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five-rivers · 10 months ago

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Cracked Clay Cup Chapter 2

For @greatbigolhampuckjustforme

“How is this organized, anyway?” asked Daniel. “It isn't alphabetical.”

Clockwork shuddered. “The debate about which alphabet to use would be interminable. No. The list is arranged from eldest to youngest, with groups being averaged.”

“So, the oldest person is on top and the youngest person is on the bottom.”

“That is correct.”

Daniel hummed and wiped up the last of his syrup up off his plate with the last piece of his pancake. “This Jasmine person is the youngest person who wants me. Ick, that sounded wrong somehow.”

“She is the youngest person,” said Clockwork. He was doing something strange with the plates in the sink.

“Is she, like, really into plants or flowers or something?”

“Are you really into Daniels?”

“I mean. I don’t know. My memory’s been erased and all. For all I know, my name isn’t even Daniel. It could be William. Or David.” Still, he got the point. He shook his head. “Ghosts just picking random names. What is the world coming to?”

“You could always choose to go by another name,” said Clockwork, mildly. “You are not trapped in it.”

“I know,” said Daniel. “I’ll keep it for now, though. Is, um, is the…”

“Her section of the file is colored teal.”

“Thanks,” said Daniel. He flipped through. “These aren’t in the same order, you know.”

“I know,” said Clockwork. He sounded very put upon.

“You’re not the one who does the organizing, huh?”

“If only I were.”

Daniel looked over the teal pages. There wasn’t a lot of information on them. The name, Jasmine, her height, hair color, eye color, a few lines about interests.

“Not a lot here.”

“You are meant to form your own opinions,” said Clockwork.

“Enjoys pushing forward the boundaries of knowledge?” he read from the page. “Interested in modern psychology and brain surgery?” He looked up at Clockwork. “This sounds like mad scientist material.”

“You can always skip her, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, if I’m going to do this, I’m going to be fair. So, uh, let’s go. Let’s do this.”

“In your pajamas?”

“Well, it’s not like I have anything else, do I?”

“In fact, you do. There is a closet in your room upstairs.”

“With clothes that are mine?”

“With clothes in a variety of styles in your size. They are all new, acquired for this process, although you can keep them afterward.”

“So, no way to figure out my style except for experimentation. Cool. Great. Another mystery to solve.”

“Think of it as an interesting puzzle. An amusing way to pass the time, whilst you are experiencing the various persons who wish to gain custody of you.”

“Uh huh,” said Daniel, pushing his chair out. “I’m going to go get changed. Do I need to pack a bag, too, or what?”

“What, in this case. Any clothing and toiletries you need will be sent to you.”

Daniel nodded and climbed back up the stairs to ‘his’ room. There was a closet there that he hadn’t noticed before, across from the bathroom. He opened the door and started to shift through the different outfits.

That one was too complicated… ugh, weird texture… too much body exposure… ooh, gothic… but also complicated… nice skirt… robe… kilt? He prodded at the maybe-kilt a little. He wasn’t sure that it was a kilt. Well, whatever. Jeans. T-shirt. Hm. Tempting, if only for its simplicity. But maybe he wanted something that vibed with his tail a bit better. Ooh, Egyptian.

Eventually, he hit on a combination of loose pants, long shirt, and fringed wrap. Yeah. That would look good. Comfortable. He took off his pajamas and fluffed his tail. That did feel good. He put on the pants, then the shirt, and then discovered he did not have great skills with wraps. So. He probably didn’t wear them on a daily basis. Still, with the help of the bathroom mirror, he managed to get it into a more or less presentable arrangement. He thought he looked good, anyway, and that was all that mattered. After all, if they already were getting into fights over custody of him, he didn’t exactly have to dress to impress.

He went back down the stairs, to where Clockwork was waiting, staff in hand. “Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

“Dressed,” said Clockwork.

“Helpful,” said Daniel.

“I am to please.”

“So… How do we get there?”

“Through this,” said Clockwork. He held up the staff, and a portal spun off the clock at its top. Then, he held out a small pocketwatch. “When you want to return, merely click the button on top.”

“Okay,” said Daniel, taking it and looping it's chain around his neck. “And… I just go through? No other tricks?”

“No other tricks. It is the journey of a single step.”

“Right,” said Daniel. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The transition between places really was smooth. One minute, he was in Clockwork's purple kitchen, the next, he was in what looked like a completely normal entryway.

There was a girl there. She looked human, and was about half a foot taller than he was. Her hair was red and her cardigan was the same teal as her paper in the file. Her eyes, too, were blue. She… really didn’t look like a ghost at all. She didn’t particularly look like him, either, except for her skin color. Unless maybe some of her facial features were similar? Nose shape, perhaps? He didn’t really remember what he looked like well enough to say.

But, definitely, what stood out the most about her was the fact that she was a girl. A teenager. Not a woman, not really. She couldn’t be more than a few years older than he was.

“Danny,” she said, jumping out of the chair and starting to smile at him. “Hi, I’m–” She stopped.

The girl stared. Daniel stared back.

“Danny, what are you wearing?” she asked.

“Clothing,” he said. He didn’t think this kind of outfit had any particular name. At least, if it did, he didn’t know it.

“Oh.”

“And… you’re…”

“Oh! I’m Jazz! You… really don’t remember me?”

Daniel shook his head, slowly.

“Well… They did tell me that would happen…”

“I knew you before?”

“Yes! Yes. I… was your mother. Am your mother!”

“Uh,” said Daniel. “You’re, like, seventeen. Eighteen, maximum.”

“Time travel was involved.”

“Time travel.”

“Time travel. You know how things are in the ghost zone. You get a natural portal, and then, boom! You’re fifteen years in the past, or the future!” She laughed, nervously. “But I’m here, now! This version of me. Who is definitely your mother.”

Daniel realized, then, that just because the memory wipe meant that he couldn’t know what his prior connections were, that didn’t mean that other people couldn’t try to capitalize on them. Or lie about them. Or lie about them badly.

“Time travel,” said Daniel, again.

“I mean, you’re staying with Clockwork, right?”

“Uh, yeah, so?”

“So, he’s sort of a major player in the time travel scene, right?”

“He is?” It’d explain the clock theme, at least.

“He is.”

“Oh. Cool.” He still didn’t believe her time travel story, though. “So, like. If you were time traveling, who raised me?”

“Your, uh, grandparents. But they can’t really, uh, do it, anymore. For reasons. And I’m back! In the proper time! So I want to take care of you now. And this will start our bonding bonanza! We can start with a tour of the house!”

What. She did not just say that.

“Are they the ones who’re disputing your custody? Because it is a dispute, right? That’s what this thing is all about.”

“I mean, um, there are seven groups, right? Counting me? So, no, it’s not because of them.”

“Right,” said Daniel. That didn’t rule them out, though. Maybe they were the ones at the top of the list.

“So, obviously, this is the entryway… At least, you know, when there’s a door.”

Daniel looked behind him. There was, indeed, no door. “What?”

“Something about the rules to these things. We’re not supposed to leave for the duration.”

“What about food?”

“It’s brought in, the same way you were. So, over here is the kitchen.”

The kitchen was a long, galley affair, with tile countertops and cute floral backsplashes. It was much more normal than Clockwork’s, at least in terms of colors. There was a fridge, a microwave, a toaster, and a dishwasher.

“Do you know who the other six groups are?”

“I mean… I have a guess about some of them, but I don’t really know. I’d thought Clockwork would be one of them for sure, but…”

“What, really?” That, at least, didn’t seem like a lie. “But he’s the neutral party?”

“Yes,” said Jazz. “But I thought that the two of you were close. But maybe it was more along the lines of being, I don’t know, work friends.”

“Huh,” said Daniel. “I… Okay.”

“Yes. Okay. So, the fridge is completely safe, no biological or ectobiological samples stored in it. Just food. Normal, edible food. We’ll do the dishes together, of course. Cups are in here, dishes, pots and pans–”

“Your profile said you were interested in brain surgery,” said Daniel.

“Oh, yes, that’s one of the things I’m thinking about studying in college! Once I get into college. Which will be soon.”

“So, you don’t have, like, a mad science lab in here where you do brain surgery or something like that?”

The girl stared at him. “Are… you sure you don’t remember anything?”

This was not a promising question. “Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re assuming that I have a mad science lab in here. I’m a high school senior.”

“Which means it’s weird that you’re here with a house at all.”

She made a face. “It’s… I had some help getting it. The house, I mean. But there’s no mad science lab. There will never be a mad science lab. Unless you want a mad science lab. I could probably make some calls.”

“I don’t want a mad science lab. Why would I want a mad science lab?”

“I don’t know, to tinker in? You used to do some, um, tinkering. Mechanical engineering stuff.”

“That’s more of a garage thing, though, isn’t it?”

“I… don’t know. You only ever did it in the lab.”

“So, we used to have a mad science lab.”

“That’s– I mean– No.”

Definitely a lie. They totally had a lab. Or, at least, Jazz used to have a lab. What was going on that they had a lab? Something sinister, doubtlessly.

“Did you dissect brains in this lab?”

“No! Like I said, I’m only a student. A student that is interested in a lot of things, but right now, my thesis is about Ghost Envy.”

“You’re a high school student with a thesis?”

“I’m a high achiever. Have to make up for all that time lost time traveling. You’d think you’d gain time! But. Yeah.” She smiled tightly and nodded. “Living room next! We have a, er, one of those consoles. For video games. I got it from a friend.”

Daniel let Jazz drag him around the house. It was kind of nice, except for how nervous she got whenever he probed about his past or her supposed time travel. He didn’t really feel threatened by her, per se, but the lying… it definitely gave him a bit of, how should he put this, anxiety.

“And here’s your bedroom, Danny!”

The bedroom was actually really cool. Unlike the rest of the rooms, it had a very clear, very obvious theme beyond just house people can live in. The theme was space. The walls and ceiling were painted with constellations. There were model rockets on shelves. The desk had an astrolabe and a small model solar system on it, alongside astronomy books. There were also some novels, composition notebooks and sketchbooks, alongside a variety of markers, but those were tiny points about the overwhelming amount of space. Even the decorative throw cushions on the bed had galaxy patterns on them!

Danny… he really liked it. He guessed he had to admit that, at least, Jazz had known him before, and had known him reasonably well. Even if she wasn’t his mother.

She’d also turned around to play with a deadbolt on the door.

“It locks from the inside, because, well, I figured you’d be a bit nervous, staying with someone you know nothing about, and a lock might make you feel safer.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. “Hey, speaking of safety, you’re still, like, alive? Human?”

“Yes?” said Jazz.

“Isn’t it a bit weird, trying to get custody of a ghost?”

“Oh, um, I suppose it’s a bit unusual, but you’re my b– My son. Definitely my son. So, it’s worth it. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re a ghost or a human or– Wait, Clockwork told you, right?”

“Told me… what?”

“That you’re not, you know, a normal ghost.”

“I… he might have said something about that. About being an unusual kind of ghost.”

“So he didn’t tell you that you’re only half ghost?”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It’s a thing. You can change back and forth between a human - more human - form, and a ghost form. Like this.” She gestured at him.

Danny stared at her. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is! Oh, jeez, I can’t believe Clockwork left it to me to explain.” She crossed her arms and turned away. “I don’t know how to explain this.”

“Wait, does that mean my dad is a ghost in this story? Are you saying that you, as a human, and a ghost–”

“No. You died. That sounds terrible. I mean, you, um. You sort of died.”

“How did I die that I managed to die only halfway?”

Jazz opened and closed her mouth several times. “I didn’t witness it–”

“But you know.”

“It was– Do you really want to know? I mean, regardless, I’m still your– your mom. And I want to be. And that kind of thing is really traumatic.”

“What was it?”

She looked like she didn’t want to answer. Danny poured all his effort into a forceful, expectant stare.

“It… was a lab accident.”

Silence.

“Like, um. A ghost lab.”

More silence.

“Okay,” said Danny. He bit his lower lip. “Right.”

“I’ll just leave now,” said Jazz. “Make yourself at home. Because it is!” She stepped out.

“Yep,” said Danny. He closed the door and slid home the deadbolt. Then he put his hand around the pocketwatch, lightly touching the button on top. “Okay. I’ll be okay. I can always leave if she tries to examine my brain, and… I should give her a fair chance. Right.”

#danny phantom #phic phight

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befuddledcinnamonroll · 3 months ago

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Heart Killers time, woot woot!

I do have to say, watching what's happening with Jack & Joker right now, I hope people are not letting their expectations get ahead of them with this one either... though I know that's probably a futile wish. Expectation is such a thief of joy, y'all.

Anyway, my only expectation in this is I will have a good time, so let's do it!

How this man doesn't just expire from Bison doing this to him, I have no idea.

Oh, this line. Jojo knows us so well.

Ooh, we're having a black vs red debate!

In Bison's defense, he looks really good in red.

Something cracks me up about Kant looking for hookups at the bowling alley. Is that really good hunting ground? Maybe in Thailand? Definitely not in the U.S.

Oh Jojo, you bad, bad man.

I am gonna get full on obsessed with Dunk's tummy, aren't I?

Also just realizing how much of this show I am going to spend thinking how good the pairings of FirstDunk & JoongKhaotung could be...

Lolol, target acquired!

Ha, this is so me when a man tries to tell me what to do.

I like Bison being all "if you wanna fuck me, just say so". We have a very direct man here.

Nooooo, Style don't be a stupid driver.

I was not expecting an early Fadel/Style meetup! See, it's fate.

Way to make a horrible first impression Style! But I am loving how their dynamics are. Fadel is such a tight ass, it's gonna be great when he cracks.

Quite a first time scene for our boys! And people say GMMTV is gonna tamp down the gay, lololol.

Also can we take a moment to admire this shot? The red, the mirrors, there's a lot going on here. Beautiful.

I like that the burger uniforms are a mix of Fadel & Bison colorwise.

I also think it's hilarious that Fadel ordered black plastic gloves to maintain his aesthetic.

Omg, I am dying that Bison shot a gun at karaoke. He's a little disaster.

Hmmmm, mother? Interesting...

Ooh, silver fox alert!

Always appreciate some eye candy for us older fans.

Ah, of course the cop is a manipulative jerk. Hot, but a jerk.

Ain't this just a mood.

Heh, when the man you just had mind-blowing sex with turns out to be an assassin you have to stalk. If I had a nickel...

Oh, I think Style is gonna be my favorite. Dumb and chaotic.

As much as I enjoy a height difference couple, there is something about two men who are the exact same height...

Also love the black & white - because they are opposites!

Wait...does Bison not know how to cook burgers? Did... did he just put the raw patty on the board they use to chop veggies? Am I going to get stressed about food safety in this action romcom?!

I like that Fadel has this subtle air of general menace about him.

Aaaaah, bashful Bison is so cute!!!!! "Take me out...nooooo...really?"

This boy desperately wants to be loved. My heart.

Style is a slutty menace and I love him!

I also love that they are establishing the attraction is there before the deal gets made.

Ah, I was wondering if Kant was a philosophical reference!

Does Jojo have a "First eating burgers" fetish? That's been two extreme closeups in one episode. Just sayin'.

"Crazy and bold" is pretty spot on for Style!

Oh don't try to complain Style, you know you want him.

Ok, the yellow & purple... Are these their real colors, or the ones hiding their real colors as they embark on their mission?

Another costuming note - both Kant & Style had sunglasses as part of their outfits when they started their lying... love that little detail.

Good lord, that many beers and I'd be peeing every two minutes.

Oh! Fadel figuring out they're friends already! What a twist!

This was so much fun!

#the heart killers

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rainymossgoddess · 3 months ago

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Hey how was everyone's day, good? Good. I would never come up with a basic story/vibe for a nonexistent zelda game on a whim instead of studying. Nope. Definitely not like I'm writing this post instead of studying or anything.

Hey unrelated what if there was a zelda game where Link and Dark Link had a sort of Link & Midna style relationship and the major themes of the game were about, like, the corrupt side of those in positions of power and how darkness does not equal evil bad bad.

Continued below the cut cause I've written myself into a corner with this pitch-

Dark Link

Dark Link is Midna adjacent, serving a supportive role as a sort of secondary protagonist. Kinda similar to Spirit Tracks zelda in a way, though they could interact with the world a bit more.

This could manifest in a couple of ways, though the first ones that come to mind are possession of armors and stuff (again, spirit tracks as inspo) and a shadow form that's similar to, like, the painting bracelet from Link Between Worlds.

Part of what's happening in my head is that i just want to see Link playfully arguing with his shadow (Dink).

There are also thoughts in my brain about a plot twist so hard it gives the audience whiplash but we'll see (will elaborate later).

Becomes more than just Link's bitter goth clone, developing a personality and both distancing themselves from but becoming closer to link.

In a fruity way?

Link

Off the top of my head I want this Link to feel similar to Legend (or at least similar to legend's vibe in all too many of the fics I have been reading).

Definitely a magic user. Fire and Ice magic could have fun game mechanics built around them (light and reflections respectively).

Classic green outfit? Maybe with a more naturey vibe.

Darker color scheme, more suited to sneaking

Both Link and Dink have matching flower crowns as part of their outfits (Link has purple and Dink has Yellow).

Zelda(?)

For some reason I REALLY want a prince in one way or another (transfem or transmasc preferably. Y'know.)

Very pressured by abusive+corrupt nobles/dad

Unable to access triforce but hides it and learned magic in secret to keep appearances.

Still Not Enough, keeps pushing themselves over the healthy limit. Perhaps ends up hurting themself in one way or another.

Maybe the Queen could still be alive but just sleeping beauty'd by the King cause he wanted power.

King as a boss battle??

Major plot twist mentioned in Dink's section is maybe they don't have the triforce of Wisdom at all.

Option A is they actually have the triforce of Power.

Option B is they don't even have a triforce, making every bit of their magical prowess even more impressive.

Ganondorf

Definitely not the antagonist

I feel like we're all pretty tired of the whole 'ooh ominous big villain here to kill everyone surely it's a mystery- NOPE ITS GANONDORF AGAIN BABY HAHA.'

I think he should be included somehow though, perhaps even as a triforce holder.

Antihero, possibly? I think I like the vibe of him being a goofy old hermit on the edge of the gerudo highlands with a cute little orchard more though. Of course, these aren't exclusive of each other, but still.

He has no want of power or lust to rule Hyrule, at most he wants to run a little farm.

Possible plot point is him having cut off his triforce bearing hand because he has no want of power and the triforce being a part of him would only bring unwanted attention upon him.

Avid knitting circle member.

Big Nasty

A major servant of Hylia, possibly?

Alternatively, three servants of the golden trio.

They've blocked off Hylia/The Golden Trio's greater connection(s) to the people and land of hyrule, seeking to replace her/them as a god.

Final final battle with puppeted sleeping Hylia?

I sense power creep

General stuff i guess

Could take place during a time of peace

Biggest demise sided villains would also be sided with the Big Nasty, but for their own reasons

Puzzles,,

Lore/sequel stuff??

Sequel adventure could be to re-seal/kill the Ganon/Demise/Whatever and keep the peace

Maybe something gets twisted with that

Killing TWO gods? (Hylia and Demise to halt the cycle, at least for a long while)

Perhaps halting the cycle allows the hero's spirit to move on from this endless war (echoing in an era of fresher villains)

Of course this is all just me rambling on- I would love to hear some feedback on these ideas!

I also desperately want to draw art for these characters my head has rotating violently but I always get too in my own head about drawing so-

#legend of zelda #mossy rambles #link #princess zelda #zelda #alternate universe #sort of #game idea #dark link #dink #shadow powers #ganondorf #goddess hylia #hylia #Demise #i guess

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thevampiremarie · 2 years ago

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Let The Good Times Roll, Part 1 (of 2)

🔞 Captain John Price x reader 🔞

Captain Price is your sugar daddy and he takes you out for a night on the town. SMUT. Tags under readmore.

title from the Ray Charles song.

Tags: daddy kink, sugar daddy kink (the purest sugar daddy kink, harvested straight from the sugarcane), exhibitionism, voyeurism, service submission, like a lot of service submission, dom/sub, praise kink, degradation, 1950s housewife/1950s pin up girl kink, pet names, spit kink, ruination kink, dacryphilia, this specific chapter contains a blowjob, plus sized/squishy reader, john price loves curves

You’re curling your hair, carefully setting each ringlet in place with a pin as it cools, when you get the text.

P: Hey, baby. I’m in town for a bit.

Your phone dings with another notification.

P: Get your nails done tomorrow.

He likes you with red nails, long but not too long. Almond-shaped, elegant. Classy for a classy man. He also likes you in red lipstick, likes it when he smears it all over your face and makes your mascara run in messy black streaks. Like John Price’s personal pin-up model, picture perfect for him to ruin.

Your bank app tells you that you’ve just received a transfer. $1500.

You smile as you text him back. He must’ve missed you a lot with a gift like that.

You: Yes, Daddy.

In your personal life, you don’t think about punctuation. You fill your texts with emojis and curse words, and acronyms.

But he pays for proper and sets rules for you to obey. You’re always to use ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, full sentences, indulging him with the pleasure of your subservience.

You’re happy to oblige; his little games are fun for you both.

He probably won’t be here for very long if he wants you ready tomorrow, so you text your nail lady for an emergency appointment while rifling through your clothes to find something suitable.

You keep your gifted lingerie organized by client. It wouldn’t do to wear something someone else had bought you, after all.

John likes seeing your legs framed by thigh-highs and garter belts almost as much as he likes taking them off of you.

You have that peach silk set, embroidered with delicate lace, from a few months back.

When you tried it on for the first time, he couldn’t take his eyes off your tits and had you on your knees in an instant, thick cock down your throat so he could finish all over your breasts and the shining silk supporting them.

The garter belt emphasizes your waist, and the soft flesh of your thighs pours over the tops of the stockings.

“I like to see that I’m taking care of you, baby,” He’d said as he ran a reverent finger over the edge of the thigh-high. “I like my baby well-fed. Healthy.”

Then John had smacked your ass, watched it jiggle, and sunk his teeth into the red mark left behind.

What is that advice people give for job interviews? ‘Dress for the job you want’?

You flush as you think about being bent over his lap, your skin covered in bruises as dark as he can get them, or kneeling carefully at his feet while John watches you undo his belt without leaving a scratch on the leather.

Your black outfits are for when he wants to tame you, and your white ones are for when he wants to debauch you. Color is a toss-up.

P: I think you’d look lush in dark blue. Though you’re free to pick something else, love.

Ooh, dealer’s choice. That doesn’t happen often; he knows what he wants, and you love giving it to him, like, genuinely love it.

If Daddy’s over here trying to make his desires smaller and more socially appropriate, then his job must really be putting him through it.

There’s a blue dress he hasn’t seen you in yet. It’s dark midnight velvet with straps and a revealing sweetheart neckline, neatly tailored for your curves. It will simply be a toss-up kind of night.

Since he doesn’t follow up with an address, you assume he’s taking you to the same place he always does.

The nicest bar in one of the nicest hotels in the city, a golden Art Deco paradise straight out of the Great Gatsby, where he can tip highballs down your throat, and they play live jazz loud enough to hear from the smoking area.

P: 2000 hours.

Eight o’clock it is, then—the usual bar.

You’ve shared many a cigarette there, listening to a saxophone dance up and down impossible, brassy scales, the notes as rich and full as expensive red wine.

You: I can’t wait to see you.

You’re on time, as per usual. Actually, you’re a little early by about… ten minutes.

You can’t help it; you used John’s credit card to call a cab earlier than necessary, and you’ve been working yourself into a fit of giddy, nervous anticipation all day.

It’s been well over a year since your first… date, and John still makes you feel desperate, desperate for his smile and his hand on your neck when he kisses you.

Why, your nail lady even had to scold you to stop fidgeting while she filed down the acrylic extensions.

Your nail polish matches your lipstick, a beautifully deep red that brings out the colors of your eyes and makes your skin gleam. While your foundation is some incredibly long-wearing shit that can survive multiple rounds, you carve your winged eyeliner out of an easily-smeared eyeshadow and apply your runniest mascara.

Daddy was right. The blue looks perfect, and as you sit here, waiting for your date to show, you know that half the bar thinks you look perfect, too.

It’s too bad you’re happily spoken for. If any of those men looked up from your cleavage, they’d know by the luxurious pearl necklace draped over your collarbones with a diamond-encrusted clasp.

So you wait, tapping the point of your heel on one of the rungs of the overly-expensive (yet uncomfortable) barstool as you nurse a glass of water because you’d rather John order for you.

A man wearing a rich, spicy cologne rests his hand on the small of your back. “Sweetheart.” You squeal as you turn to see him.

John Price, as handsome as the Devil himself, dressed in a beautiful stormy gray peacoat over a black shirt, right across his broad chest, and freshly-pressed slacks.

The moment he sees your face, all dolled up and pretty and purely you, the tension in his shoulders softens, and his blue eyes wrinkle with a smile.

You can feel the warmth of his palm through your velvet dress, and your spine straightens like his touch is pouring liquid gold through your veins.

Before he can say anything else, you lean up to kiss him, your fingers tangling in the collar of his coat and his mustache tickling your skin. He laughs a little into your red mouth, eagerly kissing you back, one hand on the back of your neck and the other digging into your waist.

He tastes like smoke and something addictive, something you can’t identify but remember even when he’s not there.

When you finally, finally break apart, John drags his hand up your neck to your cheek, reveling in the silk of your skin under his rough, calloused fingers so that he can trace the edge of your kilowatt smile.

“You look nice tonight, Daddy,” You tell him, and you can feel the blush crawling up your cleavage and darkening your cheeks as he looks at you like he’s about to tear you out of this skin-tight dress.

His voice rumbles deeper than the bass player in the corner, plucking away at his instrument. “I do my best for my best girl.” John pinches the string of pearls around your neck with two fingers, and you know he remembers when he gave them to you.

Over half a year ago, when you agreed to be exclusive when he was in town and the bigger allowance that came with that.

John presented the necklace to you, carefully clasped it around your neck, then fucked you in three positions so he could admire how it moved when you came.

His hair is still damp from the shower he must have taken as soon as he hopped off his plane from… whatever awful corner of the earth his mysterious job took him.

Your Daddy is always handsome, no matter what, but he looks tired. Like he’s washed the dust off his skin but not his mind, like he hasn’t taken a break in ages.

“Hard day at work?” You tip your head back and slightly to the side, giving him as much access as he’d like to your throat and your curled hair falling over your shoulder. He briefly lets himself sink his teeth into the soft skin above your pulse.

Then John chuckles as you press yourself into him, well, specifically press your tits into him. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” He murmurs, his eyes glinting with mischief.

The bartender knows the two of you; you’re kind of infamous in this place, though they’d never dare tell you no. One of the things you liked about John from the start was how he tipped the waiters, the bartenders, and the cab drivers. Extraordinarily well, in cash.

“What is she having tonight, sir?” The bartender asks John, knowing full well that you’ve been waiting for this man and that John doesn’t like it when just anybody talks to you.

Daddy smiles again as you drop a chaste kiss on his cheek, his worry melting away with each passing second. “A lemon drop for such a sweet girl,” He orders in that marvelously rough British accent.

The live band in the corner kicks into a cover of a Nina Simone song, the piano twinkling in time with deep trombones echoing through the vaulted ceiling of the bar, and you know that it’s going to be a good night.

After he puts down his shiny black AmEx for your tab, John guides you to a booth in the corner. The leather upholstery creaks as you slide in first. He hangs his fine coat next to the table, then slides in after you.

It’s so private that no one can overhear while providing a great view of the whole joint.

As he works his way through a glass of fragrant, amber-colored Scotch, he unburdens his cares in your company.

Captain Price never goes fully into what he does, and you never ask. But his issues with his team aren’t news - you’ve listened to all sorts of shenanigans, all manner of frustrations they give him.

You listen, you nod in encouragement, and you place your hand on his when you know he needs it.

He pauses in his recollection to admire your freshly-done nails. “Gorgeous, as always,” John says before kissing your hand.

Earlier, he’d pushed his glass a little out of comfortable reach. Whether that was intentional or accidental, you’re unsure. “Thank you, Daddy.” You bend over him to retrieve it, your hair brushing his face and your mouth almost close enough for him to kiss, then deposit it elegantly in his waiting hand.

Once you’ve sat back down, he runs his calloused thumb across your cheek as he takes another sip. What a tease. You’re in public, and he’s still playing at chivalrous restraint, so you don’t kiss his finger like you want to. Like he wants you to.

After that, your concentration… dovetails a bit.

Shadows dance over his handsome, angular face. Shadows from drunk patrons and waiters wandering past, from the votive candles set at each table, from the dim golden floodlights reflecting off the glittering disco ball mosaic this bar calls a ceiling.

His voice trickles through your veins as heady as those awful cigars he likes, rough and raspy and prickling goosebumps on your exposed skin.

The cool condensation on the side of your glass brings you back to earth. Now’s not a good time to fantasize about what’s under his shirt, to wonder if he has any new scars healed enough for you to trace with your tongue.

After a long pause, John sighs and finishes his Scotch. “They’re a bunch of fuckin’ animals,” He says through a grimace.

“Daddy! Language,” You scold with more than enough good humor for the both of you.

The band is playing ‘I Put A Spell On You.’ You couldn’t have asked for better timing - his clear, scintillating gaze rests on your crimson-lipped smile, then trails so intimately up to your eyes that it’s like he’s stripping you naked in front of the whole city.

You feel him place one large hand on your thigh. “Nothin’ like you. You’re always good for me, hm? So well-mannered.”

You slide closer to let him tuck a strong, muscled arm around your waist. Now, John can bury his face in your hair and fill his lungs with your perfume. You know he likes it; sometimes, you send him handwritten letters in looping cursive spritzed with it, by his request.

He kisses your neck just below your earlobe. “Why, thank you. You know I just want to make you happy,” You giggle, sunshine-bright and giddy.

You feel his hand drift upward to where your dress starts in the center of your back. His fingers wander along the neckline, under one of the straps, as he tries to figure out what sort of wrapping paper he gets to take you out of later.

John settles his hand on the back of your neck.

His touch feels so warm and possessive that it brings a flush to your face. “You know what would make me even happier?” He asks softly, leaning in close as if he’s about to tell you a secret.

Those pretty blue eyes pin you in place. “I can’t do it if you don’t tell me, Daddy.” His fingers press into your skin slightly, a reflex borne of the fire you stoke when you call him that.

Then he collects your glass, half-full with freshly-squeezed lemon juice, some very smooth vodka, simple syrup, and a large, perfectly-square ice cube. John holds it up in a silent request, and you nod before eagerly parting your lips. The sweet, lemony cocktail goes down much better when he’s feeding it to you.

Daddy wipes away a stray drop at the corner of your mouth with his thumb. You don’t need any prompting to sit forward and lick the sweetness from his skin.

You watch the blue of his irises slowly become eclipsed by his pupils at the sight of your pink tongue.

“See that bloke over there? The one that’s been-“

“Staring at me this whole time?”

By now, the regulars have lost interest in the two of you. Either they’ve seen you with John before and know better, or they’re too involved with their own lives to be nosy.

But that dude…

You know his type. Some horribly miserable finance bro in an uncomfortable suit, a little boy who graduated college five years ago and hasn’t grown up since. He probably has active Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge profiles and a string of unsatisfied exes who’ve never orgasmed. The kind of guy who thinks you’d be falling all over yourself to talk to him, like you should be so honored he’s checking you out.

Even worse than all that, he’s the kind of guy who talks a lot of game about his money, stocks, crypto, whatever the fuck, but has none to pay you with. You don’t work for free.

His attention goes from lax and sweet to razor-sharp. “Hey. You know better than to cut me off,” Captain Price tsks as his palm spans your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks.

A little trouble is good trouble, and he rewards your sly smirk with a kiss. He pulls at your curls until you gasp, then presses his tongue against yours, stealing your breath and thoughts and replacing them with nothing but him.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” You say after he moves back, not even pretending to apologize genuinely.

All it takes for him to set you on his lap is one burly arm around your waist. Then you’re curled on top of him, something angrily hard under your ass and his bearded chin resting on your shoulder.

“Yeah, that one,” Daddy nods as he runs his hands over every inch of your body, every curve and roll and soft edge. His fingers wander up, and down your thighs, then he tucks the hem of your dress up a few inches to make you gasp.

In revenge, you nestle yourself closer, coincidentally grinding yourself on his hard-on.

He laughs before playing with the bejeweled clasp at the back of your neck. “What do you think is goin’ through his head, hm?” John whispers into your ear.

You watch him look at your mouth as if he’s about to kiss you again, but your sulk when he denies you is too cute for him to pass on.

Then he looks past your shoulder.

“Ah, I bet he’s thinkin’ ‘bout you, baby.”

You sit up straighter, push your cleavage closer to Daddy’s handsome face, and flip your hair over your shoulder.

Oh, he likes that. He likes that a lot; he kisses your cheek as he plants a hand on your throat, you press your thighs together and stifle a teeny-tiny moan.

“You think so?” You murmur, eyes fluttering when John’s beard rasps over your sensitive skin.

“I don’ blame him. I’ve been thinking about you for…” He trails off, as if realizing for the first time that he doesn’t need to re-read your letters and jack off to your lipstick-marked Polaroids. He can have you, right now.

You make up for the lost time with another kiss, pouring into it all the long nights where you hoped he was well, where you missed his laughter, cheeky humor, and the wonderful feeling of his affection turning you into a pile of mush in his capable hands.

What else could you want? He’s your Daddy.

“Thank you, love.”

Your nails scratch his freshly-trimmed beard before you trace the dimple in his cheek that appears when he smiles.

There’s not a hair out of place in his neat buzzcut; you can tell his clothes are fresh from a dry cleaning service.

“I missed you, too,” You tell him. Then you lean in and kiss the tip of his nose.

You still have so much affection left to give - it’s practically overflowing, buzzing under your skin, silently begging him to take you home.

Daddy grabs one of your wrists to pull your fingers away from their exploration of what’s under his shirt collar, and you settle down instantly.

Then he takes your chin between his calloused fingers. “He’s probably wondering what’s under this gorgeous dress, what those beautiful fuckin’ tits of yours look like…” John’s voice is hardly louder than a whisper, but it goes straight to your head, making you breathy and squirming with desire.

Your eyes close, blink open, your pupils dilate, and he devours every little movement. “Maybe he’s even dreaming about your perfect cunt. But that’s all for me, isn’t it?”

Then he presses his thumb between your lips until you open for him, your slick tongue eager against his skin. He hooks his finger behind your teeth, effortlessly holding you in place.

When you speak, shining drops of saliva fall from your stretched lips. “Yes, Daddy. Only- only for you,” You whine.

Price adds more pressure until it hurts to keep your mouth open. “You’re mine.” The sting is nothing compared to what you must do to get most of his dick down your throat.

Your head swims with the smell of tobacco and sandalwood, and his eyes glitter as he watches your eyes cloud. “I’ve always been yours.”

He replaces the finger in your mouth with his tongue, his teeth sinking into your lip, and each kiss stokes the need burning through your veins.

“How does his face look, Daddy?” You ask breathlessly, finally breaking the kiss. Much to Price’s consternation; he pouts and tries to capture your lips again. You’re full of giggles as you brush him off with a finger pressed to his mouth, your nail polish gleaming in the low light.

When he kisses your finger, his mustache tickles your skin. “Like I’m takin’ candy from a baby,” Price says.

Then he leans back and spreads his arms out along the top of the booth, all rippling shoulder muscles and sinew under his tailored shirt.

“Wanna give him a show?”

You chance a look out of the corner of your eyes and see the man’s dropped jaw and a complexion the color of spoiled milk.

“You know I do,” You reply as you arch your back and push yourself so close to Daddy that a ruler wouldn’t fit between you two.

Price waits one moment, then another. “Pick that up off the floor, won’t you?” And with immense gravitas and no small degree of showmanship, he drops his napkin over the side of the table.

A mandatory skill in your line of work is getting in and out of situations balanced perfectly on high heels. Barring some odd request for sneakers, or a specific kind of ballet flat worn by the client’s mother, heels are a must.

So you extract yourself from John’s lap and the booth with the grace of a ballet dancer, carefully sweeping your skirt under you so you don’t flash the whole bar.

Getting to your knees in a show of complete subservience on this slightly-sticky floor is a little much, you think, as you examine the tableau John wants you to present. Plus, this dress is dry clean only.

You settle for bending from the waist down at an angle that allows the man to see straight down your dress and tease everything else.

Your fingers pluck the napkin from the floor, then you pause. You look at the businessman through your eyelashes and watch him groan as his gaze traces the tops of your breasts in worship. You wink before standing to your full height.

Price watches you turn on one foot with blue eyes half-lidded, gratuitously checking out your curves, and a shit-eating grin tugging at the corners of his lips under his beard.

He lifts you by your hips onto his lap again so you’re straddling his thighs. “Good girl.” Daddy presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhales, his hands paw your hem and the edges of your stockings, just as you knew he would.

He kisses your cheek, bites the delicate skin of your neck until you’re trembling with pain and want. There’s something feral in the way he touches you, an insatiable hunger that would make him risk a public indecency charge with how fucking badly he needs you.

You gasp as you rake your nails through his scalp, messing up that beautifully coiffed hair. No one says you can’t be possessive, too.

You know who else is watching you; young women on unsatisfying Tinder dates, fantasizing about John Price dropping you and sweeping them off their feet. There are probably more than a few frustrated, neglected wives eyeing his charming, dominant manner like they’ll start tossing panties his way any second.

But he’s yours.

Price drags the strap of your dress down before shifting you right on top of the erection straining through his dress pants. “Daddy-“ You pant, throwing your head back and grinding down, fucking ruining his clothes with your messy, dripping arousal.

Your panties are fragile lace, to begin with, and when they’re this wet, all he would have to do is unzip his fly and tear them and push in-

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” Price hisses in your ear as he slides his large, veined hand up your thigh to grab a possessive handful of your ass.

When you kiss him, your nails leave red marks on his neck, then down his chest where you’ve popped open his top button. “Then take me home.”

Daddy helps you out of the booth first, naturally. Price is ever the consummate gentleman. He even helps slide your strap up and unwrinkle your skirt.

In a stroke of genius so smooth that you’d almost think he planned this, he plucks his coat from the hook and drapes it over one arm, hiding the prominent, stained bulge in his pants.

You walk to the bar together with your hand tucked in his elbow.

“Closing out, sir?” The bartender asks with a straight face.

Price nods. “Thanks.” You see his mouth flatten into a sly, troublemaking line. “Put the fellow in the gray suit’s drink on my tab. Looks like he could use a break.” He waves his hand at your voyeur like he’s dismissing a servant, lazy and unbothered.

The bartender’s straight face cracks momentarily with a conspiratorial grin. “Will do.”

“An’ that’s for you.” Once Daddy gets that gorgeous black AmEx card with no limit back, he sets a crisp hundred-dollar bill onto the bar.

The nice man takes it without hesitating. “You two have a good night. Come back anytime,” He says, dipping his head towards you in recognition—one service provider to another.

“Oh, we will.” Daddy steers you to the exit, nice and slow, so he can once again palm your ass through your tight dress for everyone to see.

You smile at the bartender, then at the poor guy you’ve been toying with all evening. “Bye,” You call over your shoulder.

The night air is freezing cold, and your breath comes out in foggy puffs. But it’s okay, because Price drapes his jacket around your bare shoulders before you can start to shiver, then draws you into a tight, warm hug as he waits for the valet to bring the car around.

You’re on your very best behavior in the unmarked black car. Your Daddy drives with both hands on the wheel, white-knuckled in anticipation, he makes full stops and uses his turn signal to change lanes. But the silence that falls over you like a veil is electric. It sparkles like static electricity, and his bright blue eyes dart to you every time you shift.

The walk through the pristine marble and gold lobby of this Ritz Carlton and the elevator ride to the top floor is a blur of meticulous propriety. John’s hand never leaves the small of your back, and he avoids brushing your bare skin. You smile politely at the elevator operator.

From the suite's floor-to-ceiling windows, the city skyline glitters beneath you like crushed stars thrown on a bed of black velvet.

And in these rooms, John Price is king.

The door closes with a heavy, decisive click.

There’s no need to be nervous, you tell yourself. You take the time you spend pulling his coat from your shoulders and hanging it up to regain composure.

Then you turn to face him. He’s watching you, always watching, muscled arms crossed one over the other. You’re the dancer in a music box resting in the palm of his hand. You are treasured, wanted, loved.

At last, he sighs, then scrubs his hand over his face. “It’s been a long day. Make me a drink, sweet thing?” John asks, moving towards the large armchair in the corner.

He finishes what you started with his shirt, untucks it after he gets it unbuttoned all the way, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. As he sits, you get a peak of the dark hair dusting his chest from the neckline of his undershirt.

“Yes, Daddy,” You murmur. Then you tilt your chin down the tiniest bit and look at him through your lashes, as shy as a newborn fawn. “I need some help with my dress.”

“Oh, princess,” Price sighs, his voice taking on a deeper, more sinful timbre. “Come here.” He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

You stand with your back facing him, so close that his knees bump your thighs. When you move your hair over one shoulder so it doesn’t get caught, Price’s fingers brush yours. His hands are steady as they pull your zipper down, inch by inch. Once he gets to the bottom, he sits back without saying a word.

The command couldn’t be more compelling if he had said it aloud.

You step away slowly and look over your shoulder as you do, your hands still holding the front of the dress to your chest. You turn smoothly and let the dress drop to the floor.

You’re a vision of full, rounded curves encased in the finest, most delicate lace, shimmering pale peach in the light of the lamp in the other corner. Your tits spill generously out of the cups of the bra, your (still soaked) panties highlight your soft belly, and Daddy lets out the most visceral, unhinged groan when he sees the fat of your thighs jiggle where your thigh-highs cut into your skin.

And then there’s his pearl necklace around your throat - the prettiest collar in the world.

The shadows around his crotch grow. “You’re too good to me.”

“Let me get you that drink, Daddy. An Old Fashioned?” You ask coyly. You’re walking towards the carved oak table in the middle of the suite’s living room before he can respond. It’s all part of the game.

There’s already a bottle of single barrel Kentucky Bourbon set next to a polished silver ice bucket, a carved crystal sugar bowl, an assortment of glasses, bitters, and an orange.

You make each movement as sensual and predatory as a leopard stalking prey; placing ice in the mixing glass, measuring the bourbon, you lick the spoon when you’re finished stirring, your eyes on him the entire time.

With a shining paring knife, you carve a sliver of peel from the orange and garnish his finished glass with it.

Now, to bring it to him.

Your heels barely make a sound on the thick, ornate carpet, and you find yourself before Price’s functional throne in only a few strides.

“On your knees.”

You go down happily, tucking your heels under your butt as you offer his drink.

Daddy takes it from your hand to hold it to the light and check the color. He brings it to his nose and inhales the scent of fresh orange zest and spicy bitters.

Finally, when he’s satisfied that you’ve made it properly, exactly how he’s taught you, Daddy takes a sip.

Your breath freezes in your lungs as you wait for his approval.

“Perfect, sweetheart. Just like you,” Price purrs, and you sag slightly on your knees in relief.

You crave him. You need his praise like water, like sunlight after a long, dark winter.

“Daddy- may- may I come closer?” You ask in a high-pitched, pleading voice.

He nods, and the face of his watch flashes gold as he pats his knee.

You ignore the carpet burn tearing into your skin as you shuffle forward to rest your cheek on his knee. Your body relaxes when Daddy begins to play with your hair, carding his rough fingers through your previously-neat curls. It’s pure bliss. All the thoughts melt out of your head from his ministrations, his blunt nails gently scratching your scalp. Ice clinks in the glass as he drinks, then he begins stroking your cheek. Price’s fingers wander across your temple before tracing the corner of your mouth.

You let out a small, contented noise, a barely-audible whine, and snuggle closer to his legs.

He sets the glass down on the side table, the sound frighteningly loud in the quiet. Just like that, every muscle in your body tenses, and your eyes snap open.

Daddy sits forward, cueing you to turn and face him. “See that, princess?” You are at eye level with the mouthwatering bulge in his dress pants, the one you were humping in the bar like a whore. “That’s because of you,” He hisses, his British accent turning the words sinister and gravelly.

Without realizing it, your thighs press together to relieve the flicker of newly-kindled ache in your cunt, and your jaw aches with phantom pain.

He takes your hand and places it over his dick. “I’ve been rock fuckin’ hard all night, and it’s your fault.” Your mouth fills with extra saliva when you wrap your fingers around his length in some fucked-up Pavlovian response, as your brain anticipates that you’ll need all the spit you can get.

You glance up at Daddy and see his handsome face set in a cold, distant mask, his mustache curling around his sneering lips. But his eyes- his eyes flash like a blue flame.

You’re too well-behaved to reach for his zipper yet, though you can’t deny that you’re a few moments away from begging for permission.

Price exaggerates his dismissive, drawn-out grumble. “Are you gonna do somethin’ about it?” He asks, raising a dark eyebrow as if to say that you should’ve already begun.

You blink your watery doe eyes, rounder and prettier than the moon, and wet your red-painted lips with your tongue.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” You begin, your voice quavering as you sink further down on your haunches. And with permission granted, you undo his fly in record time before slipping him out of his boxers.

John’s dick is a thing of beauty. And you would know; you’ve seen more than your fair share. So thick that you can barely wrap your fingers around him, veined, colored a deep, angry red.

You don’t take your eyes off his cock as you spit into your palm. You ensure Daddy has the perfect view as you pump your pretty hand over him, spreading your saliva as your mouth hangs open.

He throws his head back when you start moving your fingers, and a low groan echoes from his chest.

Then Price grins, a lazy, cocky expression that goes straight to your core, blue eyes lidded, and he sprawls out once more to pick up his glass.

He pretends he’s too busy enjoying his cocktail; you pretend you don’t know he’s watching in rapture. “Should be fuckin’ sorry, shit,” He moans as you bend to trace the thick vein on the underside of his dick with your precise, clever tongue.

You pull back from his shaft to flutter your thick, made-up lashes, a single strand of glimmering spit connecting your lips to him.

Then you start to work him into your mouth. You glide your tongue up and down in long, sensual strokes, then pop the bulbous tip of his cock between your lips. He likes it slow. He likes making you work for it.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it.” Daddy doesn’t touch your hair, not yet. He wants to. The glass shakes in his hand, and his knuckles go white with the effort of holding on.

Salt coats your tongue, then musk, your mouth filling with his taste. It’s so sinfully good that it sends your eyes rolling back and pulls a quiet whimper from your throat. You chase it, finally taking as much of him as possible into your mouth. Your fist works what doesn’t fit, moving in slick synchronization with your lips.

There’s slobber dripping down his length, onto your hand, on his pants, making a little damp pool on the fancy carpet.

You focus on relaxing your soft palate, balancing busting your jaw open on Daddy’s cock, and breathing. “Suck my cock like you’re sorry,” Price orders before drinking. You hollow your cheeks just as he swallows, creating a hot, wet vacuum sucking his soul out of him.

That sip turns into a choking cough, then a low, tortured groan.

The next thing you know, his large hand fists in your hair, tugging so hard on your scalp that you see stars.

“Don’t whine,” Price snaps. “Daddy’s too tired for your shit.”

He fucks your mouth with one hand and savors his drink with the other. He doesn’t even meet your tear-filled gaze.

Your knees shift on the carpet so you can rock your aching, swollen clit against the barrier of your panties.

Your hair knots and tangles around his fingers as he sits forward. Then he angles your mouth up to pump himself down your throat. “Choke- uh- on it. Choke- uh- on my dick,” Daddy groans, his face flushed with exertion.

The tears building in your eyes spill over your cheeks as you struggle to inhale. Each hiccup and desperate spasm of your windpipe draws pleasured, breathless sounds from Price.

You can’t- you can’t think, you’re trying to be good, and your jaw is on fire. Your tongue has gone numb, and you feel him harden further. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his pants, anything to hold your limp torso up.

There’s snot in your nose and precum spilling out of your stuffed cheeks, and his cock makes loud, explicit squelches as you gag and sob.

His fist trembles in your ruined curls. “Cry all you want, baby. Let me see those tears,” Price snarls.

He knocks back the dregs of his drink, then sets the empty glass to the side so he can cup your face. You barely notice him drag his fingers through the mascara bleeding down your cheeks and red lipstick smeared across your jaw.

Deliriously, you wonder if he’s in your esophagus now. It sure feels like it - your nose brushes the wiry, spit-soaked hairs at the base of his cock.

“Fuckin- your sloppy, slutty mouth feels so good.” His voice echoes in your ears, overlaid with your weak, helpless whines. You’re not sure if you’re begging for mercy or moremoremore.

Daddy grits his teeth as his thrusts grow erratic and feverish.

A stream of curses and jumbled words flow from his mouth. You tune them out for the most part. The oxygen deprivation makes you fuzzy and weightless, and slick from your empty cunt tracks down your thigh. You don’t need to think when he’s pounding your mouth like he loathes you.

You just have to relax, be his perfect fleshlight, and let your Daddy take care of the rest.

“Almost there, baby. Make me come.” The world comes back into ultra-sharp 4K focus. Shit is about to get fucked-

Daddy looks at you like he’s looking at an angel, like you’re a real princess, his pupils blown as large as a solar eclipse. He always tells you how beautiful you are after you suck him off. “Fuuuuuuck…” Price groans, face red and sweaty as he stiffens in the seat-

Salty cum fills your mouth, sticking to your tongue and coating the back of your throat, and you retch on instinct, clawing at his legs as you tremble and heave.

He pulls you down on his cock and holds you there through the last spurt. “Swallow. Now,” Daddy barks before releasing your hair.

You comply mindlessly, gulping as you sag to the floor.

Price reaches down and picks you off the carpet like you weigh nothing. He settles you into his lap and wraps himself around you as tight as he can, helping you bury your face in the crook of his neck. “There’s a good girl,” Daddy coos as he drops delicate kisses on your damp forehead and rocks you in his arms.

The pearl necklace is covered in a mixture of fluids you don’t even want to think about. You’re pretty sure all the cum you couldn’t swallow dripped there. How fitting. If it didn’t hurt to laugh, you would.

“What do you say?”

You poke your head up. “Thank you for giving me your cum, Daddy,” You say hoarsely, trailing your nails through the hair on his chest.

He kisses you softly, so softly that your heart aches. Your mouth is sore and swollen, and he soothes the pain with gentle touches, his tongue swiping across yours to taste himself. John pulls you so close that you can feel his heart thundering in his chest, full-out gallop, and you sigh sweetly. One of his hands rests on your thigh, then absentmindedly fiddles with your stocking.

“You’re welcome, princess,” He tells you before kissing your nose and chuckling when you wrinkle it.

John is so warm, so strong and powerful, and the feeling of his skin settles your nerves better than a nicotine high.

His lips bear the faintest tint of pink. You swipe your thumb over them and come back with a trace of pigment from your lipstick.

Daddy smiles when he sees it. He slides his fingers under your chin to steal another kiss.

“You’re so gorgeous like this. Absolutely perfect,” He whispers.

“I’m all messy.” Messy is an understatement. You look defiled. You’ve cried off your eyeliner, and somehow, some of it has ended up on your bra. You don’t even want to think about how your underwear looks, probably stretched from your grinding and so wet they’re two shades darker than before.

He brushes your tangled hair from your neck with adoration. “Beautiful girl.” He swipes his fingers along your necklace, gathering the remaining cum, and feeds it to you like a rare delicacy. Once you’ve sucked his fingers clean, Price bends to kiss your neck and wreath hickies on your skin.

You gasp and throw your head back as pain runs with pleasure in your veins.

“And a good drink. Your best one yet,” He tells you before sinking his teeth into one of the dark marks to ensure it lasts.

Your vocal cords protest when you cry out. “Hurts. Ouch.” Your lips twist into a cute little pout, one that Daddy happily kisses away.

“Poor princess can’t talk ‘cause I came down her throat? We can’t have that, her voice is as beautiful as she is.”

Your eyes light up with excitement as Daddy continues. He intersperses his words with wandering hands that slide under your bra straps before hunting for the clasp.

“Let me make it up to her, hm?”

TO BE CONTINUED

tagging: @certainlynotasimp @fruitymoonbeams-blog @averyyreads @redrumarsenic @shroomje @kittybatman04

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ask-jamtheimp · 26 days ago

Text

Day 14 of Regressuary

Theme: Dress Up

Charachters: Berry and Rosie and @theogclownboy Roxie

Fandom: Helluva/Hazbin the Helluvaverse

Summary: Rosie has a talk with the girls on their frustrations with eachother and once they make up they decide to play dress up!

Authors Note: I feel much better now so im able to actually put colors on the dialouge and make it easier to read! Thank you for yalls patience! Also this is a continuation from Day 13! So please read that if you haven't already. Hope you enjoy and please like and reblog to help support me!

It had been minutes of sulking between the two tots before Rosie finally stepped in, she first gave Roxie the now sewn up teddy bear and patted her head before calling over Berry to speak with the two of them. She knelt down before gently speaking. "Now, now girls. Its not very polite to fight and be all grumpy now is it? I understand that you both may wanna play somethin' different but lets just find something we both like and play okay? And lets also share as well. Like big girls." Rosie said as she placed one of her hands on the two girls shoulders. Both girls poutily nodded as she stood up and crossed her arms. "Now, now, I'm sure you both know your manners. What do you say to each other?" Berry started off first, she hated being mad so much! And she genuinely wanted Roxie to like her as well. "I-im sorry for takin your teddy from you Roxie. And for callin you mean too...can we be friends again?" She asked as she held out a hand to shake hers. Roxie on the other hand was pretty stubborn as she simply turned her back to her. "No! I didn't do anythin' wrong! She started it!" She told to Rosie who wasn't very happy. "Roxie! It doesn't matta' who started what! It just matters that you both apologize to eachother and not be rude! Berry is genuinley sorry for what she did and you said some stuff to her too that you also need to apologize for!" Roxie stomped her hoof still refusing to face Berry. "No! I don't wanna!" Rosie crossed her arms and in a warning voice said "Roxie..." Roxie knew that voice and almost imediatley sighed and faced Berry before mumbling. "m' sorry or whatever..." And shook her hand sloppily. Rosie supposed that it was a start and allowed the two to work it out between them. "Good! Now you girls please play along nicely while I get your lunches together." "Yes, Ms. Rosie!" Berry said happily while Roxie didn't respond.

It had been a while of silence as Berry sat across from Roxie who still refused to talk or even look at her. Berry was beginning to feel awkward as she got up from her spot on the rug and instead started to go through a nearby chest that had a whole bunch of outfits in it! When Roxie finally saw Berry she got up, putting the teddy bear on the rug and ran over to snatch a princess wand out of berry's hand. "THATS MINE!' she said with a hiss, Berry seemed surprised at first before giggling. "H-hey! What's so funny?" Roxie asked with a stomp. "Your funny! You hiss a lot like a kitty! Ooh wait I have an idea!" Berry said as she rummaged around in the chest and bought out a pair of kitty ears before putting them on Roxies head. "I'm not a kitty! And I don't wanna be a kitty!" She said as she threw the ears off her head. Berry giggled and put on a witch hat in the box before picking up a wand and putting on an evil witch voice. "Oh but you will be a kitty! For I am the evil kitty witch and you shall be apart of my precious kitty collection!" Roxie smiled slightly, then started to giggle. Berry's tail began to wag when she heard it. "No! you won't make me into a kitty! I won't let you evil witch! Because im a..." Roxie rummaged through the pile of clothes to pull out a wizards hat. "Because im a cool wizard! And im here to stop you!" She said as she pointed a stick at Berry. "Well then wizard, try your might but you shall not defeat meeee!" Berry said as she laughed. The two girls began to chase eachother making dramatic sound effects as well as pretending they were having the most awesome magic battle to ever exist. As Rosie stopped by the room to check on them, she saw the two playing and smiled. "Oh, what the power of dress up can do!".

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jacarandaaaas · 5 months ago

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If baby moana can do THAT

How old is she her?! 10 months old at best?! I'll be nice and she's a year old but that takes real intelligence for someone so young. If she can do that, I'm sure she can weave just about anything she puts her mind to. And what if weaving was one thing Mirabel didn't know how to do/struggle with, and Moana made it her MISSION to teach her. Y'know, just as a friend...heh...nothing more.

But back to the Daycare au, I agree that it should be in a more modern setting. I also agree that it should be for the summer but mostly weekends.

Both teens are the most FAVORITE daycare attendants/babysitters of the kids (don't tell the other sitters that).

The first time the older attendants saw Mirabel they thought she had at least two cups of coffee, but Camilo was like- "No, that's just who she is"

The bags are a little but not enough to be a nuisance.

Both are fluent in ASL and SSL. Mirabel can speak basic Japanese and Camilo can speak basic French.

I don't know a lot of kids, but I've read somewhere that the best way to speak to a kid is by crouching down to their or sitting on your knees. Doing that shows you see the kid as a person and not someone to just talk down to or order around.

I can see Mirabel and Camilo doing this, especially when they see the kid having a hard time emotionally.

Both know rowdy kids are rowdy for a reason. The first step is to try to get them to calm down so the kid can explain why they are upset. 9 out of 10 times it works.

Other times the best solution is to get a little stern, not too much to scare the heck out of them, but to show them who's boss a little bit. If nothing is wrong with and the kid is just being a jerk they go to the unhappy corner.

Camilo HATES discipling the kids with a passion. Even if the punishments are very light it still hurts them. Seeing their little pouts is cute but still makes him sad.

The only kind of punishment that a bad kid will get is going to sleep early (which we all know kids can't stand) or going in the unhappy corner.

I think the most kids they should handle should be about 15 at a time, even that's a bit much.

Mirabel more than likely made stuffed animals/mochilas for kids that are frequent at the daycare. Why wouldn't she?

Both don't tolerate Karen's/disrespectful parents. It takes restraint not to tackle those people to the ground. And I have a feeling child service has been called more than once. These two don't play when it comes to kids.

These two come home covered in glitter, stickers, and marker drawings all over their clothes. Thankfully all three of those things are removable/washable.

I'll think I'll draw their uniforms; They'll have a teacher/kid core vibe to them. Mature but fun.

Also, I didn't know Mirabel's bag was called a mochila, so thanks for that.

omg wait your mind>>> moana sucking at most arts and crafts but being amazing at weaving and mirabel being amazing at arts and crafts but this is the one thing she can’t get!! I can totally see moana teaching her!! would be so cute😭 the kids are just shocked that THE art girl mirabel cant do it!? they thought she could make literally anything!

omg mirabel is absolutely that one person who’s just wired to the moon at 8am😭 nobody understands how she has so much energy even without caffeine! them knowing multiple languages is interesting! can totally see them both being really good at understanding the kids emotional needs! and as mirabel says camilo won’t stop till he makes you smile today! The unhappy corner😭😭 that sounds like a corny name only miss mirabel madrigal could come up with😭🙏 I love that! yes agreed they shouldn’t be dealing with a lot of kids as after all they’re still kids themselves! mirabel making custom plushies for them omg!! she would! she would ask what color and all! glitter absolutely EVERYWHERE!!! but they never complain! in fact I think mirabel is more obsessed with the glitter than the kids are💀and ooh yes would love to see their outfits!! and no problem! this au sounds so fun and silly!

#encanto #encanto disney #disneys encanto #mirabel madrigal #disney’s encanto #camilo madrigal #my asks <3 #thank u for the ask!!#mirabel encanto

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phoebehalliwell · 23 days ago

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which colors do you think each sister looks best in

ooh good question i am very fond of prue in warmer greens (like her tanktop in they’re everywhere) and i really like her in blues and white her white dress + denim jacket from ex libris come to mind and her cute white i think it was off the shoulder too from reckless abandon when her hair was curled. to die for. that was pair with a super cute boho skirt too i like when she got more bohemian with it. if i’m to pick a color category. i mean obvi she looks great it black but i’m never like oh my god yes she’s in black. i like blues and greens i think that’s my final answer. and white she looks really good in white.

love love Love piper in some earth tones love her in like a burgundy maroon love her in brown leather rich warmer colors are always so great on her. rn i’m picturing the burgundy she had on in the super hero episode. witches in tights. and her leather jacket(s?) in trial by magic and we’re off to see the wizard. and long live the queen too i think she wears brown and she looks great. also i know i just said black isn’t a wow color for prue but it kinda is for piper - i think maybe bc it’s a rarity? but her club look at the end of lucky charmed and her i’m a badass look in a witch’s tail pt 2 are both serves. not to mention p baxters black flapper dress w the dark brown lip hello!

for phoebe it's tricky because i feel like she does look so good in every color they put her in red a lot which was fine orange didn't get enough glory even tho she would rock that shit (thinking specifcally of her outfit in primrose empath - some may call it red but to me it is orange) i wish we got to see her in more yellow olive green specifically is a great color because she has more mediterranean coloring but it doesn't quite fit her vibe but that olive green bikine with the gold body jewelry in the s6 premeire hello? what's next on the color list blue. i liked her in teals because again that really works with her skin tone but i don't love royal blues. purple was also hit or miss but there were def some hits like her top at the club at the end of scry hard a pale lilac super cute. pink was also hit or miss because sometimes they'd go too pastel and it made her look way too tan but like her dress as piper's bridesmaid was super cute and her dress on her blind date with jason was super cute. but you know what my final answer is? white. she always looks sooo good with her olive tone in a clean white with gold jewelry i'm thinking her off the should top with gold hoops in love's a witch and her (granted, off white) sweater with the lil blue flowers in bride and gloom her white tank top with peach and pink i think in vahalley of the dolls pt 2 her white skirt with a denim off the should that we saw for like three seconds in forget me not. final answer white and teal <3

emerald and ruby!!!!! paige looks soooo good in the rich, cool jewel tones, especially in silk she's so striking with her pale skin and dark hair (when she had reb/blonde hair i did really love when she wore peach and pinks) but like her green top at the club in size matters when they heal the p3 sign her vampire red fit her red corset top in total makeover world edition. my jewel toned queen <3

#charmed #💌#prue halliwell #piper halliwell #phoebe halliwell #paige matthews

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sin-cognito · 10 months ago

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Ooh, how about Swapfell Red bros in C2 and D2? Or Fellswap Gold with E2 and A2. Maybe with some color palette adjustments if that'd look better.

Right before hitting send, I realized I didn't specify which outfit for which brother. And yknow what... that's fine. :D

Sorry for the wait, I also couldn't decide which outfit to give which brother so uhh... You get all of them.

Alright, on a more serious note, the Fellswap Gold was pretty easy to figure out, I really don't see Coffee wearing E2! XDD And he looks good with a hoodie on. Meanwhile, deciding which outfit to give to the Swapfell brothers really was a struggle. I can see them wearing both, but with different settings. In the first one, Black is your typical edgelord while Slim is this awkward and shy but very eager puppydog who likes to wear comfy clothes. But in the other one, you can imagine it's Black's day off so he allows himself to wear something casual, while Slim like to look tough and like a bad boy to warn off potential danger (AKA people who will try to flirt with Black).

Anyway, they took time (and I went back to work last week as well so less time to finish these) but I'm really happy with all 3! I had fun (except that moment when I realized I forgot to draw the choker around Slim's neck so I had to copypaste it from the other illustration XD)

#Cognito art #Black #Slim #Wine #Coffee #Swapfell #Fellswap Gold #Swapfellcest #FellswapGoldcest #SF!Sans #SF!Papyrus #FSG!Sans #FSG!Papyrus #I wasn't sure what kind of body type I should give Wine #so I just... went with the flow #and the flow gave him a toned upper half with massive hips #eh #why not #I still have 1 request (from me to me)

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emmy-dekarios-bg3 · 3 months ago

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Dad Gale is my favorite. This is basically how I imagine him.

Baby spits up:

Gale: “My love! What is this?! Is she okay? I am worried sick! Oh my poor baby, daddy has you…Oh no, there’s MORE! We need to go see a healer right now!”

Emmy: “Gale, honey, it’s just spit up. It happens!”

Gale: “is it normal? I may have accidentally skipped this section in the baby books.”

Emmy: “Yes my love, it’s totally normal.”

Picking out the baby’s outfit:

Gale: “Ooh, I do quite like the purple onesie… Or what about a purple dress? Purple is definitely her color. Or maybe I’m biased because I just love purple. Though, I’ll admit, green really makes her brown eyes pop. Now, a giant bow should suit her too. Mmm…okay that one is a little too big… But this one isn’t big enough…”

Emmy: *facepalms*

Changing a diaper:

Gale: “Okay so, maybe I can have mage hand do this for me—“

Emmy: “Gale.”

Gale: “Right. Probably not suitable for this exact occasion, it could lead to a very messy and repulsive disaster. Okay so I just open up the tabs— Good GODS, that is rancid!”

Emmy: “I’ll hold your nose while you get her cleaned up.”

Gale: “Alright, diaper is back on, she is clean, all is well. Oh no…”

Emmy: “what?”

Gale: “I put it on backwards.”

Missing the baby cuddles:

Emmy: “My dear, she needs to sleep.”

Gale: “I know, I know. It’s late, but I really want to just peek in there and make sure she’s alright. Maybe there’s an off chance she’s awake and I can just snatch her up and hold her. I love her so much.”

Emmy: *smiles*

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #dad Gale #wizard of waterdeep #bg3 gale

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a-lonely-dunedain · 2 months ago

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1, 3, 4, 8, 23, 30, and/or 33 for Margim and Celeair, if any of these tickle your fancy?

ooh ok! that's a lot lol, but these look fun!

1."are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?"

oh I color code most of my characters! once they've been around long enough they all usually get assigned one. Margim is burgundy and Celeair is silvery blue, I tend to draw them with outfits heavily featuring their respective colors.

3. "weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?"

Margim's weapon is a spiked mace, suited to brutal attacks that kill quickly and messily. She didn't exactly choose it, but it was the only thing available to her in Thorzhaf so she just had to get good at killing with it. Really good at killing with it. Celeair has no weapon, as he's a pacifist with no combat skills. As a loremaster he occasionally requires a staff, but only rarely as he doesn't need it for healing (which is most of what he does), so he doesn't usually carry one with him unless to use as a walking stick.

4. "how crafty/resourceful are they?"

as far as fighting is concerned, Margim is used to doing battle in a controlled environment, the same bridge in the same setting day in and day out, so fighting elsewhere might have taken her a little getting used to. As such she's still getting the hang of using her environment to her advantage, as she tends to fall into the habit of seeing her foe through a kind of tunnel vision and not focusing on much else. She has a very blunt and uncomplicated approach to problem solving, usually being "hit it with a mace til it stops being a problem, and if that doesn't work, ask Celeair what to do."

Now I would say Celeair is very resourceful! Between the two of them, he's usually the one with ideas (though he always values Margim's input whenever she gives it). Very 'think on his feet' kinda guy rather than 'plan every part in advance' so he's pretty adaptable even when things go awry.

8. "do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?"

well I know Margim is sometimes shortened to Mar by Elain, but there's not really much meaning behind it besides "we're friends and I shorten my friends names :>" (Margim certainly prefers it over any title she earned in Thorzhaf)

Celeair is sometimes called Cel (pronounced "Kel" bc this is still a Sindarin C) by his brother. I also feel like Elain would have a sort of nickname for him that isn't derived from his real name, maybe something that started out as a joke but kinda stuck, but nothing has jumped out at me yet.

23. "how would you describe their voice? can they sing?"

Celeair's voice is clear and gentle, and I think he can sing rather well! Margim's voice is quiet, low and almost rumbling at times. It can be a bit husky as well due to how little she speaks. I don't think she's ever tried to sing.

30. "do they smell like anything notable?"

hmm, I never gave much thought to how they would smell. I suppose Celeair would smell pretty strongly of medicinal herbs, but the exact composition can vary depending on what he's been working with. It'd range anywhere from the sweet and fresh (almost minty) smell of Athelas to bright fir needles and pungent poultices. The man basically smells like a walking herb store, which I guess makes sense considering he spends most of his time in such places.

As for Margim, first thing that came to mind was that she smells vaguely smokey? Can't think of a logical reason she would smell that way, at least post-Mordor, besides just *gestures vaguely* vibes™. Maybe smokey and spicy? (some of Celeair's herb smells rubbed off on her. from all the cuddling <3)

33. "if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them."

well considering Bitter Ash is written from both Celeair and Margim's PoVs, we kinda already know how they'd describe one another, so let's see what my other guys have to say about them! (they have at least met once after all)

Ethedis: likes Celeair a lot, sees him as a very capable healer with an agreeable demeanor. Instantly clocks that this dude has MAXED out his charisma stat, as it wouldn't be easy for just any Gondorian to be welcomed into Dunlanding village like this, and that he's much wiser than his easygoing exterior first lets on. Thinks he would be unstoppable if he honed his offensive Loremaster skills, but understands that hurting anyone would be against his principles. She wishes she could have gotten by on the same path, but the world demanded different things from them.

She was initially wary of Margim, as most people are upon first meeting her, but seeing the genuine trust Celeair has for Margim put her at ease somewhat. She's actually not intimidated by her at all (though she might have been if they met earlier), and is heartened to find such an unexpected and powerful ally. She's difficult for even Ethedis to read, but she got the impression that Margim holds a lot of pain in her past and that Mordor is to blame for it. She'll be the last person in Dunland they need to worry about falling under the sway of the Enemy.

Tossdir: was very wary of Margim upon first meeting and was slower to trust her than Ethedis was, mostly due to past experience with a certain Man of Mordor (*cough* Mordrambor *cough*) messing with his head that one time. I think once he's certain she's on their side and hates the forces of Mordor as much as they do, he would see her as the archetypal 'shady loner with a mysterious past' but he can tell she cares a great deal for the people of the Stag-Clan, and for this random Gondorian who's here too for some reason (he does NOT clock that they are madly in love. so oblivious it's almost embarrassing). He's curious about her past, but understands she wouldn't take kindly to him trying to pry into it, so he keeps a respectable distance. Even if they aren't friends, she's still a foe of Mordor and Isengard, and that at least, makes them allies. Still kinda wishes he knew what her whole deal was...

Speaking of Celeair, I honestly think Tossdir was too distracted by Margim to pay much mind to him in the short time they spent in Trum Dreng lmao. He's a bit odd, like Ethedis in some ways, but seemed like a nice enough guy. Tossdir couldn't say much more about him than that tho.

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maddy-k-reads-all-day · 3 months ago

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School Shopping Chapter 2

Part 2 of my little Piper the Mouse introduction fanfic! Hope you enjoy it.

"We better hurry, the mall is going to be open soon!" Piper beams.

"The Mall?" Amanda and Wooly look at each other with confusion.

“Well duh, where else will we get school clothes?” Piper asks.

“Let me just get my backpack-” “You don’t need that old thing, we’ll get you a new one!” she grins, pushing the kids out the door. They trail behind Piper nervously as she skips and hums through the neighborhood. Now that I think about it… the neighborhood looks… a lot different today. Amanda thinks to herself. Indeed it was. Suddenly there were many new buildings Amanda had never seen before. The world seemed to sparkle within a new higher resolution as well. What is Hameln scheming now? She wondered. “We’re here!” Piper sang, showing off the mall with big jazz hands. There was, in fact, a giant mall in front of them. Wait a minute. Why do we need school clothes? We don’t even go to school! Amanda realizes. Piper stands in front of the automatic doors and they open. The trio goes inside. Amanda and Wooly gaze in awe as the multi-floor shopping mall towers over their heads.

“First, we’re going to need to get some new school clothes!” Piper prompts, looking towards Amanda. In front of them stood three stores. Each had a different picture on its sign. A shirt, a pencil, and a chair.

“Ah, right. Do you know where we can find the clothing store?” she asks. As directed, Riley picks the shirt. “Great job! I wonder what kinds of outfits we can find?”

They enter the clothing store and are met with an array of colorful clothes on different racks.

“Wow, so many colors.” Wooly remarks, “What’s your favorite color?”

Riley types in their answer.

“Ooooh I like that color too.” Amanda nods, clapping her hands together.

“Me too, can you guess what my favorite color is?” Piper asks. It wasn’t hard to guess, considering Piper’s entire outfit was a feminine reddish-pink. Riley, deciding to troll a bit types in blue.

“That’s a pretty color, but it’s not my favorite.” she answers. Then they type in orange. “Nuh-uh. Good guess though. I’ll give you a hint, look at my outfit.” Green. “Does this look like-” she takes a deep breath, “Aww so close, try again.” Finally (against their will) Riley types in pink. “That’s right. Pink! Pink is my favorite color!” she beams. She pauses and thinks to herself for a moment. “You know what Amanda? I think pink would look really good on you.”

“But I don’t like pink.” Amanda replies.

“Aww come on! At least try it!” she begs. “I know!” She turns to the screen. “Can you find me a pink shirt that Amanda would look really cute in?” Riley who is still in the mood for trolling, picks a red one. “Close, try again.” Then a black one.

“Ooh! I like that one!” Amanda smiles.

“But we’re looking for pink.” Piper retorts. Riley clicks on a yellow shirt. “What are you, colorblind?” she snaps.

“That’s not very nice!” Wooly scolds.

“Yeah, what if they actually are colorblind?” Amanda adds, “That’s not their fault!”

“Ah, my bad. How about this, I’ll help you. The pink one is right here!” she smiles, her whiskers twitching a bit. Riley, without much choice, picks the pink one.

“But I don’t want this one.” Amanda pouts, “I want the black one.” Wooly looks over at the shirt in question. It’s a black shirt with a screaming skeleton-apple. It kind of freaks him out.

“C’mon Amanda this one would look so cute on you!”

“But-” “Please Amanda? For me?” Piper pleads.

“She said she wants the black one.” Wooly snaps. Piper’s eyes grow wide in surprise.

“Fine.” She sighs. “We’ll get both.”

They then head to the pants section. There lies an array of pants, shorts, and skirts.

“Oooh, look at all these choices! I can’t decide!” Piper squeals.

“What do you think I should get?” Amanda asks Riley. Riley picks the shorts. “Hmm… I wear shorts all the time but okay-” “I think you should get a skirt!” Piper interrupts. Amanda glares at her.

“Won’t it be too cold to wear shorts or skirts in the fall?” Wooly questions. Piper rolls her eyes.

“Fine. I’ll go get some skirts for myself.” She pouts, walking the other way. Amanda and Wooly go look at the pants.

“I don’t like that mouse girl.” Amanda sighs.

“Me neither. She’s really bossy.” Wooly agrees. That’s rich coming from you. Amanda thinks to herself. But she lets it go. Wooly hasn't been as annoying today.

“Which pants should I pick?” Amanda asks. Riley notices her eyeing a pair of dark gray ripped jeans and picks those. “Yay! I really like these ones! Thanks!”

“Have you made your choice?” Piper suddenly reappears, causing the duo to flinch, they quickly nod. She looks at the jeans and winces. “Finally, let’s get you some jewelry!”

“We don’t need jewelry.” Amanda sighs.

“Let’s get you some jewelry.” Piper repeats. Suddenly they’re in the jewelry store. “What sort of jewelry will go with Amanda’s outfit?” She asks, holding up a cutesy pink shirt and skirt. Amanda winces.

“Actually, our friend picked out this outfit, not that one.” Wooly objects.

"But the script-" she says glaring at Wooly, causing him to flinch and nervously look to the ground. She smiles to herself. "C'mon friend, we don't have all day." She says to Riley, tapping her foot. The options available are a black choker with an apple charm, some pink hair ribbons, a peach bead bracelet and a sparkly necklace. Riley selects the choker.

"Are you sure? I think these ribbons would go well-"

"Our friend picked the choker." Wooly said harshly.

“No no no! You’re supposed to pick the ribbons! Urgh! This episode is going SO off script.” Piper groans, glaring at Wooly before regaining her composure. “C’mon Amanda! Let’s try on your new outfit!” She takes Amanda's hand and drags her along toward the changing room. She's strong. Too strong. I can't get free! Amanda thinks, panic runs through her mind. I'm trapped...

"Wooly..." she whimpers, looking back with uncertainty. Please Wooly... just this once? she pleads in her mind. Wooly tries to follow but Piper whips him a cold glare.

“Boys aren’t allowed in the girls dressing room, remember?” Wooly stops in his tracks. He knew he needed to do something, say something. But his legs are frozen and the words just won't come out. He watches in defeat as they disappear into the dressing room area. I knew he wouldn't save me... he never does. Amanda walks into the dressing room and Piper hands her the clothes she picked out and closes the door.

"Let me know if you need help with anything!" she sings. Amanda looks at the pink clothes with disgust. Maybe I used to like clothes like this but... this isn't me anymore... she thinks to herself. She thinks about Wooly... about how he just stood there and did nothing. He always does this. He pretends he's my friend... he helps me out sometimes and then when I really need him he just- he either does nothing or gets in my way. Seriously, what is his deal?!

"Are you done?" Piper asks. Amanda opens the door in nods. They come out of the dressing room, Amanda wearing an obnoxiously pink and frilly outfit.

“Perfect.” Piper beams. But Amanda looks miserable. Wooly makes up his mind.

“Forget this.” He picks up the clothes Amanda picked out and drags her back into the dressing room area.

"Wooly?" Amanda says in confusion.

“This isn’t like you Wooly.” Piper says coldly glaring right into his soul. A shiver runs up his spine, but he hands Amanda the clothes, pushes her in and closes the door behind her. She’s right. This isn’t like me at all. He thinks to himself, We’re supposed to stay on script… we’re supposed to stay on script or else something bad will happen. He looks around the room. He sees glitches of the butcher's shop. Please… not this… I’m sorry I just… why did I- then he remembers Amanda’s sad face. We don’t deserve this… why can’t things just go right… please… just let things go right for us… for her just this once.

First:

#amanda the adventurer #amanda the adventurer 2 #wooly the sheep #amanda the adventurer wooly #ata 2 #maddykpost #piper the mouse #fanfiction #fanfic

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