#formal covered entry

[abconcerns]

Traditional Exterior Mid-sized elegant yellow two-story vinyl house exterior photo with a hip roof and a shingle roof

[avicecaro]

i think next year the met gala should refuse entry to men in plain tuxedos. dress up or get thrown out <3

[mogaiwriters]

DC Metro Concrete Pavers Landscape Picture of a sizable, traditional concrete paver driveway in the summer.

[moechies]

kinktober ⋆౨ৎ entry #4 ; brat taming w shuji hanma .ᐟ

dear diary ♡,

i hate hate hate shuji hanma so much! god, he makes my life unbearable -- walking into that office everyday is like a form of torture! he's always teasing me, making fun of me non-stop, and every time i walk into his office completely fine i come out a huge, frustrated mess! and it ruins my entire day too, god. why does he have such a huge impact on me? it's so frustrating . . . anything he says to me or says about me will stick for at least a week -- he doesn't even seem to stop pestering me when i get off of work. how long will i last in this stupid office before i break? ugh! that would be so embarrassing . . . ironically i'm writing his from work so i better hide this away before hanma catches me! i'll see you later diary :(

"little lady, come in here." hanma commands with a lithe finger, pointing a low finger at your trailing body outside of his office. you had tried your best to sneak by his office and back to yours without being seen by the man, but the tall glass panes that are only see through from the inside of his office are of no help. you cringe, the hairs on the back of your neck standing frozen when you hear the familiar, sultry grime of his voice, walking defeatedly into his office before gently shutting the door behind you.

"yes, sir? what can i do for you?" you grin subtly, hiding your distress with fiddling fingers behind your back.

"so formal today? you're in my office wearin' a skimpy little skirt and a sheer shirt that barely covers your nipples, hun." he grumbles with a laugh, setting his arms down against the marble desk.

you scoff — dropping your previous dear little secretary act with a subtle roll of your eye. "shut up, hanma. you're not any much better than me . . . having s—sex with all those workers on this very desk." you point to the marble stable in front of you, mumbling a soft 'gross' under your breath — the least bit repulsed that you're standing in the same space as this satyriasis you call your boss.

"are you jealous, little lady? he laughs.

"n—never." you huff, tugging your skirt down out of habit. the atmosphere is tense and warm, and you can feel his glare boring into the side of your skull. he takes a sudden move, leaving his original seating and making his way towards you. he fumbles with his sleeve, fixing the crease slightly before stepping before you — nearly chest to chest. “you're so weird, hanma."

hanma leans low, lips inches away from your ear. it's disgustingly seductive — how close he is. it’s even worse when you find yourself not minding the intimate position.

“don't call me that name, doll. no need to be so formal, remember?" he turns his head to grin besides you, but soon moves back to his original position to whisper again, "by the way, i can see your cute little nipples, doll."

you scramble away from the man, arm defensively coming to cover across your chest. “per—pervert! ‘s cold in here.” you cry with a heavy blush that paints your face. you're met with a smug grin with no means to punish you for your indecency, but rather low glinting eyes with the opposite intent. "come here, girl."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

it hurts. everything does — your thighs are sore, red streaks left across your bare tits, and your cunt aches despite shuji’s spent stuffing you full.

“s—shuji,” you cry. you’re met with a soft hum besides your ear, the sultry noise making you wince. his slender fingers force the small of your back against the table, arching you nicely before taking his cock head to your pussy. “n—n’more…”

“hmm, she’s holding all my fuckin’ nut in so well.” he groans, dragging his cock head through your spent folds. the action causes cum to dribble slightly, warm cum coating your clit and dripping onto the ground.

“c’mere.” hanma lifts you from where you had been bent over previously, switching positions with you. his back leans against the table, hoisting you onto the slant of his lap and forcing your naked body to face the glassed windows of his office. you’re quick to panic, whining and you fumble in his grasp. it’s especially terrifying when you see one of hanma’s hookups walk past, pointing at hanma’s office to her co-worker — and giggling.

her glare looks directly into yours, twisting your body to face hanma’s as you hide your face in the crevice of his chest. “n—no, shuji !”

“doll. you know they can’t see anything, right?” hanma chuckles. “what, you don’t want her to see you like this?”

you whine, looking up at hanma with large, watery eyes. “don’ wanna face the glass, p—please.”

he hums at your request -- but faces your body outwards once again. he lifts you onto his lap once again, but this time, slotting you on top of his cock and dragging you down his length by your arms. you're quick to squeal, filled up by shuji's heavy dick yet again in mere seconds. he groans at the feeling of his own nut painting his cock once he's inside.

"shuji!" you quip when another co-worker passes by -- what if the glass were to suddenly malfunction and everybody could see your naked body? you spiral. not to mention, your naked cunt lodged onto your boss' cock? what if—

"need to show you and your pretty pussy off. how these office sluts can't take me like you can. you're perfect, damn it." shuji moans, pumping roughly into your sore cunt. "you're c—creamin' all over me, little lady."

"s--shut up, shut up.." you cry, body damn hot. his hands feel as if they're burning against your skin. “g’cum ‘gain—“

“mhm, yeah you are. ‘cause you’re a little slutttt.” hanma moans, stifling when he feels your gummy walls clench at his crude words.

“n—not a slut ! shuji, shuji— !“

“that’s impossible, slut.”

[ultimatenightcore]

Front Yard - Beach Style Landscape

[sepdet]

Merry Shitscram, Tumblr!

(transcript below cut)

Guess what I borrowed from Mom's stacks while visiting?

I won't cap the whole thing, but at least I can provide you with some selected excerpts for the next week. Yes, this IS that edition.

Transcript below.

Chapter One

FOR THE THIRD consecutive night, Captain James T. Kirk awoke with a gasp of surprise and something akin to fear clinging to the side of his throat. He blinked once, then struggled to sit up, leaning against the head reted and his gaze settled on the chrom. Pet, y was shortly after 3 A.M., Ship Standard Time, but he was wide awake and knew he would have little hope of getting back to sleep before the alarm demanded his attention at six.

Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he replayed the recurring dream in his mind, wondering why it should have disturbed him so deeply... and so often.

After discovering no logical explanation for its cause or its unprecedented effect on him, he tried passing it off to the fact that the Enterprise had been on routine patrol of the Romulan Neutral Zone for nearly two months-an inexcusably boring mission. But with Romulan Fleet activity increased for no apparent rea-son, he accepted the fact that he was bound to be a little edgy.

After another deep breath and a shake of his tousled hair, he slowly lowered himself back into the warm nest of covers, and closed his eyes; but as expected,

1

he was only pretending to sleep when the First Shift duty alarm sound of less than three hours later.

stifling a yawn, Kirk entried the Deck 5 turbolift to discover the ship's first officer studying him with a lifted eyebrow.

"Moring, Spock," Kink said with a sheepish grin, wishing he'd taken the time for a cup of coffee before presenting himself publicly.

The Vulcan's head inclined in greeting, "Captain," he said formally. The doors closed and the lift began its familiar horizontal motion, but the Vulcan continued to study his friend. "Is everything all right, Captain?" he inquired presently.

"Just fine, Mister Spock," Kirk replied. "Why do you ask?" He wondered if his eyes were a trifle more red than they'd appeared in the mirror.

The eyebrow climbed higher beneath the long black bangs. "You seem... unusually distracted," Spock observed after a questioning moment of silence.

So much for dismissing the matter, Kirk thought. Spock's scrutiny was never escaped easily. "Would you believe me if I told you that the invincible Captain Kirk has insomnia?" he asked with a smile.

"Indeed," Spock murmured. Kirk was normally a very private individual; but now the hazel eyes seemed alight with a combination of embarrassment and mischief. The Vulcan decided not to mention that he himself had been having disturbing dreams for at least a week. "I trust you have not sought relief from Doctor McCoy?"

Kirk shook his head. "For a few hours of lost sleep?" But the twinkle left his eyes as a frown found its way to his face. "I don't know why it should bother me at all," he said, feeling some need to explain himself. "But ... never mind, Spock," he added as the nocturnal images returned to haunt him. "It was... just a dream." Trying to change the subject, the smile returned to his face. "Another human shortcoming, eh, Spock?"

2

Something in Kirk's too-casual tone caused the Vulcan to look at him more closely. "Would you care to discuss the matter in more detail, Captain?" he asked, momentarily wondering why he didn't dismiss the subject as Kirk was attempting to do. Yet he realized that the captain's normal reservations concerning his personal life did not extend to him, just as he understood that the reverse was also true.

Kirk glanced up from where he'd been studying his boots, and felt the familiar telepathic door swing open between himself and the Vulcan. It was something which had formed between them over the years, something which had saved their lives countless times and made them brothers. He did want to discuss it, but only with Spock.

McCoy would, as the Vulcan was fond of pointing out, dispense a handful of pills and an hour of friendly advice; and though Kirk valued the doctor's friendship, he wasn't in the mood for a full battery of psychological tests to determine the cause of a simple recurring dream. He chanced a quick look at the Vulcan as a plan of action took shape in his mind.

"I haven't had breakfast yet," he began, finding an excuse he needed. "But... I'm sure you have, Mister Spock. After all," he continued with a broadening grin, "Vulcans never ever miss breakfast, right? You have to keep those thought-wheels well oiled and in perfect working order." He studied his first officer's lean frame. "And you never gain an ounce either!" he added with a look of mock-disgust, remembering Mc-Coy's warnings to cut back on the meat and potatoes and settle for a salad once in awhile.

The Vulcan brow lowered as Spock observed his captain's nonchalant approach. "I have not eaten this morning," he stated in straightforward contrast to Kirk's roundabout endeavors, "and I would be pleased to join you." His eyes seemed to lighten as he studied the casual way Kirk was holding in his stomach. "And we need not inform Doctor McCoy as to the menu."

3

[dreambot]

APPLICATIONS ARE OPEN NOW! APPLY TO THE HIT NEW DATING SHOW ! ★ details below!! ★ bc challenge by @dreambot

BACKSTORY

Riot Adler , 24, an absolute disaster of a superstar entered a contract to do the show bc her pr was trying to cover up the scandals she's always starting for fun lol.

ENTRY GUIDELINES

human sims only plz

any gender!

the more backstory the better, i would love this show to have a ton of fkn drama and write out everyones charas a little bit to properly represent them. bonus if they are also celebs!

no deadline in case this gets 2 notes lul

cc encouraged idc abt alpha or maxis match/mix

everyday, swimwear, formal and sleepwear preferred but i can fill in the blanks if needed!

im not responsible if shes an asshole talk to her pr manager not me

just have fun lets fk it up! maybe we can plot some drama 2gether :-) parody of love island and other shows like that so b evil we are here for manufactured drama

@ me @dreambot (duh) or #loversrockbcchallenge

dm or send an ask if i left anything out idk what im doing!

[kit-the-gaygent]

"I miss Mc" Mammon mumbled to himself.

The brothers had been invited to a party, however Mc was at home, something about wanting to finish homework or maybe a book.

Mammon had been sitting next to Levi playing with a glass of water in his hands.

Levi, who had been playing some RPG on one of his many hand held consoles hummed in agreement, but wasn't really paying attention to anything else. Most of his other brothers were drinking, a long with Diaviolo and the purgatory hall boys.

Thirteen was harassing Solomon and Meph was getting into an argument with a tipsy Lucifer who was drunkenly leaning into the prince's shoulder, with Dia's arm wrapped around the avatar of Pride's waist.

Mammon sighed to himself again as he got up from his seat took one last sip of his drink and headed for the door.

The walk back to the HOL was a calm and quiet one, there wasn't much foot traffic due to it being so late in the night. Mammon wondered if Mc would even be awake at this hour.

Unlocking the door Mammon wordlessly entered the entry way to his home. The grand staircase greeting him as he shut and locked the front door behind him.

The avatar of Greed made his down the halls, passing the kitchen and onto the next room. His favorite room in the mansion. Mc's room. Mammon quietly opened the door to his human's room. And there they sat sitting in their large bed scrolling on their phone. Their eyes moved from the illuminating light of their phone screen and onto the bright light of the hallway, and their first man, Mammon.

"back so soon? I figured you boys wouldn't be home till tomorrow morning." Mc chuckled to themselves. Mammon smiled as he began to undress out of his formal wear and down to his boxers and socks.

"it's just me right now." Mammon spoke softly to the human as they made room for him under the covers.

"so you missed me?" Mc smiled sweetly, Mammon could feel tiredness begin to creep up on him, and there wasn't anything he could maintain his tsundere facade.

"mhm hmm." He hummed in response as he pulled Mc close to him. The two tangled their legs together enveloped in the warmth of their bodies.

Mc was happy Mammon had come home early.

They had missed him.

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Seat at the Table (F!Reader x M!Monster Warlord)

Pairing:Fem!Reader x Male!Warlord Monster

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Misogyny, Slight Infantilization, Non-Con, Sexual Harassment

Word count: 2498 words

Summary: After years of hard work, you finally found your way into an advisory position on the King’s Court, pushing past the forced walls put against your sex. Unfortunately  for you, the Warlord besieging your country has just requested parlay.

Request: I would like to request a story if that's okay.

A female messenger entering peace talks/parlaying with a ruthless male warlord to leave their lands. The warlord is a build-a-monster of your own creation. All I ask is that he's big and threatening looking. Get creative!

He is so uninterested in the idea of not conquering that he starts rubbing one out on his throne at the sight of this cute little human in front of him and he tells her about all the ways he's going to claim her when his armies march in. How she should be so honored when she gives birth to his future heirs.

Naturally she's not too into the idea.

But I certainly am.

A/N: I just realized I never gave this guy a name! Feel free to drop suggestions in the comments ;)

You have suffered many indignities in your life.

It had been the natural course of things ever since you were born a girl, and it had increased tenfold when you set your mind on becoming a member of the royal staff. Not as a maid, no, but as a political advisor.

You had to withstand years and years of sneers, derision and borderline harassment. Suffer through academic debates and disputes with men half of your intellect and watch them get opportunities twice as quick. You suffered through flat out refusals to teach you, not unless you wrote a 10 page essay on why you were qualified, when others merely had to show their school and last name.

So you don’t flinch when the king asks for someone to engage in peace talks. While everyone else cowers away, coming up with vague excuses and diversions; Actions that would have gotten you kicked off the council in seconds. You don’t flinch when the knights escort you to the carriage, or when the monstrous tyrant's own army escorts you out of it and to his war tent. You don’t acknowledge the various catcalls and salacious comments from his men as you pass by, and you certainly don’t flinch when his own vizier refuses to let you pass.

“I am afraid I don’t understand.”

The vizier rubs his brow, clawed paws looking dangerously sharp in the candle light.

“Like I just said, ma’am, the king asked for-”

“The king’s message asked for parlay, His Majesty sent a messenger from his own court. Like I said, I fail to understand why I am denied entry.”

“He did, but he didn’t ask for-”

“What?” You dare him to say it, looking right into his yellow, slitted eyes. 

His shoulders slacken, eyeing up and down your formal attire. He seems to accept something, either your insistent nature or the punishment he’ll get from letting you in. Either way, he steps aside, pulling back the tent flap.

“Thank you.”

You give a half-curtsy, double what the low-life deserves. He mutters something in his monstrous language as you walk inside, something that makes the warriors escorting you chuckle. You ignore it.

You’ve dealt with men like this before, you’re trained in letting it roll off your shoulders.

You let the curtain flap fall behind you, surprised the vizier doesn’t come to follow. In your experience men like that typically put their slimy noses in everything. But whatever, that’s one headache you can avoid.

The inside of the tent is gaudishly huge, fitting for the ornate throne in the center holding an even more decorated monster. 

Furs and pelts cover the warlord’s massive shoulders, his chest decorated in gleaming armor. It shines still despite the chunks and blood stains speckled across it, old and dried. His leather skirt barely covers his massive thighs, furred legs spread debaucherously apart. One set of arms sits discontentedly across his stomach, crossed tight. The other has one hand slung lazily over the side of his chair while the other currently picks fresh meat out of the lord’s sharp canines, his large muzzle curled back in a sneer. Just as boorish and snarling as you expected.

Relax, he’s just like any man. 

You try to picture him as the braggadocious generals you’ve seen before, just with far more teeth and an extra set of arms. They have the same amount of class, the lord still digging through his mouth like a common fool.

“Greetings, My Lord.”

You fall into a curtsy, finally catching the bored tyrant's attention. Your head is bowed, feigning respect, but you still see his long tail flicker with interest.

“Oh?” The lord finally sits up, cross arms unfurling to lay on his spread thighs. They draw a line of attention straight to his center, one you refuse your eyes to follow. “I wasn’t aware I would be having my dessert sent so early.” A long, ribbed tongue licks up at the lord's chops. You knot your fists on the inside of your cloak, refusing to let the seed of terror sprout in your stomach.

“I am the envoy from the Kingdom of Magistra you requested my lord. I am here to discuss the terms of compromise.”

“You?” He asks, incredulous, eyes looking you up and down. You forcefully simmer the heating anger in your stomach. First the vizier, now this? Gods, is it so unfathomable that a woman could engage in politics? “Hmph, I was expecting a decrepit old man, not a pretty little vixen.”  Those canines gleam as the lord's mouth wires into a smile. Far too wide, far too sharp. “Though I am not complaining.”

Just a man, same as them all.

Swallowing an insult, you continue with a professional tone. “Either way, I wanted first to discuss the possible benefits of aligning-”

“Hah! Benefits, benefits you say?” The lord cackles, slapping his knee at the very idea. “Tell me, what possible benefits are there from supplicating to that absolute babbling fool of a king of yours? A cowardly army, too sniveling to even die valiantly for their home? A mere sliver of your resources, hardly enough to support me and my men?”

You quirk a brow, fist knotting even tighter within your cloak. A part of you had expected this. The detailed reports of the bloody battlefields painted the picture of a man who thought himself close to a Deity, too large to care for those he crushed under his feet. 

But the greediest of men are often at the sway of their own vices; Whether it’s land, gold, power or pleasure, you just have to find that one thing they want to make them crumble. No man fights for nothing, after all.

“His Majesty is willing to bargain with you for a sufficient deal, my lord. I’m sure that whatever you desire, His Majesty would be willing to consider it to bring an end to the conflict.” You’re actually not sure of that, knowing how proud men pushed to the brink could be. But you need to win some ground first before setting boundaries, stroke his ego and make him feel like he’s coming out on top. “Is that not why you requested an envoy, my lord? I’m sure your men must be tired, as our kingdom is. There is a way we both benefit from this bloodshed.”

“Ah, I understand why you would think that, messenger bird.” You don’t let the diminutive title hit you, even as the warlord slouches back in his seat, arms splayed over the sides. A burning gaze rolls up and down your body, you bat away the urge to pull your cloak tighter. “Your kingdom is run by cowards, after all. Abandoning their posts, fleeing from death. Those boys of yours have no sense of glory, of bloody victory.” A clawed hand lovingly brushes against a blood spot on his tunic, as if recalling a particularly vicious memory of combat. “You have shown the most courage so far, envoy. Walking into an enemy camp, alone and undefended, with only your words to protect you. Quite brave, indeed.” 

The warlord’s eyes finally meet you directly, though it doesn’t inspire the feeling of respect it should. His eyes are covetous, hungry.

Your stomach flips. Your palms grow clammy, it takes everything in you to take a step backward. You realize how small this tent is, how surrounded you are.

Fuck.

Despite your efforts, the lord’s nose curls, smelling your nerves. 

“So no, little lady, I do not send for this envoy to bargain. I sent it to remind you and your king of their proper place in this war.” The warlord's upper pair of hands go up behind his head, held in an infuriating pose of relaxation. “As my future subjects.”

“But, you must realize-”

You struggle for some logic, the well-practiced variations and evidence you brought with you, but the lord is wholly uninterested, waving a hand away.

“The only thing I realize is how fun it is going to be to finally seize that glittering castle of yours. Nowhere to run, maybe me and my soldiers will get a proper fight out of this after all.” Those eyes roll up and down you once again. Your layers of clothing don’t feel like enough protection. “How delicious it will be to claim my prize.”

Words escape you, locked on his brutal smile. It’s only then you notice his second pair of hands have slipped under his tunic, and are-

“Oh!” Your face grows hot, stumbling backwards as the warlord begins to unapologetically pleasure himself. The muscle across his jaw feathers as he grips the base of his cock, slowly stroking it up and down. You can almost see a peek of it from under his tunic before you force your eyes away. But there’s no ignoring the sound, the slick of his sweaty palm moving.

“Yes, I’ll savor you the most, sweet messenger bird. I have no interest in weaklings, but I’d love to see you break on my cock.” The warlord spreads his thighs even wider, pupils blown out at your flustered face. “I’m sure you’ve never been fucked properly, little lady. Those cowardly men of yours couldn’t pleasure you even if they tried.” 

Your body feels locked in place, still too shocked to even process. 

You have suffered many indignities in your life, but never anything like this.

“I wonder what you’ll sound like, bent in half and stuffed full. Will you fight to the end, or moan like a taken woman? Ungh-” The lord humps into his hand, pace growing sloppy as something squelches. “-Wouldn’t you like that? Getting split open on my cock? On your back, on your stomach.” 

You finally find the courage to move, scrambling back to the tent's entrance. Your hands knot around the fabric and wrench it open, nearly tripping over your long skirt. The warlord cackles, no doubt eyeing up the glimpses he gets of your behind.

“You should be honored, little human! You’ll being fucked full of my heirs, after all. Strong boys of course, a whole d-damn litter.” The slapping sound of his hand, moving faster than before accompanies his stuttering voice, hips jerking as he gets closer and closer.

Sunlight nearly blinds you as you burst back into the open, running as fast as you can back to your carriage. The vizier let you pass easily, no doubt a smirk on his face. Soldiers cackle and grab at your skirts as you dart past, but none of them in earnest. It’s a fear tactic, nipping at your heels to make the sport more enjoyable.

You all but leap into the carriage door, slamming it behind you. Your weak voice urges the driver to go, get you home as fast as possible.

There has to be a solution, something, something. Something he wants, something other than-

Other than total victory.

The warlord’s laugh, those sharp teeth never leave your mind. Even as you return to the castle town, wondering what you’re going to tell the council. You wrack your brain, hands tugging at the roots of your hair, trying to force the ideas to the forefront. 

Please, gods, let there be something.

—

The castle is the first thing they attack.

There’s an utter panic when they do, servants and staff screaming as they try to find a hiding spot, some route to flee. Particularly loyal knights try to prioritize the nobility, but many falter under the overwhelming threat of the invaders. The smallfolk are left to fend for themselves, wondering how they got caught up in all this.

That’s how he found you, hidden in a closet with a gaggle of lady’s maids and chefs, trying their best to stay quiet.

“Sing for me, my messenger bird.” The warlord pants, nails digging into your ankles up by his neck. The fresh blood smears across your skin, already starting to dry. “Fuck, you’re even tighter than I imagined.” He laughs, his second set of hands pressing deep circles into your waist, no doubt leaving bruises. 

Dried tear tracks run down your cheeks, your bottom lip nearly chewed straight off. You’re already being defiled, in the king's bed of all places, you can’t relent and humiliate yourself even more by moaning. No, this bastard can’t have everything.

“I said-” his nails dig into the side of your ankle, dew drops of blood beading at the skin “-sing.”

“Gods!” You scream, the sharp pain of claw on bone clawing at your throat The feeling of a long tongue lapping at the wound doesn’t help, nor does the sensation of a cock brutalizing your cervix. The warlord’s pace is as brutal as his battle axe, piercing you open with every thrust.

“Hnng, yes. Take your lord’s cock sweetling, take it.”

He speeds up, hands stretching your body into a mating press. His clawed feet brace against the bed, tearing long holes in the fine fabric. The paintings on the walls shaking in their frames as the heavy bed moves up and down. A long tail wiggles like a snake, unmistakably giddy as the warlord devours his quarry.

The light pressure of his claws on skin forces you to release those breathy moans, the squeaks and the yelps as he hits so deep inside you. But it isn’t enough for him, a hand sneaking down and rubbing at your clit.

“No-o! Too much!” Your hips wiggle and struggle but the lord’s grip is iron, still draw tight circles on your sensitive button. The pinpricks of his claws send goosebumps up and across your stomach, but you’re not from fear or pleasure.

“Uh-uh, I want you creaming on this cock before I fuck you full, darling.” He flicks at the button, focusing his cockhead to hump right against your g-spot. “Have to make sure my seed takes, pump you full of my heirs.”

A fuzzy static falls over your brain, skin feeling tingly as a familiar feeling creeps up.

No, no I can’t! Not for him!

But the body does what it wants, the combination of his fast thrusts and deft fingers enough to send you tumbling over the edge. Your hips buck up, chasing the sensation until the very end. The warlord no doubt smiles, cackles as your cunt finally submits, but your eyes are furrowed and you miss it. 

“Here it comes!” The warlord tosses his head back as he fucks you the hardest he can, the giant royal headboard pounding against the wall. “Fuck, yes!”

What feels like a gallon of cum dumps into your pussy, spurting out the sides and across the velvet blankets probably worth more than a year’s salary. The grips bruises into your ankle as he grinds his hips into yours, sticking to his word and making sure not a drop is wasted.

“Hah, hah…” The warlord pants, sweat sticking his fur against the back of your legs. “What a prize you are indeed, my little messenger bird.”

[windser]

PLEASE write out that sylus work. The fandom beeds more spicy MCs and i can tell she would give him a run for his money

pairing: mc x sylus (soulmate!au) wc: 1.2k+

a/n: loooool here is just a bit of a teaser for how i imagined it all playing out. i highly doubt this is how mc and sylus will meet BUT its so fitting for how i image their dynamic playing out. but i really do want to wait for the official drop so I can confirm his characterization. [based on this post]

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

"he’s asking for me ?"

"he identified you by your mark."

your palm immediately goes to cover your wrist, blocking the neat scrawl from view. but it was little too late at this point.

you had never really taken care to hide your soulmate mark from the world. to bear it publicly was often a act of seeking from the individual, showing it proudly as if it might attract their pair sooner.

but for you, it was just as obscure seen or hidden, the mundaneness lining the words that felt like it would never truly have meaning.

‘you’re beautiful’

in your youth days, you thought it was the most romantic gesture to know that your fated person had such a high option of you at first glance. but the years tarnished that same phrase, after hearing it from too many loose lips with hollower intentions.

now it was just a first tattoo, fated second.

the slouch of your shoulder is nonchalant in gesture, though equally weighed down by the situation. “he probably just has intel on it. i’m too careless in the field if i can be identified so easily."

it was a crude bluff, a mere diversion from the pending truth. because yes, it was an indefinite, but only one individual in the world would ever need to find someone based on it.

besides this was the presumed leader of onichynus.

even considering the idea was a headache.

tara shuffles to the right at the sound of your name and you both look up to see jenna waiting, ready by the door.

her quiet nod feels like a direct pang to your temple.

right, a headache indeed.

࿓࿓༄༄࿓

though captured, albeit suspiciously easy, the operation did not come without effort. reportedly there were no casualties but it had been a battle enough in the end.

jenna warns you of as much as the two of you descend further into lower levels of the security facility. there weren’t many criminals who fit the eligibility to be locked behind maximum security. the hiss of the heavy steel doors partying to grant entry spoke volumes about the threshold needed to hold such a threat.

the leader of onichynus was an old tale but not the first. it never occurred to you until now what other individuals might be stored away here for the safety of linkon city.

“ma’am”

the hunter standing before the last sealed door saluted jenna with a stiff salute, the action drawing your attention to the smear of red against his palm.

a battle indeed.

jenna answers with a more tempered gesture, less precise with exhaustion.

“any changes?”

you’d been sent home early into the conclusion of the operation, leaving the higher ups to decide how to deal with the sour victory. it had been less than twelve hours since then and you doubted jenna spent a second of it resting.

the same could he said of the officer standing guard who looked like if he leaned against the wall for even a moment he would slump over.

“none.”

his gaze flicked briefly to you, then down. “is this...?”

it seemed that the leader of onichynus was very vocal with his demands. even without tara's penchant for information, it was now no wonder how everyone knew of your predicament.

you had taken care to clasp your arms behind your back but it seemed the damage was already done.

“the deal was confirmation enough, though at this point it’s all formality.” jenna is addressing you now. her lips turn as she observes the door as if she could see through it. perhaps feeling the aura was enough.

“this is late to mention but you don’t have to do this.”

tardy indeed given that she had already led you to the lion’s den. your face seems to display enough of that sentiment given her sigh.

“if this is true-“ if this man if truly your soulmate, goes unsaid. “then council will reassess the situation.”

the words taste asinine even when they don’t come from your mouth. it wasn’t as if your fate could twist their judgement. the man behind those doors has earned his sentence, it was too late to draw you into the equation.

besides, what would you even do with a criminal as a soulmate? this early in the game, you could cut your loses and actually prepare for a non-fated pairing.

what you did know was that nothing was going to change with one-half meeter of steel between you.

“well let’s see what’s behind door number three.”

jenna doesn’t comment on the joke, likely attributing it to nerves. but in truth, you were just as ready as everyone else to get this over with.

given you had not been present at the exact capture, the face of onichynus still a mystery to you. though this close, you couldn’t help but recall that feeling of the ominous gaze hanging over you. it was one of the few times you had placed the feeling out of your nightmares. the knowledge that it came from the individual fate had decided to pair you with may as well have been the jest of the century.

so yeah you want this over with so you could get the last laugh.

with Jenna’s assent, the officer clears the few steps needed to join his peers where after a short order, the final steel doors began to part.

jenna doesn’t move forward, so neither do you. though you can’t help the slight tense in your limbs as you prepare for ... what a fight or flight?

there was research, anecdotes and stories about the first gaze but you never really summed up what you thought your experience would be.

‘you’re beautiful’

you’d heard it so many times before. would it really be so different this time?

what you notice first is the bareness of the room, appearing as just that, an empty space. well not completely empty; for at its center was a man. one who someone took up every parameter while only being rooted in a single square.

UNICORNS holding measures were … questionable, leaving him in a simple chair with only what you imagined were handcuffs to keep him rooted. this man who nearly cleared an entire squadron. though you supposed an escape wouldn’t come easy for him.

him, who was not just a man, but the dangerous leader to an illegal organization chasing the aether core. a figure with ashen hair and vermillion eyes. a figure with ashen hair and vermillion eyes, likely deprived of rest since his capture, though he didn't give off the impression of losing any sleep over it. he also sported more than a few smudges of dark crimson, making him appear every bit as dangerous as his lore suggested.

you think you hear a sound of protest from jenna as you take a challenging step forward, but it falls on deaf ears as inquisitiveness wins out.

he certainly fit the bill of a criminal figure. yet as he sat there, chained to a simple chair, chest rising with each breath with that slight tilt of his lips. there was just something else that made it hard to believe that this could possibly be your soulmate, questionable choices aside.

the man seemed to take your silence as an invitation as he spoke first.

“you’re beautiful.”

and in that instance, all of the violence and ominousness bled away, leaving just a man tied to a chair with dark eyes looking up at you with expectation.

you don’t realize your lips are curling downward as your eyes flicker back to his hands which were pinned behind his back.

and with your next words you sealed your fate forever.

“sorry, I’m not into subs.”

[genericpuff]

Do you have any entry level recommendations for someone looking to learn a bit more about Greek mythology? I’d love to read up on it but I’m not sure how to find reputable sources and avoid Americanisation.

I mean, at the risk of sounding crass, you're likely going to run into Americanization no matter what you do because America itself was built on many cultures, especially that of Greek philosophy and storytelling.

Buuut if you mean you wanna read some actual Greek myth content that AREN'T modern American spins on classic tales, Emily Wilson is a popular choice for many people dipping their toes into translated mythology as her translations are both simplistic and concise in their language choices as well as fun in their structure to read both internally and orally (iirc her translations are done in iambic pentameter which is very familiar to anyone who's ever read Shakespeare). I've been working through her translation of The Odyssey, it's been pretty enjoyable :)

I've also heard great things about both Lattimore and Fitzgerald, the latter of whom I will be reading next after I finish Wilson's translation. That said, I haven't read either of their works yet, so take my recommendation of them with grains of salt! (I hope you enjoy them though if you check 'em out! If you beat me to it, let me know how they went!)

OH also, I know it's sorta the opposite of what you're likely looking for as it's VERY influenced by modern contexts, but thanks to another anon I recently got into Destripando la Historia which is a super fun animated Youtube series that retells the stories of various different gods from different mythologies. If you're into stuff of the goofy anime variety, you might enjoy them, it's a Spanish series but you can turn on captions to read the translations! It's super beginner-friendly, it covers a lot of different stories and myths without getting into so much detail that it's overwhelming (but gives you a good kickoff point to start with!) and the songs and animations slap, Afrodita is one of my favorites haha

Overall the biggest advice I can give you if you're trying to avoid fanfiction-y / "Americanized" retellings is just to cross-reference. If you find a retelling you really like but aren't completely sure of its legitimacy as a functional retelling, keep reading, watching, and learning more. It's a skill like any other, and the more you read, the more you'll be able to pick out what's a legitimate retelling from studied scholars vs. what's fanfiction that you don't need to take too accurately or seriously LMAO

And honestly, nothing wrong with the fanfiction stuff! Mythology, in its very nature, changes over time, it's an inevitability and many of the myths we still draw from today are often derivative in and of themselves from even older versions that pre-existed them (see: Ovid).

it's okay if your introduction to Greek myth is through derivative fanfic, stuff like Disney's Hercules and even Lore Olympus ARE fun to consume for a lot of people and make for a good entry point into learning more about the myths!

What's frustrating - and what I tend to criticize the most here - is when the fanfiction gets advertised / sold as legitimate retellings; when the fanfiction grossly misrepresents the actual mythology and yet tries to claim it as legitimate anyways which results in fanbases that are running around with completely false information claiming it as fact. If you can give the team behind Hercules credit for one thing, their rendition may not be completely accurate, BUT the folks who made it never bragged about how much smarter they were than other people about Greek myth or call themselves "folklorists" when they didn't even have any formal education/training/etc. in it cough like another creator we know cough 💀 If we want to make a comparison between LO and a Disney film in terms of how it grossly misrepresents the themes and cultural contexts of the original stories it was drawing from... Disney's Pocahontas does exactly that 💅

So if you want to avoid any "grossly" Americanized versions of Greek myth that are borderline disrespectful to the stories they're drawing from... yeah, that's usually a pretty indicative red flag LMAO

But outside of those very specific scenarios, just have fun with it, there really is no "right or wrong" way to engage with the mythology if you're simply just wanting to learn more, the beauty of it being mythology is that it's very diverse in its mediums and thus you don't have to be restricted to learning about it exclusively through academic translations or lectures. Of course, there are cultural intersections with these myths that shouldn't be ignored, we always have to treat it with care when engaging with it so that we aren't overwriting another culture's traditions or beliefs - but if you're simply wanting to learn about and entertain yourself with some amazing stories that have quite literally stood the test of time, do so however you see fit :)

[f1daydreamers]

𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏]

gif credits: @u-u-piastri81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Oscar is a visitor at your first art exhibition – not exactly his scene – but it's one that he contributed to financially to help you out, an upcoming artist he's taken a bit of a liking to.

Warnings: criticism but not always constructive, fluff, Reader and Oscar being cute, this man in a suit (audience may faint from the gifs), angst, maybe Oscar is a little out of character but I just upped his rizz by a solid 20% because I love him but he's way too shy to do any of this methinks :)

A/N: I know nothing about this profession icl but I got major black tie and exclusive event vibes from the gifs so this is what came out of it. I did a ton of research to make sure it wasn't too unrealistic but experience beats knowledge so if you guys read any things that need some correction, lmk!

Yeah, I never expected this to be so long but once I got to writing, I couldn't stop so hey, enjoy!

Word Count: 4.6k words (17 mins reading time avg)

…

Safe to say, this wasn’t Oscar’s scene.

Standing among collectors, art enthusiasts, curators, and industry professionals meant feeling a little out of place was a tad understated.

But he wanted to be here tonight. Of course, being invited is one thing but accepting the invitation comes with a whole new world of formalities he hadn’t prepared for.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, busy greeting and socialising with what looked like a few critics and journalists.

The notebooks in their hands were a dead giveaway but your hand drumming on your leg was another. You were anxious.

Oscar took a sip of his drink, the one he was offered when he received an entry pass coming through the venues' doors. He knew how much this evening meant to you, both in the months of planning and the dreams that preceded it.

Initially, the idea seemed farfetched, but as you dove straight into creating the collection, photographing it, staying up late to create statements that wholly captured the essence of your creative process, the once exciting prospect of submitting it to a gallery felt somewhat dissatisfying.

In a few conversations with Oscar, you’d shared your aspirations of seeing your portfolio bask in the limelight. However, the reality of organising a self-funded exhibition in a rented space would blow your budget out of the water.

You don’t know at what point but he’d made the decision to donate a significant sum of money to your artist fund, covering a major portion of the exhibition's expenses.

It helped you realise all those curious questions about possible venues, dates, and basic costs weren’t just to fuel his enthusiasm, but to sincerely offer his support.

You were grateful beyond what words could describe, and the least you could do was ask him to be here today.

You were nervous partially because you had critics and community leaders alike wandering around the space, conversing about your work you’d spent years dedicating blood, sweat and tears to.

But you were also nervous because he was here tonight.

Even if you’d drawn a squiggly line on a blank canvas, Oscar would marvel at it like it was the most beautiful thing on this planet, but tonight was when he was finally seeing your work in all its completion.

He brought your vision to life and the last thing you wanted to do was make him think his investment was a waste.

Last you’d checked, you hadn’t seen his brown wavy hair anywhere around the venue, his innocent smile playing on your mind even when you were entranced in conversation with fellow artists.

You stepped in front of a painting no one else currently seemed to be trained on, focusing on inhaling and exhaling your breaths, fidgeting with your fingers by your sides.

Tonight, was the most important day of your career by a mile.

“Excuse me.” Someone spoke up behind you and you inhaled a deep breath before whisking around to greet them. But your eyes grew soft, and your smile grew amicably at the man glancing downwards back at you.

“Do you know where I could find the host of the evening?” He asked, his smile mirroring yours, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

"Oscar," you breathed out, and the F1 driver had to force himself to disregard the palpable sense of relief that accompanied the utterance of his name.

The way it effortlessly rolled off your tongue, it left him wanting to hear you say it repeatedly.

“You made it.” He nodded his head, “I did.” Initially, he had doubts about attending, but considering the venue was conveniently located close to his hotel near Silverstone and his flight to Budapest wasn't until Monday evening, he managed to find the time to come.

You drew in a breath, "you look good." Your compliment was genuine, whenever you'd met up with Oscar or came across photos on Instagram, he was either in racing gear or in casual outfits. To see him in a suit was different. A good different.

"Thanks. Pretty sure I should be counting my breaths though." You chuckle as he looks down at himself, the shirt was a little smaller than he would've liked.

A testament to how life in Formula 1 was like and that his neck size had grown exponentially.

"Each one could be your last," you joked, adding on and he nodded.

"Exactly." His laugh culminated into a final chuckle, melting into a warm smile.

When you looked away, seeing the waiters you'd hired tonight refilling cups as people wandered around, Oscar took the opportunity to let his eyes drag over your figure.

"You look beautiful," his compliment drew a smile from you.

You briefly cast your gaze downward before lifting it to his chest then finally up to his eyes. "Thank you, Oscar."

He responded only with a curt nod; his eyes trained on your face before he tore them away to have a look around him.

"How's it going?"

You hummed, thinking about your answer. "It's okay. There's a few paintings that are getting lots of attention, others a little less."

"Did you expect that?" He asked and you reasoned, you knew when you began this collection that people would naturally gravitate more towards some pieces anyway, that's the advice you were given everywhere you went.

"Yeah, I'd be lying if I said I didn't." Oscar took a sip of some liquid courage before pointing at the painting you'd just been standing in front of with the rim of his glass.

"I like this one." You turned as he took steps towards it, his shoulder grazing yours. "This is the last one." You mentioned as he skimmed over the statements planted on the wall next to the artwork.

"I think it's an elderly couple, and the mirrors all around them are portals into a specific memory of their relationship." He said undisputedly. You look up at him, your mouth parting slightly in surprise.

"Yeah, how did you figure that out so quickly?"

"It's almost like you were brainstorming ideas to me on call a few months ago." You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately impressed by his memory.

He hadn't spoken much during that phone call, so you'd assumed he wasn't paying much attention to your endless rambles.

"I never realised you were actually listening." You softly said and Oscar turned his head to look at you.

"Every word." He reassured, and a warm feeling encompassed your chest at his affirmation.

His gaze traced over the painting once more. While he had never hesitated to express his belief in your talent, seeing your artwork displayed in such a way stirred a whirlwind of emotions inside of him.

He was proud of you and excited for you, knowing that you had undertaken this journey for your own sake, garnering an array of artistic admirers. It's no mean feat to organise an event like this, take a risk so early on in your career.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you." You snap him out of his thoughts, turning your body towards him, standing a few feet away.

Oscar mimicked your movements, turning so he was facing you, and placed his now empty glass on a bar tray that a waiter had extended to him, refusing a refill.

"Why do you think you need to repay me? Remember, it was a donation." He said matter-of-factly. You let out a sigh.

Despite his repeated assurances that he expected nothing in return, you couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness that lingered in your thoughts.

You found yourself dwelling on the late-night conversations, wondering if your eagerness to discuss your plans had inadvertently conveyed desperation.

Your gaze drops and without hesitation, he reaches his hand out and gently slots it into yours, his thumb caressing over your skin in a soothing gesture. Your heart skips a beat or two, the warmth of his hand was relieving.

"This is the best way you can repay me. Living the dream." He smiles and you nod, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. His voice was a calming anchor amid your thoughts.

"I'll never forget how you made it possible though," a small smile graced your lips, and he let out a chuckle.

"Yeah, you never miss a chance to mention it," he quipped, his eyes dancing with amusement. You playfully rolled your eyes, a good-natured sigh escaping you as you did.

Oscar's hand retreated to his side, and a subtle longing for his touch flickered within you. Nevertheless, you mask it with a smile that grew as you exchanged a couple more jokes.

...

He courteously held the door ajar, giving a nod to a man entering the bathroom who appeared to appreciate the gesture. Letting the door close behind him, Oscar took out his phone to check the time.

Absentmindedly, he began scrolling through his notifications: a mix of sports updates, a message from his mum, one from Mark. Yet, none seemed particularly urgent.

Just as he was about to tap on one of the notifications, his attention was drawn upward to the sound of your voice.

You were engaged in conversation with a man, his journal held in his hands, and sunglasses perched atop his head. Oscar's gaze briefly went back to his phone screen; he made no overt effort to eavesdrop.

Despite this, fragments of your conversation found their way to his ears anyway.

"I must say, your work is quite disappointing. The lack of technical skill is evident in every piece." Oscar's eyebrows furrow as he observes openly, a marked departure from his earlier disinterested demeanour.

You clear your throat as you try to collect yourself, bringing your fingers up to your mouth to hide your quivering lip.

You had previously cautioned yourself that not everyone will like your work, but experiencing such candid criticism directly was far more destructive than you could have expected.

"Um, okay. What sort of things did you not like about it?" You asked, trying to find some sort of valuable insight from such a respected critic in your community.

"The colours are garish and clash horribly. It's clear that you have no understanding of colour theory or composition." You nod, gathering some form of strength to just take his words on the chin but you were failing rather miserably. Your stomach was sinking, and your eyes were watering slowly.

"It's a shame that your efforts have resulted in such subpar creations." Your jaw tightens and as you scramble for the right words to respond with in your mind, a hand presses into your lower back from behind.

"Excuse me. I want to purchase a piece, but I can't seem to find your sales assistant." The accent is unmistakable, and you muster a smile as you turn to face him.

"I'll help you." Your voice is unsteady, your emotions deflated.

"Thank you," Oscar responds, though his gaze carries a hint of concern. He moves to follow you but before he can do so, the critic extends his hand to grasp his arm, waiting until he's certain you're out of earshot.

"Coming from a collector, don't bother." He smirks, his conviction clear. Yet, the F1 driver's face remains impassive.

"Sorry, I don't remember asking you. Now, if you don't mind." He looks down at the grip on his arm, his fist clenching by his side. The critic seems taken aback at the blank expression looking back at him, devoid of any gratefulness.

He swallows before loosening his grip.

Oscar rounds the pillar just as you press down on the handle to the fire door exit at the distant end.

He contemplates whether he should grant you some space, but he wonders if doing so will only make matters worse.

Pausing briefly, he contemplates his choices before deciding to make his way toward the fire exit anyway. His hand firmly grasps the handle, and he proceeds to push open the door.

With your back turned towards him, you're unaware of his presence. Your palms are pressed against your face as a means of stifling your sniffles hence the closing of the door registers faintly, the sound hardly penetrating your thoughts.

It's only when the crunching of gravel beneath someone's shoes reaches your ears that you realise you're no longer alone. But oddly, you know there's only one person who it could be.

The combination of embarrassment, distress, and sheer exhaustion was what left you feeling so overwhelmingly emotional.

Aware that you don't want Oscar to witness you in this state, you quickly swipe at your cheeks, hastily erasing any traces of tears from your face.

You whisk around, smiling up at him and nodding your head. "I'm good Os. It's not always going to be a perfect score, right?" His heart swells at the nickname you called him, very few people did so, but hearing it from you felt special in a way.

"He's a dick," the F1 driver bluntly responds, his tone carrying a hint of anger.

You chuckle softly, but the sigh that follows is slightly shaky. A wave of heaviness crashes over you again as the critic's hurtful words echo in your mind, your stomach sinking in response.

Oscar picks up on the shift of emotion and his eyes soften at your teary and lowering expression.

Without a word, he opens his arms and pulls you into an embrace. You don't resist; instead, you bury your face in his shoulder, your shoulders trembling as silent tears escape your eyes.

His arms encircle you tightly, offering a comforting refuge as your emotions spill over again.

His chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm providing you with some comfort despite how irritated you're getting at yourself for letting one conversation bother you this much.

As he holds you, his chest aches both for your vulnerability and the anger he feels towards the critic who provoked it. You reluctantly pull away after a minute or so, a mixture of gratitude and sadness in your eyes.

But in the moment, you can't help but feel that the money he donated for the exhibition might have gone to waste, that your efforts fell short.

Disappointing your clients is business but disappointing him felt personal, he was the reason you even had a chance to do this, and it'd turned out horribly.

"I let you down," you say quietly, and Oscar's eyebrows knit together as he studies your expression.

"How? Every piece I love, Y/N." He responds, placing his hand on your forearm, his touch warm. It sends a flurry of goosebumps over your skin which you're sure he would've picked up on considering his attention to detail.

He positions his index finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes which you do. Your legs suddenly feel like they're incapable of keeping you upright, your face warming under his gaze.

"You didn't let me down." He whispers.

Oscar's concern remains palpable as his hand doesn't fall back to his side. His eyes hold a depth of emotion, the colours in his eyes becoming more distinct.

The connection that you can sense increases, and it's as if the unspoken understanding between you becomes more profound in that moment.

His cologne surrounds you but it's his gaze that flickers to your lips, a fleeting but unmistakable gesture. You realise that he's leaning in closer and there's a fraction of a second when it feels like the world around you fades.

The possibility of his lips meeting yours feels tantalisingly close.

But just as the moment deepens, you're both interrupted by one of the assistants, their voice breaking through the charged atmosphere.

"Sorry," the assistant interjects, sounding somewhat hurried. "There're a few clients waiting to speak with you Y/N."

Oscar slowly pulls back; he tucks in his bottom lip between his teeth and his expression shifts from one of intimacy to one of polite neutrality.

He offers you a subtle smile, the connection lingering between you even as the assistant's words redirect your attention.

"Of course," you reply, your voice steady despite quite the hurricane of emotions storming inside of you. You look to the assistant, ready to face the responsibilities of the exhibition once again. As you move away, you steal a glance at him, his gaze locked onto you for a moment longer before he nods.

That damned connection between you and Oscar remains, but now only punctuated by unspoken possibilities.

...

"Thank you, ma'am." you say with a warm smile as the elderly woman clasps your hand, offering kind words about your artwork while draping her shawl over her shoulders.

Once she'd left, you looked around to see if there was anyone else remaining in the space. Oscar had left a while ago considering he was on a flight tomorrow to Budapest.

Though a tinge of disappointment lingered within you, you understood and bid him goodnight.

You wrapped up a little later than you would've liked, a couple of your pieces had sold so you had to coordinate transport for them.

For the remaining few, you'd wrapped them up, gathered the papers for each one before loading them into the van to have them delivered back to your studio.

Oscar eventually made it back to the space he'd rented on Airbnb, staying in a hotel for a week definitely wasn't something he was fond of doing, a neatly packaged box of takeout planted on the small table.

He threw the crumpled paper bag into the bin and settled onto the couch, his phone in hand. He opened Instagram, scrolling through his feed to pass the time it'd take for him to get sleepy.

As he tapped through the stories, your profile picture caught his eye. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched it whole. The familiar scenes of the exhibition unfolded before him – videos capturing the venue, the artwork.

His gaze lingered on the art as if he hadn't been there tonight, his mind wandering into the world you had created. It wasn't just the work itself that interested him; it was the glimpse they offered into your mind, your perspective, and the emotions you poured into your work.

The admiration he felt for your creativity was intertwined with the growing fondness he was developing for you as a person.

Once you'd reached home, you dropped on to the couch with a sigh of relief that the day was done.

So, when your phone started vibrating besides you, you groaned and brought it up to your ear, not bothering to take a look at the caller ID.

"Y/N," you closed your eyes and waited for the other person to respond. They stuttered first before speaking up, "should I - should I reply with my name, or do we just get into the conversation?"

You lightly gasped, chuckling and straightening up on the couch. "Oscar, sorry. I'm still in work mode I think." You rubbed your forehead and the F1 driver poked through his food with a fork on the other end.

"No harm done. You back from the venue?" He asked and you stretched your legs out in front of you, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Yeah, only just. Perfect timing, Piastri." He smiled at your response, "I pride myself in that."

"I'm sure you do." You joked teasingly and fell back on the couch again. The similar onset of warmth and goosebumps from earlier bubbled up again inside of you.

"I thought you would've knocked out by now." Oscar hums, swallowing his food as he traps his phone between his ear and shoulder, throwing the now empty box on to the coffee table in front of him.

"Yeah well, I needed to eat. Luckily for me, there was a long queue at every takeaway place tonight." He retorted sarcastically and you scoffed, "typical London."

He agreed wordlessly before shifting his body horizontally, propping his head up on the armrest, his legs splaying over the leather sofa.

"What did you end up getting?" He made a humming sound as he reached for the receipt he'd tossed carelessly aside, bringing it up to eye level.

"Caribbean chicken curry." He said slowly, squinting to read the half-printed letters. Your stomach rumbling beneath you helped you remember that you too hadn't eaten for majority of the day. Your last meal was breakfast with a few snacks you always have on hand.

"Sounds good. I'd kill for some chicken curry right now." You mumble and Oscar's head turns to look up at the clock hung on the wall above the television.

"How 'bout I bring some?" He asks nonchalantly and your heart skips, you stutter in your response, glancing at the digital clock blinking at you from the corner table.

"You'd do that?" You say, a little more high-pitched than you would've preferred.

He smiles, refraining to say something corny. "Yeah, well I mean it's not my bedtime for another hour so..." He trails off thus leaving you to make the decision.

You don't even care about the food anymore, your stomach is doing somersaults from the mere thought of seeing him twice in one day.

"Only if it's alright with you. If you need to sleep, please sleep." You insist and there's a pause, you could swear you hear keys jangling on the other end of the phone before Oscar confirms.

"I'll be there in a bit."

...

You're changed into some slightly more flattering pyjamas than your regular animated giraffe ones when you hear a knock on your door. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you walk the length of the hallway and reach for the doorknob.

Giving it a couple of moments, you open the door to find Oscar standing there, a warm smile on his face that mirrors your own feelings.

He's holding a paper bag up and you smile, "my saviour. Come in."

He slides past you, toeing his trainers off and pushing them up to the wall so they weren't in the direct pathway, allowing you to lead him into the living room.

He places the bag on to your wooden dining table and you sigh in delight, the smell of the food faintly wafting out of it.

"How much do I owe you?" He shakes his head, letting you take the box out of the bag.

"Only your eternal gratitude," he replies, his lips curving into a smile as he takes in the sight of your light expression, your eyes lit with appreciation.

"You already have that." You chuckle.

Eventually, you begin eating, all the while holding a conversation. With each passing minute, a subtle worry creeps in - that he might decide to leave soon. Not that you're against him getting his rest, but your own enjoyment of his company is growing stronger by the second.

The idea of the evening ending prematurely becomes less and less appealing. The warmth of his presence, the humour in his words, the hesitance you initially felt about him leaving transformed into a silent plea for him to stay, at least a little longer.

"I'm going to go up and use the bathroom, head over to the couch, make yourself comfortable." You insist and Oscar nods. His feelings he was aware of when he reached back to his place had tripled since he'd got here.

His leg had been bouncing the entire duration he'd been talking, he was nervous but albeit not understandably. He'd visited your place a few times now, he'd known you for nearly a year.

Nothing about the fluttery sensation in his belly, the excitement prior to seeing you, the attraction, the thoughtfulness, made any sense to him.

But at the same time, they made perfect sense. He likes you. A whole lot.

Realising he was getting a bit warm, he pulled the hoodie over his neck to reveal just a plain white tee underneath.

Tossing it on to the dining room chair he was previously sat on, he plops on to the couch, bringing the calf of his right leg up to rest on the knee of his left, his arm outstretching on the back of the couch.

You eventually return, having brushed your teeth since the aftertaste of the curry wasn’t a very pleasant one in your mouth.

“Do you piss for that long?" Oscar asks curiously, locking his phone and sliding it on to the table.

You scoff and feign offence as you sit next to him just a few inches away. "I don't actually, even if I did, what's it to you?" You tease and he shrugs, his lower arm draping off the couch casually, his fingertips brushing close to your shoulder.

"I was bored," he admits, his explanation falling a bit flat.

You raise an eyebrow, a mockingly sympathetic expression on your face. "Poor Oscar, suffering from boredom in my humble abode. My heart aches for you." He smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head at your antics.

His eyes sparkle with amusement, "Well, I must say your empathy is truly heartwarming."

"That's just me, a paragon of compassion," you quip, a mischievous glint in your eyes. His proximity has your heart racing, and you're acutely aware of the playful tension that's building between you.

He tilts his head, his gaze holding yours as he leans in slightly. "You know, I was half expecting you to beg for my forgiveness."

You roll your eyes, your gaze locked on to his, you didn't mean for them to glance down to his lips, but it didn't skip past his notice either.

Your heart was hammering in your chest and the silence that followed afterwards definitely gave Oscar enough time to be able to pick up on it.

"Please forgive me Oscar, please?" You reduce your words to a whisper and he smiles, refusing to waste another second and he instantly ducks his head to catch your lips in a fervent kiss.

His actions catch you off guard, the sensation electrifying and sending a jolt of surprise through your system.

Your thoughts scatter as the world seems to narrow down to the point of contact between your lips. The kiss is eager and filled with a mixture of longing and curiosity, as if both of you have been dancing around this moment for far too long.

Your heart continues racing, and time feels suspended as his touch sends shivers up and down your spine.

The sudden intimacy of it all is exhilarating, and you find yourself responding without hesitation, your fingers instinctively finding their way to his arm, your body moving a fraction closer to his.

A soft moan escapes you, and Oscar slides his hand beneath your top, pressing his palm against your waist. A squeeze of your skin hints at you to move back slightly, creating the room needed for him to push you down on to your back.

Your lips detach for a moment as he positions himself over you, lowering his head seconds later to press them together again.

His face was level with yours when he eventually pulled away to catch his breath, and let you catch yours, his arm propping him up besides your head.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" He chuckles softly, his fingers toying with a few strands of your hair.

"I'll just have to use the plane's naptime feature." You laugh, bringing your hand up to push his hair out of his eyes.

His gaze flickers across your face, capturing the traces of your faint smile lines and the tiny beauty mark adorning your skin.

He leans in, planting a tender kiss on the mole. Meanwhile, your fingertips journey to the nape of his neck, exploring the contours of his hair.

He grins boyishly when he picks his head up again. "I think I could stay here forever," he admits, his voice a soft confession.

You playfully raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? What if the plane's naptime feature gets jealous?"

He chuckles, a low, melodious sound. "Well, I guess it'll just have to deal with a bit of competition," he remarks before his lips find yours once again.

...

Masterlist

[shelby-fangirl00]

An Unexpected Client-One Shot

Summary: Reader is a prostitute working at a party when she meets Thomas Shelby.

Warnings: Little plot, smut, prostitution (MINORS DNI)

Word Count: 2524

Let me know what you guys think of this one! Trying to get better at the spicy stuff lol

You plopped down on an empty red couch near a darker corner of the dimly lit room. You and a hand full of other women had been hired by a wealthy Russian family to work a party tonight. Your wages were paid upfront for an entire night of service to any and all men at this party. Since you’ve been doing this for a few months now, you had seen a lot already, but the money was better than any other job you had before, so you did it. Most of the men you serviced now were regulars and didn’t give you much hassle, but every now and then, you had to work at parties like this. It wasn’t something you looked forward to doing, as it was a bit abrasive and taxing on you, but it paid better than usual nights. Usually, the men would tip on top of what you were paid upfront. 

You looked around the room, seeing several naked Cossack men bending the working women over tables and couches, pounding aggressively into them. Loud music attempted to drown out the insistent moans and grunts coming from every inch of the massive room. Nobody had noticed your entry into the room yet, which you were relieved by. You wanted to be aware of your surroundings before you were put into action. 

Usually, at these types of events, it was custom for you to wear nothing but dark lingerie. By the time you were needed here, formalities had been stripped away hours ago, so there was no need to be modest now. So, you threw on a size too small bra, panties and stockings. Your hair and bright red heels making you stand out. 

‘Care for a drink?’ Said a deep voice. 

The man was standing in front of you, holding out a glass for you to take. He stood out from the rest of the men here, he wasn’t Cossack. You could tell by his clothes and his exposed gun holsters that he was wealthy, so you perked up. 

‘Thank you, sir’ You smiled at him as you took the glass, straightening your back and crossing your legs suggestively. He leaned into the couch, opposite of you, eyes devouring the sight of your exposed body. 

He was very handsome. It wasn’t every day that you were able to entertain someone like him. Most of the men you saw were older businessmen and factory workers. You were very attracted to him, but you tried to push your nervousness and feelings aside, as this was a job for you. 

‘Tell me your name, love.’ He commanded softly as his eyes finally found their way back to your face. 

‘My names y/n, sir.’ You cooed out. You paused, hoping he’d tell you his name too. 

‘Tommy Shelby. Tell me, why is it that you’re the only girl in here who hasn’t been claimed by any of these men?’ He asked genuinely. 

‘Your guess is as good as mine… I think I look the part, no? you giggled out, trying to seem more charming and less nervous. 

He chuckled at this. ‘That you do, love…’ He said while placing a firm hand to softly grip your thigh. It was as if to tell you that he was in fact, the man that would be claiming you tonight. 

Excitement flooded your body, your stomach turning in knots. You couldn’t help how your body was reacting to Tommy. There was just something about him, the way he carried himself, the way he talked and looked at you …it all caused a thumping in your chest and a wetness to form in your panties. 

You placed your hand on top of his. Guiding his hand up your thigh to cup your mound, you showed him the wetness that was seeping through your thin panties. 

‘Do you want to fuck me, Mr. Shelby?’ You uttered out, inhaling deeply as he began to rub against the wetness through your panties. 

His eyes sparkled with pure desire as he looked into yours. A devilish grin covered his face. 

‘I do, very much.’ His thick accent rolling off his tongue. 

As he pulled his hand out from in between your thighs, you took the chance to drop to your knees in front of him.

‘Not here, love. We’ll go to my room, yeh?’ He stated as he helped you up from the floor. People were fucking all around us. I didn’t see why he was being so modest. Maybe he didn’t like all the eyes in the room. 

You let him lead you into an attached bedroom that he must’ve been staying in tonight. You felt like you’d struck gold getting to be with the most attractive man here, and in private. He had you all to himself now. 

He locked the door behind him before walking towards you with stride, examining every inch of your body. Goosebumps covered your arms as he did so. 

You waited for him to instruct you. 

He pulled you into him, laying hungry kisses and soft bites onto your neck, a small moan escaped you. You threw up your hands to rest on the back of his neck. You suddenly realized you were enjoying this far too much. 

You pulled away and dropped to your knees in front of him. His eyes watched your every move and yours never left his. 

You slowly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, letting his anticipation build. 

His cock sprung from his pants, already hard. You smirked at his eagerness, wrapping your hand at the base. You looked up at him needily, swirling your tongue around the round head of his cock before pushing your lips past it. 

Tommy let out a low groan as he pushed his hand into your hair. His eyes were heavy with nothing but desire and need. 

He pushed softly into your mouth, filling you more and more, almost reaching the back of your throat. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to his size. Tears stung your eyes as you tried to relaxed your throat, allowing him to easily push in and out of your mouth. 

‘Fuuuck yes, love…you’re doing so good for me.’ He moaned out while tossing your hair to one side, gripping it. He used his other hand to caress your cheek, reveling in the sight of you wrapped around his cock. 

You moaned into him as a response to his words. It felt so good to make him feel good. You wanted more. 

As you pulled back, you began to bob your head up and down his shaft, pressing your tongue against the underside of his cock. Your hands wandered up his tight stomach, balancing yourself against him.

Without warning, he dragged himself slowly out of your mouth with a soft pop. You looked up at him, a bit confused.

‘Lay down, on the bed.’ He commanded you, a darkness casting over his eyes. You did as you were told, sliding your soaked panties off as you did so. 

He stood in between your spread legs, marveling at the sight of you. 

‘You’re so fucking beautiful.’ He panted out as he pushed his holster off his shoulders and onto the floor, his eyes never leaving yours. You sat up to unbutton his shirt quickly. You pushed the shirt down and off his broad shoulders, exposing his muscular chest. 

He pushed you back down forcefully onto the bed, leaning over you as you wrapped your thighs around his waist.

As his pretty face hovered over yours, he pressed his lips onto yours. The kiss sent sparks to your head. He tasted like whiskey and smelt of cigarettes. You flicked your tongue into his mouth, causing him to let out a small groan as he pushed into your lips. 

As he kissed you, he lined himself up with your dripping entrance, letting the tip glide against your slick folds, collecting the wetness. He teased your entrance, popping the head of his cock in and out of you slowly. He was driving you crazy. 

‘Please Tommy, I need you inside of me.’ You panted out, not being able to wait any longer. 

Tommy chuckled and smiled softly. All at once, he pushed into you forcefully. You gasped, breath getting stuck in your chest as you adjusted to his size. 

‘You’re so fucking tight around my cock, aren’t you? Such a good little whore for me.’ He said lowly into your ear as he fucked into you fast and hard.

 You could barely make out any words. You felt so full with him inside you. You hadn’t felt this good during sex in a very long time. Sex wasn’t supposed to be enjoyable for working girls like you. You were supposed to service this man, but it felt like he was servicing you.  

As your body adjusted to him, you quickly threw off your thin bra, exposing your hard nipples. 

Tommy dipped his face down into your chest, cupping your tits as he swirled his tongue around your nipples, sucking lightly on them before coming back to your face. 

He continued to fuck into you, lifting your ass slighting off the mattress in order for him to push even deeper into you. You clung to both of his biceps tightly, trying to keep yourself from moving around too much. 

Before you could comprehend what was happening, he pulled out of you and stood up. 

‘On your knees, now.’ He growled at you, panting as he did so. 

You happily moved to your hands and knees, your bare ass on display for Tommy. 

He came up behind you, letting his hands brush down your spine and the curve of your ass, landing in between your legs. He slowly started to rub circles onto your swollen clit. You jolted slightly under his touch. No client had ever tried to pleasure you. You felt like you were doing something wrong. 

‘Tommy, please. I’m here for you, not myself. Let me help you feel good.’ You said seductively, pushing your ass into his groin. 

‘This makes me feel good, so shall I continue or should I stop?’ He whispered again, sending a chill down your spine. You couldn’t argue with this, though. His whispers were impossible to deny.

You nodded your head silently, causing him to continue rubbing against your sensitive nub, more forcefully. His two finger drew circles, making you even more wet than before. 

‘Fuck Tommy…please don’t stop.’ You moaned loudly, still on your hands and knees. 

Then, he shoved his cock into you, picking up the pace quickly. You gasped loudly as he thrusted into you while rubbing your clit menacingly. All of it was too much to hold onto, you needed to cum. His hands, roaming your body, rubbing you, fucking you, his whispers…he was sending you over the edge.

‘Tommy..oh god, I’m gonna cum Tommy, don’t stop!’ You yelled out as he fucked you even more forcefully than before, resting his chest on your back and his face nuzzled into your neck as he worked to make you cum. The sounds of skin slapping together echoed through the large room. 

A wave of warmness ran through you before you let out a strange moan, not being able to control yourself. Your walls clenched tightly around his cock, molding them together. You came harder than you ever had, around him. He held you up by your waist as your legs shook from on your knees. Tommy didn’t stop fucking you though, he was chasing his own high now, which you could tell was close. 

‘You sound so fucking pretty when you cum.’ He said roughly as he pounded sloppily into you. You lifted yourself from your hands, pushing your back against his chest as he fucked you. He grabbed and squeezed your tits, craning your neck around to meet his freckled lips. He kissed you sloppily, his tongue invading your mouth and refusing to leave. He hooked is hands into your arms, keeping you in place.

‘Are you going to cum, Mr. Shelby? Cum all over my face?’ You asked him greedily, but also asking him to not cum inside of you. 

‘Is that what my little whore wants? You want that pretty face covered in me cum?’ He said more loudly. You could feel him getting so close. His strokes were becoming more and more sloppy. 

‘Yes, please, yes! Come on my face Tommy! Please!’ You yelled out, wanting to be covered in his warm liquids so badly. You wanted to taste him. 

Suddenly, he pulled out. As he did so, you quickly swung around to lay on your back as he hovered over your face, stroking out his own orgasm. You opened your mouth, stuck out your tongue and closed your eyes. Ropes of warm cum splattered across your face and onto your tongue. He whimpered as he finished himself off, watching you greedily lick the cum off of your face.

As he emptied himself completely, he approached you, taking his thumb and collecting some of the leftover cum on your face, and shoving it into your mouth. 

You sucked every bit of liquid on his thumb, staring back up at him as you did so. 

You both stood there, naked and panting, trying to understand what had just happened. 

‘You’re good at what you do, woman.’ He said quietly as he tenderly cupped your face and kissed you softly. You lightly squeezed his waist. 

‘Thank you, Tommy, that was fucking amazing, I have to say.’ You said sweetly to him as you went to stand up and put back on the little clothing you had before.  

‘The fuck are you doing?’ he asked, still standing where you left him, naked. 

‘I…have to keep working tonight Mr. Shelby.’ You said as you tied your bra in the back. 

‘I’ll pay ya whatever the Romanov’s did for the night, you’re not seeing anyone else but me, here. You’re mine for the night, alright?’ He said sternly, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

You were shocked but also very excited that he had enjoyed being with you, so much so that he would double your wages just to stay with him. 

‘You’re being serious? I chuckled out, hoping to God he was. 

‘Come on love, lie down with me.’ He gestured to you to follow him under the silky sheets of his bed. You smiled as you giggled over to him, snuggling your face onto is chest. His body was so warm and inviting. He rested his arm on your back, stroking the exposed skin with his rough fingers. You had never felt so protected and wanted by a client. You definitely weren’t supposed to be doing something like this, but you couldn’t help yourself. It just felt so right being around him and he seemed to enjoy your company, so what was the harm? 

You both said nothing or did anything else for the rest of the night. You both fell asleep in each other’s arms, without any interruptions, feeling extra lucky that you decided to work this party after all. 

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

IV. “unmasked”

parts: previous / next

plot: set on a new (and flashy) candidate for your paper, you end up getting more than you bargained for.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, blackmail, sexual harassment (sleazy Oz), uneasy tension

words: 2.9k

It was as if you'd told her pigs could fly.

"Did you get prior authorization from Wayne Enterprises?"

Ah, shit. You knew she would balk at the idea if she knew you hadn't made contact with him yet, so you lied. "He agreed to it just this afternoon." Feeling a tad guilty but trying to shake it off, you ended the call shortly after when she told you she'd meet you outside the venue with the needed supplies for entry. Thankfully she was more knowledgeable about the goings of the city than you were, as she knew the start time: six. You had about an hour to shower, change, and do whatever hair and makeup you could manage.

And do that you did. The shower felt manic, scrubbing so hard and quick that the nearly-healed scabs on the palms of your hands reopened, burning and raw. You did your best to ignore the pains as you blow-dried your strands and brushed your teeth. You groaned when you realized the only 'formal' outfit you had was the dress you'd worn the night of the shooting. It had some snags which the sequins lightly concealed, and you had to take a spare toothbrush to your matching heels to rid of the caked mud. Your hair was cooperating, much to your amazement, and you decided to put it back in a slick, middle-part pony for your dark locks. Rummaging through your desk you found a pair of cubic zirconia stud earrings, hastily fixing them to your ears with one hand while your other smeared some foundation on.

5:45 rolled around and you had narrowly made it to your cab after hyperfixating on your makeup in the mirror. You left with only your phone and keys, pre-paying for a cab to and from so you didn't have to worry about losing your new wallet... again. You grew increasingly anxious the closer you got to the event, knowing full-well you would likely have to turn in a paper three days from now that was not an interview with the elusive billionaire. Consequences would have to be dealt with later, however, and you knew you could probably make up another lie to cover your first one, that he had simply stood you up. In fact, you had so little hope for him accepting the interview you hadn't bothered to think up a single question.

City hall was dramatically busier than anticipated. Swaths of both citizens and paparazzi huddled around the entrance, forcing your courage to shrink. Maybe it was a terrible, terrible idea. Maybe you'd make a fool of yourself. But that didn't matter—you'd be out of Gotham before the month was out. You thanked the driver, keeping your head on a swivel for the professor.

"Ms. Y/L/N!" Dr. Vry greeted you with unexpected warmth, embracing you in a hug before handing you a voice recorder and press badge. The glimmer in her eyes was intimidating, knowing that you had effectively lied for it to occur. "I await your paper with bated breath. So excited to read his first interview."

Gulping back guilt you had thanked her and wobbled your way up the stairs in your heels. The concrete slapped the soles which didn't help your baseline unsteadiness. The reality of the choice was setting in as you surveyed the entryway, full of Gotham's elite. You didn't get much of a good look before you tripped on the final stair, throwing your arms out to catch your fall.

Bruce got out of his car and handed his key to the valet, hiding a wince from the many photographers frantically screaming his name. His night-oriented eyes narrowed to protect from the harsh flashes of light reflecting not only off their lenses but the many puddles littering the caves in Gotham pavement. He focused on a dark strip of tar as he navigated toward the front steps, tucking his hands in either side of his rough wool overcoat.

Hordes of Gotham's elite climbed the stairs ahead of him, and he intentionally avoided eye contact with anyone who seemed like a Bruce Wayne superfan. He wasn't in the mood to be in public today, but it was a local government mixer; in other words, an excuse for the socialites to get drunk on wine the general public couldn't afford one bottle of while still keeping up appearances. As a Wayne, his attendance was nearly mandatory. In the past he had ignored Alfred's pushes to mingle and faced backlash. After a few scathing think-pieces in the Gotham Gazette, a mediating member reached out due to waning finances. More money than he knew what to do with, he'd signed on for a generous recurring donation which had apparently caused a mass amnesiac event. Shocking. Only cost a few million to be back in good graces.

The foyer smelled musty, the muddy puddles dragging in the scent of dirt and chemical rain by way of red-bottoms and kitten heels. Bruce refrained from reacting, his eyes moving him about the room with stealth. Wine tables. Servers. His gaze lingered toward the entrance where a group of men were eyeing women as they walked in. Before he could intercept, a sharp elbow slid across his lower back and someone grabbed his knee, a cell phone bouncing across the ground toward the refreshments. He buckled as his knee was pushed forward, falling swiftly onto his ass. You hadn't realized who it was, embarrassment tinging your cheeks as you immediately began to apologize, shocked at how quickly you'd made an ass out of yourself.

You pushed yourself up to a crouch and forced yourself to make eye contact with the stranger. You didn't particularly want to face a rich guy in Gotham you'd just pummeled into the ground, but it would have been worse to simply run off into the night. The man had dark brown hair that was now obscuring his face, and pale skin. You couldn't make out much more before you'd locked eyes with the Batman.

Oh fuck.

You began to apologize and his body became tense at the sound of your voice. That familiar guttural tightness consumed him as he looked forward and once again met those big, bright eyes. It was you. You stared back at him with your mouth slightly open and he froze, forgetting to fix his face for just a moment. It was an expression he'd only seen once previously when he had come to Alfred after his first try-on of the suit. His chest felt as if knives were sharpening themselves on the lining of his lungs, slicing his esophagus to asphyxiate him. No. No. NO.

Your teeth went cold as shock washed through you, snagging at your chest and skipping your heartbeat. It registered like a narration, too big to neatly conceptualize or shelve away. What do you do when you realize the country's most eligible bachelor is also the country's most infamous vigilante?

He couldn't read you beyond your initial surprise, and it panicked him. The sound of blood pulsing in his ears deadened the sound of the crowded room, yet he was still highly aware of being surrounded by the last people he'd ever want to find out. He begged his thoughts for an answer on why you'd shown up right here, right now.

His fear disarmed you, rendering you unsteady. You needed to gather yourself, you were starting to sweat under his piercing gaze. Head spinning. World-shifting. You spun around and instead went to pick up your phone, the throngs of people already back to their own conversations. The celebrities of Gotham weren't too interested in the wellbeing of anyone besides their own... and even then they never went out of their way to help another. You noticed your phone alight in the corner by the snacks and made a beeline for it, careful to lift your feet with every step so as to not have another incident.

Thank god, you thought to yourself as you knelt down to pick up your phone. As you began to examine the screen for any dents or scratches (there were none) you stood up to someone tapping your shoulder. You had half a mind to think it was Batman—Bruce. He wasn’t in the suit. Fuck, he’s really the Batman?

"Ay, what's a pretty girl like yourself doing in a city like this, eh?" You turned to see a taller, thicker man with rough skin and a heavy accent staring back at you. He had on a checkered suit with a white shirt tucked underneath, and smelled strongly of tobacco. The bow tie caught you a bit off-guard, as did his demeanor. He looked you over as he licked his lips, making you turn your nose up. The man didn't even notice. "Sweetheart, with a body like that you'd make a killing at my lounge." His black eyes moved from staring at your chest to your face, a devilish grin plastered to his mouth.

You cleared your throat, tightening your hand around the phone. You gave as professional a smile as you could manage and nodded at him. "I'm actually here to get an interview," the absolutely terrible vibes of the man made you forget about your realization and as you walked past, he put a firm hand on your shoulder.

"C'mon," he egged, positioning himself closer. His voice was rough and jagged, every neuron in your body telling yourself to get away from the stranger. He continued without shame. "You can audition for me in the room next door, huh?" His firm pressing on your shoulder pushed you forward toward a side door. Anxiety churned your stomach. "Sir," you scrambled. "I really have to get this—"

"Miss? Excuse me, Miss?"

Your wide, nervous eyes snapped back to face Mr. Wayne, and you heard the stranger chortle. It was a nauseating sound. "Ah, Bruce Wayne!"

He wasn't looking at him, instead at you with a fervent gaze. He'd decided he would assume you knew, assume his interpretation of your gaze was correct. Otherwise, how would he have known about this interview? You'd only told him as Batman. "I was told to meet you here for the interview."

Relief poured over you like sinking into a freshly filled pool in thick August heat. You opened your mouth to speak, but whoever the person was interrupted, yet again. "With all due respect, Mister, we're in the middle of business."

Lacking so much hesitation as to nearly cut him off altogether, Mr. Wayne responded shortly. "I don't have much time so I'd like to start it now." Even if you were going to expose him, you didn't deserve to be groped in a closet by the city sleaze.

He held out his arm for you to take and you did so without reservation. You would've run into a lion's den if it meant escaping him. As you linked your arm around his, you couldn't help but notice the dense muscle hidden beneath the dusty wool and the steadiness with which he guided you through the crowd. If you had any hesitation to trust your realization of his double life, it had melted away. No person was this densely packed with pure fight other than Batman.

A part of you was excited. You'd felt so lost with everyone navigating the city so seamlessly but finally, finally you had been given a secret. You knew something no one else knew. Then, fear. What if he tried to get rid of you? What if he was leading to a private area where there were no witnesses? You knew he was viewed as a protector in the public eye, but as far as you knew no one had ever deduced what you'd noticed immediately. The fear in his face had been palpable and —

He dropped your arm right at the door as soon as he remembered where he was and who he was. He wasn't in the suit, he was Bruce Wayne, and he had a woman on his arm. If Alfred saw any rumors of romance he'd have to deal with his delighted smile and repeat questioning. If the paparazzi noticed, you'd be more at risk. Noticing he wasn't in the suit stunted his courage and kept him sheepish. He'd been a dick to you in the alleyway, leaving you hanging alone in the alleys of the city. He hadn't left, he reminded himself. He'd simply gone out of view and then followed you as you wandered through the city back to your apartment, to make sure you got home safely. But you didn't know that. He needed to be curt, but kind enough to ensure you didn't make a scene when he declined this interview for a second and final time. Don't look at her. Not even for a moment.

"You should go." His voice was gruff, but only slightly reminiscent of Batman's. He did a good job separating his two identities... to everyone besides you, you wondered.

"The interview—"

He let out a strained chuckle. "That's not happening." You were really going to barge in and assume he would bow to you? Give his first interview to a student journalist? A stranger that had stalked him until he could be cornered in public? He had to laugh at your audacity. His laughter, however, unsettled you and lit a fire in your abdomen. Who was he to be laughing? A soft rage boiled up to your throat, and you thought about blackmailing him. I know who you are, you'd say. I could tell everyone right now about your double life. But you knew that was just your desperation and ego talking. Plus... you were a bit scared of him and what his body was capable of.

Instead you turned on your heel and walked back through the foyer. Rather, you tried to... but your heel caught on the lip of the entry mat and you lurched forward, Mr. Wayne catching you by your elbow. Frustrated, he snapped at you. "Would you at least try to stop tripping over everything?"

Shame tinged your cheeks pink and cast your eyes to the floor. You could count on one hand all the times you'd worn heels, and you only bought a pair to try and fit in with the Gotham scene. You were intimately reminded of how much you didn't fit in, and a flood of emotion cascaded through you. Tears stung at your eyes and threatened to spill over as you yanked your arm away from his grip. Through your periphery you noticed his face soften, his brows lightly knit in a v with what seemed like genuine concern.

He opened his mouth but before he could speak you rushed down a side hallway in search of a restroom. Him being concerned somehow made the tears come even faster. Don't cry in public. Don't cry in public. You threw yourself into a stall and put your back against the door as tears streamed down your face. Your body wracked with sobs; you missed home. The city was so dirty, crime was so high, and you just wanted to be back in your hometown where people were safe and kind. Even Mar was having a good time—you just weren't right for this place. It was too hard, too bad, too mean. Unyielding. As you thought about the failed interview attempt that rage burned inside you yet again. You had a secret that you could wield. Everyone else in the city would use it against him in a second. He thought he could be an ass to you and not get any recourse? He had another thing coming.

You stomped out of the bathroom after patting away the tear streaks in your makeup. To your surprise, Mr. Wayne was waiting in the hallway outside the bathroom. With narrowed eyes and clenched fists you sauntered over to him. "I could tell everyone in this room who you are." You crossed your arms and let your weight rest back in your right hip. His brows raised in shock. He was going to apologize, but certainly not now. His voice was low and menacing. "You wouldn't dare."

You ignored the rumble of fear that puttered around your stomach. "Do the interview or I write an exposé." You surprised yourself as it came out. It was true; either way you would be able to fill the pages. Whether or not you actually would write the second option... he didn't need to know. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I can't believe this."

"Which one is it? Hmm? I don't have all day." You didn't need to tack on that last part, but you thought it might get under his skin. It did. He wondered whatsoever could be so important that you would need to hurry him. "I actually have an event right now, if it weren't obvious—"

"It's your funeral." You hoped he wouldn't call your bluff and stormed halfway down the hallway before he called after you. "Fine." A pause. "But you only get ten minutes."

"Twenty." You countered, and he let out a groan of annoyance. He strode past you visibly angry, muttering, his mind a mess of so many emotions he couldn't pin down a single thought. "Get around back, then meet me at Wayne Tower. Let's get this over with."

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

Taking Care Of You

Summary: Valen's falling ill and the Heroic Order uses the situation to find out what secret the Knight has at home - you.

Tags: Valen x Reader / GN Reader / fluff

For @afktales - writing is not my forte but when your head bursts with some ideas it's gotta go onto paper one way or the other... xD

===================

Valen sank heavily down onto the old sofa standing in the entry hall of the Heroic Order. He felt dreadful, with heavy eyelids and a dull aching in his head whenever he moved. He clearly came down with a cold and he could no longer hide it.

"Are you dying?" Joey stepped up to him. His teasing tone was quickly accompanied by sincere concern for his colleague's situation as he bend down to observe Valen more closely.

The knight looked up with a smirk, gently waving the notion aside. "I shall never perish by anything my sword cannot touch. But … I admit, I am not fully alive either right now." The smirk gave way to a more tired smile of resignation against the forces of nature against him. Valen sighed. "It isn't busy, is it? I sure hope I don't have to get up again anytime soon."

The archer nodded. "It has been quiet, but things can change quickly. Shall I ask the General to dismiss you before that happens?"

Valen sank even deeper into the cushions of the sofa. He wasn't really the kind to lay aside his duty for small inconveniences such as temporary light illness, so he took a moment to consider. Joey, however, stopped him in his thoughts straight away.

"Never mind my question, it is a yes, so don't move until I am back."

"Huh, but I didn't… say anything…", Valen protested but Joey had already turned and walked towards the office door. General Hogan was busy catching up on some reports and would be able to respond straight away. With another sigh Valen folded his arms to hide the slight shiver running through his aching body. Torn between his sworn duty to serve and the soothing call of home, he placed the decision into the hands of the General.

Just when he began to wonder what might take them so long, they both emerged from the office. Valen tried to sit up to properly greet the General, but a raised hand stopped his endeavour.

"General?"

"You really do not look good today, Valen.", Hogan sighed after a moment of careful observation. "I do appreciate all your efforts, but you should not push yourself when it is not neccessary. I have enough men to cover your duty today AND tomorrow. You are dismissed."

"Yes, General. Thank you. I… appreciate it." Valen raised his fist to his heart in both greeting and gratitude. But when he tried to get up, the General stopped him with outstretched hand once more.

"Hold on. You look even worse when you try to move. It is best that you do not go home alone. In fact, I shall have you be picked up. Joey!"

While Valen's tired body sank back into the soft sofa, his mind protested. "Wait, what? Why do I have to be picked up? I can go home alone!"

"No, you won't. My orders. Joey, you know where he lives, right? Do go there and ask for assistance."

"Yes, General." Joey saluted with a sly smile. His gaze quickly flashed over to his protesting sick colleague, but then he turned and left.

"General, there really is no need to do this." Valen tried to get up this time but General Hogan just pushed him back into the seat.

"Valen. Your well-being is a great concern to me. You will stay here and wait, for I am certain there will be someone to take you home. Or am I mistaken?"

The stare of General Hogan penetrated deep into Valen's soul. He knew. They probably all knew and it looks like Valen could no longer hide his secret. Resignated Valen looked up at his superior, nodding. "No, you're not mistaken. You just want to know who's there, don't you?"

The General crossed his arms, mildly patronizing Valen. "So I do. In fact, I would have liked to know much sooner. Not just for regulation's sake."

"Ah, my apologies. It'll be a yes, but I still need to formally… propose, so relax. And what that's regulation there for anyways? But you will be the first to know when we've settled on a date, I promise." Valen showed both his hands to appease his superior.

Hogan uncrossed his arms, humming in approval. "Is it who I think it is?"

Valen nodded. "Yeah."

The old soldier didn't say anything more. But his expression showed Valen that he was glad to hear so. The General then turned to uywin, who had been observing the scene nearby and asked him to stand by the sick knight's side.

As General Hogen departed Valen leaned back, tilting his head to rest on the sofa. He closed his eyes as his thoughts turned to you. After what felt like years of knowing you and months of agony, he finally could hold you in his arms. All the things you went through and what he endured, to the final moments of saving you and taking you home… it all came flushing through his drowsy mind. The memory of your warm embrace soothed his shivers. You intended to keep things secret until you could officially announce your engagement, but it looks like Valen's colleagues didn't want to wait that long. In Hogan's case, understandable, as it was him who provided some support when Valen felt worst. Now that the General was forcing the matter himself, he actually felt a little guilty for not having shared this news with him sooner. Maybe he should invite him over for dinner some time. Either way, you'd shortly be showing up right here in front of him and even though the idea that he'd be taken home resting lightly on your shoulders like a (love)sick fool felt like an embarrassment, he also couldn't wait to show off how beautiful, charming and caring you were.

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

When you heard the heavy footsteps on the steps and corridor outside the small flat, your first thought turned to Valen returning. You put down the shirts you just folded and stepped up close to the door, ready to greet your knight appropriately. The knock on the door wasn't like him, however, and in sudden confusion you just voiced a careful "Yes?".

"Joey, from the Heroic Order", came the voice from the other side. "I have a message from General Hogan."

A message from the General? That could only be for Valen but was he not at work? Before you started worrying about that, however, you did mind the gentlemen in front of your home and quickly opened the door. "I am sorry, but Valen should be at work."

The imperial archer immediately bowed to greet you. "The message is for you. Valen has fallen ill and the General requested that he is picked up so that he may return home safely."

"Oh. Is that it?" You straightened up in relief. You knew you could have imagined much worse than that. Still, was he so ill he couldn't come home alone? "Where is he now?"

"At the Heroic Order. It will be my pleasure to escort you there. Please be assured that he is still strong enough to return with you here."

"That is a relief. Thanks for coming to get me. I'll join you right away". You grabbed your small bag from the hook next to the door and slipped into your shoes. Confusion took hold of you, however, so when you joined Joey in the hallway, you couldn't resist asking. "Sir Joey, why didn't you bring him yourself?"

Joey gave a apologetic smile. "It was the General's orders. He wants to personally make sure that Valen is taken care off. But with all the work to be done, he could not leave himself."

"I see. Of course, he couldn't, so he send you."

For a moment you walked silently next to the archer. It still didn't properly explain why Joey couldn't have dropped Valen off. Maybe he was so ill that he needed a 24-hour support? But then, why not take him to the infirmary? And how did the Heroic Order know about you in the first place? Valen had assured you just a few days ago that he never said a word. Then again, in the same breath, he had mentioned how they joked he might have a sweetheart … in which case… is this just a ruse to lure you out? You clutched your bag. You were hardly prepared to meet his colleagues and even less, General Hogan. Not that you weren't ready to expose yourself to the world, your dress was neat and clean and your hair taken care off. But first impressions are crucial and regardless of the situation, you worried you might be a reason for your knight to be embarrassed.

Hesitantly you turned to Joey. Just to be sure what kind of situation you were truly in, you dared to ask. "May I request an honest response? Has Valen really fallen ill?"

Joey slowed his steps and shared a gentle smile with you. "Yes, he truly is in a sorry state. I am certain, however, that with rest and your care he will fully recover. Why?"

"Has Valen requested me?" You kept your eyes set on Joey's. He held his gaze for a moment, but then dropped his shoulders and tilted his head.

"No, he did not."

You return the archer's answer with a nod and smile, you even let out a compassionate chuckle. Your reaction visibly confused him as he stopped walking. That's how it is, then. They may be taking advantage of the situation but their curiosity about their colleague's private life fills you with warmth.

"I am sorry for my reaction. It is quite alright, I assure you. May I know, how did you know you would find me at his home?"

Trying to make up for the Order's little trickery, Joey was quick to answer your question. "He stopped going out so often, or left home early from the tavern. There is also the noticable lack of engagement in certain conversations with certain people, that led us to conclude he must have gotten entangled with someone special. Besides, his mood has never been better."

Yes, that you could fully understand. Being with Valen had caused nothing but happiness for both of you, regardless of the strains from the time prior. "I am glad to hear it. Even more so if that happiness extends to his workplace and his colleagues. Thank you so much for standing by his side."

Joey placed his fist on his chest and bowed slightly again. "Thank you, it is a pleasure and privilege to work with him. He is blessed to have you by his side."

A blush reddend your cheeks. You always thought you were the blessed one to have been found by Valen. Hearing that he is the blessed one, underlines your efforts to support and enable the knight doing his work.

"I think we are both blessed to have each other," you responded. "Let's keep going. We better not leave him waiting."

You continued to walk towards the Heroic Order. It wasn't far and after another couple of minutes you entered the building. Joey pointed directly to the sofa on which Valen seemed to have dozed off. The archer then excused himself to get the General.

You greeted Guywin with a gentle smile and nod. He returned the smile and gestured you to approach his ill colleague.

"Valen. Are you alright?" You bent down a little to grab the hand on his lap. The knight immediately squeezed your hand gently in return and slowly opened his eyes. He looked tired and there was a slight sheen to his eyes.

"Hey. I think I'll live. Barely."

You chuckled. "Please live more than just barely, hm? I don't know what to tell General Hogan if I return only half a man."

Valen visibly collected some strength and with a moan he sat up properly. He still held your hand and now pressed it gently against his face. "Don't worry. As long as you're with me, you'll only have to give reports about a truly whole man."

"I hope so." You placed your other hand over Valen's, reassuring him that you would take gentle care of him in the coming days.

The heavy steps and slight clinking of armour next to you drew your attention. General Hogan came to a halt just when you looked over. He stretched out his hand towards you.

"Hogan, General of the Heroic Order and Magistrate of Holistone. Who's care do I have the pleasure of entrusting Valen to?"

Valen had pointed him out to you from afar before and you knew the General, the Bastion of the Lightbearer Empire, also from the many stories told about him. He was a man to inspire lives, but now that his massive figure stood before you, you couldn't help but feel even more impressed than you thought you'd ever be and when you gave him your small hand to shake, his gentle grip surprised you pleasantly.

"[Your name], I am honoured to meet you, General."

"So am I." He then looked over at the ill knight. "Valen hasn't been feeling well and I have given him permission to recover. If he does need more time, please do come and let me know. I expect him to be in full health upon his return."

Your gaze settled on Valen sitting in front of you. "Of course, I will make an exception and spoil him particularly well to make sure he recovers as quick as possible."

"Really?", Valen intercepted, "Do I get eggs in mustard? A foot massage? Drink delivery? You'll polish my armour?" While he made his requests he shook your hand in anticipation like a young child.

"Yes, yes, no, you'll have tea and no, Valen, I can't even lift that thing without your help. If you are that excited still, maybe I should help you move to the office rather than take you home."

In a flash Valen's smile was replaced by a playful frown and he leaned his head heavily against you, pulling on your hand, shaking all of you. "No, no, a bed would do really nicely now, forget the armour or the drink, let's just go home."

"Yes, maybe that would be best, you better get the boy home," remarked General Hogan with a chuckle as he observed Valen's silly display.

"Come on…" You lifted Valen's hand onto your shoulder and reached then around his torso, dragging him up a bit. He moaned loudly as he followed your cue and stood up. He wrapped his arm fully around you. He didn't really need the support but this was the best excuse to touch you while being in the company of his colleagues, so he took it. He then turned to the others.

"Alright, back home it is. Thanks again, General. I shall be back as soon as I can. Joey, Guywin." He lifted his fist up to his heart, as did they. Valen's colleagues wished him a fast recovery and shortly after you and Valen were on your way back home.

"Really no help with the armour?", he carefully asked.

You chuckled. "Not with that one, no. I am better at making those mustard eggs. But I am happy to help you out of any restrictive clothing in a minute. Just so you may rest better, mind you."

Valen sighed deeply. "Yeah, I know. It's still heaven when you handle me, though. Let me stay at home at least long enough so I can handle you, too, before going back to work."

"Once you are well enough. But then, very very gladly."

--------

That you came down with a cold a few days later came as no surprise. But it was well worth it, after having had the pleasure to take care of the man you loved so much during his time of need.

[anama-cara]

Take care

Boston Era!Joel Miller x you

Part 2

Summary: You're a nurse working in the Boston QZ and when a handsome new patient comes in you just can't help yourself. Word count: 1.4k

Warnings:  Dead Dove Do Not Eat, +18 minors dni, handjob, somnophilia, noncon. reader has no physical descriptions such as skin color or body type

You fucking hate it here- you hate Boston, hate FEDRA, hate your job, hate the world, hate your life. You need some excitement, something new. You're working as a nurse in a dirty QZ hospital. It's such a fucking joke. The hospital (if you can even really call it that) looks like an abandoned building. The lights flicker, the glass windows are shattered, the floor is always covered in grime, some of the brick walls are even crumbling in the front. Whenever a surgery needs to be done they just dip the instruments in a bucket of alcohol, theres no such thing as a sterile procedure anymore. There aren't enough supplies or staff left to properly function as a real hospital. There are only a few doctors for a ton of patients, some people that come in don't even get seen by a doctor. So that's where you come in, the nurses. You aren't even an actual nurse, you've never been formally trained. Before the outbreak you were a radiology tech, and once the QZ was set up they went around asking for anyone who was in the medical field. You volunteered, but you had no idea it'd be for a job like this. They just threw you to the wolves and over the years you've improvised and learned what works. It was messy in the beginning, you were scrambling and scared and had breakdowns almost daily. But now you feel like a hardened nurse, numb to most things. 

You're sitting in the "break room" munching on some jerky and absentmindedly kicking at a smudge mark on the ground with your boot. 

There's a flurry of commotion the hallway and the door flies open. 

"Jen?"

Your friend pokes her head in. "Oh good you're here, come on, we've got an intake. Male in late 40s, early 50s. Stab wound. "

"Is the doc coming to take a look?"

"Nope. Busy. It's on you."

"Me? He's not my patient and I'm supposed to be on break."

She laughs. "Yeah sorry. I would. You know I would. But my plate is full. I got a gun shot wound that's infected that's taking all my time. I wouldn't throw you this one if I didn't know you can handle it."

"Of course Jen. I got your back." You're following her down the hall rushing towards the emergency entrance.

"Thanks. Two guys brought him in." She nods to a room at the end of the hall on the left. 

"OK thanks Jen." You give her a nod and head towards your newest patient as she bustles down the corridor. 

"Hello I'm- shit." This is the kinda shit you're getting sick and tired of. The men just dumped him and left. Your patient is fully unconscious, laying flat on his back on the exam table, wound still bleeding. This guy needs a doctor, but you're all there is. You sprint for the supplies closet, grabbing alcohol wipes, gauze and suturing materials. With your arms full you rush back to the room. Good thing he's unconscious, you think, because this is going to hurt and the hospital ran out of pain meds long ago. 

You tug and rip his flannel shirt open, making the buttons pop off. You're tearing open packets of gauze and trying to clean his wound so you can get a good look at the entry point. Finally after wiping away the dried and fresh blood you get a clean view. You begin disinfecting. There's an open gash about four inches long running underneath his ribs on the right side.

You blow out a deep breath, pull up a chair and get to work closing the laceration. 

--

An hour later you push yourself up, set your instruments aside, wipe the sweat from your brow and look over the stitches. Given the circumstances its looks pretty darn good, you're actually proud of yourself. 

You look your patient over, eyes moving past his wound and taking him wholly in for the first time. 

He's probably in his early 50s, patchy graying beard, tan skin, ruffled hair. His flannel shirt you ripped open reveals his hard chest and soft tummy. You study his sleeping face, the creases in his brow and the hard angles of his jaw and nose. He's undeniably handsome.

You notice the blood on his flannel and you sigh as you stand up from your stool. You stretch, back aching after leaning over him to sew his wound. You reach for his flannel and begin tugging his limp arms out of the sleeves. You pull the bloody shirt out from underneath him and toss it on a nearby table. His arms are muscular and you notice a few scars here and there. Your hand reaches out on its own accord to lightly trace over a jagged white line on his bicep. He twitches at your touch and your hand quickly pulls away. 

You move down to his jeans. After unbuckling his belt you slowly pull them down, trying to be as gentle as possible. Now that the immediate danger of the bleeding stab wound has been dealt with you need to do a physical exam and make sure he has no injuries elsewhere. You toss his pants on the table and walk back to your patient, examining every inch of his beautifully tanned skin. You can get him a hospital gown later. Your hand traces up his leg and you watch it as it moves over his dark hair, over his knee and rests on his thigh at the edge of his boxers. You shift your gaze higher and to your surprise you see his hardened bulge pushing against his boxers. You gulp and your hand lightly glides up and down his inner thigh, tracing along his muscle. You shoot a glance up to his face - he's still out. You look at the closed door and try to listen. You don't hear anyone in the hallway. The only other nurse on duty in your unit of the hospital is Jen and she's definitely still occupied with that gunshot wound...

You reach up and with one hand you pull the waistband and his boxers out while your other hand slips underneath, wrapping around his hard cock. His cock twitches when you first touch him and you smile. You slowly move your hand all the way down, feeling the full length of him. Damn he's got a nice one. You swallow the spit that's pooling in your mouth. You drag your hand back up and your thumb runs through his slit and circles around the head. You look at Joel's face again. He's still completely out but you think his brow looks more furrowed and his mouth a little more opened. You continue to gaze up at him as you twirl around his head, feeling precum beginning to bead at his tip. You swipe and gather it on your index finger before popping it in your mouth. Salty and warm and deliciously masculine. You pull your finger out and hold up your hand as you tounge it, licking your palm and fingers.

Your grab his cock again, pumping him faster now as your hand glides over his warm smooth skin. You hum to yourself as you work. 

Minutes later and you feel him tightening. You quickly grab a cloth from the table and tuck it under his boxers just in time. He erupts under your hand, ribbons of messy cum spilling into the cloth. When he's done your pull the cloth out and wrap it up neatly, keeping everything it caught tucked into the middle. Joel's eyelids flutter and he makes a groaning noise. He'll be waking up soon. You place the dirty cloth in the laundry bag and step into the hallway to grab a patient gown from the clean linen cart. You wash off your sticky hand and quickly dress him. You're tidying up your instruments when Joel finally wakes up, groaning as he tries to sit. 

"Woah mister careful, you got a pretty good gash in your abdomen there. Easy. Just relax. You're in the hospital now. I'll take good care of you." 

You smile pleasantly at him.