#called a modesty plate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vivwritescrappythings · 11 days ago

Text

anything you ask

knight!könig x plus-size!fem!reader

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

despite all odds, it is your wedding day (final part)

tw: fem reader, afab reader, plus size reader, body image issues, drinking, kissing, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, loss of virginity, breeding kink, creampie, not proofread.

wc: 10.2 k

masterlist

Your father sequestered you to your chambers immediately after your makeshift proposal, a knight you did not recognize posted outside your doors to keep visitors away.

It was remarkable how quickly you turned into a prisoner, only allowed to fetch books from the library and have dinner with your father in his private study. The meals were silent, his disappointment in you clear as you kept your gaze trained on your plate.

You tried to speak to him once. It was a pathetic attempt at an olive branch, some silly apology for ruining his plan with Lord Fischer. You stumbled over the words in your efforts to sound sincere. On some level you were sincere, knowing you embarrassed him and hurt his reputation. But you were rebuked just as quickly, his glare silencing your stammered excuses.

His disappointment was hard for you to swallow. While your sister was your mother’s favorite, you had always been your father’s. When you were little he took you riding and told you stories to fall asleep and always had the patience to play with you. Your personality had never irked him, he simply called you spirited. He said you got it from his side of the family.

To be outcast from his good graces hurt more than you could describe.

The days in your confinement were long. There was only so much time you could spend reading before you wanted to gouge your own eyes out. You found yourself missing your idle conversations with the other ladies at court over your embroidery–you had taken talks of dress styles and weddings and how to properly put together a dinner party menu for granted, always rolling your eyes and sticking your nose up in the air. You missed the other girls, the way they anxiously giggled at your sarcasm and how Mary always made space for you.

Above all, you missed König. His crystal-colored eyes and smile had been haunting you ever since your father yanked you up off the staircase by your arm and escorted you to your room himself. The knight had been your constant companion for over half a year, it was odd to no longer have him by your side.

Although, you had no idea what you would say to him if you were able to speak with him. You were still reeling from all that had happened, it felt like you had been thrown from a horse rather than gotten engaged. Of course, you had fantasized about marrying him, but you had never imagined it to be under these circumstances.

You still could not decide if you wanted to embrace him or rebuke him. His plan had risked everything for you–your reputation, your freedom. Rather than let you two marry, your father could have easily just sent you off to a convent for the remainder of your days.

König would have lost nothing. He was too skilled of a knight to be executed, and you were not important enough for his titles to be stripped. Even if he had not been permitted to marry you, he would have been let off with a slap on the wrist.

You never knew there was a part of him so selfish. Or so calculated.

It was not until after that you realized everything he did had a purpose behind it. If getting his mouth on you was his goal, he could have just as easily knelt before you where the two of you had been tucked behind the curve in the wall.

Instead, he spread you out on the stairs in plain view of any passers by. But he allowed himself to nearly suffocate beneath your skirts rather than hike them up around your waist and sacrifice all of your modesty.

It was an enigma to consider his motivations: did he actually want to pleasure you or just force your father’s hand? You knew he was a second son and that you had foolishly informed him of your absurdly high dowry amount. The two of you got along reasonably, and matches had been created on less. The leap to marrying you was not a difficult one to make.

You often found yourself sitting at the window seat, counting the days away as you watched the flurry of motion in the courtyard. König was out there with the other knights and squires once. Your eyes had nearly popped out of your head when you spotted him, your hand flattening against the cool window pane as you pressed your forehead against the glass.

He was only wearing his black hood and trousers, his thick torso on display as he showed one of the younger squires how to spar with wooden swords. It was unfortunate that your room was too far to see the fine details of him clearly, you could see the covering of dirty blonde hair on his forearms and chest, the faint line of it beneath his navel that disappeared into the laces of his trousers. You should have been ashamed by how you were ogling him, watching each movement and the way his skin moved over the ridges of muscle.

But, he was your soon-to-be husband, after all.

You could ogle as much as you wanted.

An odd sort of thrill ran through you at the thought. Your husband. In all your dreams about being married, you had never considered that you could marry someone you would want to ogle at. You expected a man like Lord Fischer: far your senior with no other prospects. But König was unlike anything you had considered realistic.

He looked up at you from the training field, making you nearly fall back from your window in shock. You were too far to make out any expression in his eyes, only able to see the way he tilted his head a bit to one side. A laugh, you guessed.

It had even been a week since that one shred of contact with him. You sat at your window every day since then as you vied for another peek of him. But you had no such luck, just knights and squires you had never bothered to pay attention to before. You kept looking, hoping to see a man who towered over the others.

You were at your window when your father came to your rooms to tell you to pack your trunks. He hardly spoke to you, informing you that you were both headed east to the Kilgore estate for your wedding.

–

The week before your wedding went by in the blink of an eye.

It was a blessing your mother and sister had arrived at the Kilgore estate before you did. It was a flurry of activity when you arrived, they had gotten the servants into a frenzy cleaning for guests. They had taken over most of the planning, ordering flowers and sampling bolts of fabric for your gown and putting together a menu for the feast.

You had been told that the eastern peoples enjoyed festivities as fantastic as their monumental architecture and rolling hills of green, so your wedding ceremony surprised you.

The hall was grandiose: tall buttressed ceilings and two long rows of pillars along the main walkway. A breeze carried in through the open terrace doors, fluttering the hem of your deep blue gown. The air smelled thick of oakmoss incense, you could see the smoke floating through the rays of orange sunlight.

You steeled yourself, forcing yourself to tear your gaze from the polished marble floor and look up.

At the end of the hall, König was there with the priest.

The ceremony was nothing you expected, only your family and your sister’s husband were present. König’s brother was overseas on some trade expedition and he had no other family, so a knight he had grown close to during his time in battle stood on his side of the room.

König’s shirt was of the same blue fabric you wore, embroidered elegantly with silver thread. His hood was nowhere to be seen, a mask covering his face from forehead to nose. His hair was the color of sand, half of it drawn back away from his face into a thick bun with the rest curling around his shoulders. A few loose pieces fell over the silver forehead of the mask.

It was more of him than you had ever seen before, your gaze greedily taking in the shape of his profile. His nose had been broken a few times, the ridge of his Roman nose exaggerated from being set in the field. His jaw was sharp, the familiar scruff of his stubble covering it.

You finally willed yourself forward, the fabric of your dress heavy as the train dragged behind you. Each step was measured and careful, your mother and sister had drilled into you the correct walking speed over the week. It seemed ridiculous at the time. But you found yourself counting each step in your head.

The aisle was long, it gave you far too much time to think. THe still had not uttered a word to you since that day in the hall. There was so much you wanted to say to him, the words bubbling in your throat as you swallowed thickly.

You stepped onto the dias, turning to face König.

His smile surprised you. It was faint, it almost felt like a secret between the two of you. His eyes were so open, every flicker of joy clear to you as you found yourself grinning back.

He reached out and clasped your hands, the rough scrape of his callouses against the tenderness of your skin. Your hands told of a life of privilege, his told of a life of work despite the luxury his family’s estate exuded.

Thumbs ran across the backs of your knuckles, feeling the delicate bones of your hand shift under the gentle pressure.

The priest began to speak in a language you did not understand, the same lilting accent and harsh consonants recognizable from König’s voice. You glanced at the gnarled old man, trusting König to guide you through the ceremony that was so foreign to you.

You could hardly hear what the man was saying over the thundering of your own heart. It just took a squeeze of König’s fingers to prompt you when to nod and agree, to clumsily repeat his words.

He slipped a beautiful ring set with an emerald onto your left hand, its weight already feeling familiar on your finger. It was easy to admire, your lips parting as you watched how it sparkled in the sunlight. The air felt thick with marjoram and incense smoke. You struggled to breathe.

It took the priest clearing his throat to pull you from your reverie. The room cleared, breath coming easy once more. König’s gaze was on you, eyes sparkling with fondness as they dropped to his own ring finger and back to your face.

Oh. You clumsily produced the thick silver ring from the pocket sewn inside your dress sleeve. There were etchings in the metal, swirls of filigree pressing into your fingertips as you grabbed his hand to bring it toward you. A drop of molten lead moved through your stomach as you realized that you could fit both of your hands into one of his.

Buzzing filled your mind as you pushed the ring onto König’s finger, relief warming you as it settled into place.

The priest tutted, tongue clicking against his teeth as he was seemingly satisfied.

He moved off the dias first, König taking your hand in his and leading you to follow the painfully slow pace. “Meine frau,” he murmured in a low rumble.

You hardly even looked at your family, feeling lightheaded as you glanced up at König. “What does that mean?” you asked softly.

“My wife.” He brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss as soft as a petal on the back of it. You warmed at the term. Wife was a word that you were convinced would never belong to you.

His knuckles ghosted along the gooseflesh lifting on the back of your arm before lifting it around you. You tucked into his side easily, naturally. His hand settled on your waist, drawing you close as he steered you into a private room. The doors clicked shut behind you.

“Are we wed?” you whispered, brows drawing together as you looked up at König. You could see the distorted reflection of your face in his mask, the silver polished handsomely.

He laughed and nodded, his smile genuine as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear.

It was the first moment the two of you had been alone. After a moment you pulled your hand from his grasp, taking a few steps back. You could see the confusion in his expression as he stood, watching you curiously.

Your anger had not dissipated, your arms crossing over your chest. “You could have informed me of your plan, you know,” you said, your glare earnest across the room. “I confided everything to you, trusted you with my life and you repay me by risking my reputation and what little freedom I have as a woman to force my father to accept your proposal.”

It was hard to pinpoint the moment when you started to shout at him, gesturing wildly with your hands.

König was smiling, aggravating your further. You huffed, lurching forward and shoving at his chest. His lack of an answer made you want to scream. “It was selfish! You knew that and you did it anyway.”

His big hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking along the bone as you snarled at him. “There she is,” he murmured, voice soft as he directed your gaze up to him. His smile was soft, the scars on his lips pulling taught. “I missed seeing the fire in my mäuschen, it has been quite some time.”

You scoffed, caught off guard by his words. Disbelief made you shake your head slightly, the warmth of his palm still curved to fit your cheek. “König…”

He stepped closer, his other hand curling around to the small of your back. “It was not my intention for your father to catch us,” he said, dipping his head toward your own. A kiss was stamped to your forehead, another to your cheek. “I was going to ask for your hand in marriage without any dowry–he would have been a fool to deny it.”

The skin beneath your earlobe prickled with sensitivity as König’s teeth nibbled at it. “The other day… I simply was too eager to give you pleasure,” he whispered into your ear, walking you back until your spine pressed against the stone wall and he loomed over you. “And I have thought about it almost constantly ever since.”

Your cheeks heated up like they were set on fire, your hand covering your mouth as you glanced away from König. “Constantly?” you asked, the word muffled in your palm. Something between embarrassment and flattery pounded in your chest.

His fingers nudged your jaw until you were looking at him once more. “It has been hard to focus on much else,” he murmured, a smirk twisting his mouth. The pad of his thumb ghosted along your lower lip, making you part them slightly. “You tasted so much better than I had ever even dreamed of, I could have kept my mouth between your legs all day.”

He may as well have lit you on fire.

“König!” you scolded lightly, shocked that he would say something so scandalous. “What if someone is listening?”

His laugh was warm and affectionate. “Well, mäuschen, then they will hear how much I desire my wife.” The pride in his voice was so obvious that you felt like you were glowing.

König finally bent to capture your lips with his own. You hummed into the kiss, letting your eyes close and your hand find his neck. The curls at his nape were soft as you tangled your fingers in them, pulling gently.

You had never kissed him without the bulk of his hood before, the smooth press of the silver mask covering his nose far different than the scrape of canvas fabric you had become used to.

His hand seized the fabric of your skirt, bunching it in his fist as he started to lift the hem. The feel of the embroidered edge sliding along your leg invoked your ire as you remembered why you had started the conversation in the first place.

You pulled away, shoving your husband’s chest to put some space between you. He let you, taking a step back and releasing your wedding dress. The air felt thick as you took a breath. “Do not think you can just kiss me and compliment me and I will forgive you,” you said, brows drawn.

König nodded, lips twitching as he tried to school his grin. He stepped toward you, palms lifted toward you like you were a cornered animal. “I will beg on my hands and knees if you wish.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. König took your hand and brought it back to his lips, letting them skate across your knuckles. “I will spend the rest of my days attoning for it if that is what my beautiful wife desires,” he murmured, looking up at you through his blonde lashes.

He disarmed you easily, making you turn your face as you fought the urge to grin. “Perhaps I do desire that,” you mumbled, the threat of a laugh tickling your throat.

There was a warm puff of air over your hand as König snorted softly. “The rest of my days, I swear. But first we must get through our wedding feast.”

You had forgotten there was still a feast to get through. The anxiety of walking down the aisle had taken up the forefront of your mind, the rest of the day had hardly occurred to you. The feast. The consummation.

Thoughts about consummating your marriage made you feel dizzy. Your mother cornered you a few days ago to discuss it with you, whispering in low tones as you both sat close on a window seat. Her words floated in your head: no man wanted a weeping, unexpired bride on his wedding night. She told you that if he showed you his face to tell him he was handsome even if you did not believe it, and to hide the fact that it hurt.

But she would not say what would cause you pain.

König gently tugging on your hand pulled you back to the present. “Yes, the feast,” you said, scraping your teeth over your lower lip as he brought you under his arm.

You leaned into his warmth as you exited the room, letting him pull you toward the large double doors at the end of the hall.

At his nod, the footmen pulled the large doors open to a room full of raucous clapping and shouts.

—

The feast was lively–far more people than you expected were present. The great hall was full of long tables, they even spilled out into the courtyard through the open doors across the room. Lords and locals and family and friends sat amongst them, eating and laughing and talking as though they had known each other their whole lives.

It had run long, hours upon hours of feasting and drinking and talking. You watched the plates before you were filled and cleared and filled over and over again. Seemingly without end. The food was delicious. Roasted meats and basted potatoes and honeyed pears, bread that flaked apart with the most gentle of touches. Cups remained full of ale and mead and wine, your drink strong enough that you were forced to sip it slowly.

People keep coming up to wish you both well, you and König sitting at the center of a long wooden table. The somber man you knew him to be was replaced by a man who remembered the name of each person who approached and clinked together mugs and laughed in loud barks.

You had been processing the ceremony still when you noticed the local blacksmith asking how König was liking the mask with a genuine smile on his face. It had been forged specifically for the wedding.

It was easy to feel smitten with König, the more you learned of him over the course of the evening making you soften from your previous anger.

His big hand landed on your thigh, squeezing gently as he turned to face you. Your eyes went wide as you looked up at him. “Is the food to your liking?” he asked softly, head dipping low toward yours so he could whisper over the din of the room. “You have not eaten much, it is unlike you, mäuschen.”

You almost felt embarrassed, warmth coming to your face. It was hard for you to eat when you were so anxious. “It is wonderful,” you assured, inclining your head toward his shoulder. There was no way you could share your anxiety for what comes after with him. “The honeyed pears are divine.”

He smiled, leaning in to press his lips against your temple. They were soft and warm, his breath puffing against your hairline before he shifted his weight back into his seat.

Before you quite realize it, another plate of honeyed pears sit before you on the table

–

It was only when the moon was high in the sky that König whisked you away from the feast, an arm looped around your waist as he pulled you from your chair and out the side entrance to the room without so much as a farewell. He shushed you softly when you stammered that you needed to say goodbye, assuring you that the party would still be going on for the next few days as was his people’s custom.

The next few days, you could hardly imagine being able to stay awake for it.

Your feet were already stumbling, you struggled to keep up with König as you leaned against him. He took you through what felt like a labyrinth of stone hallways, making you get hopelessly turned around.

“It has been a long day,” he murmured, stopping for a moment to pull you closer to his chest. You sighed, sagging against him and taking in his familiar scent. It was pleasant to feel the slight give of his flesh as he embraced you–you had only ever encountered him when he was wearing armor. Without it he finally felt real beneath your touch.

You nodded, forehead pressing into his sternum as you let your eyes shut. Only one thing was left, your mother had impressed upon you how important it was for you to let König take you to bed no matter what. She feared he would wake up and change his mind in the morning.

You found your feet after a few moments, fingertips wiping at the corners of your eyes as you stood up straight. He only released your arms once he was sure you were steady, tucking a piece of hair away that had escaped your elegant braided style. You leaned into the scoop of his palm, letting your cheek squish into it.

You stretched to your toes, hands linking behind König’s neck to pull him down. He answered your silent plea eagerly, mouth slanting against yours. The crackle of lightning behind it reminded you of the first kiss you shared in the library of the royal palace. It took no coaxing from him for your lips to part, the flavor of the spiced mead he had been drinking all night filling your mouth as he licked into it.

His hands settled on your hips, fingertips digging into your soft flesh as he pulled you close. One of them migrated dangerously, smoothing over the curve of your ass just before taking a handful of it. You giggled into the kiss, pressing your body against his as you moved in toward him. His pinky dug into the line where your ass met your thigh, pulling a genuine laugh from you.

“I am ticklish there,” you protested between your lips meeting, trying to defend yourself with a hand. König chuckled, using the newfound knowledge to his advantage as he hooked his fingers into the crease.

You lurched, scrabbling at the thick muscles of his arms as you tried to escape his grip. “You should not have told me that, mäuschen,” he threatened affectionately, continuing his assault in spite of your protests. Your laughs turned breathless as you weakly shoved at his shoulders, your legs kicking as you attempted to twist from him.

Voices echoed from around the hallway corner. “He was quite eager to pull her away from the feast.” There was a bout of conspiratorial giggles as unseen companions agreed with the man who spoke.

The distraction stopped your husband from tickling you, letting you stamp your lips to his once more. You would have been content to stand and exchange open-mouthed kisses without worry, no longer caring of who stumbled upon the two of you.

But König pulled away, blue eyes meeting yours before he took you by the hand and you raced breathlessly next to him to his chambers.

–

You sucked in desperate breaths as the door clicked shut behind the two of you. His chambers were opulent and extensive, furs and velvets and fabrics embroidered with silver thread strewn across the furniture. The fire crackled merrily across from the large, four poster bed along the center of the largest wall of the room. It was still unmade, the twisted mess of quilts making your body warm to the tips of your fingers and toes.

König began to undress himself as instinct took over, kicking off his heavy boots and removing the belt secured about his waist. You were in his rooms after all, the thought a molten ball of lead in your stomach.

You stood in the center of the room, hands clasped together in front of you as you looked around. The smell of marjoram filled your nose, undercut by a familiar musk that always seemed to cling to König’s skin. Goosebumps prickled along your arms as you considered the room, unsure whether to disrobe or not. Your confusion forced you to freeze in place.

A sigh from behind you forced you to turn to look over your shoulder. His shirt had been entirely removed, tossed over a plush settee with little care as he raked his fingers through his hair. Your lips parted, mouth drying as your gaze shamelessly fell to the thick muscles of his torso.

He noticed your admiration, letting his hands fall from his curls as he stepped closer to you. “Is there something you wish to ask, meine frau?” His head tilted to one side, his form towering over yours as he stopped before you.

You swallowed thickly, lips parting as you tried to find words. Scars crossed over his torso just as they did his neck and lower half of his face. You hesitantly reached forward to touch one, the gnarled skin smooth beneath your fingertips as you traced the slash mark down the center of his sternum. There were more slashes and stab wounds, a burn mark over the meat of his hip and disappearing into his trousers.

The ridges of his abdominal muscles were firm beneath your touch. You were breathless, wetting your lips with your tongue as your forefinger followed the trail of thick, curling hair beneath his navel.

You looked up to him through your eyelashes, still feeling like you were choking as you tried to think of something–anything–to say. The room felt too warm, the fire burning in your belly hotter than the one in the hearth.

His blue eyes were dark as he met your gaze, mouth twisted into a smirk that made it feel as though the ground had dropped out from beneath you. It was easy to see that he was pleased.

The silver mask reflected the glow of the room back onto your face, hiding the rest of his expression from you. Your fingers itched to take it off, to untie the strap of leather that held the metal snugly to his face and reveal it after so long.

“Will I ever know my husband by the entirety of his face?” you asked in a moment of boldness, gaze flickering from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “Or shall I only know you by your eyes?”

König hummed, seemingly contemplating as his large hands brushed over your shoulders and down your arms. “And if I did not wish to show you?” His thumbs circled over your wrists, slipping beneath the sleeves of your gown. Affection seemed so natural to him, as though he had spent the previous few months touching you whenever he desired.

“I would not force you to.” You allowed him to turn your hands over in his hold, thumbs pressing along the fine bones of your inner wrist before massaging the meat of your palms.

He was looking at your hands, blonde eyelashes fluttering against the bottom rim of the eyes in his mask. “And if you do not find me handsome?” he asked, so quiet that you almost missed it. Your heart ached, the fear undercutting his tone making your brows bunch together.

“I find you handsome now,” you assured him, cupping his cheek. It was hard to imagine a man like König to be insecure. He had always seemed so assured of himself before, exuding confidence in the halls of the royal palace.

“Promise you will not leave.”

It felt like he had seized your heart in your chest, fingers squeezing around it as you stepped closer to your husband. Your brow furrowed as you nodded. “I promise, König,” you said softly, trying to soothe the flicker of fear in his expression. “I am your wife, I will not leave.”

He sighed, a slight nod bobbing his head as he leaned toward you. You bit your lip, reaching up carefully to the knotted leather cord. It was easy to pull apart, your stomach turning with anticipation as the two halves of the cord fell away. He moved the mask away from his face, hardly breathing as he set it down on the same settee he had discarded his shirt onto.

You stopped breathing altogether, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

König was handsome.

Almost ridiculously so.

Of course he was rugged. His bright blue eyes were framed by thick, straight eyebrows and high cheekbones, his nose crooked from being broken so many times. It suited him, your husband both exactly what you expected him to be and nothing at all. One scar cut from the left side of his nose and curved up toward the outside of his eye, this skin jagged and puckered. The scar on the other side of his face looked like lightning, bisecting his eyebrow and meeting the cut running from the inner corner of his eye into a Y that dragged almost all the way down to the corner of his lip.

You must have been silent for quite some time, König clearing his throat prompting you to blink and shut your mouth. His cheek matched the cup of your palm, a shiver running up your arm as you touched his face for the first time.

“I am glad you did not take your hood off before now,” you murmured, watching him lean into your touch.

His eyes shut tightly, his expression bracing for you to say something worse. “I would have had to fight the other ladies at court off of you if they knew this is what you were hiding underneath that fabric.”

You grinned as his broad shoulders slumped, his relieved exhale puffing over your face. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours as he wrapped his arms around you. “You exaggerate,” he mumbled, almost sounding bashful. Color flooded his cheeks, dusting them with pink as the firelight illuminated him in gold.

It was hard to tame your fascination, your fingertips tracing the shapes of his features just as your eyes did in a foolish attempt to memorize them. You were greedy, wanting to make up for every moment you had wondered what he looked like.

“I would not exaggerate,” you whispered, wetting your lips once more. He shivered beneath your touch as you traced a scar across the bridge of his nose.

He grumbled something beneath his breath, bending his knees to grab you at your thighs and lift. “König!” you yelped, the sensation of the floor no longer beneath your feet making you balk as your hands pressed against his bare shoulders to keep yourself steady. “Put me down! I am far too heavy for you to lift like this.”

His laughter was genuine as he carried you with ease. For the first time in your life you felt as light as a feather, not even a hint of strain visible in König’s expression. “Too heavy? You seem to underestimate me, mäuschen.”

He turned, sitting on the edge of the bed and arranging you so your knees were on either side of the broad expanse of his thighs. König’s hands slipped beneath your heavy skirts, pushing the royal blue fabric out of the way so he could smooth his hands over your bare thighs. You still had the urge to shove his hands away from the dimpled flesh on the outside of your legs.

If your insecurity was obvious, König did not let on that he knew. His expression melted into one of desire as he squeezed handfuls of your soft thighs. The press of his hand on the small of your back pressed the two of you close.

Your bodies slotted together like they were made to, your thighs spreading wide over the bulk of him as he tugged you down hard. A whine pulled from you as you felt the swell of his clothed erection between your legs, snug against your quickly dampening undergarments.

The feeling of arousal was still new to you, your heart fluttering as König rolled his hips against yours. You tangled your fingers into his hair, now loose from the half-up style he had worn during the day. Twisting the soft strands around your fingers kept you tethered to earth as your bodies moved together, quiet moans filling the charged air between you.

Your nose dragged against his scarred cheek as you clumsily found his lips, teeth mashing against his as your hips rocked to the pace that he set.

The thin fabric of your undergarments started to stick to your inner thighs, the ache between your legs starting to make you desperate. You leaned back to better look at him, his eyelids heavy and lips parted as he took you in.

His gaze dropped from your face to your chest, tracing the square neck of your gown. There was a flash of his pink tongue as he licked his lips. Your fingers curled around his wrist, pulling his hand from your thigh to the bodice of your gown. It was all the permission he needed.

König’s thick fingers slipped into the front of your dress, pulling it down enough to make the stitches creak before your breasts spilled out of the fabric. Pride flickers through you at the way his eyes widen, jaw going slack as he stared with an expression that resembled awe.

It seemed he did not notice the stripes of stretch marks along the skin, the calloused pad of his thumb already strumming across your nipple in a way that made you sigh. His mouth moved to the other before you could quite register, lips closing around your nipple and sucking. You whimpered, arching your spine as you used your grip on his hair to pull his head closer.

“Christ,” you sighed, head tilted back and eyes screwed shut. He nosed along the thin skin of your sternum, his hot breath making gooseflesh rise on your arms. A bite on the side of your breast made you squeak, his tongue laving over the sting.

His big hand between your shoulder blades anchored you to him as he flipped the two of you over gracefully.

A few attempts were made to just pull your dress off like a brute before you were scolding him and flipping onto your stomach. “Be careful or you will rip it like that,” you hissed, moving your hair off the back of your neck. “There are such things as buttons, you savage.”

He only laughed, already working each button through the loop of thread holding it in place. “It should be a crime to have this many buttons on a wedding dress,” he mumbled, fumbling with them.

It gave you a moment to breathe. Despite not having touched a single cup all day you felt tipsy, the edges of the room a bit fuzzy as you tried to calm your heart.

Hands hooking beneath your shoulders flipped you over onto your back, earning a giddy laugh from you. König moving you like a ragdoll felt hard to reconcile with–you had grown up thinking that you were simply too heavy to be treated like the petite thing he saw you as.

Eagerness was glowing in his eyes as he pulled the sleeves of the gown off your arms, exposing your upper body to his greedy gaze. You had to calm yourself, breathing in and out and reminding yourself of your mother’s words: he had no time for a weeping bride on his wedding night–you just needed to make him happy.

You lifted your hips to help him pull down your dress and undergarments in one swoop. He tossed the gown onto the same settee with his shirt, the royal blue fabric ballooning in a heap.

His profile was outlined in the golden light of the fire, making him look ethereal for a moment.

You were thankful that he looked away to untie his trousers, letting you take in the rolls of your body without his reaction. You sucked in your stomach, breath locking in your chest. Perhaps sitting up would help, if you pulled your knees up it would at least cover the softness of your belly. You wished the firelight was dimmer, the shadows catching in each crevice of your body and exaggerating them.

You decided upon sitting up, awkwardly holding yourself with your arms as you tried to twist into a position that seemed natural. The press of your belly against your thighs took up too much of your focus, the rest of it preoccupied by the crease of extra flesh you knew existed just above where your hip met your back.

It was hard not to hyperventilate, each stretch mark and dimple on your skin magnified so much that you hardly remember that König was in the room with you.

You had no idea how many times he had to repeat your name before you actually heard him, blinking slowly as you looked up at him. His brows were furrowed as he observed you, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Sorry, I was preoccupied with my thoughts,” you murmured, smiling sheepishly. Your throat felt like it was squeezing closed, the anxiety you had been forcing out of your mind all day finally rearing its ugly head. The smile on your face tightened, your discomfort obvious.

His frown deepened. The laces of his trousers were forgotten, hanging open as he knelt on the mattress. Fingers nudged your jaw up to look at him, blue eyes seemingly staring through you and into your soul.

“What is bothering you?” he asked, thumb pressing your lower lip.

You felt like you were choking, your eyes wide as you tried to think of a plausible lie.

König’s gaze dropped to your body, lust shadowing his expression. His fingers twitched beneath your chin. “I am so lucky you accepted my favor that day at the tournament,” he said, a faint smile on his face.

He moved closer, slowly forcing you onto your back beneath him. His touch was delicate as he moved the hair out of your face. You let your eyes close as he pressed a kiss to your brow. “I worried that I would make a fool of myself and lose, I thought you were so distracting. So beautiful.”

It was hard to pay attention to his words when his mouth was dragging down the column of your throat, his teeth scraping over the delicate skin as he spoke.

He continued down your body, taking care as he felt the fullness of your hips and stomach and thighs. You grabbed his wrists, trying to pull them away as he shushed you. “I have been lucky enough to marry the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, please allow me to touch her,” he pleaded softly, voice muffled against the skin next to your navel.

His expression was so earnest you could hardly deny him, slowly letting go as you lay back. You could feel his smile as he lifted your legs onto his broad shoulders, smattering kisses and bites onto your inner thighs.

There he was, looking at you and still wanting you, still pressing his mouth to the ache between your legs. You gasped, grabbing a fistful of hair at the crown of his head as his scruff scraped against the insides of your thighs. He flattened his tongue over your sex, muscular arms curling around your legs to grab your waist.

He dipped lower, tongue teasing your entrance as he collected the wetness pouring from you. You bucked against his face, heel digging into his shoulder blade as you twisted to press the sensitive bundle of nerves against the ridge of his nose.

You were keening, biting your lip to keep from moaning too loud. König moved to wrap his lips around the bud and sucked with small pulses of his tongue. His fingers pet over your entrance, making you clench around nothing as your spine arched. “Please, König,” you begged through clenched teeth, not quite sure what you were asking for.

Then one of his thick fingertips caught at your entrance. Your whole body buzzed as he thrust up to the second knuckle. Breathing was hard, the tightness a foreign feeling as you tried to relax.

He never even bothered to pull away as he hummed contentedly, surely suffocating by now as you kept pulling him impossibly closer. The press of his finger inside you eventually became comfortable, your muscles releasing as you willed yourself to relax into the feeling.

As soon as you felt comfortable with one, he added another. Both curling inside you made your breath punch from your chest, his digits feeling each and every ridge inside of you as he worked you higher and higher. The building feeling he had introduced you to last time was starting to knot in your stomach.

Two fingers turned into three, making you sob as your arm covered your face.

It was hard to get used to the feeling of being so full. Your moans were pathetic, pitchy and breathless as he found a spot inside of you and curled the tips of his fingers over it mercilessly. His other hand held firm just above your navel in an attempt to force you to be still.

It was too much, the rhythm of his fingers matching the tightening of your muscles until everything finally just released. The relief was instantaneous, all-consuming as euphoria buzzed from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. You pulsed like a heartbeat around König’s fingers, still feeling dizzy as he pulled them from you.

His lips were wet with your slick as he pressed a kiss to the crease between your thigh and hip, wet fingers smearing against your waist. One leg fell to the bed, then the other as he crawled over your body.

You were limp on the tangled sheets as you looked up at him, his downturned eyes partially lidded as you ran your hand over the scrape of his stubble. It was wet around his mouth, his lips still shiny with your arousal as he buckled over you. His forearm braced next to your head, holding him above you.

It was hard to say who moved into the kiss first, but noses pressed into cheeks and teeth clicked together as you licked the taste of yourself off his lips. You ached for more, trying to pour your request into König through the touch of your lips.

He used his free hand to shove his trousers down his legs, kicking them off and onto the stone floor. The backs of your thighs were snug against his hairy quads as he shifted back over you.

You were almost scared to look at it–the only naked man you had ever seen was a drunk man who had been arrested just outside the palace gates. Even then, it was just glimpses and flashes through the bars.

The feel of a hot brand against your thigh caught your attention. You sat up slightly, propping yourself up on an elbow as you looked down at the gap between your legs. The flushed tip bobbed against your thigh under your gaze, smearing wetly against you. It was hard for you to tear your eyes away.

He fisted his cock, groaning as he worked the length of it in his hand with a practiced stroke. The girth was impressive, still looking thick even in his own hand as you watched clear slick trickle from the weeping head and over his knuckles.

This was the only part of the consummation that seemed to match what your mother warned you about. It was supposed to be the painful part, when she advised you to simply imagine you were somewhere else until your husband decided he had enough. You had no idea how his cock was supposed to even fit inside of you.

“Do you… do you think it will fit?” you asked, naivety coloring your tone. You never intended to flatter him, but the breathless laugh you earned made your cheeks warm. He dropped his head forward, lips pressing against your temple.

“Yes, mäuschen, it will fit,” he assured you gently as he tried to fight his grin.

Smooth callouses swept to the back of your thigh, your knee pressed toward your chest beneath his firm grip. The wet sound of your sex splitting against the press of his cock made you want to hide, arousal twisting deep in your abdomen as you lifted your hips toward his. You both sighed as he rubbed himself up and down the seam.

The blunt catch of the head at your entrance made König groan, his eyes screwing shut. He moved toward it on instinct, slowly pushing against the ring of muscle. The feeling was not painful as much as it was uncomfortable, the pressure of you stretching wide around him made you draw tight like a bow.

Your hips tilted through each strained press, trying to find a position that felt more comfortable as he kept pressing into you. It was hard to understand that he just kept going, seemingly taking up all the excess space inside your body.

Heat burned between your legs when he was finally seated fully inside you, the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickling the backs of your thighs.

Your breaths were shallow and quick, the intrusion overwhelming as your fingers twisted in the bedding beneath you. The press of his fingers was not enough to prepare you for the width of his cock, the length feeling like he was buried all the way through you and in your throat. He filled every inch of you, plugging you up until you felt like you would burst.

“Relax,” König breathed, his voice sounding strained as he kept himself still. He rubbed two fingertips up and down your sternum, the motion eventually coaxing your breaths to slow to match the rhythm.

He shifted against you, a minute movement jostling the two of you against one another. The sensation made the world drop out from beneath you, muscles tightening as your sex bore down around him. You were stubborn in your attempts to grind your hips against him. There was a strangled sound from his chest, deep and rumbling as he squeezed your thigh so hard you were sure it would bruise.

“Please, meine frau, you must calm down.” His hand moved to splay over your hip, forcing you against the mattress as he pinned you down. He nodded approvingly as you stopped moving, your head starting to clear as you settled with each breath.

Sweat dampened his forehead and the nape of his neck, wisps of his hair stuck to his pale complexion as he hovered above you. It was still hard to wrap your mind around the fact that König was your husband, the band of the ring on his finger digging into the flesh of your thigh to serve as a reminder. The scars marking his features already seemed so familiar to you, the tilts of his head and pinch of his eyes lending themselves to memorizing the expressions he had kept secret under his hood.

His thumb moved to press tight circles against your sex, a satisfied smirk contorting his features as he watched you gasp. The discomfort was quickly pushed to the back of your mind, your sex squeezing tight around him as you mewled. You kept squirming, making him groan each time your hips moved.

Another hot squeeze of your core had his head sagging forward on a groan. He rooted deep, hips stuttering as he nudged even further inside you. His eyes were dark as they found yours, your nod of encouragement frantic.

“Yes, please,” you breathed, hand finding the curve of his jaw. Your thumb traced the jagged line of the scar near his lip. “Please.”

He hummed his agreement, turning his head to press a kiss to the center of your palm. His breath was hot over your fingers as his hips bunched against yours.

It was only the first taste of him inside you, gentle rocks of his pelvis to get you used to the feeling. The hot slide and press of his cock deep inside you unlocked something in your mind, something primal and instinctual you never knew existed.

You clutched at his bicep, gasping for air as he got more confident in his movements. The squelch was loud in the room, you were absolutely soaking. You could feel yourself leaking all over König and the bedding and your inner thighs. But the way he looked at you like you hung the moon in the sky made you forget your concern.

He leaned back, his wide palm smoothing over the back of your other leg and pressing until you were nearly bent in half. You almost choked, surprised your body could even contort so much. His lips were parted, his breaths labored as he stared at where you were stretched tight around him. The swell of your stomach made it impossible for you to see so you settled on watching his expression grow heavy with lust.

A long, sinuous motion made your eyes roll back. König pulled out and plunged back inside you in steady thrusts from tip to base, his skin slapping loudly against yours. The muscle of his hips bumped hard against your pelvis, his hands pressing down on your knees to rotate your hips up toward his.

He looked up at you, the sight of your nod making him bear down further. You had to force yourself to keep breathing, each hard thrust making you sigh softly as you tried to keep your head above water and stay with him.

He rutted into you so firmly that your teeth clacked, sweat starting to form at every juncture of skin touching skin. You reached for his shoulders, making him gather the backs of your knees on his biceps as he moved in closer to you. His brows were drawn, cheeks flushed pink as he grunted softly.

The air in the room was humid, your shared breaths dusting over one another as your eyes remained locked together.

He fucked into you with grit teeth, sweat starting to roll down his temple. Each thrust of his hips made the knot in your belly tighten, a syrupy warmth blooming through you. The pressure of him around you scratched an itch you never knew you had–you would crave this for the rest of your life.

You lifted your hips even further, his cock reaching a spot that made lightning start to build between your legs as you cried out.

“König, there, please…” you begged, voice breaking.

He obliged, pressing his belly to yours as he caught your mouth in a searing kiss. The merciless rhythm of his hips continued, the ocean waves building in your belly starting to crest and break. His lips opened over yours, hot tongue twisting into your mouth and licking along your teeth.

His weight shifted, head of his cock pressing so firmly inside you that the frantic wave of pleasure smashed into a million pieces as you fell.

Your legs twitched as you came with a scream, back arching stiffly off the bed. It felt like you were on fire, hot and unbearable as your muscles locked up. You struggled to think, your pleasure syrupy and warming as you floated somewhere else.

König stilled above you, keeping you speared on his cock as you writhed beneath him. His moan was deep, vibrating against you as your sex squeezed down on him like a vise. The press of his hands held you there, as strong as steel as he ground into you through the throes of your orgasm. You surfaced, your eyes wide as they met his, the sight of him forcing a moan out of you.

He looked like a predator above you, eyes gleaming with arousal. They were the color of lightning, the blue so intense that it was almost crackling as he searched your expression.

Your body started to jolt, your orgasm wringing you dry as you panted beneath him. He ground into you, cock twitching inside you as your hips stuttered of their own accord. The bedding twisted in his fists as his knuckles turned white, forehead dipping into the hollow of your throat as his breath fanned over your chest.

It occurred to you that he was close to spilling his seed inside of you, the whole point of consummating your marriage returning to you as you thought of carrying König’s child. You gasped, hand flying to your stomach all at once as you rubbed the skin there and imagined.

Soon you would be pregnant. He wanted you to be. You wanted to be.

His eyes followed the movement of your hand, his own fitting over yours, thumb stroking over the backs of your knuckles. He groaned, pressing your hand down against your soft flesh as it became clear to you he understood.

Your name was on his lips, repeated like a prayer as his hands fitted to your waist and pulled you further onto his cock.

“König,” you replied, your voice breaking as he set a reckless pace.

Your world spun, fuzzy around the edges as you drew harsh breaths that ended in soft ahs. The full wave of his body was gone, a staccato rhythm that was quickly turning sloppy replaced it. He stopped withdrawing fully, fucking into you with an urgency as he pounded you deep.

Delirium took over you as he used your body for his own pleasure. Overstimulation made tears well up on your lashline and slowly roll down your cheeks, you moaned your husband’s name as you fought to keep your eyes from squeezing shut.

König was running his mouth in his native language, guttural words twisted around your name with his harsh breaths. You loved listening to him talk, you found yourself wishing you understood what he was saying as he muttered words under his breath. He snapped his hips against you once, twice, and then he made a wounded sound as he finally found his release.

He kept shoving into you, hard and unrestrained as he fought to get even deeper inside you as his cock spit come that felt like molten iron deep. His hips stuttered thoughtlessly to fuck it even deeper inside of you.

You were awed as he held you there, watching his eyes squeeze closed as his breaths came hard. One hand left your waist, pressing into the sweaty bedding beneath you to stabilize himself. He moaned under his breath, exhaustion and satisfaction mingling in the sound as he bowed toward you.

It was only a moment more until he collapsed, pressing you into the mattress with the bulk of his body as his nose pressed just beneath your jaw. You were both suspended in time as you gasped, your eyes wide as you stared at the ceiling.

His hand pressed beneath you to the small of your back, holding you close as he remained buried deep inside you.

The weight of him on top of you made you wheeze, your palm pressing against his shoulder finally bringing König back to life. “You are crushing me,” you said with a laugh, voice breathless.

He was moving before you could say anything more, arms curling around your waist and over your back as he rolled. The world shifted as your cheek came to rest on his barrel chest, ear pressed against his strong heartbeat. His arm fitted around you, pulling you closer as he stamped kisses on your damp hairline.

“My love,” he sighed, almost sounding awe-struck. You looked up at him through your lashes, your palm pressing over his ribs.

He shifted, both of you hissing as he slowly pulled out of you. His fingers traced down your body, gathering his come as it started to leak from you and pressed it back inside of you. You yelped, nerves frayed as you squeezed around his digits.

“Get that smirk off your face,” you said, your smile betraying your tone as you attempted to scold him. He looked satisfied with himself, eyelids heavy as he shifted his gaze to you. His eyes were back to the color of a clear pool of water, his calm affect returned.

“You did not seem so upset with me at the moment,” he teased, calloused fingertips tracing up and down your arm.

You rolled your eyes, mashing your cheek into his chest again as you curled into him.

The silence between you two was comfortable, your gaze roving over his chambers. There were shelves with trinkets from travels, books and scrolls amongst them. It was so cozy, furs and rich fabrics across the furniture and tapestries on the walls. You lifted your head slightly, the rounded ear of a stuffed bear visible behind a basket with odds and ends of fabric sticking from it.

“I have to ask,” you started, a wide grin on your face as you propped yourself on König’s chest. He smoothed his hands over your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin as he looked up at you, waiting. “Did you make that bear you gave me at the tournament?”

You had always found it hard to imagine him stitching it together, big hands working a needle through the fabric.

König laughed, a sharp breath of air leaving his nose as he nodded. “I did,” he said softly, cheeks turning pink as he looked a bit sheepish. “After the war I needed something to do with my hands that did not feel like murder. That was the best one I made, I wanted it to go to my future wife.”

You hummed, biting your cheek as you tilted your head to one side. “You thought I would be your future wife?” you asked, nose wrinkling. Affection warmed your cheeks, your hands pressing flat on his chest as you looked down at him.

“Oh yes,” he breathed, reaching up to tuck some of your mussed up hair out of your face. “I knew I would have no other. It seems that the gods agreed with me.”

You leaned into the touch of his hand, his thumb stroking over your eyebrow and down your cheek. “Would you make another one of those bears? For our child?” you asked softly, resting your chin on his sternum. You traced hearts on his chest with your fingertips.

König smiled again, his scarred face looking soft in the firelight. He bent down to kiss you, fingers hooked beneath your chin to lift your mouth to his. It was sweet, just a stamp of his lips to yours.

“For you, my lady?” he asked, eyes roaming over your face as he spoke. My lady. You were elated that he would now be calling you his wife. “Anything you ask.”

#konig x plus size reader #könig call of duty #könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #konig x you #konig cod #konig smut #könig smut #könig cod #knight!konig #könig x fem reader #konig x fem reader #konig x reader smut #könig x reader smut #cod x reader #reader insert #medieval au

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cyberrose2001 · 26 days ago

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If I'm not too late, can I get some TFP Wheeljack x AFAB!Reader where Wheeljack is a brat that gets off on his little human bossing him around and making him beg.

I wanna see this man whimper.

TFP Wheeljack x Human Reader

eyyyyy thank you for requesting, Tag. I apologise for the long wait, but I hope you like it!!

Warnings: AFAB, GN Reader, Cybertronian/Human, Brat Taming, Dom/Sub Elements, Collaring

Word Count: 1,450

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

"You gonna behave yourself, or do I have to tie you up again?"

"Can't promise I won't."

Wheeljack, the self-proclaimed free-thinker, prides himself on being an asshole whenever he can. You don't tolerate assholes very well, and you make that very clear to everyone. Some call it being bossy. You call it discipline. But the mech on his knees in front of you always seems to get on your nerves more than anyone else, determined to push your buttons and poke at your patience.

But in light of it all, it makes for a very good excuse to poke at his own buttons.

In the privacy of Wheeljacks' quarters, with a bare foot pressed against his modesty plates, you grasp Wheeljacks' chin and tilt his helm to look at you. The stern look in your eyes sends a shiver down his spinal strut, a fair warning that you're not in the mood for his teasing tonight.

"I beg your pardon?" You press your foot a little harder, causing a hiss from his intake.

"Ah- I promise!" Wheeljack grits his dentae, and you feel a smile creep onto your face, "I promise I will."

"Good," You grasp onto the lead of his collar and tug his helm back before thumbing at his scarred bottom derma and slipping it past, "You know I don't like it when you backchat me."

Wheeljacks' vents hitch as you slide your thumb against his glossa, groaning at the taste of your skin. Salty yet sweet, it matches your personality. He envelops around it and sucks softly, his optics flicking up to your look of approval.

"There you go," You say sweetly, pressing your thumb further against his glossa. You feel his oral lubricants start to pool in his cheeks, along with the buzz of another groan, "Isn't it so much easier to behave with something stuffed in your mouth?"

The mech closes his optics in gentle surrender, softly whining when you start to rub your foot along the seams of his bulging panels. As much as Wheeljack wanted to bite back at you with something clever and bratty, his need for you bites at him harder. He's started to slowly rut into the sole of your foot, desperate for your attention to his aching spike.

"I didn't say you could do that, now could I?" You re-tract your foot from his groin, watching his thighs tremble with a wicked satisfaction. He furrows his brows when he's only left to grind at the air, the smallest of whimpers passing through his dermas.

"Can I pressurise my spike? Please?" Wheeljack leans forward to press his face into the fat of your thigh, nuzzling and pressing languished kisses in bribery. It's an adorable sight, but you're not convinced yet.

"Where did all that cheekiness go? I touch you once, and you're already begging for it." You bite back a soft moan in an attempt to uphold your dominance when he sucks at your inner thigh. You stop yourself in your tracks and grasp the kibble of his helm, ripping him away from your skin, "Get on your back."

Wheeljack whines before complying, flopping back against the floor. He bites his derma as he feels his spike throbbing against his panels, aching to be released and graced by your unforgiving flesh.

"Do you know how much you annoy the living fuck out of me?" You crawl against him to straddle his lap, one of your hands dipping below to paw at his panels, "Because I don't think I've made myself clear enough."

Before Wheeljack can beg again, your fingers open his panels. His spike instantly springs up with a sigh of relief, rock hard and standing at attention. With a smug grin, you press your thin-clothed underwear against it, grinding your hips at an achingly slow pace.

"I think I- hah- get the idea. Can't blame me for messin' around with you." Wheeljacks' servos twitch against the floor in anticipation. The feeling of your heat and arousal only makes him more desperate to plunge himself into you.

"You do things to me, Wheeljack. You drive me crazy..."

"Yeah? T-Tell me more, sweetspark."

"I fucking love it."

You pull your underwear to the side, not even bothering to take them off. Positioning yourself on top of his spike, you push the tip past your folds. You bore holes into Wheeljacks' optics as you do, watching his face twist and dentae grit when you pause in your tracks.

"Frag- why'd ya stop?" The wrecker hisses, arching his back helplessly. You reach forward and grip the lead of his collar, securing it around your knuckles.

"Tell me how much you love it when I have my way with you, how much you purposely try my patience just to get me to snap and fuck the living shit out of you." You tug on the lead tighter, "How much you fucking love to beg for it."

Wheeljacks' face flushes a bright blue as the rest of his bravado flushes down the drain. This is what he was waiting for. The fiery and wicked charm you possess deep inside that makes his knees weak, only reserved for him. He bites his bottom dentae, a small whimpery sob slipping past.

"I fraggin' live for it." His voice strained, "I fraggin' love it when I get you to snap. Frag- sweetspark just please ride me-"

His sentence is cut short, his breath taken away as you sink down on his thickness, finally plunging into your unforgiving heat. You shiver as you're split open, clenching down on his harder-than-rock spike. Readjusting your grip on his lead, you look him dead in the optic and start to bounce your ass on him.

"Ohhhh, fragfragfrag- yes-" Wheeljack slumps his helm back as best as he could with the collar, a whiney moan escaping him as your silky walls massage him just right. He fights the urge to bounce up into you, riveted by how you take complete control of him.

"F-Fuck Wheeljack- nghh-" You bounce along his spike faster, moaning with him as he stretches you beyond capacity. The hand that isn't gripping the leash grabs onto one of Wheeljacks' servos that isn't making claw marks in the concrete and moves it to a bobbing tit, a small reward for his good behaviour.

"F-Feels' so good.... frag, I love how squishy ya are." Wheeljack gives your breast a good squeeze, optics bouncing back and forth between your chest and your pussy ravaging his spike.

A familiar pressure starts to build in the depths of your stomach, and it urges you to fuck him with more haste, "Nhh- I'm close..." Another tug of his lead sends his spike throbbing, "You've been so nice, Jackie. I'll let you cum; you wanna- you wanna cum inside? Yeah?"

The Wrecker languidly nods, another whimpery moan leaving him. With all this dirty talk, just for him, he's finding it harder and harder to resist an overload, "Y-Yeah, please, I've been good, s-so good..."

You loudly moan as your body shudders. Your thighs give up and hinder your bounces, resorting to wild rolls of your hips. You clamp down and come to an orgasm while you cry out the mech's name, strangling his throbbing spike. Wheeljack, too, wantonly cries out for you as he arches his back struts and overloads with such force that you nearly double over. But he secures his servos to your thighs and grips on, allowing himself to rut into you until his tanks are dry.

You collapse forward and pant heavily against his chassis, coming down from the high. You softly groan, feeling Wheeljacks' sticky transfluids pool beneath you. A soft chuckle vibrates you, and you feel the shaky metallic servo of Wheeljack rest against your bare back.

"Thanks, kid." He heaves, letting his sore helm rest against the floor, "Not to quote anyone verbatim, but... I really needed that."

Despite coming off as an absolute jackass with a side serving of brattiness, there is a soft, tender side to the Wrecker rarely seen by anyone else but you. It's a stark contrast to moments ago, but you take pride in knowing that the rowdy mech can be wrangled.

You've just gotta dom the fuck out of him.

You lift your head just enough to observe the playful gleam in his optics. Leaning forward, you kiss his scarred derma tenderly, "Same time next week?"

"You know it, sweetspark. I'll be sure to pull a prank or two on ya before then, just to get ya really worked up over me."

You'll be sure to get the ropes ready next time.

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers prime #transformers prime x reader #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp wheeljack #tfp wheeljack x reader #transformers x human reader #tfp wheeljack x human reader #valveplug #cyberrosewrites

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blueparadis · 1 year ago

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꒰ U LOST ME ꒱ ⋮ GOJO SATORU → [ CONTENT & TAGS ]: sorcerer!fem!reader x ex-boyfriend!satoru gojo ( powers not described ), hints of virgin!gojo, relationship talks, angst, undertones of smut, fluff, hurt and comfort, canon divergent, mention of Geto and Shoko, mention of smoking, alcohol. // syn. | Gojo never liked the idea of piling up unfinished business, and he was not tough enough to chase you so he waited for you to come back. + word count -1kish // back to blog navigation.

“This was a mistake.” Satoru unzips your jacket holding the apex of the zipper in between his teeth; along with the tiniest sliver of modesty that you had kept carefully tucked underneath your skin.“I should have never come here.” His galactic eyes stilled on you. He is still holding the zip in between his teeth. The jacket is not undone yet. He has paused halfway. “S'to0ru, why did you bring me here again?”

Great! The painkillers are now slowly kicking into your system. But at least you are safe now. You are in his vicinity. That's all he cares about. That's all he needs to protect you. That's all he needs to —

“was I supposed to leave you there?” He unzips the rest of your jacket. Your belly is on display. Not that he could not see it, he always did. With his six eyes, he could see anything he wanted to. But with his limitless being off, he is more embarrassed than you are right now. This is the first time he is touching you, the first time ever touching a woman. “Seriously, how bad do you think I am?” There is a tone of mockery in his words. He finds it funny. hah! Of course, he does. His hands are resting alongside your shoulders. He scans your body. You are wearing a bra and three-quarter jeans; wherever his eyes land it is bruised. “God, what kind of missions were you doing past these years, babe?”

Now that he is hovering above you, you can meet his eyes properly. “Babe, huh?” Satoru notices your face contort, lips tremble and eyelids blinking rapidly. You look away holding your tears back. A second later, you feel Satoru’s lips graze over your belly. He inhales, strongly. You could hear him. “Oh god! Stop it Satoru. It tickles.” You protest throwing your hands at him in all irregularity preventing him from inflicting another wound on yourself.

As Satoru hears you laugh he remembers the good old days he spent with you. If he had not been so hooked on you there is no doubt you would have lived a much better life. But that is not the case. He is your doom which is why you are the only one he allowed himself to be vulnerable with. He feels he owes it to you. He feels he owes it to you because you were brave enough to love him, brave enough to confess, and more brave than him to let Suguru go so easily.

Unfortunately, your heart mistook it as affection, sometimes even love. But that is not the worst part of all this. Satoru played along with you until he was aware of your emotions, his emotions. And before he could reconcile, you left. You had to because you could not forgive him so easily for what he did and how he did.

Moreover, he had enough on his plate. But Satoru never thought he would see you years later at a pub sitting opposite to Shoko sharing a smoke and a couple of beers. How could you let go of him so easily? Did you not love him enough? Or was it just a silly teenage crush? Secretly, he wished to be like you— empathetic, honest, and blah blah blah! He is everything that you are not. He is everything that you do not deserve. He is everything that you would drown in the pool of regret.

Satoru leans forward kissing your cheeks. You do not protest and even if you did he could easily overpower you. After all that is exactly why you are in such a predicament. Your so-called ex-boyfriend towering above you while you are wasted. You had to take painkillers because the moment Satoru saw you with Shoko, you knew you could not lose him even if you ran away.

“don’t let me lose you too.” he murmurs as he starts kissing softly along your neckline, towards your cleavage, and down to your stomach. “you’re the last good thing left for me in this world.” You get up and hold his face in between your palms. He retorts to give you space but you do not let go of your hand from his face.

“I hate the way that I don’t hate you,” you remarked with a scoff. Satoru jerks away from you. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He is going to dissociate any minute now— “I know you have a heart because I feel it breaking.”

“Oh, now you care?” He snaps. Of course, he does.

“you always push people away.” You start. “Let it care,” but Satoru is quick to interrupt.

“this time I won't. this time I — he sounds so earnest that you think he must have spent all these years without you stuck in a flux of regret and hurt which is unexpecting of him“You know how things were back then. Geto left—”

“yeah.” You pause. “I know.” You inhale heavily, trying to swallow your tears. “which is why I left. So that neither of us had to deal with the hurt we were supposed to deal with. Does that makes sense to you ’tooru?” God! You sound awful with that breaking voice of yours. The painkillers are not helping either. Your mind is so fuzzy and you could feel your nerves tickling but there is nothing to worry about. You have always been honest with him. Maybe that is why he pushed you away.

Your eyes were almost on the verge of betraying you but a firm grip on your wrists kept you awake enough to feel the fervent kiss of his. You did not resist but rather let him sink his teeth into until his grip loosened, groans softened and you tasted a little blood while sucking his lips. You are not sure whose blood it is and you do not need to. He was not playing when he said he won't push you away this time. This is dangerous. You can not run or hide from him anymore. What a pain! Satoru rolled over the bed with you on top. He settled you on his lap quickly before discarding your jacket on the floor.

“There is no turning back now.” He stated holding by your waist.

“Too late to regret now” You murmur against his lips before kissing him. You feel him smile while giving him the taste of his own blood.

—

@angelshub @public-safety-network

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ladylaviniya · 9 months ago

Text

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 2 || Masterlist || Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: After finding his debts you decide to take matters into your own hands...what a terrible decision...

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Historical Typical Sexism, Debts, Domestic Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Blackmail.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes:

★For those of you possibly turning around and saying “£290 is nothing for all of what Sherlock has bought”

...I’ll remind you this is set in 1890 and so since then inflation has risen greatly...

★So for the modern reader I must insist to explain that £290 in England is now worth £30,671...

★And for my American readers that would be $38,948

★And for my Australian readers that would be $58,490

★Basically...Sherlock Holmes is a material gorl 💅

Inspiring Song: "Ghiribizzi" by Paganini

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

7:35am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You wobbled onto your feet as Mrs Hudson entered the apartment with a scowl... probably because of something Sherlock said to her in passing the stairs.

The old crow’s frown spirited away when she noticed you were awake and outside of your bedroom.

She smiled warmly in fact and bid you a good morning. You returned the expression as she came and collected the breakfast plates.

Your fingers trailed over the countless of papers on the table and the sleek wood of his violin.

Shuffling through each parchment and a sigh drawled from your lips.

“Mrs Hudson,” you hummed as she passed you, “I request you show me the expenses of the household purse.”

It was a common duty of a wife nowadays to keep track of all home expenses.

She paused and her eyes widened, her mouth flapped open and closed quickly again. Her teeth grimaced and her bony finger wagged, “I am afraid my dear, they are in Mr Holmes bedroom, and as I said yesterday, he can be an incredibly private person.”

His bedroom? Oh yes...he kept it locked. But by god you needed to get to the bottom of this theory you were building in your mind. You were married and a married couple shouldn’t withhold secrets.

“I am his wife, I am the second close thing to the holy trinity in his life now,” you snorted softly as you collected all the papers on the table and made a neat single pile, “I will see the documents and understand his predicament.”

“And which predicament may that be?” the housekeeper inquired as she laid down a fresh virgin cup to pour scolding tea from the hot teapot.

“Enola mentioned something about debts,” You clutched the front of your dressing gown to contain some decorum while you sat back down and gestured to the chair beside you for her to sit in as well, “his foul dismissal of my presence suggests not only disdain of our union but in addition a set of a secrecy and disfavour I will not permit in my marriage.”

You needed to know exactly how much debt he was in. You were willing to part some of your dowry to pay for it if you could. His aggression was surely caused by the stress of these debt...if you could lift them off his shoulders, mayhaps he would be kinder, gentle and respectful.

She passed you the cup and saucer while she took to pouring herself a cup. The elder woman smiled giddily.

You were pleased that there was no judgement of your modesty before her. It was a fine change compared to your strictly grandmother who would berate you if you dared leave your bedroom under dressed.

The elder cradled her cup and lowered it carefully, clearing her throat, “Mrs Holmes...”

You blinked...you believed you had asked her to not call you by your new name, out of friendliness.

“Mrs Hudson?” you queerly answered.

“Before your marriage,” her lip curled inward and her fingers lightly tapped her cup, she looked to the tea and quickly glanced up at you, “The detective entertained himself in some...appalling activities. I think it best not to open those locked pasts for your own sake.”

Appalling activities...in a world of proprietary that could mean anything...you did have your thoughts...you were only surprised that the notorious detective would risk tainting his reputation with some illicit practice.

You swallowed dryly before sipping lightly at the tea. You licked your lips and sighed shaking your head, “Speak plainly Mrs Hudson.”

“Oh please,” She prayed mortifyingly, “I daren’t repeat it.”

It wasn’t difficult to see the pink rising in the pale wrinkled face of Mrs Hudson.

You leant over the table and used small tongs to pick up a sugar cube and clenched your jaw. You wouldn’t play in another game of riddles, especially not with a elder woman with a privacy for embarrassing details. The sugar fell into the cup with a soft plop in the awkward silence, a ticking of the clock caught in your ear.

“Tell me or leave Mrs Hudson,” you pinched the papers on the desk , “I have documents to find and unless your words hold any meaning, do not bore me with unheard gossip.”

Her beady blue eyes under her spectacles fluttered, her lips parted at your stern tone. She inhaled deeply and looked around the room before leaning in closer to you.

She said in a hushed whisper, “My dear girl, your husband is a whore mongering, drug addicted gambler.”

Now that was a surprise to hear fall from her wrinkled lips. You pinched your forehead and rubbed thoughtfully. How would you handle this type of man?

You glanced at her with a small grin.

“Was- Mrs Hudson,” You corrected, tapping the table with your knuckle, “I will not allow such boyish whims into my marriage,” you wagged your finger at her and flashed her a devious smile, “He shall need to divorce me if he wishes to continue such behaviours, it might be harder for me to remarry but I trust not a single woman would last longer than me as his wife.”

A small laugh came out of the woman who gave you a dramatic military salute, she grinned and chortled, “Well, I admire your determination, but however will you enter his chambers? He has the only key.”

Your chest deflated, she was right. How would you? You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked over your shoulder to look at the closed bedroom door on the far side of the wall beside your own.

You slowly pushed up to your feet again and trapesed back to your bedroom, “Mrs Hudson, wherever did you put my hat box?”

The elderly woman put down her cup and swayed inside to follow you, she pointed to above the wardrobe. Standing on your toes you palmed the box down and laid it on your unmade bed.

Mrs Hudson was opening up your wardrobe and peeling through your hanging hooks of dresses and coats.

“My dear, surely you’re not intending to go outside in your frail condition?” she muttered as she trailed a fresh chemise over her arm.

Shaking your head you jerked you chin, “No Mrs Hudson, indoors I will remain.” Your hand clenched your lower belly with a hiss as a nasty cramp prevailed, “I don’t recall entirely but I believe a doctor was here last night, said I have begun my menses for this month.”

“I can see dearest,” Mrs Hudson hummed, pinching at your dressing gown...you had bled through it. A wet crimson patch stained the white cotton. You balked and flushed.

“Best get it off now,” Mrs Hudson winked, pulling it back and off your naked shoulders, “I’ll make you some packing.”

You shuddered and gasped at how forward your housekeeper was presenting. Respectfully speaking, you wondered if Mrs Hudson had been a ladies maid in her earlier years before her own marriage.

You tiptoed to the water basin on the vanity and squeezed the clean cloth inside of it. You cleaned the red and burgundy chunks and stream between your thighs. Your washed your hands back in the water and faced Mrs Hudson sheepishly. She smiled and pulled the chemise over your head.

“Let me roll some packing,” she said, pulling a bandage from the top drawer of the vanity and folded it into a flat palm of thickened fabric.

You shoved it up against your intimate flesh and squeezed your thighs together tightly.

Mrs Hudson then found a sanitary apron in the same drawer and helped tie it behind your back.

“Mrs Hudson you are a fine woman of elegance and saintly kindness,” you exhaled, “Thank you.”

“I remember when I was a freshly married girl,” She clucked happily, “My dear friend was a constant visitor and helped me with these things. Mr Hudson grew very jealous of our time together,” she sighed, “Now, do you require a corset my dear?”

You shook your head and plucked your fingers, “I shan’t accept any visitors, and in my sickly state it would be kinder to leave it be if I should make a mess of my inconvenience.”

If your stomach threw up from the stress of your internal curse, you didn’t want to wash through the delicate fabrics of your whale bone undergarments.

You found a loose blouse and black skirt to pull and button onto your body. You pulled up a pair of stockings.

You sat on the bed as Mrs Hudson buttoned your shoes up with a hook. As the kind older woman did this gradually with her small fingers and greying eyes, you pulled the lid of your hat box away.

You pulled out a long metal stick...

A sharp hat pin.

“There we are, all done and ready for the day!” the housekeeper announced, rising to her feet.

You rose up with her and smiled, “Please Mrs Hudson, might I burden you with making another pot of tea?”

She beamed and nodded.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

08:45am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You were grunting on your knees before Sherlock’s locked door. Your hat pin jammed into the key hole. The tip of your tongue stuck out the corner of your lips as you shuffled the metal and tried to carefully listen to the locking of the inner gears.

Little did anyone know...this little talent you learnt on your own... Breaking into your grandfathers wine cellar was not a overexerting task when you were fifteen. It wasn’t a desire to rebel, rather a desire to educate yourself...you wanted to be seen as intelligent and knew your wines.

It wasn’t too long before you came to hate the bitter taste...and then found your grandfather’s rum drum.

When he found you, he didn’t not strike you and decided the headache you received in the morning was punishment enough for your sinful deed. And for a whole week he made you drink a cup of the stuff every night, to teach you why alcoholism was not befitting for a lady...

You smirked at the memory. Perhaps it was unorthodox. But it was kinder than a lashing or earful from your grandmother.

It was just one of many secrets between the both of you.

The loud click and sliding of the last inner lock made your eyes sparkle. As you twisted the handle the door peeled open with a awful squeak.

“My lord, what a mess!” you gasped.

The room was in a disarray. A smell of mould and death hit your nose. You gagged and felt your belly churn.

There was cigar burns in the rug, papers, news papers and books thrown about. There were plates that were piled up in the corner on a desk and there was a dirt dried mud trails...

The curtains were stained and the dust was unbelievable. When your finger ran along a small stand beside the door your finger came back looking pitch black with the soot.

You sat back and stood up. Piece by piece you picked up all the papers and went to his filing cabinet drawer, it was empty! Of course it was empty, all the contents had been tossed about, decorating the room messily.

You fingered the massive haul of papers and sighed, you would need to organise them all...

Taking them back out to the dining table you started to arrange piles of parchment stacks. Receipts, paid and unpaid, by date and purchases. Your eyes catered to the numbers, you fetched a notebook to tally the expenses and sighed, cupping your mouth every so often at his choices of spending.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts and game of pounds, shillings and pence, you hadn’t heard the return of Mrs Hudson with a fresh pot and tea set.

“Dear me,” she said clicking her tongue and shaking her head, “It looks like you’ve got your work cut out! Now what’s all this?” She asked picking up a receipt off a pile.

Rolling your shoulders back she smiled proudly at the organisation of affairs. You gestured to the individual sheet stacks.

“Ah sings Den, Cocaine Tooth Drops, Black Shag Tobacco, gambling...prostitutes,” you chewed your lip worriedly as you glance back at the small note book you write on with a blunt pencil, “He has wracked up a wicked sum...”

The housekeeper put the receipt back and sat beside you after pouring you another warm tea, this time she added the sugar cube for you and stirred.

“How much?” She whispered looking over the thick almost book like mountains of papers.

Since the new year began...Sherlock had designed quite the irresponsible money expenses and debts...

£5.65 for the Opium Den experience.

£3.25 for the Cocaine drops

£10.41 for the tobacco.

£120.78 for the overall gambling.

£150.33 for his Mayfair Row whores to Madam Adler.

Total: £290.42....

You felt your lips tighten, your belly squeezed. You paled and frailly held the cup to your lips, softly blowing and softly stating, “Perhaps that number I will keep to myself Mrs Hudson,” you pushed a pile close to her and tapped at the top, “Be not alarmed however, he seems to dedicate his rent responsibly to you.”

She chortled and shook her head, “Oh I don’t mind that, I trust him to,” her eyes narrowed at the

Mayfair receipts, “I just never liked the company he brought home.”

Your eyes widened and it was like air had been stolen and kicked from your lungs, “He brought...” you choked, shutting your eyes, “Those...those women back here?”

She grit her teeth and finished her tea, “Yes, they leave like newborn foals with wobbly legs.”

When Mrs Hudson caught your worrisome eyes she gasped and tapped your hand softly, “Forgive me, I needn’t provide details.”

You pursed your lips disapprovingly before conceiting, “As much as it is wounding to hear, it is unavoidable,” you sighed and poured yourself another tea, “As his wife it is best I know everything about my husband and if he is to keep secrets from me,” you shrugged, “However shall I be a decent partner?”

Mrs Hudson put her cup aside demurely and leant closer to you. Still in her hushed tones, ashamed of the secrets she was sharing...but her eyes were full of excitement, perhaps this gossip was something she needed off her conscious.

“I would hear them in the night, screaming...I thought he was killing them,” more colour was flushing back into her face. A rosy hue dusted her nose and cheeks, “I am thankful every time when I would see them leave with smiles on their faces.”

You sat back in your chair abruptly and looked at her curiously, “Screaming and smiles?” You whispered under your breath, “How peculiar.”

It wasn’t possible. Did he hurt those prostitutes like how he had done to you? How did they walk away with smiles? Was it because he paid them? Not even you could think how to muster a smile after experiencing such awful tortures.

“I thought perhaps, he did what he had done onto you my dear...but when I saw the blood and your lack of pleasantry, well, I can confidently say-”

You slapped your cup on the saucers hard enough for a loud clatter, you said tightly, “Mrs Hudson I’d very much prefer to forget yesterdays events, if you don’t mind...please do not refer back to them.”

The mention caused a spike of pain inside you, reminding you where he stuck his hot selfish poker.

The elder woman grew quiet for a moment. She looked off at the window in the distance and then down at her cup.

She nodded and tried to share a soft smile, “Apologies for any offence.”

A stab of guilt panged in your chest, you hadn’t mean to be so rude to her. Your nerves were in a terrible mood. In a moment you would be happy and then the next you would feel worrisome and hungry. Perhaps you might’ve grown to be afflicted by the disease of Hysteria?

Oh Hysteria, what a terrible condition...you dreaded the thought of need to go for a medical massage. One of your female cousins had been to one and her description made it sound both enlightening and frightful. In fact she said it felt like she had died and gone to heaven and returned.

All of which made you scared beyond belief.

“None received,” you pat her hand and brought her palm to your lips, “You are a kind Christian and for that I say god bless you Mrs Hudson.”

She smiled warmly and stole a soft kiss to your cheek, all was forgiven between your temper.

“Oh my dear, I must additionally confess,” she stunningly proclaimed, “Sherlock doesn’t attend church.”

Your brows rose, “What?” You snorted through a laugh, unable to comprehend her truth, “Don’t be ridiculous, what upstanding gentleman doesn’t attend church?”

You giggled and cheerfully wiped a tear away, your sanity returned when her face had remained stone solid. She did not find it funny and you realised finally it was because in fact not a joke...

You glanced over the papers...back to the number on your notebook...ah of course...no god fearing man could sin so easily...waste away fortune so carelessly and spend it on unnecessary frivolous activities.

“I think that might be the answer to your own question. The Doctor Watson wrote his newspaper articles and depicted him London’s hero. He can be truly a godless man. Frankly I believe he’s a sadist.”

You tilted your head at her and drank some of your tea.

You hummed and held a finger to your lip in thought, “Yet you said those women had smiles on their faces when they left?”

Mrs Hudson shook her head curtly and smirked, “Well I think I’d smile too with the amount he probably pays them.”

Laying your elbow on the table with your chin on your head you looked at the brothel papers, “You are right...they are over priced...Mayfair Row...they’re quality...but nonetheless still he pays them far too much.”

Your husband was an exuberant tipper when it wasn’t his money. Mayfair Row...you hadn’t been inside the Dove club where Sherlock spent most the wealth...but you knew the average price of a whore...it took you back to a time...many, many years ago...back when you believed you had a mother that loved you...back when seeing a naked man behave like an animal writhing on-top of her was your normal life. Where you mimicked the actions with your cloth doll that you carried everywhere. You tried to remember the name of that doll....Susie? Harriet? God only remembers now.

They weren’t pleasant memories...the stench of mud, the screaming of women, the yelling if men, the bite of hunger and the itch of lice in your hair and fleas covering your clothes.

You shuddered. Thank god you still did not live with her anymore. It was the only life you knew in those days but suffering is suffering and you amazed you how long you survived in such conditions.

The elderly woman looked into the pot and sighed at the low level of tea.

“I am surprised you know so much about them,” she casually noted, glancing back at you.

You realised how strange you must’ve sounded...you heart began to race. You grimaced, annoyed at yourself for being so relaxed you lost thought of your own words.

“Call it a terrible interest Mrs Hudson,” you licked your bottom lip and lied, “I was a reader of Josephine Butler’s work on her dismantlement of child sex work.”

She nodded slowly, clearly Mrs Hudson had no idea who Mrs Butler was...you felt a twinge of agitation for the uneducated.

You tapped your fingers nervously on your cup again and off handedly asked “Do you know if there are anymore receipts I might find Mrs Hudson?”

“No idea I’m afraid,” Mrs Hudson said as she noticed your cup was finally empty. She collected the tea set items and placed them on the tray. You turned in your seat and looked back at Sherlocks open door, there was still so much mess. You shook your head.

Before the housekeeper left you touched her arm.

“Please fetch me a broom and cloth and clean water.”

She followed your gaze at his room and warmly cupped your face, “Dear, perhaps you should lay in bed for a while, you shouldn’t be working so perilously in this physical state.”

You smiled and held her hand, rising out of the chair. You walked back to his room and called over your shoulder, “I would rather clean my husband’s hovel. No wonder he’s a beast considering he lives like one.”

You could hear Mrs Hudson cackling behind you as she went back down stairs only to return with your requested items after a while.

A clean room might clear his head, calm his woes.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

12:23pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

After hours of sweeping, dusting, mopping, washing and organising Sherlock’s room you tiredly flopped back on his mattress and yawn.

At this rate you considered a small nap was required. Except you knew yourself, you knew if you stopped your progress you’d be discouraged to finish.

There was one last thing to organise after folding and hanging all his clothes. At the foot of Sherlock’s bed was a large chest. It could be easily mistaken for an ottoman. Maybe they’re would be more debt documents or clothing in there.

You crawled down and climbed off his bed to crouch beside the chest. You clicked the latches open and lifted the lid slowly.

Inside were sinister objects...you gasped...too shocked to even close the chest. Rope, shackles, knives, long thin sticks, a riding crop, a whip, a bridle you knew deep down was too small for a horse and meant for a human...smaller boxes with printed words....rectal dilators and hysterical paroxysm vibrating aid. And the illustrations...

There was a book you were reading...you weren’t really thinking, you were just curious of the horrid that might follow within...

Men and women, all nude, illustrations and photos of them performing elaborate sexual deviancy. Your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat. Between your legs the buzz of arousal enlightened to your belly.

There was a woman who was tied up in ropes in star like patterns being mounted by a man who held a riding crop in his hand. You paled thinking he was beating this poor woman...and as you read the words, it was discovered she enjoyed this...took pleasure in the agony??

It was very confusing for you to read such hypocrisy.

Who would enjoy being hurt like this?

And as you read more and more, the deeper into this strange arousal you sunk into.

There was a illustration on a woman holding her lover’s intimate member in her mouth. And another where the same lover was licking with a long snake like tongue at her clitoris.

Your thighs squeezed tight and you groaned as a cramp rippled through your body down to your knees.

Hearing your name on your housekeepers lips tore you away from the novel. You threw the book back inside the chest and shut it hard. You felt short of breath and grasped the wood of his canopy to stay stable before leaving his chambers.

You told yourself that it was wrong to be looking at such art and imagery of lust. A part of you however desired to peak back inside...curiosity was your master and chastity your mistress. So who would you listen to first?

Your eyes fluttered shut.

You met the elderly woman out in the sitting room where she was dusting at the unlit fireplace mantle... She was moving little trinkets and photos.

Within the centre of the mantle stand was a frame containing your own portrait. You had the image taken at a tintype shop over a year ago. You stood beside Mrs Hudson as you took in the reflection of yourself. You smiled at how brilliant it captured your likeness. You were still confused how it worked, something about sand and light...your grandfather stood aside that day and said he would be sending the image to his son to remind him of you, his daughter...you were embarrassed to say the least but dared not argue with his wisdom.

Well it seems your father didn’t get the photo...or perhaps he send it back. Now Sherlock had it in his ownership.

She smiled at you and ran a hand softly down your back and said, “I just wanted to ask if you liked mutton dear, I hope to cook some this evening for dinner.”

You smiled with relief, you told her, “I am ever grateful for any food you provide my husband and I, thankyou Mrs Holmes.”

The elderly woman eyes widened with joy. She turned on her heel, taking the bucket and cloth with her.

You looked over at the table covered in receipts she had kindly left untouched.

“Mrs Hudson,” You called after her as you stepped hastily over to a side board bureau and began to write up a cheque, “is there any chance you will be attending the bank today?”

Facing you she pat the door handle and exclaimed, “No, however I can stop by if you need me to, I am officially in need to buy some fresh mutton from the butcher.”

You smiled at her cheery attitude. You filled out the numbers and printed the expenses. You tore it away from the book and held it out to her.

“Fantastic...here. Take this.”

The housekeeper stepped closer and raced her eyes over the cheque. Her eyes blew up wide at the price you had written out.

“I don’t quite understand...” she shakily stated.

You sighed and clapped your hands as you went to finally sit down on the lounging chaise. It wasn’t hard to admit you needed the rest with how your head spun. You were dizzy and it was possibly from all the cleaning you had conducted and dust you had inhaled.

“Sherlock needs to be rid of these debts and I need to rid of his temper...my dowry Mrs Hudson I pray brings me peace.”

Yes, you were sure of it. Your very expensive dowry...you were going to pay the debt off and help your husband become less of an animal. Perhaps you might convince him to attend church.

“Mrs Holmes,” your housekeeper stammered, “I would advise you hold onto this...please...you cannot just-”

You cut her off dignifiedly, “Mrs Hudson, this cheque card will enter the bank whether by your hand or mine. And before you have insisted I rest. So please if you care enough for me, you shall hand it in on my behalf.”

Her face was flushed and her eyes shut tight. She shook her head disapprovingly while muttering

“Very well dear girl, I hope you know what you are doing.”

Out Mrs Hudson went, and down you went. Your face pressed into a cushion. With your eyes fluttering shut, you feel back into the darkness and peacefully slept, listening to the wafting sounds of Baker Street flow from Sherlock’s bedroom window.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

6:00pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

Sherlock still had not returned home from his morning flee. As Mrs Hudson laid out a plate of roast and potatoes with gravy she assured you that Sherlock had a habit of staying out for hours. Whether for a case or his own pleasures and addiction.

On the table in front of you was the paper bank statement, it accounted that the cheque had been entered and applied to the debts.

Now the Sherlock Holmes was a debt free man...

After you finished your dinner, Mrs Hudson kindly helped remove your shoes and change your bedding. You were redressed in a night gown and over your shoulders a warm dressing gown.

You now only wore a sanitary apron to protect yourself from your blood.

All his paid debt receipts were in a folder, you stared at that manilla folder smugly. Your left it on the table as you went to inspect the book shelves on the far wall near the entrance of the home.

You looked at the many novels on the shelves, now some of them being the ones brought over from your grandparents estate. On quick flicking through pages you found most of them being related to science, language and anatomy. Glancing back at Sherlocks open door, you thought about the book in the chest. That was more than just an anatomy book...

You squeezed your side, you were feeling a spike in temperature and a shortness in breath reimagining those images...those words.

It wasn’t the smut novella Fanny Hill, but it stoked fires inside you much like it. You knew it was something you probably shouldn’t have come across, because you shouldn’t have been inside his room, touching his belongings.

You had to. It smelt like something had died.

You prayed this would sort him out. You could only hope that the years ahead would not be so testing.

You had a list of mental rules. You may be his wife and beneath his status, however you would not just stand back and watch him act a fool and fall victim to further ridicule in society. You would not sink in the same boat again. You were excluded from many balls as a teen when some wicked foul mouth girl had revealed the secrecy of your parentage.

Your step mother was only eleven years older than you, so really...there was no possibility of pretending to be her child. Everyone in high society of they knew you, knew what you were. And because they knew you were treated like a unspeakable burden and unwanted pet at parties.

It wasn’t a mystery to you why you started playing the role of a wallflower at only fifteen.

You refused to allow Sherlock to bring you to such shame in society.

The heavy foot steps outside the close door alerted you to an approach made by someone other than Mrs Hudson.

With the loud snap of the handle and click of the lock, in entered a breathless giant. Sherlock.

He tore off his hat and coat and only after hanging the items on the rack by the door did he acknowledge you with a small nod, “Mrs Holmes,” he bid. Under his arm you noticed was a paper wrapped package.

You heard him march through the house towards the middle room and heard him swear under his breath, follows by a repetitive “no no no.”

You heard him frantically skid around the carpets and floor boards of his own room. He was tearing open and slamming drawers and wardrobe doors.

“What the hell have you done! What have you-?”

Storming out of his room, you gasped at how his face reddened and he continued shouting, but thankfully not at you. He raced to the front door and tore it open screaming down the stairwell,

“Where are you woman!? Mrs Hudson! You shrivelled cow!”

You slapped the book in your hands shut, regarding him disdainfully, “Our housekeeper is not to be rewarded by your insults.”

The turn around he made was slow as realisation came to his heated face. The snarl was replaced by a begrudged sneer as he scoffed, pointing his finger sharply back in the direction of the bedrooms, “...You did this destruction?”

“Destruction?” You whispered. What destruction had you done?

As he approached, you unconsciously took a step back and nervously licked your bottom lip. You felt air being pulled from you as he towered above and stabbed you beneath a invasive gaze.

His darkened eyes looked across the light material of your nightwear. His fingers tugged the book out of hands and pushed it back into the shelving where it belonged.

You decided you needed to stand firmer against him, You craned your head back and stared up at him.

“H-hardly...I have organised. Cleaned.” You took another step back and felt the wood of the display cabinet behind you dig into your waist.

“By subject,” you felt his body press up against you, what the hell was he doing? Trying to intimidate you? You were hardly dressed compared to his full clad attire. It scared you. He looked formidable, like he was going to tear you limb from limb, his nostrils flared. Your insides jumped and that buzzing feeling ran through your lower half. God...why did this of all things arouse you?

Your throat felt shaky, “then- then ah numerical dated followed by alphabetically.”

You glance him over and blinked at the red spot on his chest, was it ink? No, ink isn’t so dark....under Sherlock’s jaw was a scratch, a slight discolouration to his skin and under his hair curl on his forehead as another mark.

He leant down and pressed his mouth to your ear, “Do not ever enter my chambers or touch my belongings without my permission again.” It was a mix between a whisper, an disciplining snarl, and a lusty moan.

It left your knees feeling bloodless. Your own eyes shut closed at the hot breath that breathed into your lobe and hair.

As he pulled back, he stood away and for the first few moments you needed to remember how to control your breathing.

He looked over the dining room table and slid the thick folder closer to himself.

“And what is this?” he asked you.

“Your debts,” You swallowed and wiped your palm across your forehead, a trail of sweat drenched your hand, “Paid for.”

He smirked and shook his head, “Mycroft.”

“No,” you bluntly said, smoothing your hands down your dress to rid of the wrinkles that rose up. Seeing how your nipples had hardened beneath your nightgown you pulled the dressing gown tighter around you and crossed your arms protectively over your chest.

You looked at his body hunched over the table and blinked at the white marks over the edges of his dark navy suit jacket. It looked like flour...except flour had a tendency to clump. His nails were also clean of any baking incredibly. But his finger pads on the wooden table left little faint prints...

“You?” he chuckled condescendingly.

You nodded, “Yes.”

His laughter quickly fell away, his head snapped up fully to look at you, his brows knitted together,

“Why?”

His lips settled into a frown.

He put his hands on his hips, a power play...he was trying to show confidence, dominance...perhaps in response to your arms folded over your chest.

It would’ve been good to just tell him the truth, but to explain it to him would be impossible. You chose to simplify the answer...

“Easement on your consciousness?” You offered dryly. It wasn’t a total like, the less stress, the more relaxing and kindness....right?

His mouth twisted into a snarl, “Why you insufferable little-”

“Where did you go today?,” you pondered, cutting him off from finishing his insult, “A school?”

He jerked back slightly, he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, he took a deep breath and cupped his hands behind his back, “Excuse me?”

Good, he was calmer now.

This time you took to action...you stepped forward and sighed solemnly pinching one of his vest buttons.

“Chalk, on your cuffs. You smell like sweat in a teenage boy rather than a man. You’ve also had a scuffle with someone much shorter than you from the marks on your neck. Your shirt has a speck of what I believe is blood and the button is loosen,” you pinched and ripped it from the shirt and it’s faint loose thread.

“Fret not...” you smirked and pat his chest, “I will mend it should you ask.”

His hands came around and squeezed your forearms, his head moved back a little. He was perplexed...a light upturn in his lips revealed his sudden amusement.

He lifted a hand up and gently touched your face. He was breathing in a controlled state. You felt the intimacy of his closeness without fear of his wrath.

“No...” he drawled, “I was at Scotland yard. A poor deduction...” his thumb ran across your chin, “dear wife.”

You felt your heart pick up as his soft hand touched your face, you tried looking away from his staring eyes. Sherlock’s edged closer to your lips.

“Poor deduction but I am not stupid,” you consoled.

His lips broke into a wider smile revealing his teeth, he chuckled, “...I beg to differ.”

He moved abruptly back and fled to escape to his rooms. You knew his intention perfectly and chased after him, emphasising, “You had almost three hundred pounds in debt Sherlock. I at least know how to wisely spend my money.”

He spun on his heel and snapped at you, pointing harshly at your chest, “oh ho! Playing this game then are we? With your dowry gone, you have nothing left. I’d hardly call paying off my debts which were none of your concern, wise spending.”

You grabbed his finger and announced softer, serious and less aggressive, “Indeed, which is why I implore you to cease all further transactions in regards to your addictions.”

“Do not patronise me wife,” He scoffed and rolled his eyes tried tearing his hand away but your grip on his index finger tightened and the both of your grunted.

You grit your teeth at him, “Do not patronise me husband.”

He sighed and wiggled his finger from out of your hand.

He dusted his hands on his waist coat and huffed. He peered at you with a mischievous gaze.

“My debts...they included my friends...yes? From Mayfair?”

Oh that was cruel indeed. Mentioning those women when you were married to him. You wouldn’t dare let him threaten you over them.

You fought the urge to hit him and stomp your foot. You turned away from him and quickly composed yourself. Hastily you plucked some matches from the small box ontop of the fireplace mantel. You struck a small flame and tossed it into the fire place where you discarded some old newspapers as kindling.

“Yes,” you admitted tightly, “I know about your scandalous behaviours and forbid you from consorting in that demonstration again.”

He pushed passed you and unbuttoned his jacket and vest fully. He draped them over the back of one of the lounges, he pulled up his trousers slightly as he sat down.

He chuckled, “You forbid me?”

You glared at him and shot back up off the floor. You squeezed your eyes tightly as you firmly dictated, “I am the only woman to ever receive you carnally from now on.”

He smirked and spread his legs wide, folding his arms on his chest. He jerked his chin up at you and clicked his tongue, “I don’t believe you know what that means. Believe me little lamb, my fidelity is that last thing you’ll desire...or did you not learn from yesterday?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“I stand by what I mean Sherlock. You will not commit adultery while married to me,” you snapped. You wanted control, this would not be taken from you if you could help it.

“Or what?” He laughed, he then condescendingly moaned, “You’ll tell my big brother?”

As he went back to his smug chuckling you clenched your fists and stood over him. You weren’t thinking straight. Only a red shade cast in your eyes. You grabbed his collar and tugged him hard, spitting down at him with full anger as you threatened, “...Or I will kill you.”

He stopped laughing but didn’t stop his smug smiling. His hands came up and grabbed yours, prying them from his shirt.

“Barely been forty eight hours of wedded bliss and you desire to murder me. Ha! I now owe John five pounds,” he looked down at your chest which you realised was hanging in a uncompromising position. He could see right down your chest practically to your third rib with your lack of supporting chemise. Sherlock tongued the inside of his cheek and hummed, “My word.”

You gasped with horror and attempted to rip away from his hold, you grunted gruffly, “You are a pig Sherlock Holmes!”

He pulled you forcefully downwards and made your knees buckle. Your chest fell into his and you both hissed at the impact of crushing into each other.

Lewdly his hot wet tongue licked its way from your neck up to your earlobe while his hands pushed your thighs up to straddle over him, his fingers sharply stabbed into your backside under the night gown.

“You have absolutely no clue to what I am little Lamb.”

You tried pushing off him immediately, and felt his arm wrap around your waist and trap you against him.

Your legs so wildly spread and pressed against his trousers made you feel like you were riding on a horse.

Despite the plethora of farm animals you could compare in his and your name, you had both your wrists this caught in his one hand.

“Go on,” he chuckled as you struggled against him, “Tell me how you would do it...,” he taunted,

“How would you kill the great Sherlock Holmes, London’s finest Detective?”

You shrieked as you felt crushed under his baring arm, “I can think of many ways!”

“Well go on,” he smugly waited with raised brows, “Tell me.”

Your eyes rolled and you whined when he dug his nails into your wrists.

“I’ll push you down the stairs!”

He barked with laughter and shook his head, “You cannot be sure the fall would kill me, perhaps I might be paralysed, with many broken bones, but no no, I also don’t think you have the strength to push me around anywhere, look at you right now.”

“Fine!” you yelled, “Ill stab you with a knife!”

“Ah a violent approach, but what of the blood?” He grabbed your hip and moved you to grind your centre down on a lump in his trousers, “Why, even those idiots in Scotland Yard would figure out it was you; blood staining the clothes, carpet and blood beneath your nails, and where would you ever be able to hide the weapon?”

“Sherlock! Let me go or I’ll poison your tea!” you whined terribly.

He bit his lip and shook his head at you, “Oh dear Mrs Holmes, it’s possibly the most common death among an unhappy married couple. Wives are known to favour poison greatly.”

You heaved as you tried to catch your breath. You fell forward a little. Your sweaty forehead touched his.

“Please,” you whined, “let me go. All I want is you to be a civilised man and honour our marriage bed.”

He looked down at your parted lips. He looked back at your chest and shut his eyes.

“You want me to give up my whores Mrs Holmes?”

You gulped and nodded, “Of course.”

When he opened those blue orbs with the brown flecks, he whispered, “I promise to forsake them...if...”

“If?” you stammered and narrowed your eyes.

“Hush!” He reprimanded, “I promise to forsake my whores on Mayfair Row...If I can have my whore of Baker Street.”

Before you and time to reply and question what he even meant, he stood up and tossed you onto the floor. Sherlock crawled over you and pinned your flailing hands above your hand.

“You want to please me, please your husband, Mrs Holmes?” he gasped as his other hand went groping and squeezing around your soft body.

You weakly nodded, your head rested on the floor trying to get back the breath he knocked from you when he pushed you down.

You hissed softly, “Please, you’re hurting me.”

His hands loosened but held you trapped to the floor.

His lips danced over your cheek, “Then you will need to perform like a whore for me.”

A sobbing cry ripped front our chest, unsure of his real intention you quickly jumped to the conclusion of his implications.

You choked and shook your head, “No! I am not going to become a prostitute!”

He cackled at your fearful cry.

“No, this body belongs to me,” he said as he pinched the strings of your night gown and pushed the material away to show off your bare breasts.

His lips wrapped around your right nipples and sucked hard, tickling you with his tongue tip. Tears started to well in your face. You didn’t understand what he was implying to do to you. It tickled and felt so warm.

You were scared. You knew some men of the world were evil. Evil husband’s that pimped out the women they married. You couldn’t imagine being so intimate with another person. You couldn’t imagine succumbing to the agony you received the night before by Sherlock’s hand.

Kicking your feet across the rug and tried pushing your body from under him. He grunted as your nipple left his lips. He pressed the hand hard on your hip and affirmed, “Keep still, little lamb.”

“Sherlock,” you started to beg on a whimper, “Please, stop! You are frightening me, you’re h-hurting me!”

He looked down at you, his hair falling slightly on your head. His smile wavered as he took note of your tears and wobbling lips.

His gaze softened along with his voice, “...be completely honest with me.”

You nodded desperately, “I will, I will!”

“Did you look in the trunk at the foot of my bed?”

The chest full of explicit items and torture devices.

Your eyes squeezed tight and you exhaled, “I did.”

He smirked and let you go completely, standing up and held his hand to assist you too. When you were finally upright, he pinched your exposed nipple. You shrieked.

“I am a man Y/N, I have needs. I expect you to fulfil them earnestly if you desire I abandon my charity to Mayfair.”

You tried pushing his hand back and covering your breasts with the dressing gown. He smirked and shook his head at you, “No, no, let me see them.”

The silence was vile. The crackling of the fire place was the only ambience that showed attendance.

You couldn’t do it. It was wrong to be so exposed beyond the bedroom.

He waited and when you showed no sign of showing him, he sighed and nodded, “Very well, good night Mrs Holmes, I will call upon my friend Irene.”

He walked around you and journeyed to his open bedroom door.

As if all colour drained from your face you feverishly held out a hand and quickly called, “Wait, please! Look!”

You all but chased him into his own bedroom. He snapped his head in your direction. You stood in the centre space between his bed and the door.

He raised a brow and watched almost unimpressed as your trembling fingers shed your dressing gown and pulled the neckline of your night gown open...there he could finally observe your luscious breasts.

“Why Mrs Holmes,” he mused, sitting on his bed and peeling his cravat off his neck, “Your teats are exposed, careful,” he sarcastically warned, “One might mistake you for a slut.” You felt breathless and curled your lips inside.

You couldn’t believe it, you were letting him hurt you in a new way. You were letting him bully you. It wasn’t right and you desperately hated it, but what else was there except to let him defile and destroy your holy vows?

“Is that a sanitary apron on your waist?” he question, pointing at the lump under your gown.

You nodded, “I am still bleeding husband...”

“Do you know what that means?” Sherlock said unbuttoning his shirt.

Your licked your lips, folding your arms behind your back you tried hard to not cover yourself,

“My body is extinguishing my mental illnesses.”

He smirked and rolled his eyes, “Your medical knowledge is dated, but that is not what I implied...I meant that you should come to your knees and perform fellatio.”

Your eyes widened...fellatio was such a naughty word to hear let alone say. It was the type of practise in the book in his chest. Oral sex. Seeing the woman hold her male companions member appeared lewd and distasteful.

You hadn’t thought of ever doing it yourself, it served no purpose in procreation with god.

Flustered and shy, you cupped your hands over your face to think.

Sherlock’s voice was softer this time. He wasn’t mocking you as he explained, “I will not force you to do this Y/N, you do not have to if you do not want to.”

You shook your head and scowled at him from your hands, “But I do! I don’t want you to ever lay with a woman other than me! I am-“ you choked on some on coming tears, “I am your wife Sherlock, please...promise me if I do this you won’t lay with another woman.”

He unbuckled his trousers and sighed, “Then get on your knees,” he pulled out his semi hard rod, “and kiss your husbands cock.”

You looked over your shoulder at his door and then back at him.

Would you do this? Humiliate yourself in promise of keeping his vows loyally to you?

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

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my-naughty-writings-and-musings · 1 year ago

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Transformers ROTB

NSFW Reader x Mirage

Just saw ROTB and Mirage changed my brain chemistry so I had to get this down ASAP while writing many other pieces of smut I hope to post soon. Please let me know what you think <3

Mirage got you back for all your teasing the second he pulled into the garage and transformed, his engine roaring in pent up frustration as he settled you on one arm and slammed the door behind him with the other. Having expected and looked forward to such rough handling, you happily allowed yourself to be hefted upwards to face your partner, his hands cupping you possesively as his optics met your eyes. The fiery need in their depths sent an echo of desire through your entire body before he pulled you in for a desperate kiss.

Moaning into your mouth, the speedster slipped a hand behind your head to hold you close as he fumbled across the garage to his berth, which was so difficult in his current state he ended up bumping his shins multiple times along the way. Each audible thump came with a hissed curse that made you snicker, but he persevered until he finally met the edge of the padded metal slab and more or less collapsed onto it. You were still in such a giggly mood you couldn't help chuckling when he muttered a euphoric "finally" as if arriving at an oasis in a desert.

Settling you down beneath him, Mirage got the two of you on the same page with a sudden rush of kisses down your jawline, his dentae brushing the sensitive skin before he buried his helm in the crook of your neck. You arched at the touch and moaned softly for more, which he provided in the form of an unexpected bite, his tiny canines using just enough force to leave a subtle mark claiming ownership. Crying out and grabbing hold of him for support, you shivered as his warm glossa dulled the mild sting with slow swirls. Experience told you he was savoring the taste just as much as he was providing comfort.

"Take your pants off, I've got plans." he said suddenly, lips just beside your ear. Complying with a soft sound of wanting, you wiggled out of your bottoms in a manner most would have called desperate rather than sexy. Big blue optics watched your every move with hungry intensity, and when he beheld you naked from the waist down his engine rumbled forcefully enough to rattle the berth. Throwing away your clothes without a care, you found him sliding a hand up your shirt without warning, and obediently leaned into the touch as he purred out further instructions. "Might as well toss everything you don't want me accidentally ripping to pieces."

"You'd owe me." you replied teasingly, sticking out your tongue as you rolled your top over your head. Mirage huffed with enough force to rustle the messy spread of blankets.

"You're kidding, right?!" he replied with indignant disbelief, looking all the more frustrated when you smiled innocently whilst unlatching your bra. Pretending not to be briefly subdued by the sight of your tits, the speedster continued his mock rant, recalling how the last twenty or so minutes had been nothing but you riling him up while he was helpless in his altmode. "The way you were fiddling with my gear shift in traffic? You're lucky I didn't pop my panel on that off-ramp!"

"Just a little extra motivation." you teased sweetly, tossing your last bit of clothing to the floor below.

Your incorrigible boldness briefly left him speechless. Shaking his helm with a chuckle, Mirage moved quickly to pin you to the berth below, gentle but commandingly firm as he made it clear he planned on getting even. Having expected as much, you had to bite your lip to restrain a smile, so eager for a heated pounding you could already feel yourself getting wet. Your own wanting turned to desperation when he loomed over you and cast your naked body completely in his shadow. Voice a full octave lower than usual, the mech loudly opened his modesty plating just before he rumbled out a warning. "Oh, I'm motivated alright."

Lips met again in a passionate kiss, but this time he went straight for what he wanted, hands taking hold of either side of your body to slide downwards and savor every detail along the way. Whimpering when your breasts were teased with only a quick circling of his thumbs, you eagerly parted your legs to grant him access, looking down just as he grabbed hold of his erect spike to mass shift it to the appropriate size. Practice had allowed you to stretch sufficiently enough that he only needed to reduce his girth by a fraction of what had initially been required, and as soon as he felt himself reach the proper measurement he brought his hips to yours.

A small sound passed his lips as his tip met the heat of your entrance, and you watched his brows arch at the pleasure while his jaw went slack, helm rolling back as he finally got to push inside. Biting your lip at the stretch, you welcomed him with a moan, wrapping your legs around his hips to assure him you were ready for more. The unique array of ridges and nodes along his spike delighted you every inch of the way. Sheathing himself in one long, smooth stroke, the speedster took a moment to savor the feeling he'd been so desperate for, as overwhelmed by your tight heat as he'd been the first time.

Instinct and experience got his hips moving, and you welcomed the first withdrawal and thrust with an appropriately excited cry, the feeling of his massive frame over your tiny human body making it all the better. Mirage growled as he finally got a hold of himself, hands splaying on the berth as he started to rock his hips and go to town just like he'd fantasized the entire way home. Tits bouncing with every thrust, you went from moaning to crying out when he activated his vibrator mods, the tiny nodes lighting up without warning to buzz against all of your sweet spots. Your wide eyes caught a smug smirk of revenge on his lips before he lost himself to a moan of his own.

Pulling him close and grinding your hips against him, you grabbed hold of his chest and held on for dear life as Mirage began to ride you for real, his vents releasing hot puffs of steam with every pound of his hips as his frame grew heated from the exertion. Making the berth rattle near to the point of threatening collapse, the speedster lost control completely in his haze of desire. Hunching over you to be as close as possible, he scooped an arm behind your back to heft you as the beginning of an orgasm coiled in your lower body, hammering right into your sweet spot as his engine roared out in exhilaration. You rewarded his creativity with a cry of his name just the way he liked it.

"Mirage!" you moaned showily, able to feel him approaching his own overload as yours built exponentially quickly. Hearing his name made the mech shudder and briefly lose control of his powers, the scene around you wobbling as his cloaking abilities surged and warped everything you could see until he wrestled back his willpower.

"Aw shit, babe, I'm gonna..." he trailed off to bare his dentae and moan, but you knew exactly what he meant. The length of his spike throbbed inside of you, and just like that you were pushed over the edge, a rush of warmth and ecstasy crashing over your heated body as you clamped around him in a series of powerful throbs. Feeling you clench as if milking him did the poor mech in without delay. Optics briefly snapping open in surprise, he clamped them shut as his own overload hit with an accompanying surge of his EM field, blue sparks of electricity jumping over his armor as he came in an explosive burst of overdue release. The combination of his hot ropes gushing into you and your walls clamping down on his spike reduced you both to moaning wrecks unable to do much more than cling to the other.

When you felt the surge pass and the excess transfluid dribble onto the berth, you collapsed into a sweaty heap on the padding below, ribs rapidly rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. Mirage had enough experience to roll to the side once the afterglow reduced him to a purring kitten of a bot, his lips curled into a very pleased smile as he settled down beside you and vented the heat from his exercise. The mess wouldn't have occurred to you even if you'd been able to feel your legs.

"Wooo boy..." the mech sighed after what couldn't have been more than a minute or two. You opened your eyes just as he pulled you up the berth to face him, sliding over the bundle of bedding until your gaze met your lover's and found him looking very pleased with himself. Chuckling at the boundless ego, you scootched closer to snuggle him and fully enjoy yourself, more than a little smug at how easily this had all gone to plan. It was almost unfair how little you had to try to make him pound your brain out.

"Better?" you cooed, cupping his chin the way he liked. Mirage leaned into the touch and laid so you faced one another, far more relaxed now that his charge had been burned off.

"Ain't nothing better than you, gorgeous." he confirmed, letting you nuzzle into his neck as he held you close and playfully stroked your hair. The softness mixed with his sass compelled you to relax as well, your naked body pressing into his to savor the touch of his warm mesh in the bliss of the afterglow. Dating a mech like Mirage was never easy, but it was certainly always worth it.

#valveplug #transformers #lemon #maccadam #robot x human relations #tf #self insert #human reader #mirage #mirage x reader #nsfw////#rotb mirage #transformers rotb #rise of the beasts #tf rotb #transformers x reader #x reader #swearing #robosmut

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transingthoseformers · 5 months ago

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back by some kind of demand!! its more Mirage in heat time :3

"First of all. Put that away."

Mirage sheepishly and reluctantly slides his panels shut.

"Okay, so, let's get this straight. You guys got some kinda mating cycle, yeah? And you think you lost whatever suppressor you had installed in Peru."

Mirage, now sitting up, knees drawn up so he can rest his arms on them, quietly nods. A quiet Mirage is weird.

"Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool. And you don't want me to call your friends so they can help you. So I need to help you."

"WHAT? No, you good, man. I'm good. I don't need help. I'm fine!"

Noah just kinda goes :/ and puts a hand on Mirage's modesty plating, watching as the bot immediately gasps and bucks his hips and has to plant his hands behind him to support him

"That don't look fine to me."

Mirage looks at him with big pathetic optics.

"Look," Noah strokes his hand across the warm plating, drawing a whine from the Porsche's vocaliser, "it's hurting you, right? I ain't leaving you like that."

Now that Mirage has overloaded once, some of the heat in his frame has finally dissipated. He's warm, which is unusual, but no longer scalding. The gloves come off and Noah's bare hands land back on modesty plating, drawing yet more needy whines from Mirage.

To be fair to him he does a good job at keeping those panels shut. His HUD pings him incessantly to let them slide open, but he dismisses them for now.

Hands wander off into Mirage's hip joints, smoothing over plating and dipping into joints. Mirage lets his helm fall back, mouth hanging open. He can already feel the charge building up again. Lubricant seeps out from behind his plating, adding to the mess he's already created on the floor

"Tell me what you need. I'll help you, 'kay?"

"I... I need you."

Oh mirage

Ohhh mirage

Noah's right, Mirage, you are not fine

"Tell me what you need. I'll help you, 'kay?"

"I... I need you."

Yes yes yes, yes he does

#i have no words beyond ''yes'' and ''oh mirage :)''#miroah #rotb mirage #rotb noah #valveplug

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dawnbreaker-mylove · 19 days ago

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𝑨𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒂𝒘𝒏

Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction of the game Love and Deepspace. Some characters are from the game, and some are original characters. The rituals and traditions aren't from any specific religion. If there are any similarities to real people, it's purely coincidental.

A/N: Zayne a bit ooc but it's for the plot, trust. Special guest at the end (＾▽＾)

‘I am the Master of Fate.’

When your eyes fluttered open again, a searing heat coursed through your body, every limb feeling as though it had been weighed down with stones. Your back ached, and your head pounded as if someone had split it with a hatchet. The sky outside was awash with soft hues of orange and red, dawn slowly approaching.

It was then you realized this was not your home.

You sat upright, heart racing as your eyes darted around. The room was big, far larger than the entirety of your house in the fields. You found yourself lying on a bed, its wooden frame adorned with intricate carvings. The mattress beneath you was so plush it felt like resting atop the clouds unlike the simple quilt you had known, which you’d always spread upon the hard floor.

Your gaze fell upon your clothes (if you can call them that). The thin silk draped over your body offered hardly any modesty, shimmering against your skin but failing to cover your pebbled skin or hide your hardened nipples. You tugged at the fabric in disbelief, trying to make sense of it all.

You scolded yourself under your breath. "Never trust a priest, nor anyone from the temples," you muttered, raking your fingers through your disheveled hair. As your hand brushed your head, something cold caught between your fingers. You froze, pulling the object free—a golden ji. The hairpin gleamed in the dim light, delicate jasmines etched into the surface. Your eyes widened in recognition, dread settling in your stomach like a stone.

“No, no, no...” You shook your head vigorously, dropping the ji onto the bed as if it had burned you. “This cannot be happening. How...?" The words stumbled out, incoherent and panicked. A wave of disbelief washed over you, the meaning of the hairpin too clear to deny. You glanced back at it, heart pounding. It was too much to process.

Then, your ears caught the faintest sound—footsteps. You stiffened, listening as they approached the door, growing louder. The door creaked open, but no one stood in the threshold. Instead, trays of food hovered in the air, as if carried by invisible hands.

“What in Heaven's name…” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, watching in disbelief as the plates floated toward you. Bowls of steaming noodles, fragrant dumplings, and perfectly cooked rice were set before you, the rich aromas instantly filling the room. You couldn't tear your gaze away from the surreal sight, hunger gnawing at your stomach despite the confusion.

Without a second thought, you sank back down onto the plush bed. All manner of decorum abandoned, you grabbed a bowl, the warmth of the food chasing away the cold shock that still lingered in your veins. You didn’t care how disgusting you looked at that moment. You ate with abandon, savoring every bite, each flavor bursting on your tongue in a way you had never experienced before.

If this was a dream, you mused between mouthfuls, you could only hope never to wake.

After downing the cup of rice wine, you noticed the door had been left ajar. Hesitation washed over you as you looked down at the thin silk nightgown draping loosely over your body, barely decent enough for wandering. But curiosity gnawed at you, compelling you to move.

Your bare feet touched the cool marble floors, each step soft and uncertain. You took in the surroundings—this place reminded you of a siheyuan, the type of home where the middle-class and nobles lived back in your village. A compound that held generations within its walls. The air here carried a faint, pleasant fragrance, drawn from the massive jasmine tree that stood proudly in the courtyard, its white blossoms filling the open space with serenity. You inhaled deeply, savoring the quiet and beauty of the scene.

Yet the silence was unnerving. Where was everyone? Who had brought you here? Questions spiraled in your mind, pushing you further into the unknown.

"Oh!" A jolt shot through you as something brushed against your shoulder, causing a nearby vase to tumble and shatter on the floor. Your breath caught—no one was there. But the shards lay scattered, evidence that something, or someone, had been close. Squinting, you made out the faintest silhouette in the sunlight, barely visible. Then, as if carried by a gust of wind, the shards were swept up by an unseen force, the invisible figure moving away with them.

"Sorry?" you muttered, shaking your head. This place was playing tricks on your senses, you were sure of it.

As you wandered deeper into the compound, you stumbled upon a large room, more expansive than the bedroom. It had the look of a study, filled with scrolls and elegant furnishings. And there, for the first time since morning, you saw a human—a man. His long hair fluttered slightly in the gentle breeze as he leaned casually on his hand, playing Go with no visible opponent. The board pieces shifted after his move, and when he won, the other pieces trembled in what seemed to be anger.

"That's rather rude," the man chuckled, clearly speaking to his invisible opponent. He gestured lazily for the game to be put away, and only then did he turn and notice you standing in the doorway.

Recognition struck you like a thunderclap. The handsome face from the temple—the man who spoke of the Master of Fate. Your mouth gaped in surprise as you pointed at him. "Y-You! What are you doing here?"

The man rose to his feet, his height only making him more imposing. His robes, embroidered in intricate blue and gold, shimmered under the soft light. It was immediately clear he was no mere traveler. "You're awake at last," he said gently, a smile tugging at his lips. "How are you feeling?"

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "I'm in shock, and you have the nerve to ask how I feel?" Your tone was sharp, though justified by your bewilderment. "Where am I?"

The man's smile remained, unfazed by your bluntness. He lifted a hand to his lips, pointing. "You have a grain of rice, just there," he said, amusement in his voice as if suppressing laughter.

Your cheeks flared with heat, and you hastily wiped your lips. “Enough of this nonsense,” you demanded, your voice sharp. “Where am I? Who are you?”

The man's eyebrows lifted slightly, as if taken aback that you hadn't yet recognized him. “I am merely a traveler,” he said simply.

“Bullshit!” you snapped, stepping forward as anger surged within you. The closer you got, the more you noticed a faint pink flush on his ears. Was he…blushing? Your frustration mounted. “I need to know where I am, so I can get home.” Probably also to look for that priest so you can slit his throat.

The man hummed, clearly amused by your fury. “You are home,” he replied, his tone as calm as ever. “Everything here is yours.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What on earth do you mean?”

A low chuckle escaped him, as if he found your bewilderment endearing. He bowed his head slightly, the golden-green hue of his eyes fixed on you with a strange intensity. “I am the Master of Fate,” he said, his voice rich with quiet authority. “The god of the mountains, and I am married to you.”

The weight of his words settled in the room, thick and suffocating like a dense fog. You let out a laugh—hollow, bitter—though none of this struck you as amusing. The god’s eyes narrowed slightly, perplexed by your reaction. “You mortals are truly curious creatures,” he murmured, his voice edged with amusement.

“Wait,” you said, raising a hand as you stifled the laughter, trying to regain your composure. “If you’re truly the Master of Fate, shouldn’t you be a dragon?”

His eyebrow arched, his expression shifting. “You doubt me?”

“That, or I choose not to believe,” you retorted, a hint of defiance creeping into your tone. “Prove it. Show me you’re really a ‘god’.”

You knew enough of the stories to realize challenging a god was folly, but your frustration overruled your caution. Instantly, you felt the change. His aura grew colder, the warmth of the room draining away as though the very air recoiled at your insolence. The silk draped on your skin offered no protection from the sudden chill.

The god’s eyes, once warm with flecks of gold, now gleamed with an otherworldly glow. His pupils shifted—elongating, narrowing into slits, reminiscent of a dragon. He took a slow, deliberate step towards you. Though he didn’t lay a finger on you, something invisible lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, your breath catching in your throat.

“You dare question me?” His voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of a storm, the power of the mountains he was said to rule. You felt small, fragile under his scrutiny, the air around you pressing down with unseen force.

His gaze flickered down to your lips then they lowered. In an instant, the intensity in his eyes softened. The golden light dimmed, and his pupils returned to their human-like shape. The invisible force holding your chin vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He stepped back, a hand covering the lower half of his face as if trying to conceal his embarrassment. His ears, you noticed, were faintly tinged with pink.

“My apologies,” he murmured, his voice no longer cold, but gentle. “I did not mean to lose my temper.”

He smoothed down his robes with a swift motion, composed once more, though you could see the faint trace of unease in his demeanor. When he turned to face you again, his usual serene smile had returned, but it carried a hint of warmth now that had been absent before.

“Let us… start over,” he said, his tone lighter, almost as if he were making a peace offering. “I am indeed the Master of Fate. But as your husband, you may call me Zayne.”

It was utterly ridiculous—this stranger, this god, claiming to be your husband. Before you could protest, his hand gently reached for your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against the scar left by the dagger. The sensation made you freeze. "It is healing quickly," he remarked, his tone soft but deliberate. "Still, I advise against overexerting yourself. The wound might reopen, and I would not want to see you hurt."

You fought to keep your expression neutral, suppressing the flutter of warmth his concern stirred in your chest. You had to remind yourself of your situation—he wasn’t tending to you out of love. To him, you were no wife, but a mortal… a pet. Gently but firmly, you took his hand away from your throat, furrowing your brows. "I appreciate your concern, Master," you replied, your voice polite but laced with underlying defiance. "However, I cannot accept being called anyone's wife, especially when no marriage has ever taken place."

Zayne’s brow arched slightly, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Is that so?" he mused, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. "But you are my wife. The ceremony at the shrine, did it not confirm as much?"

THAT WAS A WEDDING CEREMONY?!

"Oh, so you mean to tell me that being a sacrificial lamb is your idea of a ceremony symbolizing devotion and love?" you challenged, your tone sharp.

Zayne’s lips curved into a faint smirk, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Is that what you mortals think marriage is?" he mused, an eyebrow lifting. You crossed your arms, raising your own brow in return. "Is it not?"

He tried to suppress a laugh but failed, a snort escaping before he broke into quiet chuckles. The sound of it made your face flush with embarrassment, though you tried not to show it. "Is it not?" you repeated, more insistent this time, though now you felt a bit foolish for asking.

His laughter faded into a knowing smile, and he shook his head. "Marriage to a god is far beyond mortal customs of devotion."

You wanted to ask more—how all of this came to be, why he had chosen you as his “wife”—but your words faltered as a cold breeze swept through the open windows. A shiver ran down your spine, reminding you of the thin silk nightgown clinging to your skin, offering little warmth against the chill. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing at your arms for some heat. Zayne’s eyes flicked to the way your skin prickled from the cold and how your nipples were now prominent.

You heard his breath hitch but before you could snap at him, he moved closer, and though his presence was commanding, his touch was careful as he lifted the silk draped over your shoulder, pulling it back into place with a certain grace. The warmth of his fingertips lingered on your skin longer than they should have, and despite yourself, a strange heat rose in your chest, contrasting sharply with the cold.

"Would you care for a change of clothes?" Zayne asked, though his gaze betrayed him, lingering far too long on the exposed skin of your chest. His eyes trailed down in a way that made your skin crawl with awareness.

You scowled, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest as heat rose to your cheeks—not from embarrassment, but irritation. “Please," you replied, your tone sharp, cutting through the air like the wind. If he weren't a god, you might have slapped him for such boldness.

Zayne, noticing your displeasure, raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitching upward as if amused by your indignation. "As you wish," he said, his voice smooth, though his gaze held a hint of mischief that made you even more wary.

Now that you've changed into a hanfu of rich crimson and deep azure, the intricate patterns reminiscent of Zayne’s own robes, adorned with motifs of delicate jasmines, fierce dragons, and majestic mountains. As you strolled back to the courtyard, you found yourself captivated by the vibrant plants and blossoms that surrounded you, their colors a feast for the eyes.

As you meandered along the riverbank, the gentle sound of water cascading from a nearby waterfall reached your ears, blending harmoniously with the soft rustle of leaves. You paused, captivated by the fish darting playfully beneath the surface, their scales glinting like jewels in the sun.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you caught sight of an extraordinary deer. It stood as grand as an oak tree, its coat a pristine white, glowing like freshly fallen snow. Its antlers, gilded in gold, sparkled brilliantly in the morning light. With each careful step it took, the earth beneath its hooves came alive, sending forth new blades of grass, as if nature itself rejoiced at its presence.

“The Si Ji,” Zayne said, his voice low and respectful as he approached your side. He inclined his head toward the magnificent creature, admiration evident in his gaze.

The Si Ji lowered its majestic head to drink from the river, its silken coat shimmering like polished ivory in the dappled sunlight. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, captivated by the sight.

Zayne hummed thoughtfully beside you, nodding in agreement. “If I were to be frank,” he began, his tone contemplative, “everything in this world possesses its own beauty. It is a lamentable truth that mortals often overlook.”

You found yourself agreeing, struck by the realization. Mortals tended to take the wonders of life for granted, blinded by the weight of their daily struggles. It stirred an uncertainty within you; what was life, really? What could unfold in the next hour, or even the next breath? You wondered if the gods, beings of such grace and power, held any clarity about the uncertainties that plagued humanity. Glancing up at Zayne, you hesitated to voice your thoughts when the hint of sorrow in his eyes caught your attention. What was the source of that? Who had caused it?

Zayne caught your gaze, his brows arching slightly in curiosity. “Yes?” he asked, a gentle challenge lingering in his tone.

“Nothing,” you replied, shaking your head as you turned your focus back to the Si Ji, willing yourself to concentrate on its elegance. “So, the Si Ji,” you continued, “the one said to govern the seasons.”

“Indeed,” Zayne smiled, his demeanor brightening. “In but a few weeks’ time, it shall traverse the land, cloaking the world in a blanket of snow.”

Your thoughts drifted to your village, to the familiar faces and daily routines. You shouldn’t care; after all, they lived as they always did. You were the one who had experienced a life turned upside down overnight. Just yesterday, you were a commoner ensnared in the machinations of the temple priests. Now, you were married to a god.

"Come," Zayne called, his voice soft but commanding as he turned and began walking toward the entrance of the compound. His steps were light, purposeful, the silken folds of his robes barely stirring. You prepared to follow, but a faint splash from the river behind you made you pause.

Your head whipped around sharply, eyes scanning the water. At first, there was nothing. Then, a figure emerged seemingly out of nowhere, his presence so sudden it stole your breath. His eyes, strange and multicolored, gleamed as they locked onto yours.

“Greetings,” the new voice said smoothly, as if the river itself had spoken. You gasped, taking in the sight of him. His bare torso, covered in intricate blue markings that coiled across his skin, looked as though the heavens themselves had inked them there. His smile, though charming, sent a shiver down your spine. Most unusual was his hair, a deep shade of purple, falling in soft waves that shimmered in the light.

“My, such a fine jade,” he murmured, stepping closer and lifting your chin with a light but possessive touch. The warmth of his fingers was unsettling, his gaze lingering on your face.

You bit back your discomfort, gritting your teeth, refusing to be yet another plaything to this stranger. “Unhand me,” you said, your tone sharp like a blade. You stepped back, eyes narrowing.

“Rafayel!”

Chapter 3

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cozzzynook · 2 months ago

Note

rodimus heats up with his outlier ability and gives drift and ratchet nice hot massages. they melt (not literally!)

- Rodimus gives Ratchet massages the most because he doesn’t want the medic in any more pain than he’s already forced to suffer. He’ll wake up a bit earlier than Ratchet, slather some oil on his servos and get to work by straddling him with heated thighs and modesty plating. Massaging the kinks and hard spots from his frame on his thighs with his own and his neck cables, shoulders, joints he can reach and his helm even with his palms. Ratchets taken to waking up in a lot less pain now that Rodimus has joined and he doesn’t even know it’s because of Rodimus.

Roddy usually does this when Ratchet is asleep or napping since he doesn’t want to make it awkward or deal with the emotional aspect of it since he’s very bad at it. He’ll literally shut down or run off and he doesn’t want to ruin it so he says nothing. He really does enjoy the time he spends doing this in berth and in Ratchets office. Especially after Ratchet does a surgery and rests in a light doze. He’s gotten very good at massaging his servos and lower back and waist to ease the pain and Roddy loves seeing Ratchet have more energy because of it.

- Now with Drift it’s a bit different. Rodimus will give Drift massages while in the wash racks or after he’s done with sword practice. He typically doesn’t have frame pains as often as Ratchet but he will have sore muscles from strain which is normal. Drift often does physical activity so him being sore often isn’t a surprise. It’s Rodimus’s massages that help him get the rest he needs outside of Ratchet making him sit still and his daily meditations. Rodimus does massage Drift while the mech is in a very deep recharge.

Drift is the easiest to wake up out of the three of them with Ratchet coming in close second because of his history with being an on call cmo and the hard ingrained military training. Drift has a more ingrained sense of waking at noises and touch because he was a decepticon and mech for hire for so many years along with his life living in the Dead end. So Rodimus has gotten crafty upping the heat on bis servos and frame getting Drift comfortable before beginning his gentle touches on Drifts sensitive areas around his spark and tanks. Thanks to his secret massages of the areas Drift doesn’t have many reminders of the drugs in his systems leaving long term damage that repairs couldn’t fix. It was a way Rodimus felt like he was doing something both good and enjoying the closeness to the swords mech much like he did with Ratchet.

- Rodimus was able to get away with doing his secret massages for years on the two. The only reason he was caught was due to having a really bad spark flutter on the bridge. He was taking his medication like always, he’d already checked his spark fibrillar and the many devices attached before injecting himself with his weekly dose. Rodimus waited the usual time before heading to his shift. He doing fine until he drank his cube of energon. It was supposed to be his regular though he did notice the funny after taste that wasn’t usually there.

“Hey, this is my usual blend right?”

He’d asked the mech in charge of making the morning energon cubes and they nodded before going back to handing out cubes. Rodimus had a feeling something wasn’t right so he set the cube down and rubbed at his chassis noticing it felt hot and a little tight.

“Oh slag, sorry Captain. I think I put my oxide and feldspar in your cube instead of mine,” it was an honest mistake really—he hopes it was— and he let the information sink in a nano klik longer before abruptly standing and comming First aid telling him what happened as he began his rush towards the medbay.

He didn’t even make it halfway down the hall before collapsing in pain.

His spark was flickering, his vision was blurry, his frame was seizing with rough pulses that made him shake violently and he felt his glossa get bitten. Shouts echoed the hall as well as the blinding lights being dimmed by figures hovering over him.

He felt someone’s servos keeping him still as another turned his helm slowly and kept his denta from worsening the bite on his glossa. Servos held his thighs, arms and neck cables in place to keep him from suffering more damage.

The world was a blur of pain as he shook on the ground that felt hotter than it should. His chassis felt like it was on fire as it fizzled and fluttered. If he could see, he’d know smoke was coming from his seams and right above where his spark lay as his frame and medication reacted drastically to the additives put into his fuel. The very additives his frame had a hard time processing. His spark fibrillation and many other devices always shorted out when introduced to the substance as well, so he was always given the generic lab grown version.

He wasn’t aware he managed to groan and give small bursts of noises between a grunting scream and a fading shriek as his chassis was opened and First Aid began working on him right there in the hall that was emptied for sanitation purposes and privacy.

It wasn’t long after that Ratchet came rushing to begin working on Rodimus with First aid when the news spread like wildfire among the ship. Drift wasn’t far behind the cmo who was focused on draining the substance from Rodimus’s lines and removing the broken spark fibrillation devices.

They hooked Rodimus up to a spark machine he used to wear as a sparkling. It worked just as good as the newer models but it meant Rodimus was going to be stuck in berth after being cleared from the medbay.

Everything was a haze when he woke up on the med slab with Drift holding his servo recharging with Ratchet beside him holding his medical chart.

He couldn’t help a loopy smile before conking back out.

The next time he woke up fully he was in their hab, lifting himself still in a slight daze when Ratchet and Drift carefully hurried him to lay back down on the array of pillows.

“Roddy, you’re okay,” Drift was emotional as usual, it made Rodimus smile as he weakly hugged the other back and allowed Drift to cuddle him while Ratchet began taking his vitals again and asking about his pain levels and having him do a speech test.

“Yer alright kid. You did good calling First Aid so quickly,” there was a tired but loving smile on Ratchets face plates that made Rodimus raise a shaky servo that Ratchet held. He tugged the medic and nuzzled Ratchet when he laid beside the two speedsters.

“Stay with me?”

It was a selfish request on his part but one the two already planned to grant.

It didn’t take long for the two to figure out Rodimus was massaging them in their sleep. In fact by the next morning when the two woke before Rodimus who was still in deep recharge from the medicine and exhaustion, they immediately felt cold and pain in their frame and joints.

Ratchet gave them both a scan wondering if they stressed themselves beyond normal means worrying over their partner or if they did some kind of damage without knowing. He didn’t think their age had anything to do with it, his hunch had never failed him and it still didn’t. He was proven correct when their diagnosis came back normal as always. He compared the pains they felt now to the pains they once felt years ago before their relationship with Rodimus really started getting somewhere when they both had a moment of clarity.

“Has Roddy been..using his outlier on us all this time?”

“By Primus he has,” Ratchet was looking at the frame temperatures and comparing them to now and saw the difference.

“Kids been helping us with frame pain for years and we never knew.”

“Roddy,” Drift looked at their partner with filling emotions that wanted to spill from his optics. He settled on laying back down and curling up to Rodimus feeling the warmth radiate from his frame and Drift pulled Ratchet down to enjoy this moment with him.

Rodimus woke to both Ratchet and Drift cuddling him with the blankets pulled up and a lazy haze of adoration, appreciation and affection that made his spark soften. Their em fields were soaking the atmosphere with abandon and it made Rodimus smile.

He laid there enjoying all their em field had to offer before closing his optics and letting it lull him back to recharge.

#transformers #rodimus prime #rodimus #ratchet #drift #dratchrod #drift x ratchet x rodimus #ratchet x rodimus x drift #rodimus x drift x ratchet #dratchet #drift idw #ratchet idw #rodimus prime idw #rodimus x drift #rodimus x ratchet #drift x ratchet #drift x rodimus x ratchet

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years ago

Text

Unsolicited 20

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

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

Masterlist

Your cheeks are flushed with heat as the server returns with your entrees. Lloyd shamelessly keeps his hand nestled between your tingling thighs, clamped in an attempt at modesty. He sits forward to eat with his free hand as you can barely keep your head from wobbling. You feel as if everyone in the place has witnessed your undoing.

“Mmm, better get it while it’s hot,” he scoops up a mouthful of season potatoes, “I’m not spending money for nothing, babe.”

He pinches you before finally removing his hand. He takes his knife, not bothering to wipe the glisten from his fingers, as he cuts into his filet. You slowly sit up as your eyes flick over to Colin as he reads over the bill.

He avoids meeting your gaze but you’re happy for it, humiliated and hot. You pick at the lobster tail with your fork and peer down at your plate. This night couldn’t be over soon enough.

“Aw, don’t pout, baby, I’m just getting started,” he bites into a chunk of juicy beef, chewing noisily.

“Hey!” There’s a shout and the clatter of a tray as empty dishes crash onto the floor. You look up as a man shoves a waiter out of his way, skidding on his soles as he stops beside Colin’s table, “what the fuck is going on here?”

Your mouth falls open as Lloyd reaches for his whiskey and finishes it with a pop of his lips, “looks like he got my message.”

“What?” You look at him as he watches with delight.

“Tell me you haven’t dreamed of this. Look at the coward, he’s about to piss his pants.”

“Wh–why?”

“Oh come on, you should be thanking me,” he leans back and drapes his arm over your shoulders, “in fact, you’re gonna thank me. On the way back. When we get there. And so on. The night is young, sweet cheeks.”

You look back to the scene across the restaurant, reminded of the night you came and Colin left you alone and nearly sobbing. The words he said to you then and after. The accusations that proved to be little more than projection.

For once, you agree with this douchebag at your elbow. He deserves this.

“That’s my fucking wife!” The much bigger man drags Colin out of his seat. Your husband couldn’t be called small but he was shorter and more slender than the bull shaking him by his collar, “my slut of a wife!”

Those words sting and you tilt your head. You know what it’s like to be on the receiving end yet you can’t feel sorry for the blond grabbing onto the angry man’s arm. She did this. They both did. They ruined two marriages for what?

“Do you ever come here without making a scene?” You lift your cocktail and drain it until there’s only a few chips of melted ice.

“I don’t do quiet,” he shrugs and goes back to his meal, “and I like a show with my dinner.”

You sniff as a gaggle of waiters try to calm the raging man throttling your husband. The mention of police moves the rabble towards the door but not without chaos. Table wobble with the impact of the intertwined man as heels click in their stead, following the fight outside.

“I need another drink,” you put your glass down, “preferably a double.”

Lloyd raises his hand and whistles, “garcon.”

You cringe and sink down lower. His quick response would be flattering if it wasn’t completely patronizing.

💎

Your stomach is unsettled, the pasta sitting like a lump as your anxiety flickers in your chest. You sit back in the low car seat and frame your forehead with your hand. A nice relaxing shower somehow ended in you being wound tighter than before.

"Baby, better keep me awake, you don't want me falling asleep at the wheel, do ya?" Lloyd says as he steers out into the street, giving his stomach a slap, "god, that was good, wasn't it?"

His hand slips down and he flicks his belt. You straighten in your seat as his eyes flash at you in the rearview. You repress your agitation and reach between the seats, bending over the stick as you pull back the tail of his belt.

It's just one thing after the other, you gripe inwardly, this man will never let you relax. Never let you catch your breath.

You unhook his belt and open his fly. You want to get home and go to bed. He's just a man, you get him off and he'll be ready for the same. He's hard as you reach beneath the fabric, unsurprised by his lack of briefs.

You take him out and stroke him mechanically. Men are easy when they have their pants down. Your husband proved that. With his own boss. His ex that he never shut up about. You should've known. You were never good enough and now look at you.

You push your mouth around him, grazing him with your teeth.

"Eh, put some love into it," he flinches and rests his hand on your head, "fuck."

You loosen your throat and grimace around him. You bob up and down, the noise making you sick, stirring the storm already whirling in your stomach. He clutches your air as you ignore the ache in your jaw.

Your eyes water at the sudden awareness of yourself, of what you're doing, of how you won't stop. You have nothing and this man made sure of that. Tonight wasn't a favour, it was just another reminder of his power over you.

You drag your tongue up and down, flicking around his tip. You wiggle your nose and force back the haze of tears. No, he won't see you like that. He's seen enough. You're just buzzed, maybe a bit depressed.

You bring your hand up and work him diligently. He groans and swerves as he squeezes his fistful of hand.

"Jeez, baby, you're gonna get us in trouble," he chortles and shoves you down, "ah, you little slut, you already got me ready to blow."

He takes over, guiding your pace as his fingers stretch over your skull. He drags you along his length and groans.

"Yeah, you gobble that dick," he slithers, "I'm gonna cum and you're gonna drink it up, yeah…."

He pushes you to his limit and his hips buck. He snarls and slams on the break, spilling down your throat as he sputters. He grips the wheel tight and holds you in place and drowns you until you're gagging.

He lets you go and you sit up, coughing as you spit up his cum. You fall against the leather as your body vibrates and you cover your face in shame.

"Please," you rasp, "I want to go home."

"Home," he shifts back into gear with a scoff, "what home?"

#lloyd hansen x reader #dark lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #unsolicited #the grey man #the gray man #series #dark drabble #drabble #dark!drabble

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noxturnalnymph · 7 months ago

Text

Happy Ending [II]

Masterlist (with all warnings)

A/N: tía - aunt, tío - uncle, primo - cousin, dios mío - my god, chulo - pimp, bonito - pretty (masculine), mala - bad, cariño - darling, guapo - handsome, mi amor - my love

🩷 🌅 🌴

The next morning he lets himself sleep late - nearly 10am - but gives himself plenty of time to shower and wrangle his hair so he’s presentable for the 2pm beachfront service. He uses the outdoor rainfall shower, enjoying the sounds of the waves and the breeze blowing through the palm fronds. He heads into the closet, drops the towel on the bathroom floor and throws on a pair of boxer-briefs. He goes to grab the suit he hastily hung up while unpacking yesterday and a panic grips him when he realizes it’s not there.

He turns around three full times, checking and rechecking the empty closet, and begins to immediately sweat, wondering where the fuck it could have gone to when he hears a knock at the main door. He’s wondering what to do and who to call and when he pulls the door open he’s hit with a wave of relief as he sees Kiki standing there holding his suit out in front of her.

“Oh thank god, I was just looking for-,” he pauses and points at his suit. “Wait, how did you get my suit?”

“When I came to the room for turn-down service last night I noticed this suit hanging in your closet. It was covered in wrinkles and it smelled like…” she’s tactful enough not to finish her sentence. “So I just assumed you wanted it cleaned and pressed.”

Frankie suddenly realizes he’s standing there in only his underwear so he grabs the hanger from her hands and holds it against him, offering himself a small amount of modesty.

“Thank you, Kiki,” he mumbles, shutting the door quickly.

The service is beautiful but hot, sitting on the beach in the glaring afternoon sun. He didn’t think to bring any sunglasses, the hat that rarely leaves his head usually providing enough shade. It’s all he can do to focus on the bride and groom and shit, he thinks he’s gonna get a headache from squinting so much. He’s sitting next to his mother and notices she’s sniffling the whole time, getting misty-eyed at the sight of Elio marrying his love. She’s probably thinking about how she’ll never get to see her own son’s wedding since Frankie has spent the last decade finding new and exciting ways to blow up his whole life.

As the ceremony comes to a close he tells his mamá he’ll see her at dinner, and manages to duck away and get off the beach before the couple comes down the aisle and the crowd closes in. He feels a little bad sneaking away and being antisocial but he can’t handle the onslaught of well-wishers descending on the couple. He never does well in crowds like that anymore.

He takes a walk down the beach during cocktail hour, setting an alarm on his watch with plans to head back to the reception building just as dinner starts. He’s taken off his dress shoes and socks, letting his feet sink into the wet sand where the waves just lick at them, cooling him off. He’s also enjoying the warm, salty breeze as it soothes the beads of sweat collected on his forehead. He hears a melodic sound travel across the sand. Holy shit, that sounds like your laugh.

He looks around, seeing some couples obviously dressed up enough to be from a wedding, maybe the one he was at, maybe the one he saw set up further down the beach near his villa. He looks at their faces as they pass by him. None of them are you. He puts his hand to his forehead, shading his eyes to look behind him, towards the building where the reception will be.

There’s a large wooden patio off the back of the white stucco building, sliding glass doors separating the outside from the inside. Bistro lights zig back and forth above the crowd of people already gathered there, drinks and small plates in hands, and floral arrangements cover every square inch of the railing, spilling over the sides and draping themselves towards the sand. He scans the faces in the crowd but between the distance and the brightness, it’s hard to see.

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t see you among the crowd. But he wouldn’t, would he… because this is just his mind fucking with him. You’re not here, why would you be here, on Paradise Cay?

But shit, did that sound like your laugh.

---

The fit of giggles you would become lost in when a movie night went too late. You called them your 2am crazies and you’d laugh yourself hoarse, then beg him to let you stay the night. Even though he barely got any sleep those nights, too warm with you cuddled up against him in his small bed, he never denied you.

The screaming laughter you’d let out when he would start to rock the car of the ferris wheel at the top of the rotation. You’d tell him you were going to be brave when you got on the ride, sitting a fair distance from him, yet still gripping the safety bar as tight as possible. A couple rocks was all it would take for you to give up the pretense of courage and throw your arms around his middle, just like he wanted.

Your nervous laughter as you told him about the job offer you got. You told him how some of the girls at the call center were leaving for new jobs and then, days later, you finally told him what the job was.

“They’re gonna be making movies,” you admit.

“What kind of movies?” he asks, innocently, until you pin him with a look like he should already know what kind of movies your sex phone-line coworkers would be doing. “Like porn?”

“Yeah, kinda,” you tell him.

You told him there was a new website that was paying girls $20 for pictures or $500 for videos, and for a cut there was a guy who would photograph or record you and then upload them to the site. Frankie wants to ask how you could even think about making porn. He wants to ask if you know what they do to the girls in porn videos. He’s seen enough of them to know that you deserve to be treated better than they get treated. He wants to give you all the money in his bank account so you don’t have to do this to yourself, subject your body to this.

You’re sitting across from him awaiting his response. You see the look he doesn’t even realize he’s wearing on his face and he watches your expression fall.

“You don't like it,” you mumble, looking absolutely dejected.

“No! I just-,” he’s fucking terrified for you. How are you not terrified? “I’m just… worried. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not gonna get hurt, Pancho,” you grab his hand. Are you reassuring him right now?

You tell him that you don’t plan on making a video with another person just yet, that the $500 is for a solo video, just you and the cameraman, recording you touching yourself. You laugh again, nervous. It’s gonna be okay you keep telling him, maybe telling yourself too.

“A website?” he repeats.

“Yup,” you say, popping the p. “The world wide web.”

“I thought the web was just for downloading music and getting research materials from the library,” he half-jokes.

“It’s still gonna be all that... there’s just also gonna be naked pictures of me on it,” you laugh. Nervously.

Two weeks later on a Friday afternoon he picks you up and drives you to a small building in a not-great neighborhood on the north side of the city for your filming time. Your nervous laughter is back. You’re unusually quiet, and keep joking that you should have smoked or something to calm your nerves. He wondered before how you weren’t terrified and now he sees that you are, you’re just trying your best to appear brave. You can’t come in, you'd already told him. The photographer had explicitly explained to you that you could bring girlfriends but absolutely no boyfriends.

“But, I’m not your boyfriend,” Frankie says as he holds your hand in the front seat, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The truck idles in the parking lot as rain drizzles down on the windshield.

“I’m not sure they’re gonna make the distinction when you roll up there with those big, broad shoulders and these angry brown eyes.”

“My eyes are not angry,” he says in defense.

“Then what is this?” you tease as you poke at the wrinkle set between his furrowed brow.

He waits in the parking lot for an agonizing fifty four minutes, watching the rain clouds clear and the sun come out, before you come out of the building, eyes a little glassy and trembling slightly. He jumps out of the car and helps you into the passenger seat, driving you both to a taco bell and buying you meximelts until the color returns to your face. How was it? How do you feel? Are you okay? You tell him it was awkward but everything was fine, and show him the $500 cash you made.

It takes you almost a week to admit that the cameraman gave you a pill he said would calm your nerves and it made you feel funny the rest of the day. He almost jumps out of his skin but you assure him that nothing happened and that you can take care of yourself. You also promise him you don’t plan on taking any more pills from strangers.

You get asked to do another video. You’d make $850 this time, recording a video with a guy named Rock Hardson. Frankie groans but tries not to let his jealousy come out. He’s not your boyfriend. You don’t belong to him. You weren’t a virgin when you met him and you have every right to use your body to make yourself some much-needed money.

It goes like that for a few more months, him driving you to the little building with the dirty parking lot every 3-4 weeks, waiting outside while you go in and make your money, then taking you to eat afterwards. Always asking if you’re okay, if you feel alright, if they treated you well.

Spring break comes around in early April and you have enough money to go on a trip with a couple of your high school girlfriends and their boyfriends to Miami. You shyly ask if Frankie will come with you even though he’s not your boyfriend so you don’t have to feel like a fifth wheel. He almost bites his tongue off with how quickly he says yes.

He holds your hand the whole flight, talking you out of a panic attack during takeoff, just now realizing how terrified you are of flying. He’s never seen you this scared of anything. He wants to tease you but instead he distracts you by handing you his discman and letting you listen to your Celine Dion album for the short flight, hearing you humming the ubiquitous Titanic theme song.

The week goes by too quickly, filled with salty, sunscreen-slathered afternoons on the beach and cigarette-infused, drunken nights in the club. Your last night there you finally convince him to dance with you, both of you too wasted to keep rhythm, clumsily bumping your bodies against each other for several songs. He feels your smooth skin under his hands, your fingers twisting in his hair. How badly he wanted to kiss you, his inebriated state almost granting him the courage.

You both fall into the bed you’d been sharing all week but tonight your friend in the bed next to you is drunk enough that she’s agreed to let her boyfriend have sex with her even with everyone else in the room. You and Frankie giggle to each other and you hear laughter coming from the fold-out couch on your other side, where your other friend lies with her boyfriend.

Then, you both hear those laughs turn to breathy moans as well. You lie face up next to each other in the bed, smack in the middle of the two fornicating couples, the tension and awkwardness growing. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been making his dick so hard it hurt. He was so scared you were going to see the tented sheets over his erection and be appalled by his behavior. He’s supposed to just be your friend. A friend doesn’t get a hard-on laying in bed next to his friend.

You grab his hand and he almost jumps out of the bed. His head is spinning, both because of the alcohol and the situation unfolding. He thinks you’re looking at him, he thinks he can see it out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t look at you. He’s afraid of what he might see on your face, just as afraid he might see your friend on the bed next to you getting railed by her boyfriend. The room is filled with the sounds of sex; low grunts and the slap of skin on skin.

“I bet you’re used to this,” he whispers, trying to ease the tension with a joke.

You let go of his hand.

His stomach sinks. Maybe he shouldn’t have-

“I’m too fucked up for this shit,” you mutter, rolling over and going to sleep.

When you get back from Miami you tell him that you’re going to quit, your school bill is paid off and you don’t want to make any more videos, and he won’t have to drive you anymore. For a few days he’s worried that he fucked up so badly on vacation that your friendship has changed, but when you call him for laundry day on Sunday everything seems fine, your friendship seems like how it used to be.

---

His watch beeps, letting him know he’s been reminiscing for over an hour and it’s time for him to get back for dinner. He puts his shoes back on and makes it to his table just as a glass is being clinked for the champagne toast. He looks at the table setting in front of him and sees a small bottle of sparkling water next to an empty champagne flute. His mother must have made sure that was done for him. She’s so thoughtful. He’s lucky to have her, even after all the ways he’s disappointed her, still by his side rooting for his sobriety.

Although if he’s being honest, he could really use some champagne right about now. All this sappy love bullshit is making it feel like a fist is clenching around his heart. He’s happy for Elio, of course, but goddamnit is he fuckin’ lonely. He’s not sure if the near-constant thoughts of you are a cause of or a product of his loneliness. It doesn’t really matter either way, the end result is the same. He’s here and you’re not.

After a delicious meal, he’d gotten the crab-stuffed-fish, his mother leaves the table to dance with two of his aunts, encouraging him to find someone to dance with as she goes, pointing around the room. He doesn't even look up as he says “I can’t dance, mamá .”

He’s immediately wrapped up in thoughts of you again.

---

You came to his graduation, standing next to him while his family snapped photos of the two of you, even stealing his mortarboard and putting it on your own head for a few pictures towards the end. He’d gotten his post-graduation assignment, he was going to a base in Germany, but first he’d be headed to Texas for six months of training. He was scheduled to leave in July, just after the holiday.

You spent the nine weeks of summer you had together alternating visiting the other. You’d borrow your mom’s minivan for the weekend and cross the state line to come to him. You’d spend your days together going to the mall, grabbing sbarro for lunch in the food court, and sneaking into the cine-plex. His friends from high school would let you in through a side door and you'd go between theaters, watching movies all afternoon, then help his mamá make dinner at night. He'd give you his bed and go sleep on the futon in his abuela’s room.

Alternately, he’d drive his worn-out Ranger to you, and you’d take him with you to watch your little brother’s baseball games, grabbing pretzels and a frozen yogurt at your mall afterwards. Your mother felt guilty making him sleep on the couch in her cramped apartment's small living room, so you easily convinced her to let him sleep on your bedroom floor.

You’d toss a pillow at him and he’d get comfortable under a blanket as your mom poked her head in to say goodnight. As soon as the lights were off and everyone was in bed you’d whisper for him to get up here, and he’d join you on your full-size mattress, holding you close. His mamá called you his girlfriend when she talked about you, but you’d still never even so much as kissed each other. You called him your best friend and that was enough for him. Getting to hold you and have you confide in him and be the person to make you smile was more than enough.

You spent your birthday in mid-June together, camping in the bed of his truck under the stars. You’d spent all day at the amusement park nearby, some of your friends joining you for the day. He’d held your hand on the roller coasters and let you feed him spoonfuls of dippin dots ice cream. He pressed his face against the top of your head as you both headed to the campsite in the evening, drained from a long day of walking, screaming, and being in the sun.

He lit a fire in the campsite’s ring and covered you in blankets where you perched on his tailgate, drinking cheap beer and ringing in your 20th year, roasting hot dogs and watching as the flames got lower and lower, until the fire was nothing more than glowing embers. You laid down under shared blankets to sleep, limbs tangled together for warmth, and scratched your fingers through his hair while you fell asleep. He knew then he was probably in love with you. But he wasn’t going to ruin your friendship by ever telling you that.

And then the day came that he was scheduled to get on a bus to leave for Texas. He kissed and hugged his mamá, shook hands with his pop, and then turned to you. You’d driven all night to be there for his 5am bus out of town, and your face was already streaked with tears. He pulled you close and you held him so tight, he doesn't know where he found the strength to let you go. Neither of you could bring yourselves to say the word goodbye and before his stinging eyes could spill tears over his waterline he pulled away. He felt you shove something in his pocket, sniffling as you wiped your face with your shirtsleeves.

He waited untill he got on the bus to slip what you’d snuck in there out of his pocket. He thought it was going to be a note but it was a CD. For my Pancho, you’d written on the disc in Sharpie. He knew he must look so dumb with the goofy grin he had plastered on his face. You’d made him a mix tape. He was so excited to listen to it that he fished his discman out of his bookbag and pressed the CD in. It spun up, read 00:00, and spun down. It wouldn’t play the music. He’d have to wait till he arrived on base and could put it into a better stereo.

Between the long drive, the haircuts, the room assignments, the introductions, one awkward phone call with you, and getting a ton of homework from his classes right away, he doesn’t get a chance to even think about the CD again until a week later. It doesn’t work again in his neighbor’s stereo, but he thinks maybe you put the music in a different format so you could fit more songs on the disc. He heads across the base to the technology lab on his next day off and his hunch is confirmed when the computer opens up the disc’s contents in a folder, revealing a video file. He double clicks the file and watches the monitor as it opens up in Windows Media Player.

A low resolution image comes across his screen and because he’s never seen it before, it takes him a moment to comprehend what he’s looking at. It’s you. You’re standing in front of the camera, a warm afternoon light spilling in from the window you must be facing, highlighting your face, shining on your dewy lips, your chin, your neck, your tits. Holy fuck you’re topless. He clicks pause and looks around, making sure no one else can see his screen, then presses play again. As the video continues the camera keeps panning out, and reveals you to be totally naked.

Holy shit this must be one of your videos. You’d talked about them before of course, the two of you talked about everything. You’d told him things you liked, things you didn’t, even awkward things that would happen during filming. You’d never tried to show him one of your videos and he would never be bold enough to ask. He knew you’d shown a couple friends, overhearing you discussing it one time, but he didn’t want you to feel objectified, so he said nothing.

A group comes into the computer lab and sits down nearby, checking their email. He can't keep watching this in here. There’s a crowd and he’s already half-hard in his pants. As an officer he’s lucky enough to have his own small apartment on base, and he waits three more weeks, the CD burning a proverbial hole in his desk drawer, until he finally saves up enough money to go get his own computer from Circuit City. It takes all goddamn afternoon to set up the computer and install Windows and finally, just after sunset, the computer boots up and is ready to use.

He slides the disc into his computer’s drive and watches for the first time, headphones on his ears to get the full experience. After the camera pans out to reveal your naked body you take a seat on the edge of the bed - he notices it’s your bed in your home bedroom - and the camera slowly pans back in as you lie down and slowly spread your legs. It remains a tight, but full-body still-shot for the rest of the video, recording you touching yourself to the tune of no less than three orgasms. Frankie can’t help himself and begins to touch himself too on your final peak.

Your breathy, panting moans, the way you pinch your nipples, the wet noises of your cunt, your fingers circling your clit, your cries as you fall over the crest each time; it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He wants to immediately call you and talk about it but with his training schedule keeping him busy and your junior year keeping you busy, you’ve barely talked in the month he’s been gone. How can he call you now and talk about how he’s seen you naked and watched you getting yourself off? What is he supposed to say? Thank you? You guys used to talk to each other about everything, but does he tell you that he jerked off to you? Is that why you gave him this video? He doesn’t know how to proceed. Why would you give him this as he was leaving?

The two of you write some letters back and forth and you eventually connect for a phone call at Christmas break, right before he heads to his post, but you miss his long-distance call from the base in Germany on New Year’s Eve. The calls get fewer and further between but his views on that CD never falter. It’s been so long since he’s spoken to you, almost two decades now, but he watches your video all the time, counting the CD among his prized possessions.

He’s not even ashamed to admit that he takes his cock in his hand nearly every time he watches and can time it so perfectly by now that he’s spilling his come over his hand just as you hit your third orgasm. Shit, he’s pretty sure the disc is in his laptop’s CD-drive right now. He brought his laptop, right? He feels himself start to harden in his pants. Maybe he can ditch out on this reception early and go back to his room to watch it. Even without any champagne, that would make it a good night.

He feels a gentle tap on his shoulder.

#francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #happy ending #noxturnalnymph #noxturnalpascal #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #Frankie Friday #writing challenge 2.0 #iamasaddie prompt

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inlovewithregencyera · 9 months ago

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Elmsworth House, July 4th, 1818

John: And that damn scandalous politician, Theophile Baxter! I will not be voting for that bloody liberal!

Elizabeth: Please dear, reduce your swearing.

Peregrine: I wouldn't say Baxter is completely liberal, John. Some of his policies are more conservative than liberal. I don't like him much either though so he doesn't have my vote!

Helena: *sighing* Must you always bring up politics during dinner, Perry?

Peregrine: No dear but-

Helena: I dare say, may we change the topic?

Ashley: I think Miles Bragg is a very good polit-

Helena and Peregrine: Oh shut it, Ashley!

Emma: What do you think of this muslin, Laurence? Does it make me look like a proper young lady?

Laurence: If you ask me about another damn "mouslin" or whatever the devil it's called I believe I'll go mad!

Emma: It's called muslin!

*Laurence sighs*

William: Mar-Dear Ms. Ramsbury. Are you enjoying your dinner?

Martha: Yes-yes. Quite well.

William: Capital!

Aurelia: I think your muslin is lovely Ms. Carew. Please disregard your dear brother.

Emma: Oh thank you, Lady Aurelia!

Patience: Oh yes, it's very lovely. I'm not sure why Mr. Carew hates muslin so!

Laurence: My apologies my dearest Lady...oh and Mrs. Ramsbury.

Aurelia: *whispering* Why are you looking at me like that? Are you cross?

Frederick: *whispering* Am I cross, "My dearest Lady.."? Perhaps I "je n'aurais pas à résister à l'envie d'embrasser tes lèvres pulpeuses et d'embrasser ta silhouette parfaite..." or whatever the hell he said.

Aurelia: Oh heavens, it worked.

Frederick: Whatever do you mean it worked?!

Aurelia: You paid no compliments to my hair. I thought you didn't notice it. I did it this way for you and you paid me no compliments!

Frederick: I noticed you and your pretty blue silks the moment you stepped into the drawing room. Had I not been engaged in conversation with your uncle, I would've gone and talked to you.

Aurelia: I'm sure of it. I still haven't received a compliment on my hair from you, perhaps I shall invite Mr. Carew to my birthday in four da-

Frederick: Dearest, sweetest, loveliest Lily. I love your gorgeous hair and how those little ringlets adorn your beautiful face. I love that style and if it makes you happy, I would wish you wear it more often. Not saying I don't like any other style you wear, but that one is my favorite so far. Is this good enough for you? Please know that I sincerely mean it.

Aurelia: *blushing* More than good enough.

Frederick: Now will you stop giving that scoundrel any ounces of your attention and affection?

Aurelia: I shall try.

Aurelia: *giggling* I shall be cordial with him. It is the polite thing to do. You're also a fool if you ever think Cornelius Grey would allow one of his daughters to marry a second son! Let alone an atheist. I'm sure he will invite you to stay with us in Brindleton at Paelford.

Frederick: *laughing* I hope he does. But you tease me too much. You enjoy vexing me.

Aurelia: Admit that you like it when I vex you.

Frederick: I only like it when I do not have the urge to rip someone's tongue from their throat.

Aurelia: Frederick Worthington!

This grandiose dinner continued for the next hour until everyone was stuffed. Aurelia found herself mainly conversing with Frederick throughout this dinner, and no one paid them any mind. It was quite obvious to everyone in the room, including Laurence of the affection they shared, even if it was in modesty due to them being surrounded by others. Peregrine, knowing the coming events decided that the gentlemen would not smoke directly after dinner. Once the table was cleared of dinner and dessert plates, William Carew mustered the courage to arise to make a speech, with his wine glass in his hand.

William: Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed family and friends, I am filled with an overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude. The warmth in my heart exceeds the glow of any candle that graces this room. Before we head to the drawing room, I must share with you a moment that has forever altered the course of my life. A fortnight ago, at the ball held by Viscount Markham, I dared to utter words that have forever changed the trajectory of my and Ms. Ramsbury's future. I asked a question that resides in the chambers of every romantic heart. A question that binds souls and weaves fabrics of destiny.

William: I inquired if she would be my forever partner in this so-called journey called life. I asked Miss Martha Ramsbury if she would be my loving, and faithful wife. I am pleased to tell you she has happily accepted!

Helena: Oh my goodness! My dear girl is to be wed, how wonderful! I shall have to ask my dear brother if you two may tie the nuptials at Auglire! Oh Peregrine, how blessed are we!

Peregrine: *in between tears* Yes, quite blessed my dear!

William: To love, to friendship, and to the uncharted seas of me and my dear bride's shared future-cheers!

Everyone in the room stood, and the room was filled with the clinking of crystal, followed by a chorus of heartfelt congratulations and well-wishes. The only one who didn't seem to wish the couple good wishes was Patience Ramsbury, who Aurelia couldn't help but notice her fake smile and discomfort.

Laurence Carew ordered nearby footmen to bring him a bottle of brandy.

Laurence: TO MY FUCKING BLOODY BASTARD OF A BROTHER!

Laurence: HAVE SOME MERRIMENT ON THIS JOYFUL EVE YOU LOT!

John and Elizabeth Carew let out a long sigh at how embarrassed they were by this son of theirs. But their annoyance didn't last long, for their firstborn and heir to their estate was to marry Miss Martha Ramsbury! At this moment, Aurelia realized who Laurence reminded her of. No other than that of Thaddeus Skeffington, a man whom she had a lot of disdain for. Despite her teasing Frederick to get him jealous, she knew she could never marry someone like Laurence. Laurence was more up to speed with her friend Villoria. Frederick was the only man she could ever see herself marrying.

Although she was happy for Martha, she couldn't help but wish she had a ring on her finger and a lace bonnet on her head to share Martha's bliss. How she wished she was Lady Worthington, Countess of Henford. Oh, how she regretted rejecting Frederick's proposal. Perhaps they even would have had babies by now had she accepted.

#ts4 regency #sims 4 regency #regency sims 4 #sims 4 historical #simblr #sims 4 regency era #vintage sims #sims 4 #regency ts4 #sims 4 historical story #sims 4 story #TCOTD

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stevenbasic · 1 year ago

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Growing into the Job, Post 356: That was Then, This is Now, p8

I had climbed up the small spiral staircase in Melissa's office that connected to the upstairs hallway, leading to my apartment. Melissa had found a white lab jacket I could use to adequately cover myself, my torn pants, preserving modesty in my walk through the clinic halls. But I was now stopped dead in my tracks and looking through the open doorway into what remained of my once pristine upstairs apartment. Oh my god…what the f-

I felt my heart drop. What was I seeing? Someone had broken my locked door handle. They had shattered it, along with part of the frame. I looked in horror at the wreckage of my apartment. My clothes were everywhere. My dresser was toppled over, drawers flung about. My new kitchen table lay on its side, halfway across the room.

I’d been broken into! Ransacked! My blood went cold. I started to panic as I suddenly felt the weight of everything that’s happened come crashing down on me.

WHY?!? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!?!!

My heart was pounding and my mouth fell agape as my mind raced to comprehend the situation. I stood there frozen on this late Monday morning, suddenly afraid to set foot in my own apartment. I was confused, so utterly confused:

WHEN?!? HOW?!?

Today was the first time I’d been to my place since Friday. I’d spent the entire weekend at Melissa’s so this could have happened anytime over the past couple of days! Had someone broken into the office building just to - what?? - rob me?!? That seemed unreasonable, totally unlikely, right?? I was the only resident left up on this floor, but nothing downstairs had been touched. If anyone was looking for money or valuables they’d have found much more in the office, right??

My heart still racing, I took my first few tentative steps into the apartment. I gingerly avoided all the plates strewn-about and broken on the floor. I didn't want to disturb the scene.

I have to call the police!! They need to investigate!!! Who would have had access to do this?!?

Immediately, I thought of those construction workers. Melissa had said they’d been staying here, overnights, over the weekends. Maybe it was some of them? I shivered, feeling the dread of every lost inch from my now feeble body. What if they meant me harm?? What if they were out to…I dunno - get me?? I was less than five feet tall, I’d be physically unable to defend myself if any of them threatened me. I was easy prey, an easy target. I was feeble and-

But why?? Why would they do that???

Who else could it have been??

They’d torn all my clothes out of the closet, and tossed them about.

I considered the strange things that had been happening lately. Like: who was this “Anderson” nut job? The guy who was sending me these unhinged, conspiracy-theory emails? He was shady, and it sounded like he was mixed up with some unstable people for sure. Was he upset that his sister was in the Evolution product study?

Or were there maybe other men out there that were just plain old pissed off at me? Angry that I’d been hiring so many women, and giving them a place to…what? Gather their power? Did they think I was part of this female equality movement that was looking to ‘put some balance between the sexes’? (haha I can’t believe I used to think that way, how quaint.) Maybe they were looking for, what? Information I might have here? I didn’t keep a lot of paperwork up in my apartment, business or personal. But even that, and its makeshift filing box, seemed largely untouched. It was more my personal items, like my clothes my toiletries and my keepsakes, that seemed all rifled through. Cabinet doors were pulled open. One was off its hinges. Someone was angry! And - god, look what they did to the couch - strong. Very strong. I saw a hole in the wall, and another. Looks like it was made with a fist, from someone tall.

My blood went even colder as I considered a possibility.

I…I was with Melissa every minute, right? Of the weekend? I shivered.

With more dread I considered the possibility. She had her unstable moments, she’d admitted it herself. Some very unstable moments. And I’d seen what she could do, physically, before. Could she have done this? Could she have slipped away? Maybe when I was asleep? Did she sneak out and do…all of this?? Maybe she even did it this morning???

My hand reached out to the countertop to steady myself. My vision was starting to swim as I felt a new wave of fear crash into me. No! I can’t think this way! Melissa loves me, I love her! But, yes, it could be. Things were so weird and fucked up. It could have been her!

But...why would she? It made no sense. None of this makes any sense!! Nothing!! Why am I shrinking?!? Why are women taking over everything?!? Why can’t everything be NORMAL?!? Why can’t it all go back to THE WAY IT USED TO BE?!?

My vision swam again as a great deluge of panic began to sweep over me, slamming me against the rocks of my mind. I was lightheaded, and had to use both hands on the silverware-strewn countertop, now, struggling just to stay upright. I tried to take a deep breath but managed only a beleaguered sob.

PLEASE!! Please let’s go back to when I had a life!! Independence! Control! Back before all this craziness! Remember?!? Everything was so…easy!

Behind closed eyes, my mind looked for something. It looked for something to calm itself. It started to, yes, bring to life a fantasy, bring me back in time…

…

I was sitting at my desk, looking at my hands. My normal, healthy, regular-guy sized hands.

My wedding ring was gone. Huh. When did that happen?

Looking around things felt a bit…older, more familiar, comforting in a way. My office was unusually large and inviting. A couch and leather chairs sat in the corner next to…a small liquor cabinet? Brandy or whisky or whatever it was sat ready to be poured on the coffee table as smooth jazz quietly drifted in from an RCA tabletop radio across the room. Sitting behind my large desk I felt strangely content. No, it was more than that. I felt confident.

A knock at my door, and in came Lakshmi. She had a chart, a couple of them. Paper charts, which looked like the ones we used to use back before our EHR system.

Hello Doctor, she began, respectfully, I just had a few questions regarding Mr. Kowalczyk’s vitals. They seem a bit erratic.

Okay, well let’s have a look, I said, taking the chart from Lakshmi with a chuckle. Oh, Mr. Kowalski… I began, looking at the results from today's visit, then flipping back a few pages. If I remember correctly he’s in the old folks’ home now. His wife’s been visiting him quite often and my guess is that she’s been slipping him a pack or two of his Viceroys. That would explain these recent numbers.

Lakshmi nodded, hanging on my every word.

I’ll talk to her today, I said, and we’ll check him back in a couple weeks. I'm sure he’ll be just fine.

Oh yes of course doctor! Lakshmi gushed, That makes perfect sense! I do not know what we would all do without you!

No need to worry, hun. I'm not going away anytime soon! I laughed, Unless everyone starts eating their apples!

She laughed a bit bashfully at my admittedly corny joke as if she actually found it funny. Maybe she was just being respectful or…well, I suppose there was a bit of charm to it. I can be quite charming, when I put my mind to it!

As Lakshmi made a note in the chart, I took a moment to look at her. She seemed respectful, deferential, quiet. More like she was back before Melissa, back before all…that happened. But her figure was undoubtedly still - vavavoom - still the bottom-heavy voluptuousness of these recent months, young curves of baby-making hips and thighs that stretched her crisply ironed scrubs. Did she know how much I just wanted to reach out and grab that thing? It was a sight, for sure. She seemed blithely ignorant of her own body’s appeal. She was far more interested in me and what I had to say.

Now this is a breath of fresh air!

Before too long another girl was in through my door and came to Lakshmi's side: her friend Josie, with a chart of her own hugged to her nicely shapely chest. When had I hired this girl? Good job, man! Her hair was done up cutely into a nice bun, with a single strand of brown hair strategically out of place. It made her look adorable, but more than anything I think she wanted me to notice. She wanted me to say something about it and give her my attention.

I was all too happy to oblige.

Hey Josie, love the hair. But is this…? I pantomimed twirling my finger around where her loose strand of hair would be.

Oh silly me! she giggled, abruptly struggling to put the loose strand back into place, Sometimes this hair of mine has a mind of its own! She giggled, fetchingly. Whatever would I do without you, doctor! I would be such a mess!

We all would be! Lakshmi agreed.

Before I could respond, yet another girl - Morgan, our new Hungarian nurse - entered my office. I had just sat back, hands behind my head, reclined backwards in my desk chair and ready to solve another problem when my eyes were drawn to the woman’s prodigious bustline. Another good hire! But Morgan looked upset...

Doctor! We to be having the problem! she blurted, Please! Come the quickly!

I could read it in her face, in her voice, and in the way she held her body. There was an emergency, and I immediately jumped into action. Morgan was a big woman, large and intimidating to some of the other staff, but as I stood up I realized I was taller than her. That struck me as strange, for some reason.

I rushed out of the room, leaving the other girls behind, knowing, on instinct, exactly which way to go.

Morgan tried to keep pace behind me down the hall as we rushed towards the problem. It is Mr. Kowalczyk! He getting the mad at vending machine for not giving the cigarette! she called from behind me, He hit machine very hard, and now it on the top of him! You must hurry! Mr. Kowalczyk very old! He have trouble with the breathe!

I arrived into a crowd of women, my nurses and secretaries, all surrounding the trapped, elderly man. A few were trying helplessly to lift the machine off him, while others simply looked on in shock. His wife stood off to the side, bawling miserably.

It is too heavy we girls cannot lift! Morgan called, and then as I moved in she announced, Move! Move! Doctor is here! Doctor is the here now!

With that, the crowd parted in front of me, allowing me to get right to work. Rolling up my sleeves and steadying myself, I took hold of one of the vending machine's corners, and braced my legs. With a bit of effort I was able to slowly lift it off the poor man. The girls all began to cheer, but I knew that this was not the end of Mr. Kowalczyk’s troubles.

I need Mr. Kowalawitz in room 1-A STAT!! I commanded, as several girls helped pull him from under the vending machine I held off the ground, Get him on O2 and check him for any lacerations or signs of fracture. We’re going to keep him for observation but get the hospital on the line!

At that, some of the crowd scattered, girls going off to perform their specific jobs while I stayed to coordinate the effort. Mr. Kowalstein wasn't going to bite it on my watch! In the meantime, the girls were beginning to clap. They were applauding me, praising me for my strength and quick thinking!

Clapping!!

The girls were clapping! I closed my eyes and I could hear the clapping the clapppppin. I smiled at the clap-clap click-clapping … click-click-clap clack-CLACK CLACK-CLACK <CLACK-CLACK CLACK-CLACK>!!!

…

Heels, in the hallway, moving fast. Running?

“Oh my god Dr. J what happened !?!?!?”

===============================================

thanks to ResistanceIsFutile for lots of the inspiration for this entry

#growing into the job

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asimperingswannsong · 1 year ago

Text

Larissa’s Reluctant Romance

Larissa/Wednesday (Aged Up 18+, still a big ass age gap though)

Warnings/Notes/Summary: @somethang0013 yes there is officially a part 5. No real warning necessary (maybe work those into a part 6) other than possible cavities 🦷 from excessive consumption.

——————

Wednesday arrived at Larissa’s apartment expecting to pick the lock as usual but instead the knob turned easily in her hand. That had only occurred once before on her birthday and had ended with her being allowed to massage Larissa’s feet, neck, and shoulders.

She entered with the pasta take away that she knew the silver haired object of her affection enjoyed so much. “Good evening sweetheart.” The velvety tone that caused her stomach to flutter called out to her from the bedroom. “Good evening Principal Weems.”

She emerged from the bedroom with her hair let down. It cascaded in waves past her shoulders and it was incredibly beautiful. Wednesday admired the work she put in to her updos but seeing her hair down felt like a privilege.

Larissa smiled at her as she noticed Wednesday appeared a little smitten by the change in her appearance. “Darling I think if you’re breaking into my apartment at nine pm with dinner we could forego the formality and you could try calling me Larissa instead. Don’t you think?”

Wednesday quirked an eyebrow at her, “It would be a pleasure Larissa.” She approached Wednesday and cupped her face as she smiled affectionately down at her. She placed a quick peck on the top of her head.

“What’s for dinner?” “Carbonara and stuffed mushrooms.” “Oh, sounds lovely. We’ll share yes?” “You want me to stay?” “Darling I appreciate all the food but eating alone gets a little old sometimes. Would you mind staying?” “I would love to.”

That earned her another smile as Larissa grabbed a few plates and a bottle of wine. Wednesday was surprised when she poured two glasses, though she was accustomed to drinking with dinner at home, she had complied with the school’s regulations against alcohol.

“I thought you’d be out with friends since it’s your last night together before your parents begin arriving,” she said as she dished pasta out for the both of them. “Enid tried to talk me into accompanying them to some sort of arcade but I insisted on remaining behind. I’d much rather be here than there.” Larissa smiled at her again and surprised Wednesday by leaning in and planting a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“I’m glad you opted for this instead also. Your time here at Nevermore is coming to an end quickly. What do you make of that?” “I believe no one is more surprised than myself that I’ve made it this far.” “Oh I wouldn’t be so sure about that sweetheart,” Larissa said with a chuckle.

Wednesday smiled at her, “I apologize for any difficulties I may have caused.” Larissa regarded her suspiciously, “I’ll accept your apology but I don’t believe for a second that you have any regrets.” “Only for any distress I caused you.”

The suspicious stare intensified along with a slightly disbelieving chuckle. “You’re sorry for my distress? Really?” “Really,” Wednesday deadpanned. “Alright dear if you say so.”

She smiled happily as she bit into a mushroom stuffed with cheese, parsley, and bell peppers. “So, what’s next? I haven’t heard you mention university. Will you be attending? It’d be a shame if you didn’t Wednesday. You’re extraordinarily bright.”

“It seems a remote possibility.” “Why darling?” “Addamses tend to struggle within institutions. Historically we’ve always chosen to pursue our educations independently from the confines of traditional avenues.”

“I know your family doesn’t need to pursue traditional careers to support yourselves.” “Yes father has always lacked a certain modesty when it comes to displaying his family wealth.” “Yes but be that as it may I still think you may learn things from attending university that you might otherwise miss out on.”

“I’ll give your input consideration. I value your opinions too much not to, but for now I have other plans for my immediate future.” Larissa raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Care to elaborate,” she asked curiously. “Perhaps later. What about you? What are you plans now that the school year is closing?”

Larissa laughed heartily at that. “My plans? Well let’s see, I had planned to schedule in service meetings with staff, attend an educator’s conference, help reorganize classrooms, review open positions and prep job advertisements. A jam packed and riveting schedule.” “And where is the time for yourself?” “What do you mean?” Larissa sounded genuinely confused by the concept.

———-

After dinner the pair found themselves standing in front of the fire in Larissa’s office. She was embracing Wednesday. She'd congratulated her on her impending graduation, and they'd hugged and then they'd missed the deadline for when hugs end.

Larissa was lost in thought reliving in her mind all of the little gestures Wednesday had made toward her since confessing her feelings. It was curious to be on the receiving end of such warm actions from a person known for being cold and uncaring.

Larissa had an unpleasant feeling in her chest that she was struggling to identify as she held Wednesday close and mindlessly caressed her back as they continued their embrace.

Part of her brain registered the fact that they'd been holding one another for several minutes now. That part of her brain was immediately ignored. Another part of her brain acknowledged that Wednesday seemed to be just as lost in thought as she was, and she wondered briefly about the nature of those thoughts before she continued trying to analyze her own feelings and the precise nature of their relationship.

Finally, Larissa spoke, "Your mother will be here in the morning." "Ugh." Larissa chuckled, "I thought that was my role." Wednesday pulled back, "You're not alone in having a love/hate relationship with Morticia. She's a lot to deal with."

--------

The parents began pouring in and Larissa stayed busy greeting, schmoozing, and organizing the events leading up to the ceremony. She existed on the periphery of Wednesday's interactions, watching fondly and amusedly as the young woman struggled to navigate interactions with people who were barely able to contain their excitement.

She appeared to be a sort of isolated storm cloud in the middle of a sea of brightly colored dresses and smiling faces. Larissa knew she was enjoying the coming graduation in her own way. She just didn't express enjoyment in such an outward manner. She thought it was cute.

When she spoke to the Addamses as a family as she tried to do with all of her students' families, she felt a stab of guilt for the strangely intimate interactions she'd been having with their daughter. That guilt lasted just long enough for Morticia to make a snide remark about her continued absence of a partner and Larissa shocked herself by thinking, "We'll see who has the last laugh when I fuck your daughter."

As quickly as the thought popped into her mind, Larissa was scandalized by it and began chastising herself internally. Her face reddened and she excused herself visibly flustered. Morticia thought her response was due to her chiding and smiled smugly after her. Wednesday watched her leave with concern.

The big day finally arrived, and Larissa spent the afternoon conferring diplomas with pride in how much her students had matured and how much potential they displayed.

She then did her usual post ceremony song and dance working her way through the crowd and congratulating everyone one last time. She kept Wednesday in the corner of her eye as she watched her with her family and with Enid and their friends.

The families slowly began to leave, and Larissa saw Wednesday break away from Gomez and Morticia and get into a cab with Enid, Eugene, and Yoko. She made her way back to her office and sat down at her desk with a glass of red. She returned some end of year emails to school board and staff as one glass turned into two and then three.

She began to feel a little bit of a buzz as she continued to drink on an empty stomach. Eventually she stood and made her way into her adjoining quarters feeling a little melancholy. It wasn't a feeling she often had, but it sometimes happened at the end of a school year. She tried to convince herself that was the reason now.

As she entered her bedroom she stopped in the doorway and leaned against the doorframe. She contemplated the pair of gift boxes on her bed, wondering what Wednesday had done now. Finally, she went over to investigate further.

The first contained a pair of flat black strappy sandals and the second larger box contained a floor length black dress with a plunging V neck. Larissa didn't usually wear black unless she was attending a funeral and she never wore a plunging neckline.

But she decided to try the combo on just to see what Wednesday had had in mind. She stood in front of the mirror and realized the top of the dress was quite sheer. She'd removed her bra and she noticed she could see her nipples through the fabric.

She thought the look felt a little odd on her. She tended toward very light blush colors and earth tones, but it was a very sexy combination. She reached up and removed the pins holding her hair up. She ran her hands through her hair and let it fall in bouncy waves past her shoulders remembering how smitten Wednesday had been by the look.

She smiled at herself in the mirror and then creased her brow in concentration. She was missing something. She looked around her vanity area and saw the large Tiffany's box. She opened it and removed the enormous ruby necklace that had belonged to Wednesday's grandmother.

She put it on and admired herself again. She looked like an Addams. "Perfect." She startled and turned to find Wednesday in her doorway. "I thought you were with Enid and your friends." "I told them I was going with my family and told my family I was going with friends."

Larissa took in Wednesday's appearance. It was drastically different. She wore her hair up, similar to her Rav'N look, but instead of pairing the updo with a tiered tulle dress she had opted for masculine attire. She wore dress trousers, vest, shirt, and tie, all black and all immaculately tailored. She reminded Larissa of Gomez.

Wednesday approached while taking in Larissa's dress. She raked her eyes slowly along Larissa's curves and cleavage. Larissa remembered how sheer the dress was and felt her nipples hardening under Wednesday's gaze. Wednesday placed a hand on her hip and Larissa cupped her face.

"This is a very different look for you dear," she said as she placed her hands on Wednesday's shoulders. Wednesday finally tore her gaze from the dress and looked up at her. She shrugged, "I've made concessions to my mother regarding my appearance. I no longer feel compelled to do so."

Larissa smiled down at her while running her fingertips idly along each of her shoulders. "It's a good look. I like it." Wednesday placed her other hand on Larissa's other hip and began drawing little circles with the fingers of both hands. She smiled up her. "I could say the same. You are, in fact, stunningly beautiful." "It's nice to see the ruby as well," she added.

Larissa smiled, but then faltered, "Wednesday, I..." she trailed off, not sure what to say. She opened her mouth to speak again but still didn't know what to say. Wednesday interjected, "I'm leaving for Rome on Tuesday. Would you care to join me?"

"What?" Larissa asked in astonishment. "I've booked a few weeks in Italy, and I thought it might be nice if you came as well." "Wednesday, I don't know if that's..." "We don't have to share a room. I just thought it would be nice to have a companion, and I thought you could use a holiday." "When was the last time you went on holiday?"

"I've taken..." Larissa trailed off as she contemplated the last time, she took a trip. Was she still teaching? Surely not. "You can't even remember, can you?" Larissa opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

"The Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps, the Pantheon, pasta, wine," Wednesday said as she thought it over. "Oh," Larissa said pleasantly imagining a plate of amatriciana and glass of wine with a view of the Colosseum.

"Well? What do you say? I think you'd enjoy yourself." "The dress is beautiful, but it would look better in the Piazza di Spagna." "Wednesday, I'm not sure..." Wednesday reached up and took one of her hands, pressing the palm to her mouth. She didn't kiss it she just held it gently against her lips and caressed the back of it.

The gesture reminded Larissa once again of Wednesday's father, the way he expressed affection for Morticia constantly through little physical acts. Still holding her hand to her mouth and looking up at her, Wednesday spoke, "It doesn't have to be anything untoward, just a holiday. You deserve time away."

Larissa gazed down at her as she pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of her palm.

#principal larissa weems #my fic #gwendoline christie #larissa weems #fluff #wendesday addams

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