#most used ply

[officially-other]

Still alive! And what I've been doing.

So, I got COVID so I was gone for a while lol. That sorta put me out of commission for a bit. However, I have been starting to explore some more draconic stuff lately! Specifically, I'm in the planning phase of a VERY long term project for wearing more clothes that feel affirming to me. I have a Pinterest board, no previous experience in any of the skills I'll need, and Aphrodite* backing me up so I'll be fucking around and finding out. *I work with Greek deities as a witch, for those of you who only know me as otherkin and not as a witch^^

As I work to reconnect to my spirituality, my draconity, and my life in general- seriously, holy shit I was frothing at the mouth to do ANYTHING by the time I was feeling better- I'll be a bit wonky when it comes to how much I'm posting. I have managed to post the second chapter of my genshin fic though so I'm really happy about that!

[milkweedman]

Just finished 2 skeins of sleeve yarn and once again marveling at how little yardage im fitting on a bobbin with this stuff--each skein was 60 yards (55 meters). And each skein was a totally full bobbin of plied yarn (and my singles each took up a bobbin). Part of it is that its very airy (and bulky weight, obviously), and the other part is that my take up is not very high so its not compacting down as it goes on, but even so, it feels like a lot of yarn when i was holding it ! And the spinning and plying was only maybe 2 hours ! Bulky yarn is crazy

[foldingfittedsheets]

When deciding who to work for there is a sliding scale of employers that goes from lil mom and pop shops up to corporate monoliths. I have worked at both ends of the spectrum and I can pretty definitively say that tiny businesses are hands down the most insane employers.

The sweet spot is a place that has like 10-20 stores; that’s the best possible work environment. They’ll be polished enough to have protocols that make work structured, but not so bogged down with bureaucracy that nothing can ever get done.

This story is not from that sweet spot. This story is from my time working at Oil and Vinegar. Now, like many little franchise stores, the idea was solid. There was on tap imported olive oil and vinegar and it was really delicious. Top shelf. Unfortunately, each location was like the Wild West because owners varied wildly.

My owner was the human embodiment of Mr. Krabbs. His eyes were just constant dollar signs. Throughout my training he informed me of the price of every single piece of equipment I touched and how much it cost to replace it.

He had cameras set up to watch us, and an app on his phone to access the live feed. He’d call us to ask what we were doing when he’d just checked a camera to make sure we were being honest.

Now, the trouble was he had two locations. His location further south did amazing. It was way more centrally located and got three times the foot traffic. The one I worked in was in the snottiest mall possible in Arizona and consequently the rent was through the roof.

It was not going well for my store. We didn’t get as much traffic, so there was only so much I could do in a day. I could dust, sweep, and wait for customers. I read a lot and was frank when he called to interrogate me. I always asked for additional tasks but he never had any. What could I do to prop up a failing business?

But this man was convinced there was some Secret Reason that the store I was in was doing worse. He crunched numbers, looked at staff, and eventually hit upon the most insane possible solution.

We used too much toilet paper.

We were probably stealing toilet paper! Bleeding him dry one single ply square at a time! How dare we need to use the bathroom?! His south location used half as much toilet paper as we did, we must be thieving little monsters!!!!

Friends. The south location was populated entirely by men. My location had three people on staff who had to sit to pee. It was so blindly transparently the source of the discrepancy but this man was convinced we were making off with toilet paper to bankrupt him.

So he implemented what he believed to be an entirely reasonable response to this base treachery. We were allowed to have one roll of toilet paper. At any given time, one roll was permitted to us. This was so transparently unhinged that we protested but he insisted. If we were low on toilet paper we needed to call him to drop off a roll that he brought from his home. Smiling jovially, he assured us he lived so close by that it would be no problem!

When we needed to call him often for more he started tearing his hair out. What were we using toilet paper for?! Why wasn’t his genius plan to stop our scandalous waste working??!

Finally, the manager, the only man on staff had to pull the owner aside and be like, “Look, man, their bladders are smaller. They need to wipe every time they pee. They need to pee even more on their period. Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

Yes. It was. The manager was fired unrelated reasons and denounced as a traitor. The toilet paper ration lasted until I quit and probably until the store closed six months later.

[froody]

Dollar General keeps their bathrooms locked up like the Hope Diamond AND they’re nasty. It’s crazy. You’ve been driving for hours. You’re in the middle of mulefucking central Virginia. You come to a crossroads and there’s a Dollar General. You park. You go in. Nobody in the fucking parking lot. Somebody’s baby standing in the middle of gum aisle staring at you first thing. You’re there about to piss yourself, politely and quietly asking the cashier “May I please have the bathroom key?” while she fights with her baby daddy’s new girlfriend and then when she finally gives you the bathroom key and you go in there, it’s dark, it’s mysteriously wet, there is blood on the toilet seat, no hand soap, no paper towels, 3 sheets of 1 ply toilet paper on the roll, broken mirror, broken sink. You have the most unsatisfying piss of all time. You leave the bathroom and genuinely contemplate cracking open a bottle of hand sanitizer on the shelf. You’re trying to decide if you should buy something out of sheer politeness. While you’re standing there in the lip balm section, that baby from earlier runs full force at you, smacks into your leg and ricochets off, starts sobbing and his mom comes down the aisle glaring like YOU did it. You go to checkout with your stupid $4 hat and your chapstick and there’s a guy at the only till paying for 27 frozen dinners using only dimes.

[thus-spoke-lo]

"What's Got You All Worked Up?": Little things that turn One Piece men on feat. Zoro - Sanji - Law - Usopp - Franky - Crocodile - Doflamingo

NSFW/18+ [minors DNI]

CW: gn!reader [Zoro, Sanji, Usopp]; afab!reader [Law, Franky, Crocodile, Doflamingo] - no gendered pronouns used; vaginal fingering [Law]; vaginal intercourse [Law]; somnophilia [Doflamingo]

Zoro: the way you look after a workout

Zoro never cares if you keep up with him when he works out—he loves that you want to spend time with him, adores how serious you take your bicep curls or how you look in the afternoon light when you lay down on a mat for a while to slowly stretch your limbs. But it’s when you’re all done for the day, when the heat of the midday sun has the room like a sauna and your muscles are sore and shaking, that he starts to lose all semblance of control. Your temples are dappled with perspiration, your chest heaving as you finish your last rep, sweat is trickling down your neck; he swallows hard and lets out a low groan at the sight of you. It reminds him of the way you look right after he fucks you, all heated and glistening with sweat and limbs weak and trembling. And since you’re already all warmed up, this seems like the perfect time to bend you over and take you right there on the weight bench.

Sanji: the way you smell

He doesn’t mean to be such a pest (well, actually he does) when he comes up behind you in the mornings, when you’ve just woken and you’re still sleep-drunk and groaning that the sun is out again already, but he needs to bury his face in the crook of your neck as soon as you wake and inhale your scent. Sanji thinks you smell sweet in the mornings, like pancakes and pastries, and pulls you back into bed so he can devour you like the delicious treat that you are. In the afternoons, he catches a whiff of you on the breeze, your skin covered in the salty spray of the sea, hands scented with tangerines after helping Nami in the garden, and he’s all over you, plying you with kisses and lust-tinged whimpers, begging you to come to his bunk, just for a little while, just so he can taste the way the citrus settled into your skin. And at night, he’s insatiable, burying his nose in your hair unabashedly when you stay to help him clean after dinner, taking in the way the faint traces of aromatic ingredients have settled on you and mixed with your own scent that he adores. It’s not long before he’s shutting off the sink and taking you by the hand, leading you over to the table and making a meal of you right then and there.

Law: the way you look in comfy clothes

Sure, he thinks you look lovely on the rare occasion you get to leave the submarine together and you doll yourself up for him, wearing that new shirt he likes, the one that flows over your body like water, and take the effort to line your eyes and swipe a little lipstick on. But when he feels the most hungry for you is when you get back and head straight to your quarters, stripping off your shoes and your pretty shirt and those tight jeans that make your ass look perfect but that you joke threaten to cut off your breathing one of these days. He sits in his desk chair and watches as everything comes off, and you crawl into his bed, face freshly-scrubbed, tucking your hands into the sleeves of an oversized sweatshirt. It’s then, when you’re finally comfortable and warm, when you look at ease and relaxed, and you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes, that he’s all over you, fingers dipping below the waistband of your soft cotton shorts, teasing your pussy until you whimper and beg for more. He doesn’t even bother to strip the rest of your clothes off before he pulls his cock out of his jeans and buries himself inside you to the hilt, pulling your shorts to the side instead so you can stay nice and cozy, just how he likes you.

Usopp: when you help in his workshop

Sharing his workspace with you is already intimate enough for Usopp – it’s like he’s sharing a piece of himself the way he invites you in. But once you’re in there, it’s hard for him not to be heated at how serious you take it. You look so sweet the way your tongue pokes out of your mouth when you’re focused on something, and he feels a tingle at the base of his spine whenever you pout and ask him for help—you’re so close to getting it right, you just need him to guide you, to stand behind you and place his hands on yours and make sure the welding equipment stays steady. Watching the way you grip that piece of metal piping your working with in a way that makes him wish your hands were wrapped around his length instead…it takes everything he has not to grab you and sit you on top his worktable, to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him, let you feel just how much you drive him crazy. But he resists, at least for the moment, anyway--hearing you describe just how hard that steel is and how hot and sweaty you've become doing all this work pushes him to the brink soon enough, and he has no qualms in showing you exactly how skilled his hands are.

Franky: when you show just a little bit of skin

Coming from a man who walks around in an open shirt and swim briefs, this sounds pretty rich. But there’s just something so tantalizing about seeing a hint of skin and having to imagine what’s underneath, like that time your leggings were more sheer than you thought, and you bent over to grab the laundry basket and he got a quick glimpse of your panties (that happened to be the same pattern as one of his shirts). It was enough to drive him to distraction for the rest of the day and make him glad he was alone in the engine room, barely able to contain the way his cock pulsed every time he remembered how you looked. He loves that one sweater you wear, too—the one that just won’t stay on your shoulder and keeps slipping down, exposing just the slightest bit of soft skin in the afternoon sun, and the way it leads his eyes down to the way the fabric settles over your breasts. And don’t even get him started on that hint of your tummy he gets to see when you reach up to grab something off a high shelf, reminding him how easy it would be to wrap his big hand around your waist and just slide it right on up until he can feel the silky material of that nice bra he bought you…have mercy.

Crocodile: the way you look getting ready for dinner

It’s so routine now that you don’t seem to mind—at first it alarmed you, made you feel like prey when Crocodile would sit on the velvet couch in your quarters, his arms draped across the back, a cigar clenched in his teeth, and he’d watch you ready yourself for that evening’s festivities. But now, you almost welcomed the way his predatory gaze would settle on you as you sit at your vanity and paint your lips; you throw a wink and a pout his way now and again in the mirror, almost tempting him to ruin that pretty makeup after you’ve spent so long putting it on. He loves how your body moves, almost sleek and catlike, around the room, slinking into your closet and asking him which dress he likes better. He shifts in his seat as you wriggle into that pretty blue number he adores, and throbs as you glance over your shoulder and bat your eyes, asking him sweetly to come zip you up. And how can he refuse? Of course, by the time he crosses the room and reaches you, you both know that he has no plans to move that zipper an inch, and instead you feel the tip of his hook lifting your hem as he growls in your ear to bend over—he’s going to take care of that needy pussy of yours before you ever step foot out of your room. Guess you’ll be late for dinner, again.

Doflamingo: the way you look when you’re sleeping

He chuckles quietly and wonders if you fell asleep this way on purpose—the silken nightgown he dressed you in before he left for the evening has been discarded on the floor, and you lay atop the sheets, your body completely bare and bathed in moonlight. He slowly circles the bed like a predator, admiring the way your limbs are stretched out, arms flung above your head, your legs spread, one knee bent and lolled to the side, exposing your pretty little cunt. It looks just like the way you fling yourself onto the mattress when you’re feeling needy, how you toss your dress at him and lay back against the plush pillows, biting your lip and beckoning him to you with sweet pleas of I need you. He licks his lips at how your slit glistens, and wonders if you’re dreaming of him, wonders if perhaps you touched yourself thinking of him before you fell asleep. He sits carefully on the edge of the bed and watches you sleep a little longer, your lashes fluttering slightly as you moan and shift, your breasts heaving as you inhale deeply and sigh. You tempt him even in slumber, and he palms the throbbing hardness that pushes against his slacks, groaning softly as he decides if he should wake you with his fingers, his tongue, or his cock.

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

A part of you, a part of me

Summary: Joel’s been down this road before, he’s seen all the signs, and he knows before you ever do that you’re pregnant.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut, unplanned pregnancy, crying, fluff, pre-outbreak Joel. Established relationship, cream pie, pet names, cussing, pregnancy tests, just a bunch of happiness because that’s all Joel deserves in this world. 💜😭

A/n: I can’t say Joel has a breeding kink… but I can certainly say he makes me have one 😌

Joel Miller Master List

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Joel remembers everything from Sarah’s mother’s pregnancy, all of the signs that lead up to them finding out. And surely enough it was beginning to show in you.

It started one autumn morning, when he woke up to find you nestled in beside him, face pressed into his chest, snoring slightly, hair in disarray. You were the picture perfect definition of someone getting the best sleep of their lives.

The only reason it concerned his was the fact that you never slept in past 6. You were always up before Joel, making breakfast for him and Sarah and more often than not Tommy, taking Sarah to school with a sweet kiss to his lips before you’d dash off to work yourself.

Brushing the hair from your face he whispers softly, “Honey?” You grumble something unintelligible, pulling a smile from him. “Honey it’s 7:20.” You’re slow to open your eyes, hazy and still leaded with sleep as they focus in on him, his dark hair sticking up around his head like every morning, “You okay?”

“M’ just really tired… think you can take over this morning?” You whisper, reaching up and cupping his cheek, the stubble of his beard scratching your palm.

“Of course baby. You need me to call work? Want a day to relax?” You smile at his concern, knowing he’s already gearing himself to go the extra mile to make sure you start to feel better.

“That would be really nice.” He kisses your lips gently before leaving you to sleep in, and you end up sleeping most of the day away.

Joel’s quick to notice that you start to get more tired as the days progress, usually a morning person you were now sluggish and downing two cups of coffee just to stay alert, you’d stay in bed a little longer and go to sleep a little earlier.

Initially he’d chalked it up to being stress at work, you were an associate for a designer company, making all the hotels and houses around here ‘fancy looking’ as he would say. It was a big, busy job that you were very passionate about.

But then came the emotions and cravings, not anger or frustration like Sarah’s mother, but you cried, and you cried a lot. The alarm bells should of gone off when he found you one night in the kitchen after everyone had gone to bed. You were sitting at the counter crying, no you had been sobbing, and Joel feared the worst until you blubbered out that you just really, really wanted ice cream.

Him finding you like that only embarrassed you more, adding to the water works as he dragged you in for a tight hug, smoothing his hands up and down your back.

“I-I think I’m just PMSing.” You hiccuped bashfully, hiding your face against his chest as he kissed the brown of your head.

“It’s okay, we will go get some tomorrow, it’s Saturday and we can take Sarah with us to the little parlor in town.”

Two months in to your sudden changes is when it all came to a head, he wasn’t being nosy, had actually just walked into the house about to announce himself when he heard you on the phone.

“I don’t know Jenny, works been stressful, I definitely haven’t been eating right and I just don’t have the energy to go to the gym like I use to. Hell even my periods plying hide and seek with me. I thought about making a doctors appointment-“

Whatever else you say is lost on him as he stops dead in his tracks, his muscles tensing and mouth drying up. He makes his legs move, taking him around the corner and into the kitchen. You don’t notice him at first, giving him the perfect opportunity to just look at you, to really look at you.

At the sake of sounding corny… You really were glowing, face a little rounder, body filling out in different ways, curves softening under your clothing. The changes were slight, not so prominent yet, but he can see it.

His heart speeds up, emotions rolling through him like the ocean in a storm.

You are pregnant.

Walking closer he catches your attention, making you crack a wide smile that has his knees going weak. “Hey, Jenny, Joel just got home I’ll talk to you later… love you too, bye.”

Setting the phone down, you go to stand but Joel’s in front of you, dropping to his knees and capturing your hips in his hands. You let out a startled yelp, hands coming to rest on his arms squeezing gently.

“As adventurous as I am, I don’t think the kitchen is t-.”

“We need to talk.” His serious expression extinguishes your excitement, panic flashing through you instantly.

“What’s wrong? Is Sarah okay? Tommy?”

“Yes, they are fine, we need… we need to talk about you.”

“Me? Honey I’m fine, what do you mean?” Nervous laughter bubbles up in your throat, mind racing in every possible direction this conversation could go.

Joel rolls his lips together, glancing to your stomach then back to you. Your face is contorted with confusion, your grip tightening on his arms. “When… how long has it been since you’re last period?”

You scoff at his question, eyes rolling slightly as your posture relaxes. “Baby I don’t know, I haven’t been tracking it like I usually do. Between Carol and Tray calling out of work I’ve been given both of their projects to present, that’s two on top of my other two. And -.” You roll your eyes, temper rising, “and get this, two of them are so within three hours of each other, now how in the world am I supposed to-.”

“Darlin’.” Joel cuts off your rambling, one large hand shifting to your softer stomach, rubbing slow circles as he watches the confusion melt into realization and then back to panic as your eyes drop to your stomach.

“N-no… no Joel we.. we always use condoms.”

He gives you a look that says you’re lying through your teeth, which you are, there has been a few times over the past couple of months, after you’ve both had one to many drinks where you’ll wake up in the morning, slick between your thighs.

Joel watches your face pale, body shaking in his grasp and he pulls you a little closer with the hand on your hip. “How long?”

Swallowing you finally look at his face, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, expression pinched with… worry? Upset? Is he scared? Your own fears rise eyes flicking between his and something in his chest cracks open at the look on your face.

“M-maybe two months… I-I really don’t k-know.”

He nods, rubbing slow circles into your stomach, already knowing but needing to be sure. “Let’s take a trip to the store okay?”

*~*~*~*~*~*

You’re both quiet sitting on Joel’s bed, two positive pregnancy tests laying in between you. You are fighting back tears, stiff and trembling, waiting on Joel to blow up.

You’ve only been dating for three years, kids have never been a topic of discussion seeing as Joel already has Sarah, he’s been through the baby phase. Then there’s the fact you don’t officially live with him, though you’re apartment in the city is only visited when you need to do laundry. Almost every moment of the day is in this house or at work… does that me this will change everything?

“I’m… I’m so sorry Joel.” You finally whisper, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.”

“What?”

“I should… I should of been on the pill, I should of been more careful… I didn’t mean to do this to you.” The absolute devastation in your voice makes Joel move, kneeling down in front of you like earlier, this time his hands are on your waist, thumbs stroking the sides of your changing belly.

“Don’t you dare talk like that, you didn’t do anything to me. Yes I’m scared, I’m scared shitless but fuck baby… I’m over the moon.” Your watery eyes dart to his and he’s smiling, joy shining in his soft drown eyes making something inside your body relax for the first time in hours. “Now… I know-I know we didn’t plan this but I mean… This is us. This right here.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your stomach making you giggle breathlessly. “This is a part of me and a part of you that… God it’s so wonderful and you’re so wonderful and I love you so much, I love this so much.”

Tears brim his own beautiful eyes, hands gently squeezing your sides, curling into the fabric of your tank top as he searches your tear streaked face. “You my sweet girl, are going to be the most amazing mother.”

Whatever reservations, whatever doubts you were holding onto flood from your body with the shaky breath that escapes through your trembling lips, and without thought you lean down, capturing his lips in a kiss, one that pours every little emotion you don’t know how to communicate into him.

Joel stands, lips never leaving yours and pushes you back gently onto the bed, fitting himself between your legs as the kiss slowly turns hungry. You’re burning from the inside out, tears still escaping down your cheeks, as Joel settles himself over you, mindful of his weight.

“Shhh don’t cry honey.” He breaths, lips moving down to your jaw, working the skin with sloppy kisses.

You tilt your head back, body thrumming with sudden need. “H-happy tears.” You manage to squeak out, hands tugging at his t-shirt wantonly. “Joel… I want you, please I want you.” You beg, arching your back pressing your hips up against him searching for some form of friction.

“I know baby, just relax. I’ll take good care of you.” He mumbles against your throat, a hand finding your pajama shorts and tugging them down, exposing your bare cunt to the cold air. He sits back, pulling your shorts over your ankles with a low growl. “Fuck baby, you’re so wet for me already.” Joel swipes a fingers through your folds, gathering your juices and circling your clit.

You whine into the air, closing your eyes as another pulse of arousal shoots through you, heart hammering against your ribs. “Please… Don’t tease me please.” The tears now streaming down your cheeks are out of desperation, your hands finding his belt and yanking at the worn leather.

Joel only chuckles with a shake his head, helping you unbuckle the belt and open his jeans, shoving them down far enough for his cock to spring free. You groan at the sight, letting your legs fall further open as you grab a fist full of his t-shirt pulling him to you.

“Need my cock that bad baby? Can’t wait any longer?” He groans as he runs the tip along your soaked folds, bumping your swollen bud making your hips jerk.

You shake your head, watching his cock as he slowly presses the head into your opening, your lip caught between your teeth.

“Hey,” Joel’s fingers find your chin, lifting your gaze to his and he feels like he might blow his load then and there. Your eyes simmer with pure lust… pure list and want and love and your looking up at his through your long lashes making his breath hitch in his chest. “Eyes on me when I fuck you, wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum.”

“Y-Yes sir.” You nod weakly, head resting back on the pillows as you hook your ankles around his waist.

“What a good girl you are.” He slowly thrusts in, savoring how you stretch around him, always so tight and warm. A low moan falls from your lips, legs tightening around him encouraging him to go deeper and he obeys, sinking into you completely.

You both stay still for a moment, breaths labored and hearts pounding. Joel keeps himself propped up with one hand, the other pushing your shirt up just under your breasts, finding its place on your small bump.

Joel pulls out half way before sinking back in, moaning and closing his eyes briefly as he finds his pace, deep and slow making your eyes roll and body languid below his. You can feel each bump and ridge of his cock, rubbing your walls in just the right way that your orgasm builds quickly. “So pretty, always wanted to put a baby in you, never thought I’d get the chance.” Your pussy squeezes around him your soft whimpers follow. “Yeah? You like that?”

“F-fuck… yes Joel… yes.” Your grip tightens on his shirt, anchoring yourself to him as pressure begins to build in the base of your spine.

His voice drops, the timbre in his drawl making your blood thick in your veins, head heavy and empty. “Just gonna have ta’ keep you pregnant then, barefoot in ma kitchen, swollen with all my babies.” Joel’s thrusts speed up, his mental image of you driving him closer and closer to his own orgasm. “I need to feel you cum for me, cum on my cock baby.”

His fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you nearly scream, the pressure radiating out into your abdomen pulling your muscles tight. You nod feverishly, panting out some form of yess and please, teetering on the cusp of oblivion, just for him.

Joel groans, eyebrows drawn together and thrusts turning sloppy, he can feel your pussy spasming around him and he knows he won’t last much longer.

“Let it go baby, let it happen, cum on my dick like the good girl you are.”

And it snaps, the tension flooding from your body as your orgasm erupts, a silent scream forming your lips into that perfect O shape that Joel loves so much, and as your cunt clenches down on him he stills, rope after rope of thick cum painting your quivering walls. He moans loud and deep, a shudder raking through his body as his eyes close and he basks in the euphoria washing through him.

Your legs shake around his twitching hips, whining pitchy and out of breath and Joel finally moves his fingers from your sensitive clit, splaying his hand across your stomach.

“You’re gonna be such a good mama.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

You both wait until after your first doctors appointment to tell Sarah and Tommy, over a lovely family meal.

“This is so good.” Sarah mumbles out around a mouth full of homemade lasagna making everyone laugh.

“Thank you, it’s my mamas recipe.” Joel’s eyes lock with yours, a smile tugging at his lips as your heart pounds in your ears, ready to spill the beans like you’ve planted. “I hope one day I can pass it on to you and your little sibling.”

It takes Sarah a minute, but Tommy stops eating immediately, his eyes growing wide, head wiping up to look between you and his brother, the smile that spreads across his face makes your heart warm.

“Ooo I’d love to try and cook it with you some time, I like learning new…” The realization dawns on her then, her jaw dropping open, shock taking over her expression and Joel can’t help but laugh.

“Really?” Sarah turns to you, and you’re already nodding, tears filling your eyes at the same time hers do. “I’m going to be a sister?”

“Oh honey…” She’s out of her chair and crashing into your open arms in an instant, crying against your chest as you bury your face into her curls, holding on tightly.

Tommy embraces Joel, patting his back roughly as Joel beams, watching his two girls over Tommy’s shoulder. This moment, this instances is all he’s ever dreamt of.

[marxism-transgenderism]

Okay I started that last post as a joke but this is actually fascinating so the reason trade between Indigenous people and settlers up to the mid 19th century is nearly always called the fur trade is because that was the primary product settlers were buying to be processed and shipped back to Europe and later to prominent coastal cities. But according to historians of the lower Great Lakes specifically like Susan Sleeper-Smith, it should really be called the cloth trade if we're just going based on the largest quantity of product being shipped.

The idea that European traders were just plying Indigenous people with "useless beads and shells" (as they would disparaging describe wampum) and alcohol in exchange for mountains of furs is just not the reality. Indigenous traders at thus time did value and acquire those things, but collectively they were shipping thousands of tons of one of the most valued commodities settlers wanted and they used that power to get guns, iron cookware, silver and gold commodities, and colored textiles.

Indeed the amount of textiles coming from all the European powers, but most of all from Britain where their manufacture was booming is incredible. Specific designs and colors were manufactured specifically to appeal to the fashion trends of Indigenous people in the lower Great Lakes all in the interest of getting better furs than their other colonial competitors got.

We have records of American raiders robbing Indigenous towns and looting intricately designed clothing adorned with hundered—sometimes over a thousand—pieces of silver and jewelry. Very clear examples of Indigenous people flaunting their fashion, connections, and immense wealth. Most often Indigenous women as they were the ones most active in trade with Europeans.

We just often have such an image of Indigenous societies during this time being devastated, poverty stricken, and peripheral to the big changes happening back in Europe. But when we take a look at the raw numbers of trade during this time, we see a prosperous, wealthy, and interconnected society. One that knew it's currently advantageous position in global trade and took advantage of that to gain more wealth. It's true that since 1492 they had been devastated by disease and colonial warfare, but the mere presence of guns, germs, and steel did not cause Indigenous poverty just by simply having one so called "advanced civilization" come into contact with a so called "primitive society."

Indigenous poverty was something created very specifically when all the other imperial competitors had fled the scene after the American revolution, leaving only this one genocidal entity left with a monopoly of colonial claims to this region to fight for decades to take away the wealth these Indigenous people had built on their land in the centuries prior, inch by bloody inch.

Btw I didn't feel like citing sources here but most all of this is taken from Susan Sleeper-Smith's book Indigenous Prosperity and American Conquest

[onegirlatelier]

April, 2024 | Shetland lace shawl

Hi there! It’s been a while. I’ve been kept busy by all my university work…and this shawl.

The shawl is knitted to celebrate the wedding of my friend (now friends, I should say). A wedding is really the perfect excuse for all the heritage crafts and heirloom projects that might seem too serious to gift in other occasions. I did ask the recipient beforehand if she would like it, though, and I was so, so honoured that I got an enthusiastic ‘yes’. I’m sure this sentiment is shared by many makers, whatever gift they are making.

Shetland fine openwork, a knitted lace, seems to have emerged with the beginning of the reign of Queen Victoria, who championed and popularised the craft. It was probably spread from the Isle of Unst to other parts of Shetland. What surprised me the most when I first read about it was that Shetland shawls and other lace pieces were largely exported as luxury items and rarely worn by islanders themselves. Women bought yarn from spinners and knitted mostly in their homes. They then took them to local merchants and exchange the finished objects for goods or (commonly after the 1880s) money to supplement the household income. The ‘supplement’ nature of this work probably means it was not compensated as much as a job outside the home would be for the same hours and skills. Besides, it was not always easy to spin an even 1-ply yarn at 1600 metres per 100 grams. For a piece of knitting with a large ‘plain’ area (i.e. only knit stitches), the unevenness was impossible to hide but could only be discovered after the area was worked. Then the maker had to either frog (unravel) the area or continue with the risk of the whole piece not being able to sell.

Whilst it is very reasonable to point out that Shetland ladies did not usually wear this type of lace (I’ve been to the Scottish Highlands once, in summer, and it was not fine lace weather), I imagine that at least for some, it wasn’t just about making money. Some sort of fulfilment must have been from the satisfaction of having a piece ‘properly done’ by continuing and adapting a traditional pattern, technique or material. I think this sort of satisfaction is also why many modern knitters are willing to spend hundreds of hours on lacework.

Intricate handknitted lace items can still be bought today (a quick search on Etsy would show many are form eastern European countries with a long and prominent craft tradition), but many are knitted for friends or family members. It always makes me so happy to see people share the gifts they have made, whether big or small, simple or complex. I joke with my online craft friends that no handmade fibre project can claim to be so unless they have a hair or two woven into it. It is the proof of existence for the maker, who tries to go against the irregular nature of handicrafts and, at the same time, accepts it. It is about wrapping up hours, weeks or months in one’s life, along with the songs they have listened to and the perfume they have worn and the memories they have made, and putting it squarely in someone else’s hands and saying: ‘All this, for you.’

A Wedding Shawl

I have not read anything about there being a standard form of ‘wedding shawl’ in the Shetland tradition. However, there is definitely a category of square shawls with similar sizes and a few construction methods. The samples I’ve seen mostly measure 1.5-2m on one side and have three parts: a central panel, four borders and a strip of edging. It is worked flat in garter lace from centre out.

Neither is there a standardised yarn weight. A widely available yarn is the Shetland Supreme Lace Weight 1-ply by Jamieson and Smith, which weighs at 400m/25g. The Queen Ring Shawl examined by Sharon Miller used a yarn at 700m/25g. From my experience, if you want the shawl to be a true ring shawl (i.e. you want to be able to pull the shawl through a ring) at the size of the Queen Ring Shawl (210cm on the side), go for 700m/25g or finer.

I chose a rectangular shawl because I had very limited time, but I did enlarge it because for me, an abundance of fabric does mean an abundance of cozy happiness.

Pattern

Shell Grid and Spider Webs Puzzle, pattern No.19 in the book Shetland Knitting Lace by Toshiyuki Shimada.

The names of the motifs are confusing. One motif (or two highly similar motifs) might just have two different names if they are produced in two different regions. Names do not mean everything, but I’ve had fun trying to match the motifs with names according to this article by Carol Christiansen at the Shetland Museum.

The double yarnovers (YO's) in the diamonds were called Cat's Eye, but perhaps the 'Spider Web' in the pattern name is referring to the three rows of double YO's in the centre panel. It has a really simple but effective edging.

Yarn

Mermaid Lace, in colourway #naturel, sold by Great British Wool in the Netherlands. This yarn is 75% merino and 25% sea algae silk. ‘Sea algae silk’ seems to be a semi-synthetic plant fibre like viscose, with algae involved as part of the raw material. (At this price point I don’t think it has anything to do with sea silk, which is fibre produced by actual shells.) The brand name for the most popular product of its type is probably Seacell.

I bought the yarn, because I had never worked with this fibre before and was curious. What I like: it was a little cheaper than a wool/silk blend and has blocked very well. The whole skein was continuous so I didn’t have to deal with a single yarn joint. What I do not like: it lacks the sheen and smoothness of real silk and doesn’t feel as strong, although it doesn’t shed. In conclusion, I’d rather use a traditional Shetland 1-ply or another natural fibre yarn.

It's also worth mentioning that whilst I prefer to support small businesses, it was disappointing to have received a 93-gram skein when I had ordered 100 grams. It was one of those days between Christmas and the New Year and I somehow did not contact the customer service, but I really should have.

Needle

2.5mm 80cm circular needles. See modification below.

Modification

This Japanese knitting book follows Japanese sizing for knitting needles. The suggested size was no. 1=2.4mm. I figured that I could use a 2.5mm since I knitted on the tighter side, and in any case it was probably okay to make the lacework a little more open by going up a needle size.

I am not going to give out the pattern, but it is probably necessary to explain the structure of this shawl. The centre is knitted first, and then an edging is knitted onto it by picking up either live stitches or the vertical edge of the centre as you go (see schematic below). The four ‘corners’ of the edging have short-row shaping to help it lay flat. I know that traditionally people can achieve this by other methods, but I haven’t tried any of those yet.

I enlarged the pattern by increasing both the width and the length. I casted on 133 stitches instead of 101 for the centre panel and knitted Part B 8.5 times instead of 5.5. The spider web pattern in Part B requires the stitch count to be (something dividable by four) plus two, so I made one central increase before the spider web to get 134 and a central decrease after it to get it back to 133. Due to the openness of the lace, the change of one stitch is not visible.

The enlargement meant I had to recalculate the edging as well, because the number of stitches available for pick-up changed. Originally, at each corner you do two repeats with four short-row shaping each. I did 1.5 repeats following the original placement of short-row shaping in order to make the total number of repeats fit the number of edge stitches on the centre panel.

The pattern says to Kitchener-stitch the last row of the edging to the provisional cast-on. It just didn’t make sense because that would be two rows too much (the Kitchener stitch row plus the provisional cast-on row). To make the number perfectly fit, I knitted only ten rows of the last repeat (there were usually twelve in each repeat). Then I Kitchener-stitched the end to the provisional cast-on, following the lace pattern. I am quite proud of this solution because it is completely invisible.

Somewhere in the pattern it said to purl (looking from the right side). It seemed strange because the rest of the lace was entirely garter. I knitted those stitches and so far I haven’t sensed a ‘mistake’.

The pattern originally calls for 45 grams of yarn. I estimated (based on the increase of stitches in the centre panel) to need about 80 grams. I ended up using 86 grams. Besides the inaccuracies in my estimation, it was probably also because I knitted much more loosely than expected as it was difficult to tension the yarn tightly at such a weight. Like I've point out in the Yarn section above, I was lucky not to have needed more than 93 grams.

The original finished size is 53*118cm. I ended up with approximately 70*170cm.

Conclusion

This shawl took about three months of my craft time i.e. one full day every week for three months and many mornings before I had to leave for university. Knitting outside my room just didn’t work because I was a) engaged in some other activities that made it difficult to steady my hands, and b) worried about putting a white shawl on any public surface.

The pattern itself is relatively straightforward. The first difficulty was, of course, to understand the instruction written in Japanese. Google translate was horrible so I had to rely on my knitting experience. Fortunately, much of the text description was also found in graphs and charts. Then I had to get my hands used to the tiny yarn. After that, it was only fiddly when I did the edging, because I had to turn about every twelve stitches, and by that time I was handling a giant cloud of stitches on my lap. It did give me a lot of time to go over my favourite documentaries and films, and the last bit of edging was surprisingly quick!

Traditionally, Shetland shawls could be sent back to the maker for maintenance. I think it only fair for me to offer that too because I don’t want a gift to become a trouble (same as how you do not use non-machine-washable yarn for baby knits).

In general, I am very pleased with this shawl. It does pass the ring test, despite not being a traditional wedding shawl size or thickness. I do have a whole lot of actual Shetland 1-ply in my stash, so I am really looking forward to taking my Queen Ring Shawl project out of hibernation in the near future.

Reference list for Introduction

Christiansen, Carol. Shetland fine lace knitting: Recreating patterns from the past. Marlborough: Crowood, 2024.

Mann, Joanna. 'Knitting the Archive: Shetland Lace and Ecologies of Skilled Practice'. Cultural Geographies 25, no. 1 (January 28, 2017): 91–106. https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474016688911.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Needs Must — Rhysand x Reader

While I put the finishing touches to the next part of Bluebird, enjoy this Rhys x Reader that I got a sudden burst of inspiration to finish this morning!

Summary: War changes everything, and the human-fae war changed the trajectory of your life completely — most pointedly decimating the relations between you and those closest to you. It’s been a long while since you’ve seen your brother, Cassian, and your friends. But that’s all about to change.

Warnings: Suggestions of solicitation/sex work/brothels. Nothing else, really!

Word Count: 1.5k

Enjoy! 💕

It’s all pointless, you think — the red velvet drapes, the burning candles, the sandalwood-scented smoke that clouds the air and creates a thick layer of fog that hovers just above the shag carpet. Pointless, because no amount of pretty décor will change Salt’s Pleasure Hall from the vacuous and miserable place it is.

Not miserable for you, no. There is no misery in the hefty sum of gold you’ll take home on a night. You are a master of pretty smiles and hooded gazes and saying all the right things that desperate, lonely males wish to hear. There is so much coin to be had in feigning interest and attraction. Bringing their fantasy to life for a night. There is talent in making them feel as though you’ve bared yourself to them, without having removed a single item of clothing.

And to think you once begged your older brother to train you, make you like him. Turn me into a weapon like you are, Cassian. We cannot change what filth sired us. But we can stamp it out from our blood and be better, be more.

And oh, he’d trained you, alright. Turned you into a weapon. Into something he was so fucking proud of. You knew the pride it had once brought him to strut around Illyrian lands with you at his side, clad in leathers just as he was, armed to the teeth just as he was. His way of showing off that he had done something good, something useful.

Oh, how things have changed. How the mighty have fallen.

For all you are confident, comfortable, used to the job you have now worked for some time, you are nervous tonight.

Tonight is different. Tonight is territory that has so far been untouched. Tonight, this room of velvet and silk and sensuality is your domain.

The Juniper Suite is part of the most expensive package that Salt’s Pleasure Hall has to offer. The package is similar to your usual night’s work in that you will smile prettily and pour drinks and ply whichever lonely male arrives with mindless conversation.

The difference is that in Juniper, those things lead to sex. And this is the first time since becoming one of Salt’s girls that you’re crossing that boundary.

So, yeah, you’re a little bit nervous. But — needs must, and all that.

With a soft sigh and butterflies dancing around in your belly, you slowly pace the circumference of the room, stopping every now and then to study the weird little trinkets that Salt has picked up over the years. A strange mishmash of things that you suppose he thinks creates a certain ambience. But tiny metal lions and old, fraying maps will be the furthest thing from your client’s thoughts when the two of you sink into the feathered sheets.

They will be here any minute, and for the first time since you started your work here, you allow yourself to wonder what they might be like. You never usually bother, because the other girls warned you on day one what to expect — that this place attracts a certain clientele, and that never wavers.

So, your guest will likely be far older than you. He will likely have dark smudges beneath his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders. There will likely be the faint mark of a removed wedding band on his left ring finger. He will likely want to talk to you about why he is a victim of life itself.

And you will coo sympathetically and pour him drinks, drag your hand down his arm and hold his hand. You will let him know how sorry you feel that life is so cruel to him. You will offer him the bliss of touch and feel, and make him think, for a short while, that you genuinely care about his shortcomings.

And then when he hands you the heavy pouch of coins you so desperately covet, you’ll switch it all off.

You swallow down another sigh and cross the room to the small, compact bar in the corner. You need a stiff drink yourself, something to settle your nerves—

But a knock lands on the door, and there’s no time.

For a split second, you doubt whether you can go through with this. Playing hostess for a few hours is one thing, but giving your body to a client is something you’ve never had the courage to do, despite the extra coin it would bring. But — needs must. You repeat it to yourself as you stride to the door. Needs must, needs must, needs must. You can do this.

You brace yourself, feeling suddenly too hot and sticky in the scant clothing that covers you — a pink lingerie set, barely covered by the sheer robe that sits open and threatens to slip down your arms. You are beautiful — and strong and sexy and confident. This is your body to do with whatever you want. And if this is the course you are taking, that is fine. This will be fine.

You lay your palm on the handle and yank the door open before you have to give yourself another pep talk.

But at the sight of who stands on the other side, you freeze. Your lips part in surprise.

A pep talk is not what you need — but rather a huge hole to open in the floor and swallow you down.

“What the fuck?”

It takes you a moment to realise that you’ve uttered those three words at the exact same moment your client did — Rhysand did.

He’s just like when you last saw him, but…older, now. Even though you were adults back then, too, he seems…more mature, somehow. He’s regal and stunning and night itself.

And fuck, he’s High Lord of the Night Court now.

And yet he’s ruffled, as he takes you in, gapes at you. Neither of you know what to do.

His eyes dip down to what you’re wearing, before travelling back up to your face. And he blurts, “Pixie?”

Pixie. You haven’t heard that name in years. The fond nickname that both Rhys and Azriel had coined for you, because you were so much like Cassian and yet so much smaller, a little pixie buzzing around.

But you are not her anymore. You haven’t been her since before the human-fae war. You had changed, just like the others had changed.

And the new you doesn’t need to explain to an old friend what has brought you to a pleasure hall in Sangravah. Nor does that old friend need to explain what’s brought him here, either. You owe him nothing. He owes you nothing.

But the situation is so bizarre that your mind freezes. You don’t know what to do. All you know is that you do not want to be in front of him, almost naked. You do not want to look him in the eye. The mere thought is humiliating.

So you move fast and try to slam the door shut in his face. You don’t care what kind of reprimand Salt will give you because of it.

But, of course, he is Rhysand, and may you never forget that. He’s quick as lightning, something about him always having been wildly feline. He always bested you when you sparred, always had the upper hand.

He has the upper hand now as he wedges his foot in the door and stops it from closing.

You grit your teeth, feeling just like when you used to bicker with him in Illyria as you bite out, “Move your fucking foot.”

“No,” Rhys snaps, shoving it in further. “Open the fucking—” he growls as he shoulders himself forward. “Pixie.”

“Don’t call me that. Go away—”

You’re not exactly sure what happens next. Either he loses his footing, or you do, or perhaps you both do. All you know is that the door is swinging fully open, and your balance is suddenly off, and Rhysand’s hand is gripping onto you as you fall backwards. Your attempts to right yourself are far too late and seem to make it worse. Down you go to that musty shag carpet, and down Rhysand goes with you,

Air whooshes from your lungs as he lands on top of you, far too close than is comfortable when you’re wearing so little clothing. You attempt to sit up, shove him off you.

But he holds you firm and stares at you with wide eyes. His face is inches from yours. He gives what seems to be a baffled shake of his head.

“Pix, what the fuck?” he blurts.

[tadpolesonalgae]

They get turned on when you’re angry — headcanons

a/n: thank you 🩰 for this thought, and thank you anon for requesting it 🧡💛 (this is ever so slightly unserious, please accept my apologies)

warnings: starts out suggestive, derails into smut :)

Rhysand:

“You can’t keep insisting you’re the most handsome High Lord at the High Lord meetings, Rhys!”

You’ve got him sat on the edge of your bed as you scold him for his behaviour, Rhys waiting patiently as he watches you trying to ply the clips from your hair, your own patience wearing thin as frustration builds at their refusal to budge

“I mean really Rhys, I understand you’re no longer acting out a cruel persona, but a little tact, no? Just some discretion? Not cracking jokes left right and centre!”

You hiss as one of the clips snags on a strand of hair, cursing both him and the clip out under your breath

“Darling, will you please just allow me to—”

“Don’t you dare move, Rhysand.”

Colour warms the tan skin of his cheeks, eyes appreciatively running down the trail of your spine, heat gathering at the spankable curve of your hind. The tone you’d used…

“I know you think you’re charismatic and charming, but your arrogance is getting out of hand,” you continue, oblivious to the dark dip in his thoughts, “I suppose it’s inevitable when you have no one to keep you in check, but—”

“No one to keep me in check?”

You whirl on him, hair at last free and unbound, whipping over your shoulder as you turn to him

He’s undone the top most buttons of his shirt, leaned back on the bed, long legs parted—not at all ashamed of the reaction he’s having to the sharp, clipped tone you’d been using on him

“Rhysand!” You hiss, “I’m trying to…”

But he’s not hiding anything, arousal heating the glimmering bond that lies between you, skin tingling with awareness as warmth pools in your belly

“What was it you said again? That I have no one to keep me in check?” He muses, hand shifting over the muscle of his thigh to the obvious hardness between his legs. “No one to remind me of my place?”

“Rhysand,” you warn, “we have a dinner tonight, do not…” but you trail off when he palms himself through the fitted fabric of his trousers, a low groan coming from the back of his throat.

You pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth, delicately licking over dried lips, an action he marks eagerly. “I suppose you could serve being taught a lesson to two…”

Cassian:

“Cass, hurry up! We’re going to be late! Again!”

Really, you would have thought as a General he would have excellent time management skills and would never struggle with being late. And usually, that’s true. But something about going out to dinner to see his family just sends all of that training out the window

“Cassian?” You question, leaning over the banister to call up to your mate’s room. “Cassian, are you nearly ready?”

A series of knocks are landed to your front door, and you blanch, wondering if it’s another pair thinking of walking with you to the River House. But when you open it, you’re greeted with a proudly grinning Cassian, wings tucked in tight against the chill breeze

He must have flown out the window and round to the front again.

“Cassian!” You snap, “I was stressing! Why can’t you just please be on time and save me the anxiety?”

He opens his mouth, pride gleaming in his eyes at what he no doubt thinks is a clever trick, but the amusement has already seeped from your bones.

“For goodness sake,” you mutter, “you haven’t even—” You push up onto your tiptoes, leaning flush against him for support as you set straight a curled lock that was blown the wrong way, flopping to the wrong side of his head

You huff impatiently, settling back onto the flats of you feet, lightly smacking your hand over his chest as you reassess him. “Right. Good. Let’s go.”

“Sweetheart, don’t worry,” he tries, realising too late you’re genuinely bothered, agitation zinging down the bond. “They won’t even—”

“Cassian, I am not in the mood at the moment,” you snap sharply. “How many times have I told you. We need to be ready to leave half an hour before hand. You’re a General for crying out loud, put your knowledge to good use.”

You’ve never snapped like that before at him. He knows you get a little tightly wound when it comes to time management, but never anything like this. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten your gears turning like that. But your arms have crossed over your chest, drawing his attention to the dip in the neckline, a little further than usual. The strict set of your brows, and the disapproving cut of your mouth…

He zones back in when you click your fingers in his face, “are you even listening to me? For Mother’s sake Cassian, will you at least pay attention when I’m talking to you?”

“I’m paying attention,” he manages, caught off guard by the arousal that’s stirring in his stomach at the terseness of your question. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t. Now hurry up and let’s—”

“Don’t cut me off like that,” he breathes lowly, pupils dilated as he stares down at you. The rise and fall of your chest as you glare impatiently…holding your ground…

“Cassian!” You inhale sharply as his large palm snakes around your waist, pulling you into his heat, nosing at your neckline, his scent wrapping around you, and— “Cassian…” you whisper, back curving with arousal

“Where’d that attitude go?” He asks breathlessly. “Bring it back for me. Won’t you do that, sweetheart?”

“Cass…we’re going to be late…” you manage to get out, knocked off your feet by the abrupt display of hunger

“We won’t,” he murmurs, pressing hot kisses to your throat as he works his way down. “Besides, what were those thirty minutes originally put in place for?”

You flush at the reminder—at how frequently things like this would happen so you would both agree to prepare in advance in the case of certain appetites arising

“Though if you want to keep using that tone on me…” his hips roll against yours, pressing the hard outline of his cock into your tummy, groaning at how it feels. “I don’t think I’d mind…”

Azriel:

“Azriel.” You hiss, gripping his hand by the wrist, tight. “Don’t even think about it.”

The shadows scuttle away from beneath your skirts, while the others peer up at the painting Helion’s currently showing off.

“You can’t just put your hands on me whenever you feel mildly compromised,” you whisper sharply, hoping the others won’t notice how you’re lagging behind.

“He just invited you to his bed,” Azriel growls lowly, pupils contracted as he stares razors into the High Lord of Day’s turned back. “And you hardly mustered up a refusal.”

“I was being polite. And of course the offer wasn’t serious,” you hiss back. “Besides, he’s invited you to bed plenty of times, and you never see me getting all territorial about it.”

“I wish you would,” he breathes, voice roughening as he flicks his wrist out of your grasp in favour of gripping your hip lightly, pulling you a little closer. “At least then he’d get the idea.”

“He’s doing this because you’re making it so apparent we’re recently mated,” you snap, “obviously he’s going to enjoy at last being able to get a rise out of you.”

“I need him to know that you’re mine.”

Heat flutters between your legs, suddenly feeling breathless. Your tongue flicks out over dry lips, and that familiar warmth zips down the bond, still so new and sensitive to every change, keyed to one another.

“You keep that sort of nonsense in the bedroom, Azriel,” you manage to hiss to him. “I do not belong to you. I am your mate.”

You can feel even on your side how overpowering, how dominating those instincts are, made worse by the unwelcome and incessant advances from another male. Can feel how he’s straining under the urge to claim you in a very obvious way.

“You belong to me, as I belong to you,” he growls lowly, darkness thickening at his back as those great wings flare menacingly.

“If you belong to me then I command you to be quiet and behave,” you hiss, the crackling tension between you having you snap, frustration simmering beneath your skin as you’re forced to keep your hands off each other until this bothersome tour comes to an end.

It seems to be the last straw for Azriel, however.

He releases a snarl that sounds mixed with a groan, starving lust barreling down the bond as he’s no longer able to keep his side entirely concealed, large palm shackling your wrist as he drags you away from the others, too hungry to wait

The command had been his breaking point, arousal burning through his blood at the sharpness you’d used

He hopes you’ll use it on him again, even once the initial frenzy has at last faded…

Eris:

“Either make me cum, or I’ll find someone else who will,” you hiss, nails scraping over his scalp, gripping the silky locks in your fist

“I wouldn’t recommend that, fawn,” he murmurs beside your ear, pressing his body tight to yours, so you’re trapped between him and the wall as his thigh is pushed flush with your heat. “Besides, you’re already dripping all over me. You think you’ll be able to find anyone else who’ll give you the intensity of one I can?”

“I don’t care at this point,” you counter. “Either give it to me or I’ll have to use something else.”

The impatience catches him off guard. You’re usually so sweet and docile—he wonders where the spark has come from. It seems rather fun to tamper with

“Like your fingers? Your pillow?” He asks, voice deepening as he presses his hips to yours, grinding into the softness of your tummy as you try to rub over his thigh, to get some kind of pleasure. “I’d love to see you try,” he whispers breathlessly

“Fuck you,” you hiss, heat fluttering between your legs, mind turning dizzy with hunger as your arms wrap tight over his broad shoulders, leg weaving round his to try and get him closer—

“Quit it,” you snap, flame blazing in your eyes as your lip curls when he pulls his thigh back, leaving you without stimulation. “You’re being a fucking pain,” you hiss, tugging on his hair

His eyes flutter, hips bucking against you with hunger as he dips down, attacking your neck with kisses and nips, arousal having him firmly within its grasp at that demand

You moan at the sensations, back arching up into him as you feel the pronounced outline of him against you, twitching as he grinds against you

“Fuck, Eris…” you pant, so near the verge of pleasure.

“Get on the bed,” you whisper, hands shakily pushing him away, so he’s stood to his full height, looming over you

When he doesn’t move, you snarl, too impatient to wait for his games. “I said get on the bed.”

The intensity of his arousal hits you then, practically knocking you clean off your feet, both of you seemingly taken aback at just how heavily affected he is

“You like this?” You breathe, pulse spiking as you peer up into his eyes, irises almost fully eclipsed by hunger

He doesn’t need to answer as your hand slips between the two of you, cupping him, feeling just how hard he is, how hungry he is… You curse lowly

“Oh you’re going to pay for every damn teasing thing you’ve ever done to me,” you whisper over his mouth, pushing for him to walk back until his legs come into contact with the bed

“And you’re going to pay tenfold.”

Lucien:

“I just don’t get it, Lu,” you sigh frustratedly, pacing back and forth as he watches you from the plush armchair. “I’ve tried so many different things, she just seems to have it out for me.”

“Are you sure you’re not overthinking this?” He suggests wryly. “We both know you have a habit of assuming the worst when it comes to how other people perceive you.”

“I’m not overthinking this one,” you snap. “She blatantly cut me off and turned her back on me during tea the other day. I don’t know what it is other than she just dislikes me.”

“And wouldn’t it simply be the end of the world if one female didn’t absolutely adore you,” he drawls, stretching out in his seat, long legs crossing at the ankle

“Don’t take that tone with me,” you say sharply, spinning around to face him, glaring

Lucien stiffens under the fire in your gaze, the anger simmering away as you stare him down, surprised by how hot his skin feels beneath that look

“I know for a fact I haven’t done anything wrong this time—and I’m certain of that,” you huff, beginning to pace back and forth, allowing him a moment to grapple with the reaction searing through his body

“Why is she trying to bring me down? I don’t understand it. I’ve never done anything, said anything that could harm her standing in some way, so why is she trying to bring me down?”

He listens to the harsh puff of breath, the sharp sighs coming from your lips, the clean cut of your steps as you spin at the end of a pace—pulse increasing as he slips a long finger beneath his collar

“We females are already at a disadvantage,” you go on, brow tightening now with anger, “can’t she understand that? We should stick together to help one another, not step on each other to further ourselves. It’s so backward! Why are you fighting against me when the problem is with the males in charge? Do you see what I mean? Lu? Lu—”

A hot flush warms your cheeks, thoughts instantly fading from your mind, replaced by the view before you

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, attempting to readjust the tightness of the already close-fitting riding trousers he wears. “Continue,” he manages thickly, “I’m listening.”

But you’re done with the conversation already. Done the second you looked at him, the outline of his arousal for you so clear and prominent

“I’m glad you are, but I’m certainly not,” you murmur, already walking over to him, putting yourself into his lap, straddling his hips as you pull your skirts up, feeling that delicious press between your legs

“I think I’m in need of a distraction anyway.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

[pygmi-cygni]

Playing Favorites

poe dameron x reader

summary: your position as resource agent isn't high on the christmas card list for most, but you take it seriously. As seriously as you can, while still having to scold grown men for their....antics.

@brighterthanlonelywords REMEMBER THIS THING WE TALKED ABOUT IDK IF YOU DO BUT I SWEAR I DIDN'T FORGET!! in my poe dameron post like three weeks ago lmao you gave me this idea

content: sexual innuendos, pining, flirting, banter, angst...it's a poe fic like you know why ur here

there is a brief scene where reader is harrassed, it isn't sexual or anything dw

reader is afab, described w braidable hair, texture not described/racially ambiguous

You'd taken the job for the scenery. Being from Kamino, you hadn't seen much farther than your window, let alone anything other than rain. Your parents had told you stories of the skies, promising to leave the soggy planet. In the end, you escaped on a ragtag Rebel ship recruiting pilots. Immediately upon landing at the lush landscape of D'Qar, you'd known it was the right choice. The view floored you every time.

But nothing could compensate for the amount of utter bullshit you experienced as a resource agent.

So...you decided to do barrel rolls in an unregistered X-Wing?

Uh, yeah.

Without a helmet or a pilot's license?

uhhh....

You were the epitome of a short fuse. Resource agents were essentially the Resistance's HR team. Strange, because absolutely nothing about the Resistance followed 'protocol', but you supposed there needed to be some kind of discipline in place.

No, your crew wasn't making many friends in the Res, nor were you the most celebrated, but somebody had to do it.

Though, you wished it was somebody else.

Mind melting to a thoughtless mush as you listened to a cadet stumble over excuses, you flicked through the remaining meetings scheduled.

Team training, team training, briefing with Organa....fuckkkk.

Your favorite piece of shit, Poe Dameron, had another protocol screening set for his next mission. You gotta be kidding me.

Normally, pilots had a protocol training at the beginning of their enlistment and then once every six months. It was long and tedious; going through safety maneuvers and briefing procedure to make sure everything was up to date. But, because Dameron was special and liked to play by his own rules, General Organa had started mandating his for every mission.

Which meant three hours out of your day because somebody didn't read the Terms and Conditions.

This is such bullshit.

Schooling your expression into neutrality as the bumbling cadet finished his story, you tried to stop your fingers from crushing the tablet in your hands.

Being the equivalent of a galactic HR meant that you weren't gonna be on anybody's Christmas list. Yeah, the job was tedious, but you weren't good enough at plying to be a pilot and couldn't fix a droid to save your life, so you used your skills to help in the way you could.

You were here to stop a war, not make friends.

You could feel Dameron before you saw him. The ego that shone like a halo around him was sparkling like a disco ball as he loudly bantered with his crewmates. General Organa had already arrived, and shot you an amused glance as you rubbed your temples.

Inside voice, Dameron, for the love of Hoth.

"Evening, Commander," you said briskly, gesturing towards the prep room doors, "you know where to start."

He made eye contact and grinned. "Right to business, I like it. Cute hair, sweetheart," he added smoothly. You bit back a frown and followed Organa into the small briefing station. Initially you'd been excited to wear your new braids, but his incessant flirting dampened your pride.

"Flirting with an HR officer is awfully brave of you," you fired back.

"I like a challenge." His smirk sparkled in the low light.

General Organa, used to your bickering, waved at the holo above the console.

"This mission is simple, Dameron, a recon on the Mid Rim. You'll be out there for around two standard days. You are required to check in every twelve hours, and return with the information here," she explained, highlighting a small map underneath the mission summary. Dameron leaned forward, brow set.

"A map....of Abelor? That's a spice trade port, General, why does the Resistance need to be involved?" His confusion mirrored your own. Organa held up a hand, continuing.

"There have been rumors that First Order informants are using the spice port to smuggle information planet-to-planet without needing to go through protocol checks. This is merely a recon to stake out the area. You'll be meeting with an ally, Rhett Mosley." A lanky man popped up next to the summary. He was mostly covered in tribal tattoos, and a pair of thick goggles hid most of his face.

Poe nodded, copying the info on his personal tablet.

"Any questions?"

At his subtle shake of the head, she gestured to you and bowed. "Continue with the protocol, ten hours until takeoff."

You both murmured a farewell and she left with a swish of her cloak. For a moment, Poe was suspended in his own head, gaze distant and stricken. Awkwardly, you shuffled around, hoping to rouse him.

He snapped out of it, and his trademark grin spread across his face. "Just you and me now, sweetheart," he said, bumping your shoulder.

"Just get in the fucking X-Wing."

You sat by, bored as Poe droned about the processes in his ship. He knew the steps, you knew he knew the steps, but because of this stupid loophole in the system, you both had to sit here for another hour.

"Maker- look, Dameron," you sighed, scrubbing your hand over your face, "I know that you're more than capable of doing this mission. I'll sign all your papers, I just want this to be over."

He paused in the middle of showing you the intricate seamwork on the inside of his security belt. A mock look of abhorrence crossed his face.

"What! You wound me, baby. I thought you loved our time together," he bemoaned, batting his dark lashes.

Your filter was slowly coming loose. "Yes, how could I forget, Dameron, how enjoyable it is to listen to your terrible pick-up lines while you bullshit your way through a protocol exam?"

This earned a small chuckle. To your dismay, a small part of your ego preened at the sound. You liked making people laugh. And if Commander Dameron happened to be the one laughing....well, that was okay too.

"No it's not," you snapped. You hated him. This was-

"What? Yes it is, I just showed you." Poe was looking at you, head tilted in confusion. You blushed, realizing you'd said that out loud.

"Right. Er...sorry, Commander, continue. I didn't...nevermind," you muttered, willing your cheeks to stop flaming. He wiggled his brows at you again.

"Feeling a little hot and bothered, Lieutenant?" Poe grinned, the pink tip of his tongue poking out. You scowled at your feet. Since childhood, your cheeks flamed like hell at the slightest embarrassment.

"That's alright," he continued his conversation, "I know I have that effect on people. Sorry to inconvenience you, honey, I know you still think you hate me."

You aggressively signed off on his report, shoving him the document and wiping the growing smile off your face.

"Good luck, Commander, you're cleared for takeoff."

"Can I get a goodbye kiss?" he called after you.

The mission, by all accounts, was a resounding success. You didn't care; still riding the high of being Dameron-free for at least a few days. The base had been, to nobody's surprise, remarkably calm and quiet for the weekend.

But, like clockwork, our favorite flyboy was marched into your office at 7 sharp, sporting a black eye and a toothy grin. His droid, a cute BB unit, was beeping frantically, occasionally rolling into his feet.

You looked up from your caf, unamused.

"Early bird gets the right hook, I see," you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face.

"Left, actually," he said sheepishly, rocking on his heels. The corrections officer that led him in rolled her eyes, snapping a salute and walking off.

"Dameron, we've had this conversation too many times for me to pretend like you didn't deserve it."

As if on cue, he threw himself across from your desk, hands folded. "No, no, listen," he wheedled, "look, it's a long story, and I wasn't trying to start anything, swear-"

"BB-8, recent log information, please," you asked crisply. Poe shot his friend a desperate look.

"Beebs," he hissed, "come on, stick with me on this one, dude!" BB-8 blinked, then rolled over to you and stuck out his little thumb drive.

You thanked him, kindly patting his tummy. Preening, the little droid circled his pilot friend tauntingly. Poe glared balefully. "I give you tummy rubs too," he grumbled.

A grainy camera feed pulled up. Dameron and another pilot, clearly drunk, were getting heated over something you couldn't make out. Truthfully, the other guy swung first, but Poe was not clear of fault.

"You slapped him with a plate," you deadpanned, rewinding to watch it again. Poe rubbed his neck.

"Well, yeah, but..." he trailed off, searching for a good excuse.

"I do recognize that he punched first, but you still antagonized him. I'll send you to my advisor and they'll do a case review for you." Eager to get on with your morning and shove Poe off your desk, you waved at him to leave.

His lower lip pushed out. Goddamn the puppy eyes, I swear to Maker.

"But why won't you clear it for me?" His voice was small, pleading. Beebs, clearly unamused, thumped against Poe's knee.

"I don't have the authority."

"But...wait, wait. I could take you by the cantina and you could ask the people that were there, and maybe...I'll buy you a drink, and we can chat for-"

"Dameron," you said again, tone gentler. "I'm sorry. But I'd lose my job."

"I've heard my company is worth it," he winked, then winced, for he'd winked with his bruised eye. BB-8 booped wearily. You felt for the little guy. Opening a desk drawer, you pulled out a small tube of varnish and gave the droid a shine for his efforts.

"Stop pampering my droid and pay attention to me," Poe complained, "he'll start picking favorites."

You sighed, looking at the pilot with a tired expression. Even though he gave you trouble, Poe was a good pilot and a good friend. He teased and flirted and drove you up the wall, but he was a good guy. You didn't want his record to be tainted, he wouldn't come around anymore.

Woah, where did that come from?

"Poe," you said slowly. He noticeably brightened at his name, putting as much into his smile as you'd ever seen. "I cannot clear you from this...event. However, if you write a written apology and an explanation I can...forget it."

He threw his arms around your shoulders and crowed in success. BB-8 whirred in surprise. You didn't lean into the embrace, too shocked to do anything. He smelled...nice. Like metal and cinnamon.

"Thanks, honey," he whispered, "I owe you one." Pulling away, he poked BB-8 in in the tummy and smirked.

"Told you she'd listen," he whispered smugly. As he whistled and strolled off, a faint blush dotted your cheeks.

He really was a sweetheart.

Night time was your favorite on base. It was quiet, solitary. Walking past the housing on your nightly check, you smiled at the sounds of muffled laughter coming from the bunks. It was like a family. Dysfunctional, yeah, but it was home.

It had been a long day. You had two hallways to go before you could collapse in your own bed. Tomorrow was your day off - you could finally sleep in.

You were playing with the zipper on your jacket as you rounded the corner.

A solid block of person collided with your cheek. Stumbling, you caught yourself on the wall.

"S-sorry, I didn't mean to-"

An unfamiliar scowl glowered down at you. Your apology trailed off. This guy was huge, probably six feet tall and heavyset. His face looked familiar, what with the sharp cut across the bridge of his nose.

Oh. This was the guy Poe had been tussling with.

"Sorry, sir, I need to get by," you said, shaken from the impact. He didn't move. Thompson was printed on his breast pocket, with a green insignia. Green Squadron.

"Heard you had something to do with this," he snarled, jabbing a thumb at his rank. Suspended.

"I..." a rush of panic swelled inside you. This is why you didn't play favorites. You buckled one time and now this guy was gonna wreck your shit. Fucking Dameron, shit shit shit-

"I..I didn't do your intake," you stammered, balking at his imposing figure. "It wasn't my case-"

"No, but pretty boy gets to fly tomorrow, and guess who took his?" Thompson was seething, eyes narrowed to slits. You were amazed that Poe had the balls to smash a plate on this guy. You wanted to curl up and cry.

Help. Help. Somebody help me oh my god I'm going to die.

There were rows of doors on either side of you. You could knock on any of them, but he'd surely grab you before you made it. If you screamed, maybe somebody would-

Stars and pain exploded and you were catapulted backwards, crumpling against the doorhandle. The wind had been knocked out of you so sharply not even a gasp had escaped your lips. Choking and heaving, you scrambled backwards. Pain was everywhere. You weren't sure where he'd hit you.

I'm going to die.

Thompson sneered down at you, making a grab for your collar. Desperately, you scratched at his face, tearing open his smashed nose. The reopened wound gushed, sticky red trickling down your fingers and into his raging mouth. You gagged, but quickly cowered as he swung again at your face.

His fist smashed against the door, and you mentally apologized to whoever was trying to sleep. Air was becoming harder to swallow, and you realized his hand was twisting your shirt too tight around your throat.

uh oh uh oh fuck you sputtered and gasped and tried to smack him off, but he grabbed your wrists

fuck-

You fell backwards; rolling out of his grasp and into a dark room. Something yanked your shoulders backwards and you were shoved into darkness. Finally able to suck in a breath, a bloodcurdling shriek ripped from your bruised throat.

A large hand clapped over your lips. You wailed louder, trying to escape the sweaty palm.

stop it stop it HELP stop stop SOMEBODY FUCKING HELP

A ringing in your ear, punctuated by a loud male voice.

"Stop it," he hissed, removing his hand from your mouth. You panted and struggled against the forearms bracing your stomach. The first punch had landed on your sternum, and the entirety of your torso was screaming in pain.

"Hurts," you whimpered, trying to shove away. The man let go and you collapsed forward, gagging from the pain. A small night light glowed in the corner of the room, highlighting a familiar mop of curls.

"Poe," you wheezed, sitting up against the door. A muffled commotion could be heard outside - likely your fellow officers finally detaining the rogue Green pilot.

He nodded, wiping his brow. Grabbing the light from his desk, he brought it over to look at you. The warm light added a softer glaze to his eyes. He looked bleary. You'd probably woken him up.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, gently coming to sit next to you. You sniffled, still shaking.

"Don't move," he whispered, free hand coming up to carefully inspect your face. You didn't look at him, ashamed to be in this state. The light he was holding was for a child - shaped like a small cartoon Bantha. Cute, you thought listlessly.

Trembling, you could still feel Thompson's hands around your throat. You choked again, throat constricting around nothing. Fear still pierced your bones, and you folded forwards, sobbing into your knees.

Poe, surprised, swore and set the light down. His hands fluttered over your back, unsure of where it was okay to touch. He settled for your hair, petting the plaits gently as you cried.

The sounds outside had long quieted before you ran out of tears. A cold bottle was pressed into your hands. Cool water trickled down your throat. You swallowed gratefully. The room, still dark, brightened again as Poe flicked on another night-light.

Your lower lip was trembling, this time with embarrassment. You could feel Poe's concerned gaze tracing your face.

"You need to go to the medbay?" His gravelly, sleep-warm voice was quiet, hand still running over your hair.

You shook your head.

"Anything broken?"

Feeling around your ribs, you winced. Bruised, nothing broken. Again, you shook your head, clutching your water.

Poe nodded, scooting to sit next to you. You sat together, slowly coming down from the cortisol spike. Your limbs still shook, heartrate erratic against your aching chest.

"You're okay in here," Poe murmured, "Thompson may be strong, but he can't break through doors." You shivered, ducking your head into his shoulder. He understood, falling quiet again

Your throat was raw, and bruises pulsed under your skin. Eye contact was impossible, the embarrassment forcing your eyes down. You looked like a wreck - hair falling loose and bruises littering your body. The spot on the back of your head throbbed from the impact with the door.

Poe's fingers traced lightly, and you whimpered when they hit the sore spot. He retracted his hand quickly, apologizing rapidly.

"Hang on, hang on." His warm shoulder disappeared, and you sniffled at the loss. He returned a moment later with an ice pack, which he gently settled on the back of your head. The cold was soothing.

"I'm sorry," he said, gaze mournful. "This is kinda my fault, isn't it."

You squinted at him in the low light. "What?" Your voice was raspy.

"I made you get him in trouble, right? If I hadn't..." he gestured off towards your office, "y'know, then...well, you'd probably be on Thomspon's nice list."

You huffed a dejected laugh. "No, it's-" you cleared your throat, taking another sip of water. "it's okay." It wasn't, not really, but you didn't have the energy to be mad.

"I see why you don't play favorites," Poe said, smiling sadly. You gave him a half smile.

A soft beep came from your left and you turned. BB was tilted questioningly, large eye blinking.

"Hey, beebs," you whispered, reaching out to poke his antennae. He whirred and nudged your hand. "I'll be okay, it's just a couple bruises."

Your mind was still reeling. Poe scratched his friend's tummy then turned back to you.

"Why don't you stay here for tonight?" His eyes were genuine and concerned. You looked at him wearily. His hair was ruffled and cheeks flushed from sleep. Cute.

What?

"I won't try anything, promise," he reassured, hands raised placatingly. "I just don't want you walking around like this."

You swallowed and nodded. Poe took the water and the ice pack, setting them nearby. He hooked his arms under your shoulders and lifted you gently, stabilizing you when you swayed.

"You should really get checked out," he said, frowning."

"It's okay," you rushed, stumbling back. Poe grabbed your elbow to keep you from falling.

"It's okay to need help, you know. Nobody's gonna get mad." His eyes were gentle. Your lip trembled again, and you tried to pull away. Instead, Poe pulled you into a hug.

Your sob was muffled against his sleep shirt. He shushed you, hands tracing warm circles over your back. It's okay. It's okay. You'll be okay. Don't worry.

He really did smell good, you thought groggily. Cinnamon was comforting, and you started to sag in his arms. Poe carefully laid you on the lower bunk, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

"Which do you want?" He asked, pointing to the wall. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you blinked.

"Huh?"

"Which night light? I have a bantha and R2-D2."

At your blank stare, he blushed sheepishly. "I'm scared of the dark."

You snorted and pointed to the Bantha. Poe nodded, "a respectable choice," and placed the little light next to your pillow.

He sat at the foot of your bed, pulling out a tablet. You watched him, eyes growing heavy, as he pulled up a muted holovid, his hand stroking gently on your calf. Sleep came swiftly, and you drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

You woke at noon, shuffling under a thick warmth. A familiar warm smell curled around you like a blanket. Blinking blearily, a black mass of curly hair was crammed into your shoulder. Poe's head was three inches from your chin, and he was snoring like a bear. He was laying on top of the blanets, hand fisted over your chest. He reminded you of an infant, snuggled against any source of warmth.

Ignoring the ache in your chest, you petted his head and drifted back off.

join my taglist if you want, just comment or message me! it didn't mean to become so angsty lol idk what happened

xox bye bye

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

43 / 800 words / Nikto and honeypot reader (or a double agent a la red sparrow)

...

When Nikto comes home--appears in the kitchen doorway, duffel bag pitched over one shoulder and boots dripping mud--you’re not ready. You’re certain he can sense it with the way his eyes cut into you.

You straighten up and pull a grocery list nearby across the counter to cover your notebook without breaking eye contact. “You’re home early.”

“Short deployment.” His bag thuds to the floor. He walks to you with heavy footsteps. When he reaches you, he towers over you, cold eyes looking you up and down. Examining the state of his woman. “Perhaps you were hoping for a few more days away from me.”

You look up at him, plastering an overly saccharine, obviously fake smile on your face. "Perhaps I was."

Nikto chuckles. “A mouth like that will get you in trouble.” He grabs your face in one of his large hands as he looks you in the eye, forcing you to keep that fake smile trained on him. “You ought to close your mouth and keep that pretty smile on your face. It’s your best feature.” He's in a good mood, but that won't stop him from reminding you of your place.

Your fake smile turns sharp. "Anything for my darling husband."

He pulls you in by his grip on your jaw, bringing you close enough to smell the lingering gunpowder on his skin--the smell of blunt death that hangs on the edges of his clothes.

“Your attitude is making me want to do things to you that would be too rough for you to handle, doll,” he purrs, his large fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks.

"It'll have to wait if you want dinner."

“I can think of several other things you can do to prove your usefulness besides making my dinner.”

"After," you reply. You need to hear the details of his assignment, but he's always more pliant when he's spent. And it's easier to get him spent when he's full. Makes him docile.

Nikto can't help the grin that stretches across his scarred face at your words. His cold eyes smolder and he releases your face, his hands moving to your hips. “You are learning to be a good little wife for me. I’m impressed.” He leans in to kiss you. His hand slips down to your thigh and caresses the flesh underneath your skirt. “And how do I know you're not planning to ply me with food and liquor so I fall asleep before I have my way with you again?"

"Mm." You loosen the first button on your neckline, then the next, gratified when his eyes snap down to watch. You make sure he can see the lingerie you're wearing under your perfect housewife’s dress. "You’re never so early that I’m not ready to welcome you home, darling."

Nikto's eyes burn as he watches you pop open another button, drinking in the sight of you. A low groan rises in his chest at the barest, most teasing glimpse of the lacy number underneath. His fingers flex around your thigh. “You expect me to wait until bedtime before having you?”

"Of course. What kind of wife would I be to serve you dessert before dinner?"

“Make me wait too long and you’ll be sorry,” he says. “I haven’t had a proper meal in weeks. I expect you to spoil me rotten.”

"I intend to. Now, out of my kitchen." You smack his hand off you with your wooden spoon the way a teacher might smack a grabby student's hand with a ruler. "Out."

Nikto scoffs. He hates being teased and he hates being denied, but he likes your fire. And he can do as you ask if it means getting what he wants.

He grabs one of the cookies in the glass display dome on the counter and takes a bite. “Temper, doll,” he rumbles as he leaves the kitchen. “Don’t make me put you over my knee."

You watch him leave and return to your work, sliding the grocery list off your mission notebook along with the ingredients you need for dinner. You'll get the details you need for the dead drop tomorrow by giving your darling husband a full belly and as much sex as he needs to loosen his lips. As long as you pretend to be uninterested in his work and interested in his advances instead, you get what you need.

Still, you can't deny the way your heart beats faster in your chest when you remember the way he drank you in.

...

more kortac / masterlist

[prolix-yuy]

Olive Branch

Pairing: Francisco Morales x F!Reader

Summary: If Frankie doesn't like olives, then what does he like?

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: T, alcohol consumption, mention of drug use, incredibly tame for me, hints of spice. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: I was challenged by @happypedrohours to write a story involving Frankie and olives, and what do you know, these are two of my favorite things! I was snickering to myself the entire time as the olive metaphor rolled out, but what the hell, we're gonna keep it in! Enjoy my friends, and Happy Pedro Hours!

Cross-posted on AO3

When it slides in front of you, you know it’s a good one. You watched the bartender make one at the end of the bar and it was just how you like it. Dry, cold, three olives on a hardy metal toothpick. You were practically salivating by the time you ordered your own and it slid in front of you, shining like the Holy Grail.

“Didn’t know you liked martinis.”

Head whipping around, you stutter out a laugh as Frankie slides in next to you. He perches an elbow on the bar, free shoulder coming close as the crowd tucks you into each other. Your eyes dart to his crinkled brown ones, then to your drink, and back again to distract from the proximity. His hand is tucked into his faded jeans, but it wouldn’t take much to cup your elbow or wrap around your waist. 

“On special occasions,” you quip, tossing your head at Will and Tatiana surrounded by your friends. She’s showing the girls the ring, the men clapping hands on Will’s back and making him laugh. The air holds the fresh taste of new beginnings.

“Never had much of a taste for ‘em. Just gasoline in a glass,” he replies. Your face must be ten levels of indigent with how quickly his eyebrows shoot up.

“Do I look like a car to you?” 

Frankie’s eyes twinkle, and it flips your stomach.

“Definitely a hot rod.”

You laugh it off, rolling your eyes. He’s never serious, after all. He likes to ply you with compliments just short of flirty and leave you high and dry at the end of the night. The first time it stung so hard you didn’t go out with the boys for weeks. 

“He’s just a little fucked in the head, don’t take it too personal,” Santi told you when he finally wrestled the reason for your absence out. “Can’t stop chasing anything messy with two legs. Last girlfriend was a cokehead, even worse before that. He likes ‘em pretty and crazy, and he bags ‘em left and right. They always leave him worse for wear.” Santi’s eyes narrowed over his knowing smirk. “So now you like him?”

“Fuck no,” you spat out, arms folded tight. “I don’t deal with boys who play games.”

Yet here you are, again, with Frankie, ready to roll the dice yet again. At least he doesn’t know you’ve still got a soft spot for him ready to land.

“I’ll ignore the fact that you called Hendricks gasoline,” you scold, sliding your gleaming prize closer on its soggy black napkin. “There’s also vermouth, and olives.” You take a sip, the warmth of the gin and sharp salt of the charcuterie mainstay sweeping across your tongue. Frankie’s eyes drifting down to your lips on the rim of the glass.

What a cocktease. At least most men who eyefuck you actually follow through.

“Shaken, not stirred?” he quips in a rough approximation of a Scottish accent. You snort, instantly regretting it as the burn of brine and alcohol decimates your sense of smell. Trying to hide it under a tiny cough, Frankie’s face turns to the bar.

“Not much of an olive guy either, so you're 0 for 3 on convincing me.” 

You don’t know why, but your stomach sinks briefly as you gingerly twist the glass stem between your fingers. 

“Perfect, more for me then,” you shoot back brightly, but he looks back a fraction too soon before the disappointment flits away. 

“C’mon, you know you were never gonna change my mind,” he teases, jostling you with his shoulder as he motions for the bartender. 

“Never said I was,” you add absentmindedly. 

Frankie will never be an option. He’s made it clear time and time again that he doesn’t choose you. But sometimes, when you let your mind drift, you think about how it could happen. Some dark room where he finally finds something he’s been looking for. The brushing of noses and near-misses before one of you finally acts and you’d know what his lips feel like. Then he would lick into your mouth and his flavor would dance with acidity and botanicals on your tongue and he’d moan at how good you taste.

But he doesn’t even like olives. Or you.

Frankie’s drink is a golden lager, malt rising to your nose. You like beer too. You like a lot of things. You could sit at this bar and talk about your favorite drinks for hours. You’re not just the martini girl. You’re so much more. 

You need some air. Your daydreams are getting in the way of enjoying the night and Frankie’s none the wiser, so best keep it that way.

“I’m gonna bring my gasoline olives back to the party,” you say, ducking out from Frankie’s body without waiting for a reply. Maybe catching a glimpse of surprise, you strut back to the girls. The warmth of their excitement and enthusiasm reinvigorate your tight throat. 

Your drink dwindles slowly, savoring the clean flavor and crushing the olives one by one between your teeth. One of the girls tries the dregs of your glass and wants one of her own, so you weave back to the bar so you can help her order. A holler rises from the boys around Will, and when you look you catch Frankie’s face again. He’s all beaming smiles, eyes barely visible from behind his crows feet and gleaming teeth. He catches your eye and his smile softens, and over the din of the bar he mouths “you good?”

You nod. Of course you are. What would Frankie know about that?

The drinks come, followed by cheers and hums of contentment. You will definitely be tipping well tonight. Before you can make it back to the group Benny cuts off your path, swooping one arm behind your back and your free hand into his. 

“No no no, Benny, I’ll spill!” you shriek, feeling the telltale wetness of a sloshed drink over your fingers. “Shit, I think I got it on the back of your shirt…”

“Ah, I’ve had worse,” Benny says, mock-dancing with you to the barely audible music. 

“How’s Will?” you ask, leaning over his shoulder to snag a healthy sip of the martini. Now a more manageable level, you let Benny lead you away from the bar.

“So in love it makes me sick.” You raise an eyebrow. “In a good way!” he adds, turning you so the man in question is visible. Tatiana’s tucked under his arm, and his mouth drifts to kiss the top of her head.

“You know what, I get it,” you agree, the both of you snickering as the tempo of the music changes. It might be a Hozier song? It’s hard to tell over the babble of voices.

“How are you?” he asks, feigned innocence a red flag flicked in front of your eyes.

“Peachy. Why?”

Benny’s hand squeezes yours in a soothing rhythm.

“Hey, don’t bite my head off. Fish mentioned you seemed down. Something about olives?”

The flash of heat rocketing to your face has to be combatted, so you choose comedy.

“Oh yeah, the fact that they never give me enough in my damn drink. Could drive a woman to tears!” Your put-on mid-atlantic accent doesn’t sell it. Benny chews on the inside of his cheek before leaning to bring his mouth to your ear.

“I know you’re gonna tell me to fuck off…”

“Then you don’t have to say anything.”

“...but you and I both know this ain’t about olives.”

You lean back, jaw set and eyes cool.

“You’re right. It’s about absolutely nothing.”

“Hey…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Benny lets go and you down the rest of your drink. It burns and you hate yourself for it, but it feels good to let liquid frustration carve through the center of you. 

“It’s late, and bar snacks aren’t gonna soak up the hangover I’ll have tomorrow. I’m gonna say bye to Will and Tatiana, get a cheeseburger, and go home.” Benny puts his hands on his hips, blue eyes filled with a brotherly care you know better than to try and tamp down.

“And it’s not about olives?”

Plucking the toothpick full of metaphor out of the glass, you point it at him.

“It’s not about olives.”

Benny relents, and walks you over to the happy couple. Promises of more drinks and a bachelorette party are half shouted before you pick through the crowd and exit the front of the bar. 

The air is just starting to get cool, alcohol thrumming in your blood. You love the way a martini buzz feels, your mind crystal and your body sharp as glass. It’s different from the smoky haze of scotch or the sluggish thudding of beer. Martinis make you diamond.

Which is why you notice Frankie immediately upon his exit, even though you can tell he wanted to go unseen for a few moments longer. He fumbles his hands into his pockets, ambling up to stand beside you while you glare at the Uber app.

“Got a ride coming?” 

“Eventually.”

He nods and stares at the toes of his boots, which you observe surreptitiously. The progress bar keeps filling and emptying as the silence stretches. 

“I’m sorry for shitting on your drink.”

You can’t help but snap your face to him, eyebrows raised.

“I sure hope you didn’t shit on my drink.”

The poor choice of words quirks the corner of your mouth as Frankie tries to recover.

“Jesus Christ, I mean…you know what I mean! I didn’t mean to be a dick,” he says, now contemplating the sky with resignation. There's still a fight in you, but you try to meet halfway.

“S’all good, I shit on your terrible beers all the time. We’re even.” You glance back at the app and shut it out of frustration. You’ll try again in a minute. 

“I don’t hate olives, either,” he rushes out. You roll your eyes, shoulders slumping. God, could they just let this go? You’re embarrassed enough about it. Before you can make another joke, another deflection, he barrels on.

“To be honest, I’ve never tried…olives. I see them all the time - at parties, at the bar, at friend’s houses - and there always seems to be some reason not to try them. I’m always having something else, or just had something, and I don’t want to…I’m afraid if I try the olives, I’ll really like them. And I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. And that’s been scaring me off from even trying.” 

Frankie looks up at you, mouth parted and brow furrowed, as realization rises slow and fizzy.

“Because I think I could really, really like them. Enough that I’d want them all the time. But I’ve never had anything like that before. And I don’t want to hurt the…olives.”

Your heart is thudding in your ears, lower lip close to a betraying tremble before you force it between your teeth..

“You don’t want to hurt…the olives,” you parrot back and Frankie sighs, lifting his cap enough to rake his fingers through his hair before resettling it. 

“Fuck it, you know what I mean, right? It’s not about…it’s not about the fucking olives,” he says, and one of his hands wraps around your shoulder. It’s hot and strong and your chest swells at the touch.

“If it’s not about the olives,” you say, tentative, voice dropping into a lower register. He’s closer, almost as close as in the bar, thumb worrying back and forth over your shirt. “Then why don’t you show me what it is about?”

You expected more hesitation, but with that permission he lunges for you, cupping your face with both hands as he crashes your lips together. It’s fast and messy, teeth pressed against your lips and his tongue slipping in to taste. He groans and your knees go weak, head spinning worse than any drink could hope to do. You clutch the lapels of his canvas jacket and pull him closer, sweeping strokes of your kiss filling your mouth with bitter hops. With a lurch he pulls back.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles against your lips, but he continues to clutch at you, arm banding around your waist to keep you snug against him. 

“For what?” you tease, sliding your nose along his proud profile. 

“Takin’ so fuckin’ long.” His teeth graze your jaw lightly, heat pooling in a place that’s demanding a more private location for proper penance.

“I think you owe me a lot more than one very good kiss, after everything you’ve put me through,” you contemplate, his grip tightening. 

“Still waiting for your ride?”

Your fingers wander to the nape of his neck, and his curls are just as soft as you imagined.

“No.”

A gentler kiss follows, broader, somehow still able to make your head spin.

“Good, you’re coming home with me so I can properly apologize.”

The next morning as Frankie opens his front door for his breakfast delivery, he finds a pristine jar of olives resting on his welcome mat. The scrawled note - better start getting a taste for these! - is clearly in Benny’s handwriting. The memory of your body, soft and sleeping in his bed, pulls him back inside. 

After everything that got him here, he could learn to like olives.

END

"This is where righteousness ends It’s a relief to wave this overdue white flag and My blind spots have tortured you enough How much salt could I pour in To think that I called myself a friend."

Alanis Morissette, Olive Branch

[lexirosewrites]

this might b too late for slick sunday 8/25 so feel free to use this for next week

inspired entirely by the videos of music festivals booking symphonic orchestras to headline

Here it goes

A!Eddie & Corroded Coffin (who r p much all alphas) have made it big, r selling out stadiums, r headlining festivals, r richer than any of their family past or present

They agree to headlining a metal/rock festival in Indianapolis bc I mean come on Indiana is their home state they go out of their way to start or end US tours in Indiana & this festival was putting in the leg work to get primarily bands from Indiana so they're generally excited, r booked for the main stage during a prime nighttime slot so they have time to either wander around disguised or b in VIP/the wings of the stages watching performances

The band is booked for the 2nd night of the 3 day festival, Eddie & Gareth decide to just rest in the hotel for the 1st day while Jeff & Felix (unnamed freak) go bounce around various VIP spots watching different artists

Well Jeff & Felix come back later tht night slightly drunk smelling of weed but overwhelming smell like alphas in love, Eddie & Gareth r intrigued to say the least, especially when the 2 begin praising an omega they met in the VIP section of a smaller stage, Steve was his name, he apparently smells like sunshine & apple juice, is the most beautiful omega in the world, apparently is performing the main stage tomorrow at around 3, they were invited to watch from the wings & please please please Eddie & Gareth have to come w them bc they definitely tripped over themselves like the dorks they r & they NEED their fellow band mates there to support them in their endeavors to woo this omega, so the band look up what act is performing on the main stage at 3 tomorrow so they can maybe prepare only to b met with the words "Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra"

Meanwhile across the city in an apartment omega Steve is pacing the floor of their living room while O!Robin sits leisurely on their thrifted couch & lets him freak out bc Steve is half in love w these 2 alphas who were so charming & dorky & respectful & definitely Famous & he asked them to watch their performance from the wings tomorrow oh God Robin what is he meant to do!? Robin calms him down by plying him w french fries & rootbeer & reminds him tht not only is he lovable but he's also smoking hot so these alphas r lucky Steve even looked at them plus he's first chair cello for a reason!! He's good at what he does! The whole orchestra is good! They've been practicing for this festival & everyone has the set their conductor put together memorized so well everyone is joking they won't need sheet music tomorrow!! The performance is going to go well & if these 2 alphas don't care abt the music Steve has dedicated his life to then its their loss! (Yes they both know Corroded Coffin is at the festival but neither of them rlly pays attention to the music scene outside of the classical genre & their co-created feel good playlist full of classical & bubblegum pop & pop punk so Steve did not recognize them & Robin doesn't care to investigate)

So the day of the performance dawns, Steve & Robin get dressed in the outfits the orchestra had agreed to: fitted black dress pants, white cotton dress shirts made to look splattered w blood & the dark vests everyone had gotten together & decorated w patches/pins/embroidery (embroidery taught to the rest of the orchestra by Steve + 2nd chair violinist Carol, yes she's here they dropped Tommy as a friend at the same time bc he didn't take their music srsly & she's an alpha deeply platonically bonded w stobin at this point)

Steve lugs his cello down to the street where Carol meets them w her car bc it's actually big enough for his cello (cellists must book an additional seat when traveling bc their instrument will fit absolutely nowhere else & any musician of a classical wood instrument never leaves the life of their instrument up to the Fates i.e. booking it as baggage) they get to the festival very early to beat parking gremlins & make their way thru the festival

Corroded Coffin got up ridiculously early to listen/watch recorded performances of the orchestra this dream omega is a part of & Jeff is getting even more excited bc before he picked up the guitar he trained in the violin & look!!! Guys!! That's Steve in the cello section!!! Felix recognizes him but to Eddie & Gareth it's just a blob in a sea of people

So they make their way to the main stage & observe a growing crowd of metal heads & rock fans as the orchestra makes their way onstage & begin briefly tuning their instruments, this is when Jeff & Felix point out Steve bc look!!!! Steve is first chair cello!!!!!! That's a big deal!!! & indeed Eddie & Gareth see the most beautiful omega on earth & also maybe fall in love a little

Then the individual Jeff told them is the conductor walks onstage, the tuning stops, the crowd actually grows silent then the orchestra launches into a set list that begins w songs ppl recognize both in classical genre & the general rock genre & everyone is getting into the passion of the musicians, the dramatic movements of the conductor, the undeniably blood pumping rhythm of the music, Eddie watches the moving ocean of people in the crowd

Ideas for the set list: Bohemian Rhapsody (first song they play to get everyone engaged w the music) Symphony No.5 in C Minor, Op. 67: I. Allegro con brio, Eye of the Tiger, The Planets, Suite for Large Orchestra Op.32: I. Mars- The Bringer Of War, Romeo & Juliet Suite No.2 Op. 64ter I. Montagues and Capulets (dance of the knights), Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, The Show Must Go On, & the very last song is In The Hall Of The Mountain King

Steve gets offstage & meets not just the 2 alphas he'd invited last night but an additional alpha w long curls & a beta w a tattoo of a drumstick & a drumstick (chicken) ONLY THEN do Steve & Robin learn the level of fame they have thanks to Carol

Corroded Coffin take Steve on a date each & then all together bc Corroded King is the true agenda of this little idea

i love when i can tell it’s gonna be corroded king, but i still hold my breath until the end to make sure it’s corroded king before i get too excited🤭

[vivwritescrappythings]

good morning

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

Mornings with Joel are wonderful.

can be read as a stand alone fic, but also has a part 1

tw: smut!, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, crying, sex with feelings, not proofread, soft Joel.

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

MDNI!

–

Mornings with Joel were quickly becoming your favorite despite their rarity.

After the night of your mother’s wedding you’d never expected to actually have anything come from it. Maybe another hookup for either one of you to blow off steam, but nothing that actually was meaningful. So when Joel had called you and sounded so nervous to ask you on a date six months ago, your heart melted and you excitedly agreed.

The date was precious, Joel had chosen a place that was fancy enough to make him put on a navy blue sport coat and use gel to style the wonderful mess of his curls. He had been awkward in all the cutest ways, blushing and bashful as though the two of you hadn’t already slept together

He was so crestfallen when you’d suggested that you get the check instead of ordering one of the flouncy, expensive desserts, his dark eyes had dropped to the tablecloth as he quietly mumbled his agreement. Of course, you’d suggested that you have the delicious and, more importantly, free pint of cookie dough ice cream that you kept in your freezer, some part of you intent on the fact that you knew you were taking Joel home at the end of the date.

Six months later, you were waking up luxuriously in his bed. 

He only shared the morning with you when Sarah was gone, sleeping over at a friend’s house or staying with his brother, Tommy, for the night. You’d only stayed over a handful of times, each time feeling just as giddy and special as the first. More than once you had imagined getting to stay longer than just one night, the night turning into the weekend and the weekend turning into the week and the week turning into you just making a home with Joel and the teenager you’d seen photos of all over his house.

In time, you hoped. 

But this morning, waking up was a wonderful thing. It was still relatively cool in the mornings in Austin, the sunlight painting your eyelids orange as you stretched. His mattress was so soft, your body sinking into the fluffed topper. The sun-warmed sheets were wrapped around you, keeping off the chill of the morning as you finally opened your eyes.

You could see the dust motes floating in the shaft of light through the parted curtains, the brightness of it making you blink slowly as you rolled onto your back. Joel’s room was surprisingly cozy, the walls painted a deep blue with a few paintings of southwestern landscapes hung up. There were framed posters from concerts he’d been to as well, mostly acoustic guitar gigs in open-air parks. He’d taken you to one as your second date, the poster proudly framed and hung up next to the large window.

Joel was still asleep, snoring softly as he lay partially sprawled on his stomach. You’d forced Joel to see a musical with you the night before, plying him with drinks and a steak dinner that he begrudgingly let you buy for him. The musical was fine, Joel distracting you through most of it by just having his thick arm curled around your shoulders as it rested on top of the seatback.

The night ended in your favorite way: the two of you tangled up in Joel’s truck because you just couldn’t wait until you made it back to his house. He practically begged you to stay the night, his huge hands pulling you over the threshold and sweet kisses stamped to your lips and cheeks.

How could you say no to this man?

He mumbled something in his sleep, reaching out and curling an arm around your waist. You were yanked close to him, his skin hot even through the stolen Pearl Jam shirt you were wearing. A quiet hum echoed from your throat as you snuggled into him. It was a sign for you to relax, to attempt to reverse your early bird ways as you burrowed into his warmth.

You drifted in and out of a light sleep, his snores just barely quiet enough that they felt more like background noise. Every time you opened your eyes another thirty minutes had passed, Joel’s hand slowly creeping from your hip to rest against your stomach beneath the tee shirt. He held you close, spooning with his right arm acting as your pillow.

It was the feeling of Joel’s aquiline nose pressed against the side of your neck and a loose, open-mouthed kiss against your skin that finally woke you up fully. His wide hand clutched at your waist beneath your shirt, pressing your back close to his chest.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, reaching up to comb your fingers through his dark curls as you blinked in the bright sunlight. You rolled back toward him, your shoulder blade pressed against his chest as you laid partially on your back. As soon as Joel heard your voice he chuckled, grinding his clothed cock against your ass as you came to.

“Mornin’ baby,” Joel murmured against your cheek, his voice raspy from sleep. The feeling of his lips on your skin sent a shiver down your spine. His hand left your waist, the shirt you wore bunching up on his forearm as he cupped the swell of your left breast in his palm. 

Your head turned toward his, you hand in his hair tightening as you arched into his touch. “Joel.” You already sound wrecked just from him thumbing at your nipple, rolling it beneath the calloused pad of his finger before squeezing your entire breast under the stretch of his grip. It was always the best way to get your plush thighs squeezing together.

The press of his smile felt intimate as his beard tickled the curve of your jaw. His right arm bent, the scoop of his palm cradling your left shoulder in the loose form of a headlock. You loved when he held you like this, the column of your neck in the curve of his elbow as your bodies pressed closer and closer.

Joel’s hand moved from your breast to trace down the soft skin of your stomach, snapping the waistband of your panties playfully. You giggled, your hand wrapping around the forearm pressed against your collarbone as he groped a handful of your ass. 

“This is nice,” you whispered as you lifted your top leg and curled it back around his hip, giving Joel better access to your already wet cunt. He grabbed at your parted inner thighs, making you whimper.

“Thought I deserved a morning treat for going to that musical last night,” Joel said, making you huff and roll your eyes.

You turned your head just enough to catch his mouth in a needy kiss, whining against him as he continued to grope at you. The curve of his hand from the tip of his thumb to the pad of his forefinger slotted into the crease where your thigh met your hip. His fingertips just barely brushed under the lace trim of your panties, just enough contact to tease you.

Joel loved to take his time in the mornings. Every touch was slow and calculated despite your hips impatiently rolling in the grip of his hand. He was so stubborn, smiling as he squeezed and kept you steady. You locked your lips with his, noisily smacking together as your noses pressed into each other’s cheeks. 

Ever the benevolent god, he finally inched his fingers beneath the soaked gusset of your panties. A stuttered whimper pulled from your throat just to be absorbed by Joel’s mouth. 

There was a sightless exploration under your fingertips, your hand leaving the thick curls of his hair to snake beneath his arm. You could feel the practical, working-man muscles beneath his tanned skin as you traced the cap of his shoulder. 

He already looked smug as you pulled away, your lips parted and shiny with his saliva. You let out a soft, punched moan as his fingers smeared wetness up and down the slick seam of your sex, your head spinning. Your fingers dug into his shoulder, your other hand tightening around his forearm. Joel was smirking at your reaction, his dark eyes watching you fall apart at the simplest of touches.

“You are sensitive this morning,” Joel murmured, the deep rasp of his voice wrapping around you like a warm coat. You didn’t bother denying it, just nodding with another whimper as he trapped your clit between the pads of his pointer and middle fingers, rubbing tight circles against it.

You nodded dizzily, not quite trusting yourself to form a response as you spread your knees further apart. Joel chuckled against the hinge of your jaw, his hips still languidly pressing his erection against the side of your ass. 

Your hand slid from his shoulder in a path that snaked down Joel’s side, feeling every ridge of his ribcage and the softness of the pudge on his belly. The smattering of wiry hair beneath his navel served as a guide as you reached behind your back, your thumb hooking into the boxers he wore to sleep and pulling them down just enough that one half of the waistband caught around his wide, hairy thigh.

Joel was already hard when you wrapped your hand around the base of him, a choked groan resonating from him against your hairline as your pointer finger fit into the valley on the underside of his already leaking head. 

With a clumsiness from your hopelessly tangled limbs, you brought your hand to your mouth and spat in the scoop of your fingers before returning them to slick his cock with your warm saliva. “Baby, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Joel sighed, his bicep flexing against your neck and his hand tightening on your shoulder. 

The two of you were a panting mess as you touched one another, the slick sounds of his dick in your hand and his fingers on your cunt filling the room. The pace he set was a lazy one, his thick fingers circling your clit before dipping down to your dripping cunt to gather more slick. You followed his lead, slowly pumping your closed fist from base to tip. You could feel the thick veins bulging beneath your fingers.

His brown eyes were so warm, half-lidded and staring at you with an affection that knew no bounds. The intimacy of his gaze made you lurch forward to kiss him, your nose bumping against his as lips met teeth.

Joel pressed two fingers into you, the stretch was divine as you moaned against his mouth. You matched each thrust of his fingers with a roll of your wrist, the two of you leaning into one another as you shared your breaths. 

You knew you were leaking like a faucet, soaking Joel’s hand down to his wrist. His slow pace was getting you worked up beyond the point of still having dignity. You were whimpering pathetically, your hips rocking against the motion of his hand with desperation. The squelch of your cunt was loud, overshadowing your moans and Joel’s grunts and the soft rustling of sheets.

The movement of your hand started to get clumsy and uncoordinated, your focus splintering between jerking Joel off and the way he was making you feel. He chuckled, turning his head to whisper in your ear. “That’s it baby,” Joel mumbled in his deep gravel tone. “Can feel you squeezing my fucking fingers.”

His thumb moved forward to press against your swollen clit, your spine arching off the bed as the pleasure ricocheted up your body. You couldn’t help the way your eyes squeezed shut, your deep, syrupy breaths turning into shallow gasps. The gasp of your voice came out too loud and shrill, your free hand clenching in the pillows about your head. “Joel, oh my–!”

A groan left him, the pad of his thumb firmly strumming over your clit as his fingers crooked inside you.

Everything was becoming too much. You were merely holding the base of his cock, too overwhelmed by the euphoria coming from Joel’s hand to divide your attention. Solace was sought in the curve of his neck and shoulder, your body canting to one side so you could bury your face against him. Your muscles braced around him, everything becoming tighter and tighter as you huffed small whimpers against the delicate skin of his clavicle.

“Joel!” The tension became too much, your muscles convulsing and your back breaking on you repeating his name like a broken record. You rode the jolts of your orgasm snugly against Joel’s fingers, intimately grinding your clit against the joint where his thumb met his palm.

You sank down from your high, bonelessness seeping into your limbs from head to toe. It was still hard to breathe properly, Joel’s fingers smearing messily up and down your cunt in an effort to soothe the aftershocks as he pressed kisses against your jaw. Clarity returned with slow breaths, attentive eyes met over your shoulder. 

He looked pleased.

“Love making you scream like that, baby,” Joel murmured as your hand resumed jerking him off. Your own wetness smeared against your thigh as he manipulated your legs so he could take your panties off, tossing them over the side of his bed. “You always sound so desperate.”

You rolled your eyes, a tired smile stretching across your lips. “I think you’re getting too cocky for your own good, old man,” you said with a grin, gently kissing him. He pulled your leg back to where it was, spreading you apart so your calf was pressed against the small of his back while the outside of your other thigh was snug against the sheets.

Joel chuckled good naturedly, his free hand pushing his briefs down enough to kick them off with his feet. The whole motion was uncoordinated, jostling the two of you together as he settled back next to you. Another set of kisses were stamped against your cheek and throat.

“So now I’m an old man?” Joel asked, a dark eyebrow arching as he waited for your response. He moved your hand away from his cock, stroking himself from base to tip as his forearm squished into the fat of your thigh.  

“Definitely,” you said with a soft smirk, your nose bumping against his as you placed a sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He snorted softly, shaking his head. “I’ll show you just what this old man can do,” Joel said, his southern drawl low as he threatened you. His other hand moved from your shoulder to palm at your breast through the worn fabric of the shirt you wore, kneading it in the wide stretch of his fingers.

Your bratty response died in your throat, killed by the drag of the blunt head of Joel’s cock against your cunt. He snickered, mercilessly nudging your oversensitive clit with it. 

“Please,” you gasped, the plea slipping from your mouth before you even realized it had gathered there. The hot slide of his cock between your thighs almost made your eyes roll back, your cunt fluttering around nothing as he teased you. His hand pressed just below your belly button, making it hard for you to angle your hips just right.

“Please what, baby?” Joel asked, the wiry hair of his mustache tickling the shell of your ear. He was driving you nuts, your nerves starting to fray as you struggled against the iron hold of his hand. You knew he wanted you to beg.

You tried to be stubborn, whining pathetically as he continued to fuck your thighs. Arousal was pouring out of you like you’d sprung a leak, making your inner thighs slick as his thick cock sawed in the hinge between your thigh and your sex. You were all kinds of worked up before, but the almost stimulation combined with Joel’s grunts in your ear felt like sick torture.

It only takes you a few more thrusts for your resolve to crack. “Joel, fuck, please fuck me,” you gasped, too blinded by your horniness to keep your composure as you strained your hips against the prison of his hand. 

The laugh he let out was condescending. “There she is,” he purred against you, the smile clear in his tone. His hand moved from below your navel to adjust his cock so the blunt head pressed against your cunt. “You want this?” he asked, still not pressing his hips to yours hard enough to actually push inside.

“Yeah, yes,” you sighed plaintively, your eyelashes fluttering as you almost started to cry. It was humiliating how desperate you were, but you were too far gone to care.

Joel rooted himself deep in you with a solid thrust, the stretch and the sudden feeling of finally being full making your chin drop to your sternum. The sound that ripped from you was animal, your hips shoving back against Joel’s as his chest curved around your shoulders. 

He fell into rhythm immediately, making your bedhead even worse as you rocked against the mattress and his pillows. The arm curled beneath your throat pinned your shoulder blades to his chest, the two of you plastered together like sardines despite the size of the bed. His other hand reached forward to curl around your belly, fingertips pressing into your skin.

It felt like his cock was in your sternum has he steadily fucked into you, coaxing gasps from your throat as you clutched desperately at his strong arms. His nose nudged beneath the hinge of your jaw, his breath cooling the sweat accumulating there.

It was only when he was inside of you that you realized how badly you needed it. Fucking Joel made you feel complete, the aching emptiness being chased away as he gathered up all the loose and ragged pieces of you and put you back together with every drag of his cock against each slippery ridge inside of you.

You didn’t know if it was gratitude or reverence that made your breath nearly stop. 

“Feels like this pussy of yours was fucking made for me,” Joel groaned into your ear, drawing back and rolling his pelvis against you. The clap of his hips and your ass was getting impossibly louder, accompanied by the wet squelch of his cock pushing deeper and deeper into you.

He dug his teeth into your neck, sucking a sloppy hickey against the delicate skin as you started to fuck your hips back onto him. The head of his cock kept smashing into that spot that made you feel like mush, satisfied groans muffled in the back of your neck as your toes curled. You were seeing stars, one of your hands bracing against the headboard in a pathetic attempt to get some stability to anchor yourself to.

Joel’s big hand left your belly, dipping down to spread the messy lips of your sex. The firm roll of your clit between his fingers made tension knit in your abdomen again. Your lungs expanded, the breath stuck in your throat on instinct, sharp gasps pushing out of you. The spiral of heat forming in your stomach tightened, almost so tight you could hardly see.

Your cunt fluttered and tightened around him desperately, your body preparing for a crash. Joel moaned in anticipation, his thrusts took on an eager purpose as he kissed sloppily at your neck. 

“Love you,” you gasped, your nails digging into the thick muscle of his forearms as you tried to stay afloat.

The fat, tight plunge of Joel’s cock in you was maddening. Dizzying. You could feel yourself almost start to drool against the sheets. You were hazy and out of your mind as he rut into you again and again and again. 

“I love you too,” he muttered in your ear, raspy and deep. You felt his forehead press against your clothed shoulder, sweat absorbing into the fabric. A loud moan echoed from him, making your pussy clench as he watched your ass ripple with each slam of his hips. He always told you it was one of his favorite parts of you, stretchmarks and dimples and all. 

He mercilessly ground into your g-spot as he circled your clit with the pads of his middle and pointer fingers, making the ache in your abdomen more pronounced. You were clenched so tight around his cock, the need to orgasm almost making you feel like you were going to cry. The tightness in your core foretold you that it would be a big one, one of the orgasms that you needed Joel to talk you through as you came back down to earth.

You tipped your head back, fitting it neatly between Joel’s ear and the mattress as you whined through clenched teeth. The coarse, wiry hair of his beard scratched your cheek with each thrust, but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about it. It was like you were a bow drawn too tight, ready to snap at any moment.

There was a startling moment of clarity as your toes curled, a deep part of you realizing how safe you felt like this. Pinned to the length of Joel’s sturdy frame, sweat pooling in the few areas where your skin connected. You were wanted and protected and needed and craved, it was the same feeling you had on the first night when you and Joel had hooked up at the wedding. You felt it every time since.

Your throat was tightening with a feeling deeper than pleasure as your field of focus narrowed down to solely Joel. His thrusts were calculated and methodical, you could feel the cords of muscle bunching in his abdomen with every deep press of his huge cock. 

It was almost too much, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice as Joel refused to leave you an inch of space. Your hips twitched against his forearm, part of you trying to get away from the blinding feeling of his cock. It was impossible, the length of him staggering as he stretched you over it. You’d think that you’d get more used to it, but it still felt like the first time every time.

Something in your mind broke, tears starting to leak out of your eyes as he bullied your swollen clit and relentlessly pounded into you. “Joel, oh, oh… Joel, please–” you gasped on an exhale, your voice catching on the edge of a sob. “Ohmygod, Joel. Love you, I love you, Joel–” 

Joel responded by doubling his efforts, pulling your hips back to meet his frantic thrusts. You clung to whatever parts of him you could hold, one hand reaching back to squeeze his hip as you dug your nails into the forearm pressed into your collarbone. 

“That’s it. That’s my fucking good, perfect girl,” he hissed into your ear, the praise making your head spin. There was a hitch to his tone that told you he was just as close as you, running his mouth like a madman. “Christ, don’t know how I ever went without this sweet little pussy in my life. She’s sucking me in and fucking creaming all over me.”

It’s the nonsense that finally pushes you over the edge, a cry that sounded more wounded than pleasured rocking out of you. You rocked your hips back against his, your cunt seizing around his cock as tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes and soaked into the sheets. Joel held you tighter, abandoning your clit to curl an arm around your waist and keep you steady as your legs shook against him.

“So fucking good for me,” Joel said through grit teeth, voice like honey. You could hardly hear him over the pounding of your heart, listening to him like you were both underwater. He kept talking, mumbling things against your skin that you couldn’t understand as he kept going.

He was taking what he needed from you now, your body going mostly limp as he bounced you up and down his cock and grunted in your ear. Your nerves were frayed beyond belief, your breaths shallow as the remnants of your orgasm fizzed in your peripheral vision. His fingers dug into your flesh, probably leaving bruises beneath them as he fucked into you like an animal.

It was too much, your hands weakly reaching back to push at Joel’s thick torso as you protested. “S’too much, fuck–” you sobbed, your voice hoarse and breathless and broken. He fucked you stupid, the weight of thinking all the time finally leaving you as every thought left your head.

Joel shattered, the rhythmic pulse of your drooling pussy finally enough to coax him over the edge as his cock jerked inside of you. He groaned, pressing his open mouth against your throat and scraping his blunt teeth against it as you felt him inside you. The cage of his arms was tight around you through it, his hips slowing down without ever stopping as he leisurely ground into you.

You were still wrapped in your own pleasure, your body tightening and shivering with the aftershocks. He shivered behind you, panting as he came down with you. The ringing in your ears was loud, color slowly bleeding back into the room as Joel finally stopped moving.

He stayed there for some time, holding you to his chest as his other hand ran up and down the long line of the thigh that was still slung over his hip. 

“Good morning,” he mumbled as though you hadn’t already gone through the song and dance, pressing sweet kisses to your throat and shoulder as you caught your breath. 

You sighed, feeling red hot come ooze around Joel’s cock and down his balls as you started to relax. It took you a moment to formulate a thought, your mind having gone slack with the rest of you. “M’leaking,” you blurted stupidly, your voice a slur as your grip on Joel started to loosen.

Joel snorted, the sound feeling loud and harsh compared to everything that just happened. He made no move to pull out, nuzzling at your shoulder lovingly. You made no effort to move away, twisting your shoulders so you could look at Joel better.

He was smiley, his dimples showing just over his patchy beard as his eyes met yours. They were half-lidded and so warm, making you reach out to stroke your thumb over his cheek. 

“I wish we could do this every morning,” you said without thinking, not considering the implications.

Before you could close up and apologize, Joel nodded. “We’d never get anything done, though,” he said playfully, slipping out of you so he could mash you against him. You felt a little sorry for the loss, come and slick dripping down your thighs. “But it would be worth it to stay like this.”

Joel’s sappy, soppy moments were rare. You tried to cover the hitch of your breath by squirming your way closer to him, pressing idle kisses to his sternum as you did. 

“Maybe you could meet her,” he mumbled against the crown of your head after a little while. Your eyes widened as you pulled back to properly look at him, assessing the sincerity in his expression. He meant it, a soft smile curling his lips upward as he waited for your reaction.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” you breathed, your own grin breaking out on your face. “I can’t wait to meet Sarah.”

He pulled you against him, not moving fast enough for you to miss the spark of pure joy in his expression. “She’s gonna love you.” He squeezed you lovingly, stamping another kiss to your head as he took a deep breath against your hair.

You nodded, curling impossibly closer to Joel as you let the rest of the morning soaked around you. “M’gonna love her,” you sighed, the words sounding muffled as your cheek squished against his chest.

Someone’s stomach rumbled, you couldn’t tell whether it was yours or Joel’s. With your other needs sated, hunger began to crop up in the two of you. 

Joel spoke first, his deep voice thick. “How about we discuss it over breakfast?”

It only took you a second to agree, yanking him out of bed with you and dragging him to the attached bathroom to clean up. He laughed at your eagerness, bracing a hand against the wall before leaning down to capture you in a kiss. It was passionate, his tongue licking between your parted lips. Your shoulder blades pressed against the tiled wall of the bathroom, your hands finding his cheeks and holding him closer.

“Only if we get pancakes,” you countered as you parted, your breaths heavy.

“You’ve got a deal, baby.”

[genshin-side-piece]

Hazy Shade of Winter (Part 1)

Warnings: Yandere Content, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, Implied drug use, Mentions of alcohol, ]Non-Consensual Touching, my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

A/N: Slightly (?) OOC Wriothesley. I think. I'm honestly not sure. But fair warning just to be safe.

You awoke to a loud clang. The sharp noise reverberated through your drowsy skull, pulling you from the heavy slumber that had kept you under until this time. Cloudy thoughts were covered by a heavy layer of fog, making it difficult for you to focus. You couldn’t place the source of the sound. Metal had connected with metal, making it distinctly foreign to you. In all the years that you had lived in the Court of Fontaine, you had never heard anything make such a racket. It was doubtful such a disturbance would be tolerated by the general population, let alone your neighbors. The harsh, cutting quality was enough to wake the dead, yet there were no screams that followed it. Just an echo that quickly faded and the sound of air being pushed through pipes.

Air being pushed through pipes? 

The mental fog lifting enough for you to flinch at the bitterness that rested on your tongue. Heavy and salty and altogether awful. Your stomach involuntarily wretched at the taste. You tried to use what little saliva you could muster in the hope that you could wash it away, but that too was in vain. The taste just lingered without any hope of it going away. “Here” The injection of the rich male voice into your world briefly snapped you of your stupor. Out of everything, whether it be the metal or the pipes or the lumpy mattress that was not yours, the most out of place was that voice. You lived alone. When you had returned home last night, at least the small bit that you could remember, you had sworn you had been alone. The two at the bar, who had turned a relaxing cocktail for one into a pub crawl, were nowhere to be seen.  You had been wandering the streets of the court alone. Slipping and stumbling the entire way, but at last check, you had been on your own. So where had the man beside you come from?

You blinked up at him, ignoring the glass of water he was offering you. Your hazy mind was too preoccupied with trying to place him. You knew him, no, you’d seen him before. Recently. Had he come into your place of work? No. Perhaps it had been in a shop or on the street? Narrowing your eyes at him, you thought it might be, but it still didn’t explain why he was here. Looking past him, it didn’t explain why you were clearly not at home. The patchwork metal walls and dim lights were a far cry from the plaster embellishments and glass lamps of the court. Though, they seemed to match, if not enhance the scarred facade of the man beside you. “My apologies for the rough awakening.” He shifted, the chains of his attire moving with him. The clanking sound that filled the room as he set the glass of water to one side grated on you. It pierced through the air, causing the throbbing in your head to get worse. “That stuff in your system packs quite the punch.” What? You turned away from him trying to make sense of that statement. What stuff? You couldn’t make heads nor tails of what he meant by the word stuff. “I told them to take it easy on you, especially since they were already plying you with alcohol, but it seems they didn’t heed my warning. You’ve been out for close to an entire day.” Your entire body involuntarily lurched at that news. What? An entire day? How could that be? You’d gone home hadn’t you? His vague references didn’t mean anything, because they hadn’t happened. That was the only logical explanation you could muster. “I was actually getting slightly worried. The head nurse was under the impression something else might be amiss. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to know you’re okay. Though, I suppose she’ll still recommend some restorative treatments.” He made a face, one that echoed both dread and disgust. “I’ll do my best to spare you, but you may have to humor her some. Just for the sake of your relationship with her. I’d hate for you to get on her bad side at the start. It doesn’t make for a comfortable living arrangement if we don’t get along.” You blinked. The casualness of that statement seemed out of sorts given your present situation. How could he speak of relationships or living arrangements when you had no clue as to where you were and who he was? This wasn’t your home. You didn’t live here. Unless- 

Your eyes darted around the room again. A foreign place. A bed, a place to refresh yourself, a strange arrangement with an even stranger man. The effects of the stuff you had been given cleared just long enough to allow you to realize the gravity of your situation. 

The reaction that followed your epiphany was almost an involuntary one. Your entire body disregarded your drug induced hangover long enough to make the sorry attempt at fleeing. You tried to leave the bed, but the man who later introduced himself as Wriothesley was quick to stop you. His thick heavy arms had come around you before you had even fully sat up, effectively keeping you right where he wanted you. There was a struggle. Despite your queasiness and your pounding headache, you fought him. You twisted and turned in his grasp, desperate to get out of it, desperate to get away. He only tightened his hold on you, cooing reassuring words at you like one would to calm a frightened animal. The notion that everything would be alright. That you just needed time to adjust to your new surroundings. That he would take care of you from now on caused you to retch. How could he say such a thing, when you’d had no choice in the matter? Your life up until this point had been average, bordering on boring, but otherwise fine. Who was he to say that it needed changing?

At some point, after what felt like hours, he let you go. Wriothesley put some much needed space between you, allowing you to absorb the facts he chose to tell you about your situation without the burden of him being wrapped around you. His weight, coupled with the explanation that he had oh so nicely prepared for you would have been a cumbersome thing.  It was as you had fear. You had been abducted, but by whom was far worse than you ever could have imagined. It would have been enough if he had been some lord or even a high ranking member of one of the crime families. You would have a level of recourse then. If you managed to get free, you could charge him. You could have him sent away. In the end, there would be justice. With Wriothesley, that wasn’t possible. Though he carried the title of Duke, he was for all intents and purposes King of your new home. Immune from both the laws of the court and the justice you found yourself beginning to crave. It was a cruel twist on what was proving to be a brutish situation. You could only sit there in silence after he finished, smoldering as your fate washed over you. 

“You’re taking this quite well.” You blinked, trying to quell the rage that had been building since you had first woken up. The fact that he sounded legitimately surprised did nothing to help your mood or the growing urge to claw his face to shreds. How did he expect you to take it? Did he think you would make a scene? Had he gotten out of bed thinking he would hear screaming and wailing coming from the general vicinity of your door?  You rolled your eyes in response to his praise, choosing to turn them away from him. The wall next to you seemed infinitely more interesting than the man who was blocking your only exit. “Come on.” He shifted ever so slightly, the chains on his outfit moving with him, rattling as they settled back into place. “I had to.” He had to. You let out a silent huff at the lame excuse. He was the Duke of Meropide. The only thing he had to do was maintain order in the fortress. Last you checked, having someone spike your drink with a heavy sedative and stripping you of everything you owned was not a part of his duties. Yet here you were, in a strange bed, locked in a strange room, with only a cotton shift to your name. You could only guess that the slim comfort of the bed and modesty of the shift ought to be viewed as a gift, considering he could have left you nothing at all. That fact did little to assuage the fire that was currently shooting through your veins. The sheer audacity of the entire situation was enough to make you want to claw his eyes out. The actual act though would involve you having to acknowledge his existence. An action you weren’t keen on following through with.

He moved again, this time the hard rubber soles of his boots scraped against the metal floor. They stopped after a few seconds, only to be followed by a creak of metal that came from the general direction of the footboard. From the corner of your eye, you could see Wriothesley leaning against it. He obviously wanted a closer look at his hard won prize or maybe he just wanted to test the proverbial waters. You weren’t entirely sure and you weren’t in the mood to find out. Instead you held your focus on the wall, beginning to mentally count the bolts as a means of drowning him out. 1..2.. The bed groaned as he shifted his weight again. 13..14..There was another rattle of chains followed by a soft thunk against the floor. That had to be his jacket. God he wasn’t getting undressed was he? Surely Wriothesley wasn’t callous enough to abduct you and force himself on you within the same day, was he? The memory of him holding you down came back. A cold shiver shot down your spine at the very idea of it, of him using his weight to do more than just restrain you. 27..28.. The bed groaned for a third time, followed by more footsteps. These drawing ever louder, ever closer. Your heart began to slam against your ribcage as he stalked you, closing the short distance between you. The cold that had made it’s way down your spine began to ebb through you with every step he took. The louder they got, the sharper the chill that raced over your skin. You swallowed hard, trying to calm the shivers that were flowing across you like waves. You could hear him now, goosebumps raising all over your skin when the jingling of his handcuffs was so near to your ear. 41.. The footsteps stopped. Above you, he hummed, the rough flesh of his hand slowly wrapping itself around your chin. On instinct, you broke contact with the wall, trying to get away from him, but his nails scraping against your chin stopped you. You whimpered as his jagged nails bit into your flesh forcing your attention firmly back to him. It took almost no strength on his part to force your head in the direction he wanted, yet he still used slightly more than was necessary, just to get his point across. His fortress, his captive, his everything. You held no power here. Not now, not ever.

“For future use and reference.” You swallowed again as you were forced to stare up into those piercing eyes of his. “I don’t care for being ignored. Especially when I’m addressing someone.” Wriothesley tilted his head, a soft smile permeating his lips as he brushed his thumb over your chin. “But I’ll make an exception here.” His tone, which had been annoyingly cocky up until this point, faded into something slightly gentler. Something you could almost mistake for understanding, possibly even empathy for your current situation. A deceptive tactic on his part. Something to play into the fear that was still racing through your entire body and ease you into forgetting that your entire reason for being here was standing before you. Had you just only woken up or maybe if you had still been under the influence of the sedative, it might have worked. You might have bought it. But your benevolent captor had waited a hair too long. He had given you enough time to get your wits about you and because of that, you could catch him in the lie before it was too late. “You have every right to be angry, especially today. I can’t take that away from you.” His hot breath fanned across your face, causing you to momentarily flinch. The sensation was in direct contrast to his eyes, which matched the chill that was coming up through his fingers. The cold that radiated from his skin hurt to the point that it burned. You squirmed in his grasp, trying to get away from those unrelenting fingers of his, but it was no use. He had a firm, to the point of punishing grip on you. One he had no intention of loosening any time soon.  “I’ll be generous and give you today.” He paused, thinking it through. “Actually, I’ll give you until after my morning meeting. I can’t accuse you of breaking my rules if you aren’t aware of them and unfortunately, I can’t explain them or my expectations to you right now. So consider this a pass, free of charge.” You wanted to spit on his definition of generosity. He would get the rest of your days to ruin what little life he allowed you to have, yet you were expected to process everything that had happened and would happen to you in an hour? The inequity of it was ridiculous. “Oh don’t look at me like that.” He offered you a cocky smile, the confident tone returning. “If you’re good, I’ll bring you something nice to eat later.” You had to wonder what he meant by good. Aside from the bed, the only other items in the room were a sink, a toilet, and what looked to be a crude form of a shower. Short of soaking your bedding or possibly the mattress, you weren’t entirely sure what kind of trouble you could cause. He had purposefully limited your options to doing more harm to yourself than him. If he was as clever as he had shown himself to be, Wriothesley wouldn’t give you much chance to hurt him directly. 

With time things might change. He seemed like he had the ability to soften. Much of the sarcastic act you were seeing was exactly that, an act. If you played your cards right, might he give you an opening to hurt him, but it wasn’t like it would be worth it. The investment for the opportunity would take months and that’s if he ever opened himself up for the shot. If he did, and you were able to take it, the wound wouldn’t be a deep one. It would be superficial at best. A minor inconvenience for him. The hell he could bring after it was enough to end those thoughts before they went any further. The punishment that would follow for the impertinence of trying would be far worse than anything you could even attempt to do. For now, it was easier to acquiesce to some of his demands, at least until you could see how much rein his rules and expectations would give you. “I wish I could stay.” He let out a whimsical sigh. “How nice it would be for us to get better acquainted over the course of the morning, but-” He sighed heavily. “Duty calls.” He pressed your face a little harder, adjusting his grip so he could bunch your cheeks. The discomfort, along with the gentle rocking of his hand pulled what you knew would be many squeals out of you. He only laughed, bending down slightly so he could coo at you. “You’re so ungodly precious.” Wriothesley sighed again, lovingly regarding you for a moment. The notes of affection and pride that were evident on his face made you want to slap them right off of it. “Aw look at that glare. Still angry huh?” A very undignified puff of air through your nose was your only response. One that was matched by a shit-eating grin from him. “You’re cute when you’re angry. Though, you’ll have time to sort through it while I’m gone.” He paused for a beat. “Why don’t you start us off on the right foot and give me one of your charming smiles before I go. I know you’re angry, but it’ll help me get through the monotony of the next few hours.” He let out another chuckle, one of his fingers loosening slightly so he could run it across the base of your cheek. “Now that you’re with me, I may need it all the time.” 

You could do nothing but stare at him as you felt your blood pressure spike even higher. Was he serious? Did he really expect you to smile at him after all he had put you through? It was hard to believe. Clever he may be, but in touch with reality, he certainly was not. Thanks to his actions, you doubted if you would ever smile again. “Come on sweetheart.” He tightened his grip on your chin again, giving it a little shake. You flinched, but that was all. The last thing you wanted was to give him the satisfaction of pulling another sound out of you.  “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, his once confident tone dropping an octave as you refused to follow another one of his orders. For a brief moment, you saw the man who had actually had you kidnapped. His amiability was little more than a tool. It was conditional on whether he got what he wanted. If it failed, that tool would be swapped in for something altogether different. That would happen with every infraction. When one tool failed him, he would simply try another. He would keep doing so until he found what worked best. Whether that was pain or pleasantries, you could tell it didn’t really matter to him. Just so long as he got his way.  “It’s just a smile.” His tone had captured the chill that you had become numb too. You nearly shivered from it, but you were able to stop yourself in time. His request was a simple one. An easy one. It required a minimal effort on your part, but it would ultimately be a gain for him. Right now, all he wanted was a smile. A small, yet significant sign that you were willing to obey him. That his deception tactics and attempts to get you to trust him had worked. If you followed through on it, then that gave him license to ask for more. The more you gave him, the less you could refuse later on. Your willing obedience would bring an expectation of behavior with it. One he would never let you forget. 

Smile, speak, sit, stand. They were all commands that you imagined he would eventually expect you to learn and perform at his whim and pleasure. He had already made it abundantly clear that you had very little choice in the matter. Yet you refused the command all the same. If he could test the waters, so could you. Your eyes just fixed on his, glaring up at him in utter defiance of his order, daring him to try and frighten you further. “Hm.” He tapped a finger against your jaw, causing you to blink. “Seems like I’ve got some work to do with you. A shame really.” He tilted his head in the other direction, heavily exhaling through his nose. “But maybe some time alone will change that.” Wriothesley broke eye contact first, looking around the room for a moment before those eyes of his found yours again. “I did say you could be upset at me, so by all means, be upset.” He gave your face one final squeeze before his hand fell away and you were finally able to put some much needed distance between you and him. An action that didn’t go unnoticed by him. His displeasure as you shuffled away from him was evident. “When I return though -” He planted a hand on his hip. “I expect that to be the end of it.” He paused looking away for a second. “Or at the very least.” He looked at you again. “We have a polite conversation about the future.” You wanted to ask what future? Did he expect you to politely discuss the future he had stolen from you? The one where you were happy and oblivious to the monster that lurked just below the waves. The same one who had seen fit to breach the safety of the shore, just so he could pull you under. 

Or perhaps he meant the other future. The one where you were forever sealed beneath the unforgiving sea. Bound to a man you found neither desirable nor worthy. Forced to smile and obey and be little more than a pet until death saw fit to take either him or you. A horrific, abysmal future that not even the gods themselves would save you from. How could you expect them too, when he had taken you beyond where any of them could ever hope to hear? That was the hard reality of life within the walls of the Fortress of Meropide. A place to abandon the lost, the forgotten, and the unwanted. It was the dumping ground of the world above. A den so rife with vice and sin that not even the gods themselves could ever hope to sort it out. According to many it had improved since the new administrator had taken over. He had ended the corruption and the chaos that had plagued what many had termed the tin hell. Yet miraculously, even with Wriothesley’s efforts it was still a place where the gods found it all too easy to turn a deaf ear to the screams and the cries of the repetent as they echoed up from beneath the waves. Here there were no gods. No heros. No saints. Here there was only hell. Only the sinners. Only Wriothesley to save you from it all. In the span of a night, under the witness of heavens above, he had become your god. 

All you could do was stare back and question how benevolent your new god would actually be.