felt with Captain Aizen.

You hated to admit it, but you wanted him to see you more. His kindness and brilliance won you over. In your civilian clothing, you heard Soul Academy students praise him.

It made you wonder why he kept visiting you. Normally you were confident in your abilities to make men swoon. Some of your patrons (albeit drunkenly) make poems about your beauty and grace.

But Captain Aizen, no Sosuke, seemed amused by you. You were able to hold a conversation with him, but he would ask a small question, or a quick-witted comment, that left you flustered and embarrassed that you couldn't respond quickly.

At the same time, your matron became unimpressed by you as well. Unlike the few other tayus at the tea house, you still held your virginity intact. Many bidders had come forward, some from the noble clans themselves, but not Sosuke.

It bothered you. You wanted him to put himself in the running.

You knew Captains made a high salary, those who were frequented by Captain Kyoraku said as much. It wasn't like Captain Aizen couldn't afford you.

Maybe he was humouring you. Visiting you was something he did when he was bored.

But it bothered you nonetheless. Although his visits were sparse, he consumed your mind. On his 3rd visit to you, to sway his mind in putting in a bid, you mentioned casually that many nobles had begun requesting your company exclusively, that you may not be able to entertain him in the future. You wanted to spur him on with jealousy.

You recalled that moment so vividly. His gentle smile as he placed his teacup down, "That's too bad, isn't it? I'm not surprised your company is highly sought after." He told you, his deep voice soothing you, "I was hoping to enjoy your presence for a little longer though. There's still much we don't know about each other." He murmured, staring softly at you.

Those words haunted you. He was getting under your skin. And although his comments were seared into your mind, a small part of you knew it wasn't anything remotely meaningful or personal. It seemed like you had no effect on him at all...

Even tonight, as he sat across from you, sipping the tea you specifically purchased only for him, you felt like your body was on fire. He inspected your every move, from the flick of your wrist as you poured his cup, to the batting of your eyelashes as he complimented you. He was analyzing every part of your being.

But you wouldn't let him get the best of you tonight. You prepared yourself for weeks for his next visit, hoping that he would go to your matron to put in a bid.

You made notes on what to talk about, rehearsed witty comebacks and quick retorts. Something that would push him further.

"This tea is nice, but do you have any sake?" Captain Aizen asked. You nodded your head and gave him a few options of your personal favourites.

As you brought the warmed bottle and cups, you noticed he had loosened his attire. His chest was more visible, and you were more thankful than ever for the white makeup covering your skin. Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. You bit your lip as you looked over him again. His broad shoulders, soft brown hair, strong arms and hands.

"Are you alright?" Aizen asked.

You shook your head, giving him your kindest smile, but inside you were angry at yourself for slipping like that.

But you carried on, and so did the night, with singing (Aizen accompanied you for some songs) and finally dancing. By then, you two had finished 2 bottles of sake. Aizen still seemed relatively sober, but you started to feel flushed.

You paid yourself no mind though, and kept going, wanting him to rush to your matron with payment ready - you were more than eager to spread your legs for him.

And just like that, as you danced to Aizen's voice, you tripped. Face planted right into his muscular chest.

You were mortified. But as you felt his warm, strong hand stroking your back, and the deep rumble of his voice, you felt yourself sinking further into him.

You weren't sure if it was the sake, the warmth of Captain Aizen's body, or the soft-lighting of the room, but without thinking, you gave him a kiss.

And to your surprise, he kissed back. And his grip on your body tightened. You moaned against his lips as you felt him grip the stiff cloth of your clothing, as if he was trying to grab on to your bare body, but you pushed him away.

You were panting, but he stared at you with a smirk across his face. His lips stained with your lip makeup.

Now you were annoyed. You undid a few of your sashes and robes and sat in his lap again, pulling his haori off his shoulders. You kissed him all over, your hands pulling and prying at him. You heard him pant, his grip tightening and loosening as he went over your body.

You wanted more. As you were about to pull his uniform off him, he grabbed your wrist.

"I think that's enough for tonight, little one. Let's continue again next time."

You gawked at him. The nerve! You thought to yourself as you threw yourself at him. And he had the audacity to rebuke you?!

"No!" You shouted, but not loud enough to draw attention to your room.

Aizen grinned, "and may I dare ask, why not?"

"I want you Captain Aizen" you pleaded, not realizing what you were saying, "no, I need you to touch me, please".

"Stop playing with me." You begged. You didn't realize how upset you were by his actions, "I just want to please you." You whined, fidgeting in his lap.

Aizen gripped the back of your neck as he steadied you for a kiss, then cruelly pulled your hair, snapping your head back.

"Is that so?" Aizen asked, as he looked at your face with curiosity in his eyes.

"Yes!" You pleaded again. "I don't want the others. Just you."

You winced as he gripped your hair even more, some of your hair adornments and accessories falling out. Tears pricked your eyes, but then he released you, gently massaging your head.

"Unfortunately I have to leave now, little one." Aizen said, you saw the gentleness appear in his eyes again. "But, we can meet here" he placed a note in your hands, with an address to somewhere in Rukongai. You nodded your head.

As you helped Aizen with his uniform and fix up his appearance, you gave him another quick kiss, to which he whispered in your ear, "don't come in this attire", followed by a nip to your earlobe, "wear something simple".

"Yes, sir." You murmured, as he stroked your back. You escorted him out of the teahouse and watched him leave the area. You heard your matron yell at you about not persuading Captain Aizen for a bid, but you felt euphoric. You retired to your room and slept peacefully.

-------------------

No one at the teahouse understood what had happened to you in the following days. You rejected all your bids and left. There were whispers that maybe "she wasn't cut out for the job", "not everyone has the skills to be a tayu". Harsh words that would've left you in tears, but now? You didn't care.

You only wanted Captain Aizen's attention. And here you were, on your knees in a small house in Rukongai, your mouth wrapped around his cock.

Aizen smirked at you as tears streamed down your face. "Good girl" he murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear, and pulling your head off his cock. You gasped as saliva dribbled down your chin, with a trail linking your mouth to his cock, "not even the beauty of a full moon could compare to the sight of you like this".

"Thank you for your kind words, Aizen-sama". Aizen's smirk grew deeper as you flashed him a genuine smile.

[sofreddie]

The Lion's Den - Part 7

Characters: Gadreel x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (Protected Sex, Asphyxiation)

KINK: ASPHYXIATION (@anyfandomkinkbingo)

WC: 1626

A/N: I know it's been ages since I posted LD. I really, truly struggled with this part, both from the character and the kink. But the point of LD was to challenge myself with unfamiliar things. So in that aspect, success? LOL. Two more parts after this are still being written. Hopefully, they won't take as long as this one did. 

Series Masterlist

Part 6

It had been weeks since Y/N had last been at The Lion's Den. She was supposed to finally have her chance with Crowley, the delicious tease that he was. However, duty called, and work needed her time and attention. Crowley was more than understanding, as she expected he would be, and rescheduled her for a private session. Though, she had to admit, after their phone call it felt more like a pending date and she wasn't so upset about that.

Now that she finally had the time to return to the Den, eager to satiate her desires, Crowley was away on his own business. Most likely expanding his empire seeing as The Den was doing so well. While she was pouty that she would have to wait a little longer for a peek beneath those tailored suits, she knew the club had plenty to offer to fulfill her needs and hold her interests.

Greeting Garth at the bar, she ordered a drink, settling in on a stool and surveying the room. The men she was familiar with were not around, but there were plenty of others for her to feast her eyes on. She wasn't sure what she was looking for or even what she was in the mood for, suddenly missing Crowley's intuition all the more.

Until she saw him.

Tall, chiseled jaw, looking like a living, breathing marble statue as he glided through the room. She bit her lip as his eyes locked with hers across the room, a sinister smirk tugging at his lips as he made his way over.

Y/N turned back to the bar, taking a sip of her drink, smirking when she felt his presence. She turned her head towards him with a smile as he took the stool beside her.

"You are Y/N, right?" he spoke, his voice sounding so strong, his words spoken with precision. "Crowley and others have spoken highly of you."

"Glad to know I'm a favored client," she chuckled.

"More than that, maybe," he said but continued before she could question. "I'm Gadreel."

He accepted her hand, kissing the back of it, to which she was now accustomed. Though it still made her heart flutter the same every time, the simple sweetness of it took her breath away.

"Are you spoken for this evening?"

"Not yet," she grinned, loving his charm. "But I'm wondering if you're available?"

"It'd be my absolute pleasure," he responded, his voice deeper as he helped her off the stool.

She was giddy as she allowed Gadreel to guide her up the familiar staircase to the hall of rooms. She wondered what this large and solid man with an air of mystery had in store.

As soon as the door closed behind them, she pounced, her desire ramped up after weeks without. Wrapping her arms around his neck she kissed him hard, pressing herself against him. He responded eagerly, letting her take what she needed from him.

Clothes were stripped and strewn carelessly, Y/N's need driving her into a frenzy. It didn't hurt that he seemed to ooze absolute want for her. As his body was revealed to her, her eyes widened, taking in the taut skin and muscled physique. Was every man at The Den a chiseled God? She pressed herself against him once more, moaning into his mouth at the feel of his firm body against her own.

With little effort he hoisted her up onto his hips, kissing her breathlessly as he moved. When the kiss broke she realized he was sitting in a chair and she was straddling him. She moaned, her hands running over his chest and abs as she ground against him.

His kisses alone completely distracted her, his lips and tongue tasting and consuming her, stealing her breath away. She gasped as she felt his hand reach her eager core, his fingertips teasing lightly against her dampened folds.

Y/N ground her hips against his hand, silently urging him to touch her how and where she needed. She could feel the smirk against her lips as he found her clit and teasingly rubbed small circles against it.

"You're a tease," she whined against his mouth, gasping once more as he slid a finger deep into her core.

"Mmm, and you're needy," he responded against her flesh as his lips wandered along her neck and collarbone.

"Please," she begged, not caring how desperate she sounded.

It had been far too long for her liking since she'd been with anyone and the attentions she received at The Den only left her craving more and more. Now that she found and frequented this place, she wasn't sure she could do without it.

And really, why would she want to?

Sliding two fingers within her core he instantly found her most sensitive spot, making her choke on a breath. He held his fingers firm against her spot, barely moving them, creating intense pressure and desperation. Her hips began grinding against him of their own accord, seeking much-needed friction.

Gadreel chuckled as he studied her intensely, catching her off guard by suddenly fucking her swiftly with his fingers, unrelenting on her g-spot.

"You're so responsive," he groaned, never missing a beat in his ministrations, adding his thumb to her clit to make her gasp and squirm harder. "No wonder everyone enjoys you so much. The perfect playmate," he moaned as her juices dripped down his wrist.

The teasing was too much, holding her on edge but keeping her just out of reach of her climax. She wanted him just as desperate as he made her. Slowing her grinding, she slid a hand down his torso to his throbbing length, grinning as she took him in hand and he groaned.

"You're pretty responsive yourself," she teased back. His responding snarl made her wetter than his fingers had.

Producing a condom from seemingly nowhere, he continued to devour her mouth as he slid it on with practiced ease. He smirked, an arm wrapped around her waist, his muscles bunching beneath her fingers as he hoisted her just enough to slowly lower her down onto him. Her mouth hung open as she slid down his length, her ass settling against his thighs.

"Go on then," Gadreel teased, nipping at her ear lobe, his grip still tight around her. "Ride me."

He emphasized his point by thrusting his hips upwards. Y/N groaned, starting a gentle rock as she lifted herself and dropped back down onto him, gasping as each stroke hit her deep. She tried to move faster, but his grip on her was unyeilding, controlling her movements and driving her mad.

She quickly realized that just because she was on top, didn't mean she was in control. The thought had her clenching around him, drawing a deep moan from his throat. One of his hands rested on her lower back, the other over her collarbone. His hand drifted towards her neck, his fingers wrapping ever-so-lightly.

Her breath hitched and her hips stuttered at the implication.

"Have you ever tried breath play?" Gadreel asked, his hot breath fanning over her ear as he slowly thrust upwards into her heat.

"No," she responded in a breathy moan. The thought excited her. Everything she had tried so far had been amazing, she wasn't about to stop now.

"Mmm, I think you'd really like it," he explained, thrusting harder. "I know Crowley loves it, both on him and others."

Well, she really wanted to please Crowley when she finally got the chance to be with him.

"Okay," she agreed with a nod, holding his gaze so he knew she meant it.

He increased his pace, bouncing her on his lap, his grip around her throat tightening with his pace. She could feel the air being cut off making her lightheaded, but the pounding of his thick cock into her pussy was amplified, building into a crescendo. Her heartbeat throbbed in her temples and the walls of her pussy. It felt like a race: would she cum first, or die?

He released his grip and she took in a deep breath, her orgasm crashing into her as she did. The intensity of it had her wrapping herself around Gadreel, desperately clinging to him as if she might fly off somewhere if she wasn't grounded. Her whole body trembled, her walls convulsing and throbbing desperately against his thick and unyielding length.

"So beautiful when you cum," Gadreel whispered reverently, his hips working a steady rhythm as she ground against him, working through her high and building back up once more.

He took her hand, guiding it to wrap around his own throat, "Try it on me," he insisted with an encouraging nod.

She nodded in return, moving her hips and riding him harder as she began to squeeze.

She could see the change on his face, the same as she felt it happening to her, as he grew close. She released her grip and Gadreel shouted, holding her hips tightly as he fucked them both through their final orgasms.

"Oh my God," she chuckled, her body still twitching and spasming from the intense encounter.

"You okay?" he asked, his hands running soothingly over her body, helping to ease and soothe her muscles.

"Yeah," she nodded, climbing from his lap now she felt more stable. "That was…incredible," she admitted.

He lowered his gaze bashfully, a light blush adorning his skin, "Thank you for allowing me to be your date tonight, to share something new with you."

As she headed home, she thought over the different men she had spent time with and the various things they had opened her up to experience. She was eager to take her new knowledge and apply it to Crowley when she got the chance.

Part 8

FOREVERS:

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[flightfoot]

Hi!

I hope I'm not bothering you but if you don't mind, can I ask for ML Wings AU fic recommendation? I really love that AU but I'm too scared to open AO3 to scroll through it. ^^;;

Much love. (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

Don't worry, I get it, I've got ya covered.

We're breaking free (there's not a star in heaven we can't reach) by @pauliestorylover is a must read of course.

Wing binding was a symbol of prestige in high society, but Adrien would much rather be born a pauper than be forced to bind his wings for another day. Becoming Chat Noir might be the chance he had been waiting for to break free and gain a taste of the heavens.

Meanwhile, Nino and Marinette were quickly learning the joys of the pastime called ‘hating rich old white men who moonlighted as supervillains’.

I especially love the worldbuilding that paulie comes up with here, there's some unique cultural traditions involving wings that end up being highly relevant, like exchanging feathers with other people and hanging them in certain spots on your own wings to show what kind of relationship they have with you. It was very clever, I loved that!

falling, flying by @peachcitt

“It’s not supposed to hurt,” she said softly. “Flying, I mean. It’s not supposed to hurt.”

His jaw worked. His mouth settled on a smile. “I know.”

or

in which marinette and adrien speed toward a foreseeable end on purpose. and also a little bit on accident

"Adrien's wings are bound" fic here! Though that's pretty much a staple of the genre.

Of course, I wrote my own Wingfic, called Ruffled Wings though it's for DJWifi.

Slowly, Alya pulled off her wing covers.

The feathers of her small, gray wings stuck out at odd angles, many hanging lifelessly, dull and uncared for. The wings themselves appeared to be in good shape - at least, nothing appeared to be obviously wrong with the shape or musculature of them - but the state of the feathers was concerning, to say the least. ----

In a universe where people's wings change to reflect their mental states, Nino is concerned about why Alya is suddenly so adamant to keep hers hidden.

So this one I haven't read yet but I really, really need to.

Free Falling by Creative

Miraculous Ladybug Wingfic Winged! Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir

Binding one's wings is dangerous. It is no secret, especially not to Adrien Agreste who is forced to live with the chronic pain of overbinding in order to uphold his father’s flawless image. When the pain from his private life almost gets him killed in his superhero one, Adrien is forced to make some difficult choices. To make matters worse, the media and his partner keep asking questions that hit a little too close to home.

Marinette is always prepared to save Paris. It’s her purpose, her responsibility, and she takes it very seriously. Thankfully her partner makes the burden a little easier. When Ladybug is too focused on purifying an akuma to notice her partner struggling, she is almost too late to save him from certain death. Trying to atone for her mistake, Ladybug begins to notice strange things about a partner she thought she new. All the while, trying not to blow her identity by befriending him as Marinette.