#stock show boutique

[zriasstuff]

Second chances?- Lorenzo Berkshire x reader

Here’s the sequel to “First impressions”, involving some karma for our “innocent” boy Lorenzo Berkshire (ft. Draco Malfoy).

I want to thank everyone who interacted with pt.1 and I am especially grateful for the supportive comments, which motivated me to write this second part in the first place. I hope I managed to tag everyone, and enjoy :)

“Mhmm, Enzo you’re so amazing”, you whisper in between hungry kisses with him, while his hands were in the process of removing your dress. “No, you are”, he says while gently sucking your neck, leaving behind a trail of red marks. Everything felt so perfect, that you could spend hours doing this with him in his bed. In all the excitement, your skin was even burning up, and you felt the sweat beads forming on your forehead, but all of a sudden you feel yourself having difficulties breathing.

You abruptly push yourself away from Enzo, gasping for air, and look around the room. The flames of the lit candles started rising, turning the room to a hot, steaming oven. Instantly you start panicking, wanting to escape, but you accidentally knock over a candle behind you. As you scream in fear, attempting to put the huge fire out, everything has already turned pitch black, leaving you with red horror in your eyes.

With a terrible sweat, your eyes snap open again, taking in the environment you were in. Slowly, you come to your senses again and calmly reassess the situation. The room wasn’t on fire. You were completely safe. And Enzo definitely wasn’t here. It had just been a bad dream. Hurriedly you chug down the glass of water which stood on your nightstand and rub your pained face. Even in your sleep that bastard found a way to make you feel miserable. For what it was worth, now you could scheme your revenge in peace, since beforehand you just processed all your feelings. During the hurtful and exhausting soul searching, you fell asleep, which meant you hadn’t come up with anything yet.

It was indeed harder to scheme than you imagined. You needed to go at this systematically. First of all, you tried to lay out all the events that happened— Enzo approached you in a boutique on purpose, then bought you ten expensive dresses, then acted all chivalrous towards you, only for it to have been a part of his calculated plan. He just wanted an obedient and starstruck girl who would obsess over him and fulfill his needs. Then he would’ve probably thrown you aside like some old toy, who was no longer of use to him.

Now to the current situation—he doesn’t know you overheard his “boys talk”, in which he revealed his wicked intentions. Enzo still thinks you are infatuated with him, and that you have this wonderful impression of him. And, he most likely expects to see you tomorrow, hoping to be able to show you off like a trophy. As of right now, you held all the unknown information about him, but not the other way around. After having structured all the events, which took a few minutes, the wheels in your brain finally began to spin and web a net of deceitful plans.

…

You wake up the next morning with gleaming sun rays shining directly into your eyes and a mild headache. Of course thinking that much about sinful activities would give you a migraine. Nonetheless, it was time to pretend nothing happened yesterday and to dress yourself up.

Since it was a Monday, you didn’t have the chance to wear the dresses you acquired yesterday, but you did allow your uniform skirt to ride up a little higher than usual. You buttoned up your shirt a bit more loose, and really let your legs shine with that bunched up skirt and delicate stockings.

In class you felt your male classmates ogling at you for the first time ever. Their eyes lingered on your body for just a few seconds longer, which was seemingly insignificant, but it revealed a lot about them. One of them even asked to sit next to you with the hope of convincing you to spend the break with him. This just proved yet again that guys were only after one thing. You were merely an object, which would only be given attention if you performed for the male gaze. While it was unsettling, it was also sadly your goal, and if it worked on these guys, it would surely work on others too.

After what felt like an eternity, you were finally released and could go into your break. There wasn’t much time to waste, you would have to find Enzo’s friend group within twenty minutes. With a heavy bag in hand, you hurriedly walk to the courtyard, where you luckily see Enzo by a tall tree with Draco, Theo, and Blaise. You loathed all of them.

Courageously, while your heart and mind were both under huge panic, you walk up behind Enzo and greet him with a warm side hug. His friends all smugly stand there, observing your excellent acting, which of course they thought was real. Hiding your hate was truly difficult under these circumstances. Their looks also almost seemed derogatory towards you, not to your surprise. You wondered what else Enzo had said after you left, after all you didn’t even get to hear everything.

“H-Hey, what are you doing here?”, a surprised Enzo asks while returning the hug graciously.

“Oh I just wanted to see you”, you forcefully pout in a sweet tone whilst twirling a strand of hair. “I’m feeling a lot better than yesterday now, I think I just had a slight migraine after dinner”, you add to alleviate any suspicion he might have.

“Well, I’m glad to see you”, he says before planting a peck on your forehead. “I’m hoping to see you at the quidditch game against Hufflepuff today, which will certainly be a piece of cake”, Enzo raises his voice. That would be perfect for his ego wouldn’t it? Winning a game and being cheered on by a beautiful girl.

“Of course I’ll be there, I want to see all of you playing and winning”, you direct yourself to the group. That wasn’t the only reason though. And oddly enough all of them were on the team. They really were just a bunch of jocks.

“Actually I’m not”, Draco joins in. He quickly explains that he has a hand injury, which forbade him from playing. Otherwise he would never ever miss out. You didn’t care about his passion for quidditch though, him joining the conversation presented you with the opportunity you were waiting for.

Your react to his comment by cutely batting your eyelashes at him and respond sympathetically with “awe, that’s too bad since you play really well, I hope you’ll get better soon”. Draco’s following nervous chuckle showed how off guard he got caught by that statement. Considering that you were supposedly Enzo’s girl, it felt queasy on him. Though, he appreciated the compliment anyway. It made him feel validated, something he seeked from everyone around him. Besides you caught him shamelessly staring at your arched chest and falling for your flirting antics.

On the other hand, Enzo looked insanely confused and like he was about to say something after your obvious pass at his best friend. But he barely got a word out because you excused yourself immediately after dropping that. You don’t know if he attempted to chase you, but he did pretty much leave you alone.

The rest of your day went quite smoothly too, and luckily you didn’t run into Enzo again. The quidditch game would be after dinner though, so you deliberately sat a little further from his group to not risk any awkward encounters.

…

“Slytherin is totally going to win” was the sentence you heard all the way to the bleachers. Having to hear that repeatedly got a little annoying, but it was also true. Everyone knew your team was super skilled, and that only Harry was the natural that could wipe out everyone. But it didn’t really matter who would win most of the time for you. The atmosphere was always immaculate. All the students forgetting about their stress and just huddling together, to scream, to cheer, to laugh was what made the games so magical.

But tonight, you were also looking for something, or rather someone else. And after some seconds of searching, there he was. Standing tall and proud, wind blowing through his platinum blonde hair, grinning and clapping others on their backs— the one and only Draco Malfoy. Cheerily you approach him from behind, greeting him with an unexpected hug.

“Woah, what’s gotten into you?”, Draco startlingly asks, looking down on you rather delightfully though. As you prepared to answer, you felt several pairs of eyes on you, as you looked unfamiliar to many people. “Nothing”, you say innocently, “can’t I just be in a cheerful mood?”

“I suppose”, Draco sounds out slowly and a bit warily, but he guessed he had no reason to be rejecting you. After all he did think you were sorta cute. You were pure blood, slytherin and approached him at first after all, so why not engage in some small talk. Besides, it would also be like doing a favor for Enzo.

During the thrilling game, the constant screams from all sides were making you a bit too nauseous, but that’s only because Slytherin scored so much too. Hufflepuff wasn’t doing too bad, but certainly not good enough. In enough time, Draco’s replacement caught the snitch, therefore ending the exciting game.

“I bet I could’ve caught it way sooner if I was on the field”, Draco arrogantly states for everyone to hear. Still, he obviously cheered for his friends who did an amazing job. They now zoomed all around the field on their brooms, high-fiving all their supporters, and just when Enzo flew close to your stands, you turned around to look into Draco’s pompous face.

As he was still talking with a friend, you quickly grab his jaw toward you, go on your tippy toes and smash your lips onto his. It all happened so fast, he didn’t even realize what was happening at first.

When Enzo flew past you guys, he stopped mid air, shocked at what he was seeing. Even from far above the kissing was visible.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING”, he yells at you two, lips still hung onto each others ever so slightly.

Draco’s mouth gapes wide open at Enzo’s rage, immediately trying to explain that it wasn’t his fault. As for you—instead of replying, you simply shrug innocently, blinking up at him with your doe eyes as if you had no idea why he was so mad. Still fuming at your act of defiance, Enzo aggressively steers his broom towards the ground. There was no use leading a conversation mid air for everyone to hear, so as soon as he stepped foot on the ground, he made his way towards you.

Since this was exactly what you planned, you made it a little easier for him and met him halfway, behind the stadium. You left the bleachers during celebration with a confused Draco following you, who thought you were drunk or high or something. You neither confirmed nor denied it which just scared him all the more.

Within seconds of colliding with Enzo, he aggressively cups your face, forcing you to look up at him. “You think this is funny you little dumb whore, huh?”, he spitefully spits in your face. Those insults admittedly stung harder than expected. There was no time for regrets though, you had to pull through with your vengeance.

“You didn’t think I was actually committed to you right?”, you quite literally ridiculed him. “C’mon, I mean you’re nice and all, but you can’t compete with Draco”. The very same must have an overflowing ego at the moment, but he also felt incredibly bad for Enzo.

“So you’re telling me you never actually liked me and just used me to get close to my friends?” It wasn’t a real question, he didn’t want an answer, he just couldn’t quite believe it yet. That someone would exploit him like that seemed impossible to him. In that moment he was infuriated with you and in complete disbelief.

This was it. This was supposed to be the plan, which you carried out flawlessly. But something felt unfinished. Enzo hadn’t admitted his faults yet after all.

“Why do you care who I kiss anyway, it’s not like I was your girlfriend”, you sigh. He had let go of your face now, and you rubbed your slightly hurt jaw. Meanwhile Draco had also slipped out, not wanting to get into the middle of this tense situation.

“Who said I cared”, he scoffed. His pride was obviously hurt.

"Seriously?" If you didn’t you wouldn’t have made such a huge scene and chased me down. And don’t tell me you don’t like seeing me kiss other guys because we are not together” You felt like you had to remind him of that last part repeatedly because it was crucial that he was aware of that.

When coming up with your plan to hurt him, you calculated that he was a man of pride and power and control. He could always have several girls, but his girls could only have him, even if he wasn’t committed. Enzo was used to this working because he was charming enough. So, this is how you knew that this would attack him on a personal level. Besides he was so sure that you only had eyes for him, which made him feel all the more stupid.

After listening to you, and your reality check he didn’t come up with anything to say. He wouldn’t admit that he was the one who manipulated you first, but on a deep subconscious level, he knew you knew. He pegged you as the type of person who would only bite back, not attack first.

As you watched his frenzied expression, you knew that you got what you wanted. Enzo felt incredibly bad, foolish, and exposed, and you restored your own dignity. So, why was a part of you feeling extremely guilty? The feeling of remorse rapidly consumed you, like you couldn’t live with yourself from this point on. You weren’t the villain, but why did watching this unfold weigh so hard on you?

And before you could even stop yourself, you blurt out many incredibly rushed sentences. Enzo didn’t seem to catch any of that so you catch your breath and repeat again slowly.

“I’m so sorry, you know I don’t actually like Draco and kissing him was definitely not my intention when I got close to you. But you have to know, I overheard that you just wanted to use me and that you didn’t care about me at all, so this was supposed to be your karma I guess.” It felt relieving to have that off your consience. You didn’t exactly plan for this to happen, for you to chicken out, but it felt like the more mature thing to do.

“Wow, I guess I deserved that.”, Enzo owned up to his actions, which surprised you a little. He, after a long pause, follows up with “what are the chances we’re both evil, lying, schemers”. It lifted up the cold tension a little, and you smile ever so slightly.

“Well one of us is worse than the other”, you begrudgingly say. Truthfully, you both simply weren’t saints.

“I guess that’s true. But I like to think that our unusual, yet interesting way of meeting means something.” What was Enzo leading up to, you wonder. This was definitely not how you thought this would go.

“By any chance, would you be willing to give this mess a second chance?”

“Wha-”

“Because I am”, Enzo said expressively. In the most unfortunate way ever, this—against your will, brought back your deeper feelings for him. How you actually felt loved by him and how he made you feel butterflies in your stomach every time he complimented you. But you felt like saying yes would be too rushed, too impulsive.

“Enzo, I don’t even know if I can trust you or if this is just way for you to get back at me”

“I get that”, he responds understandingly, “but just so you know, after having seen this side of you, I’m starting to genuinely like you more which is kinda sick”. It was sick, but you understand where he was coming from. The last two days were filled with adrenaline rushes and felt like an emotional rollercoaster, which was better than boredom and habit.

“Good night, Enzo”, you whisper, before turning around and leaving him all alone out of uncertainty. On your way back to your dorm, the question of whether you should give this a second chance drove you crazy.

@nat1221 @hoeforvinniehackerrr @mildly-delulu @breeistired @helpimhopelesslyinlove @hemlockmuncher (people who asked to be tagged :))

[beautifullache]

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[esmedelacroix]

25 days til' Christmas

going toy shopping and running into singleparent!miguel o'hara ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

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One more gift. You just had one more gift to get for your daughter. Two more minutes until you arrived at the only boutique in town that had it in stock. Three more sets and you are at the door. Then, there you saw it. The last Lego Ninjago set in the world. Four strides and you were in front of it. You quickly got your hands on it. But just as it was in your hands it was gone. Someone had snatched it away.

You whipped your head around to see the tallest and most handsome thief ever. Sorry good looking but that Lego set is mine, you thought to yourself as you swiftly tried to take it back from him.

That behemoth of a man dared to hold the toy above his head. "Hey, this isn't fair give that back!" you exclaimed, jumping as high as you could trying to snatch it. He even looked amused by your efforts.

"I took it first, so it's mine," he explained.

"No! I touched it first!" you said poking a finger into his chest naturally.

"You touched it with one hand, I touched it with two," he counted. Around you burn the flaming aura of two parents who love their kids more than anything and are determined to get them this toy for them.

"Listen jackass, my kid needs to have this toy," you said, finally giving up on taking it.

"Well my daughter wants it too, can't we make this work," he questioned.

"No, we can't 'make this work', that's the last one," you argued, raising your voice a bit.

"Why don't we just organize a playdate, and have our kids build and play with the set together," he proposed. You gave it thought before nodding.

"Okay, I could do that, but I'm buying it, and we're meeting at my house," you said sternly. Once he let his guard down you snatched the set and put it behind her back.

"Alright, alright, I can work with that, here hand me your phone," he said holding his hand out. You handed him your phone and put his number in it.

"Please shoot me a text anytime this week," he says as he bids you goodbye.

"Will do, Miguel O'Hara," you said, reading his name off of your phone.

. . .

Knock! Knock! Kno—you swung the door open and greeted Miguel and his daughter with a nod. You were on the phone, your hair still wet from the shower you had just taken.

"Mariana is in the living room, I'll join you all soon," you said before walking into the kitchen seemingly arguing with someone on the phone in a hushed tone.

Once you entered the living room the girls were already working on their Legos bonding over Cole being their favorite character from the show.

You set some snacks down for them and joined Miguel on the couch watching them play together in a comfortable silence. Once the girls were done building and started making their own stories you and Miguel started chatting a bit. Other than the grudge you had against him from what happened in the store, he was kind of funny. But effortlessly, he just speaks and then wonders why you're stifling laughter.

The four of you decided to play Candyland together over gingerbread cookies and hot chocolate. Gabriella and Mariana occasionally bumped the two of you together thinking that they were being slick with their matchmaking. The two of you knew that there was a lingering flirtatious tension between the two of you and that your daughters had caught on.

In saying goodbye hours after your daughters' play session, your bodies parted but your eyes stayed connected. That connection pulled your souls together and in that moment you felt as though you could hear his thoughts, and he could hear yours. "When can I see you again?" Miguel asked after getting Gabriella into the car.

You cocked your brow at his questions. "Our daughters can see each other for another playdate over the weekend," you teased.

With that you and Miguel said goodbye. Awaiting the next time you and your kids would meet.

. . .

next part → 14 days til' Christmas

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[leighsartworks216]

The Burlesque Boutique

Astarion x gn/fem!Tav/Reader

Based on this art by @marbledgummi

I could not resist

There are two versions of this fic. Read the male/AMAB version here

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: explicit smut, crying, orgasm denial, swearing, one reference to past trauma, pegging

Word Count: 2,619

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“Dove?”

Astarion poked his head into the study. You were hunched over the desk on your side of the room, hands working away at something. The other half of the room (his half) was cluttered with sewing and jewelry supplies, half-made dresses and suits, and a stack of pillows for when he wanted to take a nap without straying too far from you. He never really imagined settling down, owning a house, but now he couldn’t imagine it being any other way.

“Did you order something from,” he glances at the box in his hand, “the ‘Burlesque Boutique’, by any chance?”

“No,” you answered. You look up from your project with a quirked brow. “Why?”

His mouth opens, about to explain. But then a wicked little idea curled around his brainstem, crooking a finger at him and tempting him toward mischief. Instead, he smiled in that way that showed he was planning something. You raise your brows higher at him. “No reason, darling.”

“Mhm.” You turn back to your work. “Don’t catch anything on fire.”

He scoffs, shouting back as he pads down the rest of the hall to the bedroom. “It was one time!” He heard you chuckle in response.

The box wasn’t big - a foot or so wide and rectangular. It also wasn’t much to look at, despite the shop’s name in script on the top suggesting something racy or scandalous. He flipped it over a few times, but there was no name. The mail carrier must have delivered it to the wrong house, or it was a lame prank from some teens.

He sighed. He really hoped it was something more than that.

He cut the silky red ribbon holding it shut with a knife he kept in his bedside table. He almost considered saving it. If the rest of this turned out to be a bust, at least he could tie your hands up with this. But the rope he had for such an act was much softer, and quite a bit stronger. So he dropped it carelessly to the side and lifted the lid.

He chuckled, delighted and utterly amused as he unfolded the tissue paper and revealed a set of pink and white lingerie. The top was a sheer negligee with thin straps and a little bow that would rest prettily between a pair of breasts. Long, white stockings were folded beneath it, with a matching garter belt to keep them up.

Oh, this was… He could just picture you wearing it, all dolled up just for him.

And then the thought turned back on him.

What if he got all dolled up for you? He wasn’t a stranger to wearing feminine clothing - you’d particularly enjoyed him in the Wavemother’s robe. Testing the thought, he lifted the negligee by the straps and held it up to his chest. It looked like it would fit…

He started to lower it back into the box when something else caught his eye. He placed it on the bed instead and moved the stocking out of the way and- Oh. Oh gods. A pretty pair of panties hidden at the bottom of the box, the same pink as the negligee and with a little ribbon of its own.

Now, how could he resist?

-

You didn’t jump when arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind, so used to Astarion’s habit of sneaking up just for affection. He pressed like kisses to the side of your neck as he peered over your shoulder.

Your hands worked diligently on your project. Astarion pressed another kiss just below your ear, where he whispered, “Can you spare a moment, darling? I wish to show you something.”

You hum, taking in his words but too focused to answer. Once you find a good moment to stop, you set everything down and turn your head to look at him. “What is it, star?”

He grins deviously as he captures your lips, cupping your cheek and keeping you in place. He’d hate to spoil the surprise.

He doesn’t pull away as he sidles around your chair. You sigh quietly into his mouth when he parts your lips with his tongue. The sound alone makes his cock twitch, pressed tightly against the lace of the panties that keep it in place. He groans quietly.

Dexterous as ever, he sits himself on your lap easily, straddling your legs. You automatically reach up to support him, hands landing on his hips to keep him from sliding off, but then your eyes shoot open.

He’s smirking when you pull away with wide eyes as you lean back to take him in. You can’t get enough. Your eyes trail all down his body, looking at his chest and stomach through the sheer pink negligee. The garter belt hugs his waist, straps reach down his thighs to hold onto the tall stockings. The matching lace panties, bulging with his growing erection. A pretty silk ribbon is tied around his neck, just below his Adam’s apple.

You look up at him in awe, all flushed with dilating pupils. “Where did you get this?”

“Somebody left a package at the door,” he explains, leaning down to kiss at your neck. You immediately give in to the attention, tilting your head to the side as you grip his thigh and tangle your fingers in his hair. “No name, no address. I expected a prank, but the temptation was too good to miss.”

He nipped at your pulse and you groaned. “Speaking of temptation.” You tugged at his hair, pulling him away from your neck. A little harder than strictly necessary, but he just grinned as his head was tipped back with the pressure. The ribbon strained against his throat. “Gods, how should I have you?”

“In any way you please, my love.”

You smirk up at him. “In any way?” You tug at his hair again, drawing a grunt of pleasure from your lover. His Adam’s apple bobbed, fully exposed and prominent. You release his hair and slide your hand to his throat. He watches through lidded eyes. With deft fingers, you pull at one end of the ribbon, and it comes apart, falling from his neck. You tap his thigh. “Get up.”

He gives you an uncertain look, almost a frown, but he complies. You stand and push him back until his ass hits the edge of the desk. He blindly reaches behind him to push your stuff back carelessly. You’re too entranced with him and the lewd images racing through your mind to care.

You grab his hip and push lightly, telling him without words what you wanted him to do. He lifts himself onto the edge. You press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Good boy.”

You step back to take him all in. Such a pretty little thing, all dressed up in someone else’s lingerie just for you.

You don’t take your eyes off his as you kneel down before him. The sight of you on your knees, face so close to his aching cock, sends a thrill down his spine. He grips onto the edge of the desk to retain some self-control.

You hold onto his legs as you begin trailing kisses along them. You kiss a line from his knee, up along the stocking, until you finally reach skin. There, you nip at the soft flesh. Closer and closer to where he needs you.

He groans above you. “You’re going to kill me at this rate,” he whines.

You grin against his skin, but don’t immediately act to provide him any relief. Instead, you kiss and bite your way to the edge of the panties. And, devil that you are, you kiss over the bulge. It twitches under your lips as Astarion hisses. You lick a stripe against it and he tenses with a strangled moan.

“Gods, please,” he begs, voice airy. “Too tight. Too tight.”

Mercifully, you pull the lace down, freeing him from his prison and tucking it under his balls. His dick was hard and sensitive. A small bead of precum already shined at the head.

“Desperate?” you tease.

He glares down at you. “Excited,” he corrects sharply. “To have your pretty little mouth around me.”

You hum, studying his dick. The longer you did nothing, the more it strained, eager to be touched, tasted, teased. You press a little kiss at the head, kitten-licking the precum away as his hips buck for more.

And then you stand. He whines.

“Bedroom. I want to take you properly.”

He wastes no time, leaping up from his seat and rushing to the bedroom. You follow after, leisurely. He sits at the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the covers to stop from touching himself. You walk around to your bedside table. “Lay down.”

His eyes never stray from you as he crawls back to the center of the bed. He swallows excitedly as you pull out a small container of oil and your strap-on. You had it specially made - everything the strap feels, you can feel, as though it is an extension of your own body.

Truth be told, Astarion doesn’t bottom very often. It can bring back bad memories, of being used, but he enjoys this immensely, and he can’t wait to be fucked by you.

You kneel by him and lean down to kiss him. It’s hot and eager, Astarion nipping and sucking as he tries to distract himself. Your hand finds his inner thigh and his hips jerk to find friction. You don’t provide him any, of course.

You pull away to kiss his neck, massaging his thigh and hip as you mark him up. “Such a good boy,” you whisper into his skin. He whines, pressing his head back into the bed. He loves your praise.

His cock is weeping and red with need when you pull away. You stand and make your way to the foot of the bed. “Back or stomach?”

Gods, thinking about either makes him keen. He has to bite his lip to form a coherent thought. “Stomach.”

“Flip over.”

He does immediately. He gets on his hands and knees, back arching in anticipation. His cock dribbles onto the sheets, but neither of you can care in this moment.

He feels the bed shift as you climb back on behind him. He tries to look back, to see what you’re doing. It’s futile. All he knows is he needs to be touched so fucking bad. It consumes his entire mind.

You slide the panties down until it’s bridging between his thighs, unable to be fully removed with the garter belt holding up the stockings. You caress one of his ass cheeks, pulling it to the side to reveal his tight asshole. You bite the other cheek, quite hard, enough to leave a slight imprint of your teeth. He lowers down to his elbows so he can press his face in his arms.

“Good?” you ask, pressing a light kiss over the reddening mark.

He nods frantically. “Don’t stop,” he whimpers.

Your hand leaves him for a moment, but he can hear the sound of the oil bottle opening. You slick your fingers and spread his cheeks once more. He can’t help the keening moan that erupts from his mouth when you rub and prod at his entrance. He tries to rock back into your fingers, to fuck himself on them, but you hold him in place.

You take your time to gently stretch him, adding one finger at a time and never going deep enough. At one point, you push your fingers as deep as they can go and he sobs into his arms.

When you think he’s ready, you slick your strap with more oil, sitting up on your knees and grabbing onto his hips with both hands. He’s a mess, pressing into you against his will. He needs you inside him.

You coo sweetly to him. “Don’t worry, my love, I’ve got you. You’re so pretty like this.” You line up your strap with his asshole and slowly, so fucking slowly, push in. He groans and keens and makes all sorts of lovely noises. He grips at the bedsheets and squirms slightly as you fill him. “So fucking gorgeous. My good boy. So good.”

You still when your hips are flush with his ass. He whines and tries to press back again, but there’s nothing more to take. He is completely full of your cock.

You roll your hips and he gasps, babbling to beg you to move, to fuck him. You shush him as you slowly pull your strap almost all the way out, and press in again. There’s less resistance each time, until you can set a good pace without hurting him.

He moans and whines your name, gasping when you sharply thrust into him. The negligee slips down his body with the rocking motion until it pools around his chest and bunches at his shoulder blades.

“You look so good in pink, baby,” you tell him. You lean over his back and press loving kisses on his neck and shoulders. He turns his head to try looking at you, to try to say something playful. But he can’t open his eyes, and none of his words come out as words. “You’re being so good for me, pretty boy. I’ll take care of you.”

You sit back up and grab his hips tighter, pulling them toward you with each thrust. He cries out as you pound into him, speeding up as you feel your own orgasm approaching. Your movements become sloppy and lose the rhythm, but you only fuck him harder and faster to compensate. You can tell he’s close. He gasps breathlessly against the covers, hips rocking for friction against the air. He’s so fucking close.

You lift a leg to be effectively kneeling behind him. It changes the angle just enough that you rub against his prostate with each thrust. He moans loudly, the sound choking in his throat and coming out as a desperate whine. He doesn’t last.

A few more thrusts and his orgasm tears through him. He cums hard, body trembling and cock twitching as he finally finds the release he longed for, without hardly being touched.

His asshole clenches around you, squeezing your strap with each spurt of cum. You don’t stop fucking him until you orgasm, buried deep inside his ass. You’re both panting, whimpering messes as your legs tremble, as he stains the blankets and coats his stomach. The negligee is just barely out of reach, unstained by just a hair.

When you’re both spent, you sit there a moment, catching your breath. You slowly ease out of him. He whimpers softly, but sighs contently once the pressure is gone. His legs are unsteady, hands merely resting on the blankets instead of clutching for dear life.

You get up from the bed and go to the side to help him roll over and lay on his back without laying in his own spend. He clumsily finds your hand where you held his waist and holds it.

“Good?” you ask again. You push his matted curls from his forehead and kiss his brow. He nods against your lips. He still can’t quite find his words. You kiss his cheek. “Bath?”

He nods again, but holds tighter to your hand when you try to pull away. “Not yet,” he mumbles. He draws your hand up to his face, holding it to his cheek as he leans into it with a quiet sigh.

You press your head to his, kissing his temple and the length of his ear tenderly. “Take your time, my love. I’ll take care of you.”

---

Tag List:

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[wearyeyebrow]

Worthy In Blue

Summary: You’ve been working on a little surprise project for Lucifer involving navy blue rope and a mahogany chair. You know Lucifer has a penchant for ropework, so what if you gave him an evening to put those skills, and your own, to good use?

Tags under the cut.

Tags: submissive lucifer, dominant MC, rope, restraints, MC is in rope, Lucifer is restrained, pegging, cunnilingus, gn MC, afab MC, mutual possessiveness, romance, established relationship, pre-nightbringer

-

Tonight is the long awaited Grimte Banquet where all the noble houses gather. Relationships are maintained, new ones started, and it’s all Lucifer can do to keep his brothers in line. Luckily, he has you to keep Mammon by your side and Beel full of food.

The night drones on spent managing many noble advances. He spares you a weary glance and you wink at him from across the hall. He can’t help the quirk of his mouth, a slight smile amidst everything. You’re impossibly charming.

A few moments later and he hears your voice in his ear. “Meet me in the coat room, I have something to show you.”

You slip away and disappear somewhere in the crowd. Eventually he manages a moment alone, horribly curious as he finds his way to you.

You close the door behind him, nearly hidden amidst coats of all sizes. “Hi gorgeous,” you wrap your arms around his waist.

"A coat closet?" He muses.

“I won’t keep you. Pretty sure Beel is looking for me too… Here.” You hold up your phone, “What do you think?”

You’re showing him a picture of… rope? “This is what you wanted to show me?”

“I could hardly send it to your phone right now, what with the entire royal court surrounding you. Plus, I’d rather explain its implications in person.”

“Implications?”

“Mm. Are you free next Friday night? Around 10pm?”

“I…” he allows himself a small smile, “I might be able to spare you some time.”

“Oh might you?” You smirk, “Well, if you’re too busy I completely understand. I’m capable of appreciating my own hard work.”

He acts affronted, grabbing you by the waist and kissing your hand. “Would a willing participant not please you more?”

“Isn’t that why I asked you in the first place?” He’s captivated by the crinkle of your nose, by the warmth of your smile.

“You’ve caught me,” he chuckles, “I’m all yours.”

“Then it’s a date. Do you like the color?”

You show him your phone again and he hums appreciatively. "Did you get it from Cloven Boutique? I didn’t think they stocked colored rope."

“They don’t, I dyed it myself."

“Truly?” He looks closer, in want of his glasses. “It looks like a professional job."

"Well, I had to get the color just right - I love the look of you in blue."

"Oh?" His tone softens.

“Mhm…” You appreciatively sweep your eyes up his body, lingering the gold peacock tie-clip you got him last month. You reach out and adjust his collar, “I love seeing you in things I’ve bought.”

“You have good taste.”

“Do you really think so?”

He frowns. “I wouldn’t wear something if it didn’t suit me.”

You laugh, “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“You’re horrible.”

“I’m charming.”

He fondly rolls his eyes. “I suppose both descriptors are accurate. I will look forward to it all week.”

“I think it’ll be worth the wait.” You lean up and brush your lips against his, “Don’t dance with too many nobles now.”

“Haven’t you noticed? All eyes are on you tonight. It’s taken everything in me not to whisk you away.”

“Likewise, darling.” You wink at him again and his heart certainly doesn’t flutter.

-

Lucifer knocks on your closed door, waiting for you to beckon him inside.

The first thing he notices is an old mahogany chair in the middle of your room, stolen from the hallway. It sits odd against your comfortable furniture.

You make a show of locking your door, brushing against his shoulder as you pass by. Then you cast a noise canceling spell - nothing but an emergency could disturb you now.

When you meet his eyes you're delighted by his wanting expression, unguarded and open in his desire. "I wonder…" you walk over to him, "how much you've thought about this night, curious about what I've planned?" You straighten his tie, close enough to see him swallow.

"It has been on my mind." He takes your hand in his own and kisses your knuckles, looking every part adoring.

You chuckle fondly, "Especially in the evenings, when you think of me?"

His cheeks heat up but his gaze is steady. “I won’t deny it."

“Honesty suits you." He goes in for a kiss just as you pull away. "I want to show you something."

He makes a curious sound and you leave him to open your dresser drawer. "Now, you knew I'd be using rope tonight, but for what exactly I didn't tell you." You gather the rope in your arms, "It might not seem like much of a deviation."

"Oh?" He eyes the rope you've picked.

"You still like it?"

He turns the rope over in his hands, "It’s richer than I remember. How did you do it?"

"Blue mangled beetles - kind of like carmine, but the process is simpler. When dried and crushed they make a beautiful dark navy dye that doesn’t bleed."

"You did your research."

You chuckle and take the rope from his hands. "Only the best for you. Gloves off."

He slips off his right leather glove, finger by finger - wait. “Blue?” You look at him inquisitively. His nails are a rich navy blue, perfectly manicured and glossy.

His eyes flicker behind you, cheeks dusting pink. “I painted them a few days ago.”

You're confused for a minute, then it hits you. “Wait - because of me?”

His voice drops, “You - you mentioned-" He clears his throat, "I thought you might like them.”

"I love them, Lucifer…" You kiss his knuckles, his palm, his wrist, before pulling him in for a proper kiss. His hand cups your jaw and he makes a small, plaintive sound. He really had been thinking about your words all this time.

You pull away with reluctance. "It's time I tell you what we’ll be doing tonight. Shall we start the scene?"

He clears his throat again and sweeps his own magic over your door. "Let us begin."

"Any titles are allowed tonight, you can address me however you’d like. Red to stop the act, yellow to pause, and green for all good. Fire if you want to stop the scene entirely."

"Understood.”

“Then…" the glint in your eyes makes him a little weak in the knees. "I know you have a penchant for ropework. And I know how much you enjoy earning my praise. So, I had a thought - tonight I’d like you to use your ropework skills and tie me up, but I want full range of motion, you know, a design strictly for aesthetics.” You pull the rope taught in your hands, “And then, if you do a good enough job, I may reward you with some rope of my own. What do you say?” You hold out the rope to him.

You smile and oblige, settling into the cold wooden seat. He eyes you and then the rope, contemplative, before loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He circles you, and you admire the focused, pointed look on his face as he carefully plans an intricate design in his mind’s eye. He’s completely in his element and you love to watch him work.

“What an intriguing idea...” He takes the rope from your hands with soft reverence, feeling the rough texture between his fingers. “You really got such a nice shine to it,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. He breathes out slowly and gestures to the mahogany chair, “Please dear, relax.”

“Ah,’ you suddenly realize, “This might help.” You lift up your shirt and drop it next to the chair before shimmying out of your bottoms, leaving you bare before him.

“Yes…” he murmurs as his eyes roam your skin.

You feel a pleasant tingle up your spine when he brushes his fingers through your hair, gently gathering until he can put it up properly above your neckline. Your body relaxes under his touch.

The first knot is an anchor tie just below your bust, he uses four strands and divides them into two, slipping each half over your shoulders and back down to meet your back. The rough texture warms you from the outside in but his careful touch is cool against your skin.

You watch him as he works, loving the interplay of shadow that falls across his sharp features. He catches you staring.

“Am I pleasing to look at, Madam?”

“Yes, very much so.”

Your pact mark sings and you chuckle, bemused at the sensation. “You like it when I compliment you, don’t you, my little black bird?”

His cheeks heat up and his eyebrows furrow, as he’s put off by the pet name, but the humming in your chest only continues. “I can feel it, you know? Honesty really does suit you best - your face is much prettier wearing it.”

The tips of his ears turn pink but he circles you, wrapping his arms around your midsection to finish fixing a knot in place. Suddenly his warm lips press into the crook of your shoulder. The deep undertones of his voice make you shiver as he whispers in your ear. “You will be the death of me.”

You turn to meet his eyes, coy mischief in your own. “I think you’ll survive.” He chuckles and you kiss him once, twice, just to make him simmer. He almost goes back in for a third but you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. “Not yet.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He kisses your shoulder once more.

Time passes in a lovely, hazy sort of way. Lucifer relaxes into the process as you'd hoped he would. It’s a gentle sort of focus where his mind is set on something, a place where nothing else can bother him or tear away his careful attention. He loves taking your direction, easing him out of his mind, constantly wound too tight.

Finally he kneels to finish the job, gingerly maneuvering one of your legs up and over his shoulder to wrap a strand around the back of your thigh. His eyes wander this time, following the line of your body until he lingers between your legs. As if he can’t help himself he kisses your skin, leaving a delicate trail up the inside of your thigh.

You cup his jaw in one hand and he kisses your palm, eyeing between your legs. “After you finish,” you murmur, “You’ll have to earn what you get tonight.” His eyes flicker to yours and he continues moving, finishing the tie he started.

“I believe I’m finished, will you stand?”

You do so, feeling the bend and flex of rope. Nothing feels too tight, everything is snug, hugging the curves of your body. You admire what lacing you can see, particularly the delicate design around your hands and wrists. He truly had taken his time, a glance at the clock proves that an hour has passed.

Finally you turn around and examine his work in the mirror. Your eyes light up at his intricate ropework. You’re beautiful, elegant, fully mobile and yet covered in faux restraints. You admire yourself, making a show of your appreciation. His chest puffs out and the pact mark on your chest rumbles. You gently circle your clit with one finger and enjoy how he shifts uncomfortably behind you.

You want more from him. Your body aches from an hour of foreplay.

You cup his jaw with one hand. “Kneel.”

“Yes Sir,” he murmurs, almost breathless.

His willing, almost eager demonstration of your power over him, of his own lack of control, further spurns you on, and you know he can hold your weight.

"Show me, then, devotion to your work." You prop one leg up on the hard mahogany seat, exposing yourself for him. Rope hugs your thighs, indenting and highlighting what he wants most.

His eyes flicker between your face and your clit. He licks his lips. "Thank you, Sir."

You run a hand through his hair and brace the other on the back of the chair. As soon as his tongue touches your clit you gasp, unable to help yourself. You’ve been on edge for so long now, throbbing at every new rope and delicate detail. You savor his mouth, rocking your hips into his face gently. "Yes…" he sucks and licks as you drip onto his tongue and he moans softly at the gentle tug of your hand in his hair.

You'll come quickly and you know it - you rock against him faster now and he wraps his fingers through the ropes on the back of your thigh before squeezing your ass and petting between your legs.

You look down at him, at his disheveled appearance, tousled hair, and too-tight pants. “Lucifer, darling, you - ah - you don’t have to say anything, no thoughts, no control, just take what I give you."

He groans and claws at the backs of your thighs, pulling you forward against his mouth.

You tilt your head back. "Good man, good job-" he whines and flicks his tongue with renewed vigor, "fffuck, right there…"

You fuck his face, shivering and shaking, chasing your orgasm. He holds you upright and supports your body, grasping at his own ropework. You moan and twitch. A glance at the mirror brings you closer still, “Look baby, look at you, making me feel so fucking good… shit-” Your grip on his hair tightens as you twist your hand, pulling him forward. He moans, high and breathy, harshly breathing through his nose.

His right hand supports your waist while his left squeezes your ass. Just a minute more, a second more, finally, finally his palpable desire sends you over the edge, and god how it fills the air. He takes it all and you don't fall, even as your legs lock and your grip falters. You shake and shiver in his tight grasp, palms holding tight to his shoulders. He keeps licking, just enough to keep you there until tension dissipates and you’re overstimulated. Only then does his grip loosen, following your body as you stand on your own, knees shaking.

There's an unspoken tenderness in his eyes - your baby takes pride in service.

You step away from him when you can, fixing his hair and cleaning your cum from his lips. "Sit on the chair, darling."

His knees crack when he gets up, stiff from his place on the hardwood floor. He sits, bulge straining against his trousers, watching you with rapt attention.

"I think…" you turn around, "You've more than earned your reward - as if there was any doubt in my mind."

“Oh?” He practically glows at your praise.

"And…” you walk over to your nightstand once more, "I'm not done with this yet." He swallows, gaze fixated on the rope in your hands. You smirk, "You like that idea?"

He shifts again. "Yes I - very much."

You reach into your nightstand and pull out a matte black silicone dildo, smaller, elegant even. You hold it up. “What about this? Are you up for it tonight?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I prepared myself for the possibility.”

“Perfect,“ you breathe, already excited. “Then…” your smile is nearly wicked as you regard him and his cock throbs in earnest. “Clothes off. Hands behind your back - hold your forearms.”

He acquiesces, knowing exactly what you want.

Soon he’s sitting naked on the chair, hands held behind his back, willingly at your mercy. Your ties aren’t nearly as elegant, but they restrict his movement and hug his body. You restrain his arms behind his back with a chest harness, carefully distributing the weight of the rope, adding just a touch of flourish. Even in such a simple design he looks lovely. Blue really is his color, you think, admiring him. He catches your eye.

“I was right,” you say, tilting his chin up for a chaste peck on the lips, “You look lovely in blue.” He groans and chases your lips this time. You let him, just once, and deepen the kiss yourself, before grabbing him by the hair, wrenching his head up. “Not yet, darling.”

“As you wish.” He’s breathless and kiss bitten.

You leave him and stack two large pillows on top of each other. You motion for him to stand before grabbing him by the restraints. “I will help you get into position,” you chuckle darkly, “I want you face down.”

His cheeks feel hot but he nods, “Yes Sir.”

“Good man. Lie down.”

It takes a moment since he can’t move his arms but you finally have him exactly where you want him, chest pushed into the bed, hips and ass raised by the pillows beneath him.

He tilts his head to look at you with one eye, eyebrow raised as you appear with more rope.

‘Can’t have you squirming too much, now can I?” He groans into the pillow beneath him and nods.

“Tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable or need to readjust, this position might get tiring after awhile.”

“I’m sure I can take it.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not asking. Tell me.”

He shivers. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Good.”

You uncap the lube on your nightstand and snap a glove on. He shivers at the cold feeling of your lubed finger rubbing against him, but as your hand warms so does his body and he slowly starts to meet your gentle thrusts as you enter him. You love this part. It’s incredibly intimate, almost more so that the ensuing sex, because anyone else would have been thrown out long ago - he has only ever done this with you.

Once you’re up to two fingers comfortably you withdraw your hand and replace it with your lubed up strap. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready.” You smack his ass and he gasps.

“What was that?”

“I apologize, yes I - I’m ready.”

“That’s better. One more remark like that,” you murmur, pressing in slowly, “And I’ll rethink your reward.”

He hisses, wiggling his hips, “A-Apologies - it won’t happen again.”

‘I know it won’t,” you smile, “because you love this too much.” Finally, finally you move your hips, slow at first, until finding a gentle rhythm. You use his bound legs as leverage, pushing deep inside of him as his low, desperate moans fill the air.

As his body strains against the rope it holds tight, digging into his skin - this heat, this pleasure, your power over him is dizzying. For a few blissful moments he can’t think, all he can do is feel you surround him and hear your haunting voice in his ear.

It is easy to admire him, Lucifer Morningstar splayed out before you, rocking his ass into your hips, wanting more, more. You grab the rope holding his forearms tight against his back and pull, arching his back against the sheets. He cries out, and you lean down, pushing all your weight on top of him.

“That feel good, baby? Heh, you love it don’t you?” Your hips are slow and deep, grinding on his favorite spot, “You love being fucked like this. Wrapped in my rope, under my hand-” He moans, long and debauched. “I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this, you belong to me, don’t you?”

“Yes-!”

You’re breathless above him. “We belong to each other, right, love?”

His eyes open and he gazes at you in the adjacent mirror, “Yes…” You dip and kiss the back of his neck, soft and sweet, "Hnn…" he takes in a shuddering breath and lets his head fall forward.

“That's right, no one else deserves to touch you, no one else is good enough, worthy enough.” You whisper in his ear.

He gasps your name and pushes his ass against your hips, pathetically fucking himself on your strap. Every slap of your skin sears welts into his body. You grab his hair and jerk his body up.

“Eyes open, look at yourself.” He didn’t think he could get any redder, but the sight of you behind him, fucking his ass with slow purposeful thrusts, restraining him while tied in his own ropework, it's too much, he can’t - he’ll -

You wrench his head up, “Keep looking,” you pant, “look at the face you make when you come for me.”

He can’t help it, he comes fast and hot, hips stuttering, mouth open and gasping. You slow but you don’t stop. He whimpers but dutifully stays, taking it all.

“Good man,” you praise him, “So. Fucking. Good-” you punctuate your words by digging your nails into his back. You slowly drag them downward and tiny specks of blood bubble to the surface. He hisses but his cock jumps beneath him. “You like a little pain, don’t you?” You slap his ass with an open palm. “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes Ma’am -”

“Yes what?”

"Fuck - more, please-!”

“Filthy.” You bite, before indulging him with another slap on the ass.

You run your nails gently over the welts and he sighs in bliss. In this moment of calm you use all your strength to hoist him upward again, until his back is flush against your chest. You wrap a hand around his throat and start to bounce him on your cock. His eyes roll back and he groans, reaching around to grab your hip as he rocks back into you.

“When I cut you loose,” you pant, “I want you to lie down on your back, legs spread, waiting and ready for me again. Do you understand me?”

He swallows breathlessly and nods.

You lean him forward and gently pull out. You untie his legs, and then his arms before dropping the rope next to the bed. His body is tinged red with slight rope burn, just how he likes.

He rolls over onto his back, finally making eye contact with you. You smile at him, gentle, and his pupils pin. “Spread your legs for me.”

Lucifer grabs his own knees, and spreads his legs while you refuse to let him lose eye contact. His red flush is delicious, and so is his twitching cock, clearly enjoying this.

You grab more lube from the nightstand and quickly reapply before holding one of his legs to your chest and slipping back inside. He groans and rocks his hips forward, savoring the feeling.

You slowly snap your hips forward, reaching deep inside him, you keep repositioning until he gasps and then you hold there. Little thrusts of your hips grinding against his ass. He gasps low, moaning sweetly in his deep voice as sweat trickles down his temple.

“Kiss me-” he croaks, reaching for you. You melt into him and grind against him as his hands roam your body. He doesn’t realize he’s whimpering and shuddering, or if he does he doesn’t care.

You continue like this for a while, enjoying his gasping deep moans in your ear, his lips and teeth on your neck. Finally, at your mercy, you gently trace your fingers over the head of his cock. The noise he makes is agonizing, and you have half a mind to continue neglecting him. But he has your heart as you keep up that gentle, light contact, and he doesn’t ask for more. His head is spinning, filled with thoughts of you, you, just you.

You speed up your hand as your hips get tired and he grips your back, rocking into you. Finally you feel him tense, feel his blunt nails dig into your back.

“There you go, my pretty bird,”

He gasps, light and beautiful, shuddering as he comes, keening as each slow, deep thrust of your hips milks another dribble of cum out of him.

You kiss again and again, covered in sweat, cum, and specks of blood, ignoring the passage of time.

-

Darkness blankets your bedroom, barely lit in deep navy shadow. Your fingernails fall up and down rhythmically over the rope burn on Lucifer’s back.

“I heard you were approached last week.” He murmurs.

“At the Banquet…? Oh, did Asmo say something?”

Lucifer chuckles, "He said something akin to "Everyone here is itching for their chance, don't let them out of your sight."

You feign exasperation. "And what did you do, you let me out of your sight. Now I'm in bed with a demon."

Lucifer snorts, "The very same demon you propositioned in a coat closet."

"What can I say? I know who I want," you kiss his temple.

Lucifer leans into you further, draped across your body. "Don't you have plans early tomorrow morning?"

“You yawn again, “Solomon said he has something important to talk to me about. What exactly, I’m not sure… he can wait until I've had breakfast.”

“That sorcerer…”

“He wants you so bad,” you chuckle, “I mean, it isn’t up to me, but I enjoy acting as if it is.”

“Rest assured,” he kisses your shoulder, “he’ll never have me, not like you do.”

Your smile is gentle. “I love you, Luci.”

“And I you.”

Lucifer closes his eyes and relaxes his sore body, satisfied and calm. He resolves to make you breakfast in the morning before seeing you off to Solomon.

Truly, he thinks, there's nothing he can’t face as long as you’re there when he wakes.

[starfellforyou]

imperfect for you ✧⋆｡˚

❛ ༉‧₊˚ featuring: neuvillette x treasure hoarder!reader

❛ ༉‧₊˚ premise: the iudex of fontaine is renowned for his impartiality, objectivity, and unwavering principles. he resolves the court’s cases with precision, wielding a sharp blade of virtue against any misconduct that arises before him. but when a pesky treasure hoarder with a crude tongue and an eye for jewels crosses his path, she threatens to obliterate everything he’s ever stood for…

❛ ༉‧₊˚ genres: fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, class divide

❛ ༉‧₊˚ word count: 4k+

♪ imperfect for you - ariana grande (slowed + reverb)

Sometimes, to make a living, you’ve got to get your hands a little dirty.

I would know. The life of a Treasure Hoarder, to the disagreement of many, is no easy feat. I’m not going to act like it’s a righteous path, but it’s the only path for the likes of me; and unlike my fellow bandits, I don’t burn my cash nearly as quickly as they do.

Fontaine is like an open treasure chest, full of twinkling gems and glittering jewels, a realm of luxury and riches. I normally sneak slices of warm bread into my satchel. But I’m tired of always struggling to get by. I’m sick of making ends meet when I could be weaving a tapestry of opulent threads.

I want to steal something bigger. Brighter. Feed my brothers and sisters without having to worry about warm bread.

I hear the Court of Fontaine is stocking up on a sackful of precious goods from all over the nation - and I intend to get my hands on them.

…

Sneaking into the court was surprisingly easy. All I had to do was put on an old hat and pretend I’d been sent to deliver the week’s paper.

“I’m here to collect a stack of news, sir.” I tip my hat politely, a paragon of manners and humility.

And just like that, I’m in. This isn’t my first time breaking into the court; after all, it’s terribly troublesome for non-aristocrats to find themselves welcome in a high-society breeding ground like this one.

I stroll down the frilly lanes of Quartier Narbonnais, taking my time to avoid suspicion. Parasols and silky dresses line the streets, hushed chatter and gossip filling the air like the incessant chips of Bluecrown Finches. Something to the left catches my eye.

It’s a child standing on the tips of his toes, arms outstretched towards a small roll of sapphire-blue ribbon on a tall wooden shelf. I realize I’m standing in front of the Chioriya Boutique. Huh. Such beautiful dresses… The boy’s clothes are slightly tattered, his skin marked with dirt. My heart pangs with sympathy at the thought that this child is just like my little brother; anxious, alone, and with nothing to his name.

I point a finger towards the bushes next to the shop and shout, “Look! Over there!”

The ladies looming nearby gasp with curiosity, craning their necks to get a good look of whatever it is that’s caught my eager attention. I yank the roll of ribbon off the shelf without making a sound, a devious act that only one with years of practice could master. her 

Handing it to the boy, I ask him what he needs it for and pull him to the side.

“My sister’s dress is missing a blue ribbon. I figured I’d find her a replacement…” He trails off, uneasy. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any money to pay you, mademoiselle…”

“Consider it a favor.” I pause. “You owe me one, that’s all.”

The boy nods, his adorable features lighting up. I ruffle his hair and tell him to scurry off.

“Make sure you don’t get caught, little one!”

“Caught doing what, exactly, young lady?”

A deep, commanding voice speaks from a few feet behind, startling me - though I do not show it.

I turn to face the man in a relaxed, casual manner. His face surprises me even more than his voice does. He’s an elegant, poised man, tall and intimidating, yet not in a bad way. He does reek of sophistication, nevertheless. I curse myself for being so careless. What are you, an amateur?

“Why, by his sister, of course! Children these days, always running about.” I chuckle for effect.

It doesn’t seem to faze him.

“I have reason to believe you have stolen something from this establishment, miss. I’ll have my officers take you in for further questioning immediately.”

What a jerk! I can hardly believe such cold-hearted individuals exist. I glance over his fanciful robes and twinkling accessories with disdain, remembering exactly why I proclaim law enforcement in Teyvat to be a terribly corrupt system run by frauds. I need to think fast if I want to make it back out of the court alive.

Criminals like me have no place in a respectable region like this.

“Of course, my lord. I will obey your orders without a word of complaint.” I bow to him despite myself.

“Very well then. Come with me.” He starts forward, footsteps strong and chin held high. “You must be from the villa–”

I’ve snuck behind the nearest bush and climbed up a wall, as swift and soundless as ever. Watching from above, I giggle at the officer’s notable confusion.

“Show yourself!” He shouts, eyes frantically searching his surroundings but to no avail. Clearly frustrated, he curses under his breath, attracting the attention of the ladies nearby, who swoon once they meet his gaze.

“My apologies.” He mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitted together in a scowl.

He storms off into the crowd.

…

It isn't until I return to base that I realize that was no ordinary officer. The way he was dressed, the power in his voice when he spoke to me… It all seemed very peculiar.

“The Iudex. You spoke to the Iudex of Fontaine. There’s no way.” My younger sister seems to be in a state of shock.

“The Chief Justice? Nahhh. It couldn’t have been him. I mean, what’s he doing next to a women’s boutique?”

“Based on your descriptions, I think it’s safe to say that it really was him. I have heard that he enjoys strolling amongst the locals.”

I have a hard time believing it all. Indeed, my sister has always been the most well-read of us, but surely if I’d come face to face with the Iudex of Fontaine himself, I’d have known, right?

It all just seems absurd.

But I guess anything is possible in the Land of Justice. Now that I’ve found myself on the Chief Justice’s radar, it would benefit me to be more careful with my thieving endeavors in the court.

A minor inconvenience isn’t going to stop me now.

…

In an ornate, oversized office, Neuvillette sits by the fireplace, pondering.

He’s infuriated that someone dared defy his word in his presence. He’s puzzled about the thief’s identity, her next move. Most passionately of all, he feels foolish.

Utterly ashamed that he let a young woman escape with her pride right under his nose.

He calls out for a servant. “Have a Melusine troop assembled by tomorrow morning. I must catch this thief if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Of course, sire.” The servant hesitates, unsure. “Don’t mind my prying, sire, but this girl seems like nothing more than a petty thief. Why are you so hung up on bringing her in?”

Neuvillette rests his head on a gloved hand, elbow propped up on his polished spruce-wood desk.

“Because no one… escapes from the law.”

…

No one, of course, but me.

I spent the next two weeks stealing all sorts of interesting artifacts from within the court, some that sparkle and some that whir. With the money I’ve been bringing in, my siblings are finally able to have meals that contain more than just mushrooms and a few slices of bread.

Multiple times a member of the Iudex’s troop - occasionally the Iudex himself - managed to catch me, but each and every time I got out unscathed. I think I enjoy this life of crime.

Or rather, I enjoy the look on his face when he realizes I’ve slithered out of his reaches. The thrill of coming this close to facing him again, each and every time.

I received word that a masquerade ball is being hosted at the Vasari Passage tomorrow night, and that many fine ladies and gentlemen of society will be there. Naturally, I decide that my next cause of action is to “borrow” a pretty ball gown for my grand entrance.

I choose the most exquisite of gowns from the shop’s dusty attic - a rich purple shade to match my eyes - and brace myself for a possible run-in with the Iudex. I can’t risk him capturing me again. There’s no way he’d still recognise me. It’s been ages. Besides, I’m sure he has other bandits on his list.

…

The ball is an extravagant affair; I’ve never seen this much Hydro in one place - on land, of course. I have to admit, it really is quite enchanting.

Throughout the evening, I’m careful not to expose my face. I must be the most wanted petty criminal in Fontaine. In the unlikely event that anyone should identify me as the thief that’s been stealing their goods, it would only mean more trouble for me. With grace and finesse I whisk through the crowds, yanking one pearl necklace after another from the necks of oblivious aristocrats, stashing my finds safely away in the pocket strapped to my leg.

Just as I’ve gotten my hands on a marvelous emerald bracelet, I bump into someone I didn’t notice was standing right in front of me. As I recover, I’m struck with the familiar sight of flowing sapphire robes, a head of long hair as pristine and pure as snow. Oh, Archons.

Before I can even begin to protest, he grabs me by the waist with a firm hand and pulls me into a back garden, far enough away from the bustle of the ball. A glowing waterfall splashes gently to my left, and a couple dozen fireflies light up the Romaritime bushes that surround us.

I watch him carefully as he flexes his jaw. Though his face is partly concealed by a mask, I can tell he’s been driven mad with contempt - no, irritation. He’s been waiting a long time for this moment.

“It’s you.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, my lord?”

“Enough of your games.” He spits out the words as if they’re poison on his tongue. “You cannot run forever. I know people like you well. It never ends well for them, running from the law.”

This pisses me off.

“Because the law protects the high and mighty, like you. Like the people out there. There’s no room in the law for people like me. Those who have to fight to survive. Those who can’t find work. Those who can’t put food on the table without stealing it.”

I watch as he falls silent, seemingly at a loss for words.

“What you are doing, while worthy of sympathy, is still illegal. It is my duty as Iudex to uphold the law and bring justice to all.”

“What about my family? What justice do they receive then, you bastard?”

He seems taken aback by my choice of words, a small frown written across his brows. Did I just insult the Chief Justice? I try to think of a way out of this situation; it’s gotten far too messy for my liking.

But a part of me doesn’t want to leave him here. This game we're playing - it excites me. Sometimes, it feels as though he lets me go on purpose. And while I do credit myself for being an excellent thief, I can’t help but feel as if I’ve gotten myself entangled with the law in more ways than one.

“I must take you in immediately. You will return all of the items you’ve stolen, precious or not. Fontaine is no place for such thie–”

I take a step forward and kiss him on the cheek.

Just a peck; a gentle act of intimacy that lasts no longer than a second. It shocks me as much as it does him, and I swear that beneath his mask, I can see his cheekbones flush a deep crimson red.

“P-Pardon me, my lord.” I take the opportunity to flee, leaving whatever just happened in the garden behind me.

He must’ve been too disgusted to follow me.

…

The following days passed with little to no thievery. I couldn’t explain it, but a part of me felt… guilty, for the first time in my life. Maybe not for stealing all those things from the hands of the wealthy, but for kissing him the way I did, in an attempt to save my own ass.

But that was the tricky part; did I really kiss him just to save my own ass?

I shake my head, desperate to prevent these frightening thoughts from clouding my judgment. I still have a family to feed.

I’m just about to sneak a sack of berries into my satchel when I feel his presence wash over me, watching me. I spin around to survey my surroundings, and sure enough, there he is. The Iudex in all of his dignified glory - staring at me from across the street. I return the sack to its position in the pile and walk over to him, my footsteps light and quick.

“I didn’t steal.”

“You would have.”

“But I didn’t.”

He sighs, exasperated. “I have been lenient to you. Whether or not you agree, I have shown you kindness by not exacting harsher measures in response to your… intemperance.”

I suppose that is true, especially after what I pulled that night. I remain silent.

“And despite every fiber of my being telling me to put you behind bars this instant, I wish to ask you a few questions before I do so.”

“And what’s in it for me, wise-ass?”

If he’s offended, he’s doing a great job concealing it. “I’ve called off the search. And, you’ll get to ask a few questions of me.” He tilts his head cautiously.. “Something tells me you would find that most enticing.”

He’s right. I hate that he’s right.

“Fine. Shall we head to somewhere more private, my lord?”

…

For some reason, he brings me to his office in the Palais Mermonia. We enter through a secret entrance hidden from the public eye, and manage to remain unseen. He’s very serious about keeping our arrangement confidential.

The building is lavishly decorated, its shiny walls a reflection of its equally shiny inhabitants. At every turn I’m awed by the sheer magnificence of it all; by how I’m likely to never set foot in a place like this again.

“Please, have a seat.” His voice is low. He almost looks uncomfortable.

“So. What’d you wanna ask me?” I lift both feet and rest them atop his desk, crossing my right leg over the left. This is my first and last time in a room as cushy as this one, after all - I might as well make myself at home. “If you don't mind, I’d like you to answer my questions before I answer yours.”

He doesn’t object. I continue, “Why are you so unwilling to turn a blind eye to a few measly scoundrels? The people they’re stealing from already have far too much - and yet, you are complicit with their greed.”

There’s a distant look in his eyes. “Ever since I’d been issued the position of Iudex, there’s been an immeasurable… weight on my back. To uphold the law, standards of safety, fairness… That has been my job for as long as I can remember. I have dedicated my life to ensuring that Fontaine is the splitting image of perfection.”

“You speak as if you are old.” I scoff, feigning sophistication in my voice. “You’re a young man yourself. Shouldn’t you, of all people, understand that achieving perfection is impossible? Not when there is so much filth and corruption manifesting beneath the surface?”

My words seem to have struck him. “...I suppose there is truth to your words.”

“So stop. Let me and my people live as we have been. We don’t go around attacking the rich unprovoked, you know, despite what most people think.”

We share a pleasant silence for a moment. It feels as if I’m getting to him; as if we’re beginning to really see each other.

“You really do have the most exquisite eyes.”

This takes me by surprise. Did the Chief Justice of Fontaine just compliment my eyes? I try to suppress the redness growing across my cheeks.

He speaks again, his unfaltering gaze fixed on mine. “I never quite got your name, Miss…”

“Y/N,” I answer hastily. “And, you are…?”

“Neuvillette. My given name.”

Neuvillette. It’s never occurred to me how much I don’t know about the affairs of the city. About him.

“I have another question, Neuvillette.” He nods. “Why are you so intent on bringing me in? Are there no other criminals in Fontaine that demand more pressing attention?” I push further. “And why are you talking to me now, rather than locking me up?”

He looks speechless, as if troubled by something. “Because…” My heart stutters as I anticipate what he’s about to say. “Because I have something to ask of you.”

I deflate. “Oh. What is it?”

“I’m willing to offer you a job - an esteemed position in the Maison Gardiennage. You’d be an excellent addition to the team, and you won’t have to worry about a single piece of Mora from now on–”

My heart stops stuttering. It sinks. “So that’s what this is about.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You pity me. This whole time–you’ve been trying to recruit me for your–your–battalion! To use me!” I feel betrayed. Blindsided. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.

I rush to stand up, and he gets up just as quick. “I assure you, that is not my intention, Miss Y/N–”

“You just want me taken care of so I can stop stealing and you can go back to your precious duties.” And to think that maybe we shared something. “I thought you were different. I really did. Now I see I was mistaken.”

“Miss Y/N, you must not keep stealing.” He sounds desperate, as if about to lose the composure he so carefully maintains.

I can’t do this. I swing the door to the hallway open, fuming. “You call us Treasure Hoarders, but you fail to realize that the ones who hoard treasure are yourselves.”

I spin around one final time, taking in the sight of him. He’s standing less than an inch away from me now. I notice that it physically pains me to be this close to him. “I hope I’m not spotted, for your sake. Archons forbid what being seen with me might do to your reputation.”

I slam the door behind me.

…

For the first time, Neuvillette doesn’t have a solution for any of this. He can’t let her keep stealing, that’s for sure. But is that really all that’s troubling him? Is that the real reason why he’s so worked up about all of this?

He swats at an invisible thought in the air. Focus. A royal auction is to be held tomorrow evening, and there’s a lot to be done.

…

I can’t bear to stay in the court for much longer. Everything is just… too much.

If I am to stop stealing in the court, all while ensuring that my family is fed and happy, I’ll have to end my business here with a bang. Steal something truly valuable that’ll guarantee I’ll never have to steal again.

Therefore, when I receive news of the Annual Court Auction being held the following day, I can hardly contain my anticipation.

This will be the heist of all heists. My family’s lives are on the line.

I must sneak in unnoticed, snag the one-of-a-kind Hunter’s Brooch from wherever it is backstage, and sneak back out where I came from. Make sure I avoid running into Neuvillette, at all costs.

…

As the clock strikes six, the auction begins. A dense crowd fills the ballroom, the stench of elitism wafting through the air.

I managed to steal a servant’s uniform while he was distracted and put on my disguise, determined to get the job done once and for all. As I pretend to refill my tray, I listen closely as the auctioneer projects his booming voice. “Going once, going twice… SOLD to the lady in pink!”

The Hunter’s Brooch is up next. I glide through the crowd, offering tiny pastries and shot glasses to the haughty noblemen as I pass.

“Next up: the Hunter’s Brooch!” The crowd oohs and aahs, captivated by its remarkable beauty. “Do I hear one-million?”

I inch closer and closer to the stage as bidders furiously compete with one another for the brooch. I hear numbers I have never heard in my life.

“Do I hear fifteen-million? Going once, going twice…” The crowd falls silent, seemingly bested.

“Twenty-million.”

My head whips around so fast I almost drop my tray. Neuvillette.

“SOLD to our Chief Justice!”

I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. Seeing him from afar is somehow a thousand times worse than seeing him up close.

I remind myself what I came here for. I attempt to ignore the pounding in my chest and sneak past the guards in front of the stage. There it is.

The brooch sits on a cushioned plinth backstage, sparkling despite the darkness. I yank it from its display in the blink of an eye and stuff it into my satchel. Hugging it under my arm, I latch on to the wall behind the stage and begin climbing towards the landing on the second floor.

Just as I reach the surface, I pick up a swarm of hurried footsteps headed in my direction. I try to steady myself as hastily as possible, but by the time I look up, it’s too late.

Guards.

They grab me by the arms and pull me away from the auction. From my grand plan. From my dreams of never having to steal again.

…

A trial. I’m to sit in front of the Iudex tonight and face him for the first time in days. I’m to relive the embarrassment of getting caught, of encountering my first defeat. I’m to look him in the eye as he finally decides to throw me in jail for good.

Time passes rather quickly in a holding cell, contrary to popular belief. Before I know it, I’m sitting in a courtroom, anxiously waiting for the Iudex to walk in.

My pulse quickens when the thick ivory doors swing open.

He remains the paradigm of grace and regality; able to command an entire room without ever so much as uttering a word.

Despite all the guilt, all the shame I’m feeling sitting in this chair, I can’t seem to take my eyes off him.

He moves to take his seat on the elevated throne in the middle of the room, and for a moment - just a tiny sliver of a second - we lock eyes. He looks conflicted, tired, as if he hadn’t slept a wink last night.

The trial proceeded as one normally would; everyone was represented by someone, though the loaded old man I’d stolen from had obviously hired a greater amount of skill.

It’s now time for the final judgment to be made.

The Iudex’s eyes are downcast, his forehead creased. His gloved hands seem to be restless and unsure. Please, Neuvillette. Don’t do this.

A pause that stretches on for an eternity passes, and he whispers something unintelligible to the court orderly standing next to him. A bewildered expression appears on the orderly’s face, but Neuvillette has already gotten up to exit, halting all further questions.

He charges out of the courtroom, leaving hushed exclamations and gasps of surprise in his wake. Neuvillette… Did you betray me? We all look to the court orderly.

“The Chief Justice of Fontaine has declared the defendant… not guilty.”

…

“So does that mean you’re free to go now?”

“Yep.” I smile at my sister with a sigh. “I’m never going back there again.”

“What? Why not? I thought you said the city was our golden opportunity.”

“It was. But I’ve come to realize that I can’t keep stealing from the hand that feeds me. It’s too much. It’s not… fair.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” She wriggles her eyebrows at me.

I give her a hard nudge, playfully. “There are other prospects, you know. I heard Liyue possesses treasures beyond even our wildest dreams. We shall aim to relocate by the end of the month.”

“Not yet done with your scheming, Miss Y/N?”

No. It can’t be.

I jump to my feet so quickly my sister flinches. “Hey, could you maybe…”

She runs off towards the camp, leaving the two of us standing face to face atop the most beautiful hill in the region.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” My voice comes out shaky, as if I haven’t spoken in years.

Neuvillette searches my eyes, vulnerable and sincere. “Did you really think you could hide from me for long?”

Inhale. Exhale. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you lock me up? Why come all the way here after two weeks?”

“You must know…” He trails off, stares at the setting sun just above the horizon. “My every waking moment is plagued by thoughts of… of you.”

I stop breathing.

“At night, I dream of you. The criminal I cannot seem to capture. The thief I cannot seem to subdue.” He takes a step forward. “Your words echo in my mind, your eyes pierce my soul. Your insolence, obscenity, rebelliousness… All of it. It-It vexes me.” Another step. “You are a thief, Y/N, for you have stolen more than just precious gems and sparkling jewels.”

I’m rendered speechless. All I want to do is run into his arms.

“Please. Don’t leave. I beg of you.”

My heart feels so… so full. I rush to close the distance between us, beaming so widely it must look strange.

“Only if you promise to let me keep stealing your stuff.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your wish is my command. I suppose it will do the nation some good if all of its inhabitants remain healthy and fed.” I smile. “You’ve made up your mind, then? No law enforcement work for you?”

“Actually… I’ve yet to give it any thought. You sure you’d want a Treasure Hoarder amongst your ranks?”

“You make a good point. But right now…” He’s staring again, lips mere inches away from mine. “All I want… is you.”

“But my lord, surely that’s against the law,” I tease.

“The law has no place here.”

And he kisses me, hungry and passionate.

For the first time in ages, I finally feel well off.

❛ ༉‧₊˚ author's note: i had to stop myself from writing a commentary on class divide and remember i'm in love with neuvillette lol (two things can be true at once) hope you like this one! typically this would've been a multiple-chapter fic on ao3 but oh well here goes nothing

✧ starfellforyou

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Such a tease

PAIRING | Ransom Drysdale x Best Friend!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 3.1K

SUMMARY | You're spending the afternoon at a lingerie boutique to find the perfect set for your date later that night. You decide to tease your date a little and send him a photo, but in a rush you accidentally send it to your best friend instead. How will he react to getting such a spicy picture from you?

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Best friends to lovers, smut [ Edging, oral (F receiving), overstimulation, squirting, use of a safeword, protected sex, implied aftercare ], angst,

A/N | I want to thank @avengersfantasies for helping me with this one when I couldn't figure out how to continue; you're a lifesaver! 🖤

Likes, comments, and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💚

Divider is made by @firefly-graphics | 18+ banner is made by yours truly

Main Masterlist | Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

You're looking through the endless lingerie options for your date tonight since you and Kenji plan to have a hot and steamy date. When your eye falls on a set of red lingerie, you pick it up and go to try it on.

As soon as you close the curtain behind you, you let out a sigh and start taking all your clothes off, ready to slip into the pieces of red lacy fabric you picked up.

The bra slips on like a glove, pushing your boobs up perfectly, making them look irresistible. Next up are the panties, and you turn around to look at yourself. You have never felt more beautiful and are not even finished yet.

You pull on the stockings and slide the garter belt into place, hooking the ends to your stocking to keep them in place perfectly. Now all that's left is to tie the bit around your neck like a collar, making the chain attached to the garter belt fall between your boobs.

When it's on, you gasp softly at how perfect you look because every inch of lace hugs your curves beautifully. It is molded to your body like a second skin, and that's when you think of a mischievous plan.

You stand sensually, making your boobs pop even more, and snap pictures with different poses. When you're about to send the perfect one to Kenji, one of the sales associates suddenly interrupts your train of thought.

"Ma'am, can I help you with anything?" she asks, and you accidentally tap Ransom's name instead of Kenji's, sending it to your best friend instead of your date. Not that Ransom minds seeing you in lingerie.

"Uhm, no, thank you! I'm taking this set, so I'll be with you in a few minutes," you say, feeling the embarrassment washing over you while you change out of the lingerie and back into your regular clothes.

You calm yourself down a little before walking to the register, and the woman politely smiles.

"That will be $125, please," she says, and you nod, getting out the cash to pay for it. When that's done, the sales associate puts it in a bag, and you're on your way home to start getting ready for your date with Kenji.

You just pulled out of the parking garage and turned on your podcast for your drive home when suddenly you're getting a call from your best friend, Ransom.

"Hi, Ran-" is all you can say before he cuts you off.

"My house. Thirty minutes. Wear that lingerie you showed me," he says before hanging up, and you're confused about what he's talking about.

Only when you're home and getting ready to get out of your car can you look at what he meant, and you realize the photo that was supposed to go to Kenji went to Ransom instead.

You close your eyes and think about the mistake you have made. But then again, this is the universe telling you to finally admit your feelings to your best friend.

You leave your car and go inside to change into the brand new lingerie - putting on a cute red dress over it.

Once ready, you return to your car and exhale as you climb into the driver's seat. During the drive, you're nervous - your hands drumming against the steering wheel as you try to keep your thoughts together.

You've done what Ransom asked and are at his house a little under thirty minutes later; it's good he lives close. When you leave your car, you wipe your sweaty palms on your dress and adjust your hair again before walking to his door and using your key to let yourself in.

"Ransom?" you call out, hearing your voice echo against the walls of his house.

He walked into the hallway with assassin-like steps - complete silence as he approached you. He looks like a predator hunting down its prey, and before you can even say a proper hello, his lips crash onto yours.

His actions take you aback, but you hadn't expected anything else to happen.

When you didn't turn down his kiss, he deepened it, and you let his tongue pry your lips apart - moaning into your mouth. Your hands make their way into his hair, and he pins you against the wall - letting you feel his growing bulge. You gasp when you touch him, and he pulls away from you, smirking seductively.

"See what your little outfit did to me?" he asks, and you want to answer, but it feels like your throat is filled with cotton balls.

"I- I didn't-" is all you can say, but he doesn't let you finish; his lips crash back onto yours, and his hands move to the knot on your dress, untying it swiftly, and it falls open.

"Oh fuck," he whispers to himself as he takes a step back, and takes in the sight of you covered in red lace, the chain between your breasts and the red stockings.

You let the dress fall to the floor, and that's when Ransom picks you up and quickly throws you over his shoulder on his way to the bedroom.

He thought about taking you right then and there but ultimately decided against it as he wanted to make you feel special for the first time.

"What are you doing? Where are you taking me?!" you yelp as he easily lifts you, everything suddenly upside down, and his hand is lying on your ass to ensure you're not going anywhere.

"You'll have to wait and see since you've been such a tease to me," he says, and you can't help but squeeze your thighs together at the thought of what he might do to you.

You were prepared for many things, but Ransom edging you for over an hour was missing from the list of things you were ready for.

"R-Ran, please!" you wail after he builds you up again, to pull away at the last second before you fall over the edge. Right now, you hate him more than anything, but you can't go anywhere.

Your limbs have turned into nothing but complete jelly under his touch, and Ransom's reveling in the thought, saying the filthiest things while still buried between your thighs.

"Hm, this cunt is so sweet; wish you'd have let me have a taste sooner, Baby. Will fucking ruin you for everyone else like the needy slut you are for me and my dick," he says, a moan escaping your lips at his words.

"Please..." you whine; your release is so close yet so far away at the same time, but this time Ransom does let you cum; however, he doesn't stop there.

"Makes me so fucking hard when you beg like a slut, when you're begging me to let you cum. If you're such a needy slut for it, you better cum now," he says, setting a brutal pace with three of his fingers inside and his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking the life out of it.

"FUCK, 'M CUMMING!" you scream out, and he keeps doing the same thing until your juices squirt out, and he knows the edging was well worth it now.

"Such a perfect slut for me, huh? Squirting for me like that," he says, and you whine softly as you come down from your high, but Ransom doesn't grant you that luxury.

He barely pulled his fingers out of you, allowing his tongue to lap every last drop of your juices as he fucks you with it.

"C-can't take more!" you tell him, but Ransom's determined to pull one more out of you. He needs one more orgasm before he's even going to think about filling you with his cock.

"Yes, you can, Baby. Just need one more from you now, and then I'll let you suck me off like a perfect slut," he says, his tongue going back to fucking and lapping your juices, his thumb now pressed on your clit until you fall apart for him again.

Loud moans echo through his bedroom and house, but you're too far gone to even worry about that. You're too wrapped up in pleasure and the thought of Ransom making you feel this good to care about anything other than him.

"Tastes so fucking sweet, Baby, tastes like peaches, and I can't get enough of it," he says as he attaches his mouth to your clit again, sucking and licking, but it is too much this time.

Tears are starting to form in your eyes from the overstimulation, and you're working up the courage to keep going and give him everything he wants, but you can't. You can't take anything else he's providing you right now.

Before you can fully comprehend what's happening, your mouth opens slightly, and you say it softly and barely audible. Still, Ransom hears you perfectly fine, stopping his motions immediately and stepping away.

"Red."

The two of you never talked about safewords, but that doesn't matter as Ransom backs away regardless, afraid he did something to hurt you.

"Shit..." he whispers to himself as you curl up into a ball and move back to the headboard of his bed. You feel bad about using the safeword even though you know it was the right thing to do.

Tears keep streaming down your face as you rock back and forth, your arms wrapped around your knees after you pull them up to your chest. Your eyes are closed, and that's when you suddenly hear Ransom throw a punch against the wall of his bedroom.

"Fuck!" he grits out through his teeth as he looks at his hand and back to you, looking scared out of your mind as big eyes are looking back at him.

He slowly walks over to the bed with his hands held up to show he's not going to hurt you and touch you without your permission, but it doesn't calm you down.

"Get out," you say before he can even reach the bed, and he looks down with defeat, but he does as you say, wanting to give you back the power over the situation right now.

You stay in his bedroom for an unknown amount of time while gathering your thoughts about what happened. It's not that you don't want him because you do, but he went too far by ignoring you, and that's what hurt most.

You feel incredibly bare in just your lingerie, so you go over to his wardrobe, fishing out a pair of joggers he never wears and one of his sweaters to make yourself feel a bit more comfortable.

You strip yourself out of everything except your panties and put on Ransom's clothes, ready to see him and talk about what has happened.

Ransom sits at his dining table, one of his hands in his hair while the other is getting iced. He looks up at you as you walk into the dining room and smiles at seeing you wearing his clothes.

"Can I sit here?" you ask as you point to the chair directly across from him. He nods as he looks up at you, and you can tell he's been crying, too, by the look of his bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sorry-" he starts, but you raise your hand, notifying him that now's not the time for him to talk. Right now, you have something to get off your chest, and this is the perfect moment to do just that.

"I want to start by saying that I'm not mad at you at all, Ransom," you say, and he looks up at you, the fact that he went too far still fresh in his mind.

You stretch out your hands, and he puts his free hand in it, letting yours envelop it. The softness of your small hands contrasts his big, calloused hands, making him chuckle softly.

"It's so cute," he whispers as he looks at your combined hands, and you chuckle at the sight.

"It is, but I want to admit something to you. I've wanted to tell you something for a few months, but I needed to figure out how or when. I- I have a huge crush on your Ransom, and I'm not sure when it developed, but I figured you don't feel the same, so I just kept it to myself all this time," you tell him, your heart fluttering a little now that your secret is finally out in the open.

"And I have to say that even though you went over my boundary and I had to safeword, I'm glad you did respect it when I used it, despite us not having talked about it. I do want to continue what we were doing if it is okay with you, but I do want to ask you to be gentle with me this time because I cannot take another version of what you did," you say with a polite smile, stroking Ransom's hand with your thumbs.

"God, I- I don't know where to start," Ransom says, gathering all of his courage to tell you how he feels since talking about feelings does not come naturally to him.

"The beginning might be nice," you joke, and Ransom can't help but laugh at your simple comment. This is precisely why he fell for you all this time ago. How sweet you are, your caring nature, your stupid jokes, all of it. And now that he knows you feel the same, he won't waste another second.

"I have feelings for you too, Y/N. Hell, I'm fucking in love with you, even!" he shouts, a burst of booming laughter following his statement.

"Been in love with you for I don't know how long, and now that I know you feel the same, I'm not planning on hurting you like I did, ever again. I am so sorry you felt the need to use it, but I also want you to know I'm proud of you for doing it. I'm sorry it had to come to that point, but I will make it up to you in every way imaginable," he says.

"I love you, Ransom," you say before getting up and walking to his side of the table. He moves back so you can sit on his lap, and you gladly do.

You get seated sideways to cup his face in your hands, stroking his smooth cheeks softly before leaning in and molding your lips to his perfectly. Two pieces of a puzzle, sliding right into place as they belong to one another.

When you pull away, he follows your lips for another, but you're just a little faster than him, much to his disappointment.

"I want to do this the right way, Ransom. Please take me out on a date and ask me to be yours. We both know I will say yes, but until then, I just want you. Ransom, all I want is you," you whisper in his ear, and a warm feeling spreads across his cheeks at your words.

"And how do you want me, Baby?" he asks, and you get a mischievous smile.

Your lips ghost softly over his lips, to his cheek, and you let out a warm breath on his ear before telling him how you want to fall apart while riding him so good he won't be able to think of anything else but you.

Now here you are, sitting on his couch in the living room, both completely naked while you bounce slowly up and down on his rock-hard cock. At least you still had the sense to make him put on a condom because if it were up to him, he'd slide in immediately.

Soft moans leave your lips while Ransom's hands touch you everywhere they can, from your shoulders and arms to your back and waist, to your hips and ass. Not a single inch of you is left untouched.

Your hands slide over his prominent muscles in his arms, broad chest, and chiseled abs; he looks like a Greek God. And the fucked out look on his face? Even better.

"I love-" is all you get to say to Ransom before your phone rings, and you lean back to grab it from the table behind you, showing Ransom who's calling you.

"Pick it up while you keep riding me so good, Baby. Want him to know it's me who makes you feel this good. That you're mine, and I'm never letting you go," he says between some groans.

You slide the incoming call button to the right, putting it on speaker, just as Ransom grabs your ass to give himself some leverage to fuck up into you as you pick up the phone, making you moan loudly.

"K-Kenji, hi! I'm a b-b-bit b-busy," you say, and you can hear the guy on the other end let out a deep sigh as he hears the skin against skin, your moans leaving your lips, and the groans coming from Ransom.

"Don't fucking bother to contact me ever again, you fucking slut," he says before hanging up the phone, and you drop your phone on the couch before letting yourself fall forward to kiss Ransom fiercely.

"Hm, I'm the only one who gets to call my girl a slut when I'm railing her," Ransom grits out, but he doesn't slow down in the slightest, instead only picking up his pace even more.

He keeps hitting your sweet spot repeatedly, and before you know it, you're falling apart on his cock, just like you said you wanted to. It only takes a few more thrusts from Ransom before he spills his seed into the condom, wishing he was shooting it into your bare cunt instead.

"F-fuck, feels so fucking good when you cum for me," he says, slowly riding you through both your orgasms until you're completely fucked out, your head lying in the crook of his neck.

"Love you so much, Baby. Can't believe I didn't tell you that sooner," he says, and you just hum in response, getting sleepy after the way he made you cum for him.

You stayed on the couch for a little longer before Ransom picked you up and carried you to the bath. He slipped in and put you on his lap, your head resting against his shoulder as he carefully washed your body.

"Thank you, Ran. Love you so much," you say when you're both done, and he gives you one of his shirts and a pair of his boxer briefs to wear to bed.

"I love you too, Baby. And I plan on making the date I'm taking you on unforgettable," he says as he snuggles you into his chest. The two of you fall asleep not long after that, and you've had the best sleep in a while snuggled up in his arms.

[faghubby]

New Hubby

"Jill I have to tell you about what Paul did" Amy whispered as she leaned in whispering.

"This sounds juicy" Jill laughed.

"You need to promise to not say anything" Amy said hesitating if she should say anything but needed to tell someone.

"Paul asked me to dominate him" she whispered.

"You mean like tie him up" Jill giggled

"I mean he begged me to spank him" Amy laughed

"Really did you?" Jill asked. The look on Amy's face gave her the answer.

"You are such a bitch" Jill laughed.

"Well more like his mommy!" Amy and Jill laughed loudly.

"It's more then that, I made him wear my underwear" Amy said alittle more comfortable.

"Really?" Jill asked confused.

"He wants me to cheat on him, deny him sex" Amy told her.

"Wow, why?" Jill now invested in the details.

"He says since he is small I should find a man that can satisfy me and that he doesn't deserve to be with me" Amy explained.

"Well you did always say he was small" Jill suggested. They laughed some more and finished lunch. As they left they passed a little lingerie boutique. Jill grabbed Amy's arm and pulled her inside.

"Let's buy Paul something pretty" Jill laughed. Amy hesitated only for a moment then picked up a pink thong with a smile.

"I mean would he fit in that?" Jill laughed.

"Yeah he would" Amy said joined in laughing.

"Really have you ever had an orgasm" Jill laughed even louder.

"He has a very talented tounge" Amy laughed. Making Jill laugh even louder. With all this a older woman approached.

"Can I help you ladies?" she asked.

"We need panties for her husband" Jill burst out laughing.

"I understand, does he just need panties? Or is a full time crossdresser?" She asked. Making them both laugh even harder.

"I saw these" Amy said holding out the pink thong.

"I see let's find him some more" Laura the saleswoman said as she made some suggestions. By the time they left they had purchased a dozen pairs of panties, but also two bralettes, stockings, and a satin nightie.

"Paul" Amy called out as she got home. Paul came up from the basement, his man cave.

"Hey baby" he said going to kiss her. She turned her head allowing him to kiss her cheek.

"What?" Paul asked.

"Put these on" Amy said pulling the tiny pink thong out of the top of the bag. Paul hesitated only for a second he turned to go to the bathroom.

"Here is fine" Amy told him he seemed embarrassed as he pulled off his shirt. As he unbuttoned his jeans Amy saw he was already wearing her panties.

"Really, where you downstairs playing with yourself too?" Amy asked.

Paul lowered his head not answering. But it was obvious he had been. Amy picked up his belt as he finished stripping. He pulled the thong on they fit perfectly. Amy held his belt.

"Show me what you where looking at" Amy said holding the belt. Paul blushed but led Amy downstairs. Amy sat at his computer as Paul reached over her and typed in his password. A scene of a man eating cum from a woman's well fucked cunt.

"Really this is what you want?" Amy said as she went back. Seeing what else he had watched. A petite white woman getting fucked by a huge black man as a white man in chastity watched. Amy glanced back to see Paul's penis straining against the thin pink material.

Going back again she had a woman wearing a strapon fucking a man

"He? Looks like he shaved" she commented. Looking at my hairy legs and stomach.

"So would you like to shave for me?" Amy asked she still had the belt. Amy led Paul back upstairs.

"I got you more things" she handed him the bag. "Why don't you go take a hot bath and make yourself pretty and smooth for me" she ran her hand over his straining erection. Paul did as she suggested. Amy tried to do research on all of this. The more she looked the more questions she had. Paul had been in the bathroom awhile. Amy curious got curious and went to check on him. She found Paul admiring himself in the mirror.

"I been reading, I don't think I could do everything you want" she ran her hands over his smooth chest. "But somethings I am willing to try" she explained. She grabbed his penis and led him into the bedroom.

"I don't feel comfortable spanking you, but am okay with you dressing up." Amy explained.

"It's okay" Paul started but she silenced him with a look.

"I am willing to disapline you in other ways." She handed him his wallet. "You been naughty spending alot on perverted things. So I want you to cut up your cards. I will give you an allowance. You will have to earn that allowance every week" Amy told him. "Also time outs or extra chores as punishment." She explained. She handed him a bra and pantie set she had bought him. He didn't question just put it on although he needed help with the bra.

"I got you enough you can wear them all the time" Amy told him. He looked at her worried.

"Yes even outside the house" Amy said to answer his unspoken question. "I told Jill about this as well. I am not going to have everyone think I am a slut that cheats on you" she told him. "Not that I want everyone to know but I need someone to talk to about all this"

"I ordered these as well" Amy showed Paul her phone she had ordered an anal training kit. "We can try it, if you don't like it maybe we just save them as punishment"

"Get dressed" Amy said leaving him alone. He got dressed and found Amy waiting for him.

"Well let's go" she said smacking his ass playfully. She had him drive to a nail salon.

"I want your toes a pretty color, if you fight me on this your fingers will match" she told me and led me inside.

"Maybe pink to match your panties?" She said quietly. Paul found the color on the wall closest to his panties. Amy talked to the ladies. They both got mani/ pedis Paul's fingers got a clear coat and a lovely pink for his toes. While Amy got deep red. Paul didn't say a word the whole time. But as they got in the car.

"Hurry home I need you between my legs" they never made it past the living room. Amy had Paul lick her to two orgasms.

"I read you might want to clean my lovers cum out of me" Amy teased. She could see the outline of his little erection in his pants.

"I don't know maybe" he told her.

"Sit help me make a dating profile" Amy told him. She loved having him take naughty pics to post, or having him help her write what she was looking for.

"How about chastity? Would that help you with that?" Amy pointed to his crotch.

"I would let you play with it if you hadn't been playing with it before I got home." Amy teased. Instead they ordered dinner and spent the evening cuddling on the couch.

Paul and Amy experimented over the next few weeks, Amy would sit with Paul and answer men online. Or scroll thru seeing which ones where hot. Paul orally please Amy a few times a week. Sometimes she had him use her vibrator on her as well. Paul went without. Allowed to masterbate only if he asked Amy first. He had broken that rule twice. So Amy ordered him a chastity cage. Paul wore panties exclusively but a bra only when Amy told him to.

But tonight Amy had a date. The cage had come in as well. Amy made Paul lock himself up. As she got ready.

"I want you to wear this as well" Amy smiled holding the smallest of the plugs.

"Call it punishment for not being able to please me" Amy told him. Once again she made Paul do it himself. Paul had never had anything in his ass. It took a few minutes to make it fit despite the small size.

"Don't take it out till I get home" Amy told him with a kiss. The man picked her up at home. I stayed on the bedroom till they left.

Amy returned home after midnight byUber. She rushed in and kissed me.

"I sucked his cock" she told me and kissed me again. "Then I let him have me." She led me to the bedroom both of losing clothes along the way.

"He came in me" Amy told Paul. Paul laid her down and looked at his wifes cum filled pussy. He went back and forth for a moment kissing her leg and caressing her ass. Then as if he won the internal debate in his head he dropped and kissed her used pussy. Amy went wild as Paul ate her like a starving man. She came twice before she pushed him off. She reached over him and pushed on the plug still in his ass. Paul moaned loudly. She pulled out the plug. She reached into his panties to rub his balls and was surprised his panties were wet.

"Your all, did you cum in your panties?" Amy asked surprised.

"No it just well I kept leaking" he explained. Amy laughed and hugged him.

"He was this big" Amy told him holding her hands about 6 inches apart and thick holding her hands again.

Amy saw him a few more times, then a different man. Then another. She didn't sleep with all of them but still made sure Paul was locked and plugged when she did go out. Paul soon wore the biggest plug. And Amy ordered a strapon to fuck him with. Paul only had to wear the cage if Amy was on a date or he broke a rule.

Basic rules if he was 14.

No drinking, smoking( not that he did, the occasional cigar was out though) he stayed on his allowance. Always wore his panties, never argued, or talked back. Even a bad word would get him in trouble. He could go out with his friends but had to ask and be home by whatever curfew Amy set. She also made sure he did his chores. If he did extra he could earn a bonus in his allowance.

Amy often shared things with Jill, but also her sister Terry and a few more people. Jill especially loved to tease him about being a cuckold. Paul suspected Amy and Jill had slept together but never asked Amy about it. Not wanting to embarrass her. If she wanted him to know she would tell him.

Amy also added a new punishment. He hated when she made him suck her strapon. But would beg her to fuck his ass with it. Amy loved that she could punish and reward with the same thing.

[prolix-yuy]

Sheer

(Moodboard by @missredherring)

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Plus Sized F!Reader

Summary: You owe more to an unlikely savior than you could ever imagine.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: T, discussion of off-screen character death (cancer), negative body image and self-worth talk, light spicy thoughts, angst. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: This story was a real surprise and a treat to pop out of my head one morning, especially with a Pedro boy I haven't written for! Our reader is a plus sized girlie in this story, and we're dealing with some negative body image and self-worth talk on both sides. The reader also discusses the death of a friend, so if that may be triggering to you feel free to scroll along, lovely reader.

This should have been your best first day. The first day at the job that will finally get your head above water. The first time you’ve felt qualified, and that you’d fit in. And the first where you could see the stepping stones to something bigger and better in front of you.

It was your fucking thighs that ruined it all.

You’d wanted to make a good first impression. Bought a whole new outfit just to show how committed you were, down to the thigh-high stockings and matching underwear. That was for you, something under the pencil skirt and blazer that made you feel even more powerful. It had cost a pretty penny too. Your ample bottom and full figure needed good support, and that plus lace was always the highest price at the lingerie boutiques. But you shelled it out, along with their recommended garters and thigh highs “for peak professionalism,” and were feeling yourself as you strutted off the subway. There was practically a soundtrack playing behind you. Maybe “Uptown Girl,” the notes making a smile come to your face and your head bob as you exited the train.

You’re normally more careful, aware of how much more space your body takes up than the other knockout New York girls streaming around you. But confidence had you swinging your hips and stepping confidently…right until you bumped into a woman’s handbag with an aggressive closure, the metal skimming past your calf and over the delicate nylon.

It ran instantly, a testament to how much of a rip-off these undergarments were. You felt it split along the length of your shapely leg as you hurried out of the station and towards the gleaming monolith of your office. Scurrying inside, you slipped into the bathroom unnoticed to assess the damage.

The run had split into a gaping maw down your leg, the smooth fantasy of the nylon revealing the more mottled flesh underneath. You held back tears as you wracked your brain for a solution. You could run to a shop, get a replacement pair. You’re still early to clock in, wanting to arrive punctually to impress your supervisor. That’s it, you’d just pop out to a drugstore for a new pair and no one would be the wiser.

It was a perfect plan. You just needed to move. But you can’t. You’re rooted to the spot. 

The mirror mocks you, internal monologue screaming to the forefront from where you battered her back this morning.

Wouldn’t have ripped them if you were smaller.

Why do you need to take up so much space?

Did you think all this would change what you are?

Nastier names you call yourself only in the torture chamber of your mind echo in your ears. Your mascara is dangerously close to running, eyes catching on every flaw in your outfit, every wrinkle, everything that screams don’t look at the parts I hate, every unflattering angle. You reach deep to return to that carefree state you held just fifteen minutes ago but it’s dissipated like steam from a coffee cup. 

Grabbing a handful of tissues you storm into a stall and lock it, leaning over to let the tears drip onto the floor without ruining your makeup. The minutes are ticking away, time running out to fix your minor wardrobe malfunction, but the ache in your head and behind your eyes has become the only thing you can focus on now. Your sobs are quiet little sniffles and short gasps, thankful for the privacy.

Suddenly, the door to the bathroom slams open, and you shoot up, holding your breath. You’re not alone anymore.

Someone in smart leather shoes smacks across the floor, walking past the stalls and coming to a stop. A zip, then the tinkle of urination. Your expression crumples on itself in confusion.

Then a deep, masculine sigh reaches your ears, and your face quickly burns with embarrassment.

Fuck, did you walk into the men’s room?

You didn’t even check, just burst in to the first door with a toilet on it. There may have been urinals, but you were too preoccupied in the moment to pay them any mind. You clap your hands over your mouth, lightheaded at the fact that you’re listening to a grown man piss and he has no idea you’re in here. This day has turned from amazing to devastating to mortifying so quickly you could throw up. 

The man finishes, striding over to the sinks to wash up. You breathe a sigh of relief, ready to make a mad dash out before someone else enters. The water turns off, a few flicks of his hands in the sink, and then…

He starts talking.

“This is your day,” he says, an order that you can imagine him doing in the mirror. “You will succeed in what you do, and you will find satisfaction in that success. You will continue to grow, and be proud of yourself. You will start doing that today.” With every word you cringe inwardly. He’s so earnest-sounding, really enunciating his daily affirmations in a public restroom. His voice is pleasing to listen to at least. If he was a late night radio DJ you would certainly tune in to him to fall asleep. 

A moment of silence, a silent hope.

“This is your day…”

Oh for fuck’s sake, embarrassment be damned, you can’t keep listening to this.

“Hi there,” you squeak out, your whole body tense as his monologue cuts off sharply. The pause is at least ten months pregnant before he speaks.

“I-I’m so sorry, I thought I was alone,” he stammers out, two quick steps heading towards the door.

“No, I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t even be here, it’s…” Your words run out of steam when you realize his footsteps have stopped.

“You’re a woman. In the men’s room.”

You can’t help but smirk. He’s a little slow on the uptake. It’s surprisingly sweet.

“It’s been a rough morning.”

Another pause.

“Are you in trouble?”

You peal out a weak laugh.

“Nothing like that, just…” Taking a deep breath, you blow it out. Might as well admit your failures to a stranger. “I ripped my pantyhose on the way here, and it’s my first day and I wanted to make a good impression, and then I got overwhelmed and…” Your breath starts to quicken, and below the Pepto Bismol pink stall you see two shoes slowly approach. They’re well cared for, supple shining leather, but scuffed all along the toe. Tan slacks overtop the laces, a crisp pleat ironed into the length. You even see a glimpse of striped socks underneath, a collection of garish colors that makes you smile.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the voice says soothingly, closer than before. His accent sounds Spanish before he manually flattens it, forcing it back into his throat in favor of an all-American good boy accent. It eases the tension in your shoulders, sitting down on the toilet seat and dabbing at your eyes. 

“I know it’s stupid. And I should just go out and get another pair. I just…” you say, but struggle to voice what’s really bothering you to a man who hasn't seen your face. Who probably doesn’t care who you are beyond a bizarre Monday morning anecdote. Most don’t, after all. You can’t remember how many times a man has looked through you because of the roundness of your tummy, or the thickness of your thighs. Or even worse, devoured your curves with roaming eyes but won’t look you in the eye, or call you back. 

“It’s not stupid. You wanted to feel ready to take on the day, and something bad happened. We all deal with it,” he says, the gentle register he’s taking on soothing to your frayed nerves. “Do you have a place to go for another pair?” he asks. You bite your lip, shaking your head before realizing he can’t see you.

“First time out here, but I can manage,” you say timidly. The embarrassment of your predicament is climbing back up your throat, the thrumming need to get out and away making your hands shake.

“I know a place, but it’s probably quicker for me to run out for you. Do you want to stay here while I get them?” 

You sputter, a thousand excuses why he should not do that roiling in your brain. “You don’t have to,” is the only one you manage to get out, heart hammering. A little chuckle wafts to your ears, and the heat in your cheeks blooms in your tummy as well. He sounds handsome, and that is short-circuiting your brain even more.

“I have gone on an errand or two in my life,” he jokes, feet making their way towards the door. “Lock it behind me so no one else comes in. I’ll do this -” He knocks on the door in a quick but recognizable pattern. “- when I’m back. It should only be a few minutes.”

“You’re that good huh?” You stammer again, your whole body threatening to light on fire in this stall. This man may come back to a pile of ash instead of a woman dying of embarrassment. 

“Eh, I could be better,” he says, and the door to the outside opens with a rush of lobby noise. “Be right back.”

A thick slam lets you sneak out to bolt the lock. Returning to the mirror that betrayed you just minutes before, you watch your reflection. Behind the roundness in your face you pick at and criticize, you recognize another emotion. Determination, and fortitude you push yourself to stop downplaying. You can overcome this setback. Nothing is lost. If anything, you might have gained a confidant, someone you could laugh about this comedy of errors with over coffee in the break room. 

You’ll be sure to thank him properly when he gets back.

Maxwell Lorenzano hurries out of the office building he’s worked in for six months, down the street and to the Macy’s two blocks away. He knows these roads like the back of his hand, and all of the stores that line them. A good thing to keep in his back pocket when he was pitching new products and charming sales people. Especially good when he knows exactly which door to go through to get to the women’s delicates section.

He strides in with all the glorious purpose of a man on a mission, and people part for him. He likes to think it’s because he cuts an impressive figure, tan suit over a white button-up, brown and yellow striped tie flapping with urgency. But there’s always the nagging worry that it’s because they recognize him. That the scurry away is fear. He’d been confronted in the past, a handful of angry men and women who wanted to take out their frustrations with their fists. But worse is the anxiety, the fear, like he could snap his fingers and magic them out of existence.

The aftermath of that damn stone still hangs heavy around his neck.

“Can I help you?” a petite saleswoman asks when Max comes to a stop in the nylon section. His sudden drop in demeanor from confident to hesitant must have signaled her over. In his eagerness he didn’t even ask his damsel in distress which kind she needed, or her size. He chews his lip in contemplation.

“I’m looking for a pair of nylons for my…” He pauses, no words coming to mind. His unlikely acquaintance? His mystery girl locked in the men’s room? His noble quest? The saleswoman - Karla, her name tag informs him - puts him out of his misery.

“I can help you with that. What kind does she wear? Control top? Thigh highs?”

Max’s mouth dries out. The most he knows of her is the glimpse he got of her feet, sensible black heels, well worn. The sight warmed something in his chest. She must be a hard worker, someone on her feet all day and always up to run an errand for a friend. He bets they ache at the end of a long day. Does she have someone to rub them for her?

“What do…most women wear to an office?” he asks, flitting his eyes over the variety of styles and shades.

“All the professional women I know use thigh highs. Easier in the office than a full set.” Karla directs him to the right section. “What size is she?”

Damn, this is where his lack of foresight fails him. He should have asked, but the intimacy of that question died on his tongue. Why did they size nylons in weight and height, the two most sensitive topics? He’d rather swallow a mouthful of glass than ask. Picking up one of the packets, he flips it to the size chart. There are only four options, which is easier than he expected.

“I can’t remember, better safe than sorry. One of each,” he says, Karla’s well-manicured eyebrows shooting into her hairline.

“And what color?” Karla asks. He noted that at least. 

“Sheer black.”

Karla moves to grab a handful of the basic style, the cheapest on the display, before Max stops her.

“These ones,” he amends, tapping the more expensive set. If she’d already torn one pair, another flimsy set wouldn’t do. It had nothing to do with the fact that the lace edging the expensive ones is more delicate, a prettier pattern, and thinking of giving it to you raises goosebumps on the back of his neck. 

He doesn’t even know you. It’s just…practical.

Karla rings up his purchases without further question, though maybe a little side-smile. She gives Max a brighter one when he takes the bag.

“You’re a good boyfriend,” she comments, scurrying off before he can respond. His face burns hot as he exits the store, checking his watch. The innocuous word - boyfriend - pings in his mind.

It had been some time since Max had run an errand for anyone. A few empty flings followed his divorce but nothing substantial enough to require a trip to the drugstore, or even a coffee shop. It was one of his favorite things about being a husband. He lived for the little memos on his desk blotter - Mrs. Lord needs you to pick up hairspray and milk - and followed them to the letter and beyond. He prided himself in knowing her favorite scents, what brands she preferred, what she turned her nose up at and what feminine products she needed. Sometimes he’d slip in something extra, a bouquet of flowers, a simple card. She’d groan at the expense, especially in the most dire times, but it always ended with her on her tiptoes kissing him, whispering, “My hero,” in his ear. 

He really enjoyed being her hero, even after everything that happened. 

It’s still early enough that his bathroom stowaway won’t be late to her first day. He’ll get to swoop in and save the day, be a hero to one person for a short moment. Jogging back into the office, the clash in humidities making his shirt stick to his back, he returns to the bathroom door. Rapping his pattern on it, he waits for the shick of the lock and a few moments more in case she wants to be back in the stall when he enters. 

Stepping in and locking the door behind him, the open space is still empty, her shoes in her stall. Her toes are pointed towards each other, legs nervously rubbing.

“I, uh, forgot to ask your size,” Max blurts out, cringing immediately at the first thing that comes to mind. He knows she’s holding her breath, so he speeds through the next part. “Those sizing charts are more invasive than a doctor’s visit, so I just got one of everything, and the shop lady said that thigh highs are what everyone’s wearing but I’m not an expert so I hope it’s…okay.” He trails off before stepping further in and sliding the bag under the stall door. He scolds himself not to look further but he does catch a glance at her shapely calves before straightening back up. 

“I can…leave now. Unless you want me to stay until you’re ready to go. What…whatever you want.”

She still hasn’t said anything and it’s heavier than his anxiety on his chest. He’s sure he’s offended her, or completely screwed this one small task up. Leave it to him to take helping a stranger to new, wildly creepy levels. Should he have just gone to reception to ask a woman for help? Is she mortified a man she’s never seen bought her something so intimate? 

He waits in agony.

You try to comprehend what this stranger has handed you. In his absence you practiced thanking him for what you assumed would be the wrong size of pantyhose. You planned how you would reassure him that he could leave so you could escape to the women’s room and struggle into whatever he returned with. 

But instead, he surprises you with a folded bag tucked discreetly under the bathroom stall. 

Four identical pairs of thigh-highs, all matching your outfit, and in every size you could hope for. Pulling out the correct packet, your breath catches in your throat. They’re nicer than you allow yourself to buy, the high-quality nylon silky under your touch. The lace along the edge is finely textured, beautifully designed.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, your voice faraway to your own ears, a ball forming in your throat. The man’s feet shuffle against the tile floor. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m being a creep. My ex-wife always said I was good at finding exactly what she needed.”

His voice is tight, and it plucks at your heart.

“Not a creep, you’re definitely my hero today,” you manage to say, rolling down the ruined pantyhose. The other follows, tucking your bare toes into your shoes to protect them from the cold floor. The man paces outside while you stretch each new nylon up your legs. 

“Definitely not how I thought my day would start,” he says, the smile in his voice making your first real one grace your lips. 

“Me neither. I can pay you for these.”

“I could never accept. I’ll return the extras, but please. Consider them a ‘welcome to the office’ gift. Or consolation after the morning you’ve had.”

“Oh, so you work here too? Great, now I’ll have to worry about bumping into you in the other men’s bathrooms.”

“I would gladly approach all bathrooms with caution if I got to run into you in one again.”

A softer pause than before.

“Would you like me to leave?”

Smoothing the lace band around your plush thigh, you let your fingertips trace the edge. Briefly, you imagine fingers other than your own following the same path before hooking underneath to slide them down inch by inch, replaced by soft lips. 

“I’d like to thank my savior face to face,” you tease, smoothing your skirt and toeing your shoes back on. You dab some toilet paper under your eyes, pat your hair, and take a deep breath before exiting the bathroom stall.

The stall door slams shut as the man who saved your day turns to face you. His eyes light on your face first, open curiosity melting into a charming smile that is…familiar. In fact, a lot of him is familiar. His wide shoulders, suit jacket stretching against them. The sweep of his blond hair, not as light as it used to be but still caramel with burnt sugar strands. His large hands, no longer sporting a Rolex or an ostentatious pinky ring. And his face, one of the most recognizable in recent years, wearing an expression you’ve never seen. If you weren’t so dumbstruck you’d think it was appreciation. It was the look someone might give before calling you beautiful. 

“Max Lorenzano…”

“Max Lord.”

His introduction trips over your recognition, dazed expression sharpening and shattering under those two words. The hope in his eyes dims as he schools his expression into acceptance, honey-golden aura swapped for the cool light of cold winter mornings.

“I’ll go. My apologies,” he says, simple, direct. You’re sure this has happened to him many times, possibly followed by shouts or sneers. Your own words stick in your throat as he claps his hands together and moves to leave. Thankfully your hands are fast enough, wrapping around his arm and pulling him to a stop.

“No, please, wait,” you finally manage, your bodies so close you’re burned by the heat radiating off his jacket. He turns in your grip, which you release to clasp your hands in front of your stomach. 

“I didn’t mean…you startled me, I never expected…” you start, rolling your next words around in your mouth. He watches you, half wary, half hopeful. This close you can see how the edges of his lips are slightly chewed, how close his shave is, the sheen of sweat along his neck. He must have ran to get back here so quickly. Your heart thumps weakly against your ribs.

“I never thought I’d ever come face to face with the person who granted my wish,” you say, watching his jaw tighten in anticipation of vitriol. 

“When I saw you on TV, and you asked me what my one desire was, I had…so many things come to mind. To be prettier, thinner, beautiful.” You can tell he wants to say something but you barrel on before you lose your nerve. “But I’m not a complete idiot, I’ve seen a few movies about wishes. I know those things can blow up in your face, and I don’t think I could take being hurt about how I looked by some magic rock.” 

Max’s hand cups your elbow, thumb rubbing a soothing path.

“So I closed my eyes and I wished exactly this: I want one more day with my best friend at the time in her life when she was happiest.” The next breath you take in shakes. “She died seven years ago. Breast cancer. I miss her every day, and I just wanted one more with her. And I got my wish. And it was the best fucking day. The world outside might have been a mess, but we watched our favorite movies, snuck out to the spots we loved before she got sick, ate our favorite foods and talked all night. And I know it was real because she handed me my own ass and made me come to terms with some shit I did not like about myself. Only she would do that.” You fight against the tears, a sniffle coming out instead, as Max watches you with blossoming wonder. 

“And when it was done she hugged me and told me to kick ass and eat cake and break hearts and I’ve been doing my best ever since.” You let out a watery giggle, Max’s smile warming your cheeks. “I never thought I’d be able to thank the person who gave me my best day, but then, here you are, giving me something I needed again. So, wow, thank you. I…thank you.”

Max clears his throat, his own eyes glassy.

“Can I hug you?” he asks, and you push into his arms without further preamble. He holds you with deep breaths, both of your hearts cracking open and healing pressed together. The overwhelming scent of sweat and spicy deodorant and the warmth of his skin is a balm to your frazzled nerves. His cheek rests against your forehead and when you squeeze him a little tighter he returns it. 

When you part, your reddened eyes and sniffling noses make you both snort out laughs, moving to the sink to freshen up. You powder your face, surprisingly unselfconscious after all that just happened. Max straightens his tie and sweeps back his hair. It looks soft, barely styled. His shoulders seem lighter.

Both presentable, he lets you into the hallway, hazarding a peek to prevent any scandal. You walk side by side as he asks you where you’re starting work - transcription - and you ask where you’ll be able to find him - the mailroom. He waits for you to sign in with the front desk before leading you to the elevators, not so surreptitiously angling for the empty one before leading you in. He’s meant to be going down a floor, but rides with you up to the sixth.

“I’m glad you made that wish,” he says once the doors shut, the elevator whirring to life under your feet. “And that you didn’t make the other ones. You’re already beautiful.” He says the last three words quietly, like they would spook you if he said them with his whole chest. Your cheeks burn, the smile dimpling them. “And…thank you. For telling me. No one’s ever told me they’ve been happy.”

You ride in silence until just before your floor, turning to look at the man who gave you so much. He’s watching you like a miracle, like he wants to wrap you in his arms again, like he wants to say something very stupid to a person he barely knows. He swallows it instead, but you can’t help yourself. You lift up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek, and savor the way he leans into it.

“My hero,” you whisper, stepping out to let the doors close between you.

Your lips, and your words, linger on him for days. Your impressions lingers on his heart for longer. After a week he tries to forget, to push you to the background in a futile attempt at self-preservation. You don’t know him, and he doesn’t know you. Fate smashed you together but you should part just as quickly, save you both the heartache. He’s still a complicated man, and you deserve better than that.

It works until he gets a piece of mail for you, two weeks later, and possessed by some boldness he’s forgotten he has, he plasters a sticky note on it.

“I hope your first week has been better than your first day.”

He wants to write so much more, but knowing anyone could see it stops his hand. 

He doesn’t expect a response, at least not right away. You might still be embarrassed. So when he’s closing up at the end of the day and you come up beside him, the shock on his face breaks you into laughter. 

“My week has been nowhere near as good as my first day,” you finally say. “But I did find a good place to eat a few blocks away. Great dinner options.” Max’s heart pulls between stopping and beating uncontrollably in his chest until he finally says, “We better check it out then.”

The laughter is just as easy as the first day, the conversation even better. He refuses to let you leave without trying the milkshakes, and beams when he watches something heavy fall off your shoulders as you look at him. 

You tell him more about your life, your friend that brought you both together more than she’d ever imagined. He tells you about the life he lives now, of Alistair and how proud he is of him. Questions and anecdotes and words both loud and soft wrap around you in the wooden booth. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s felt like Maxwell Lorenzano.

When he walks you to your subway stop Max’s hand falls to your lower back and remains. The soft way you look at him makes him think that maybe all his heroics have finally gotten him somewhere after all.

And next time he finds himself in a bathroom with you, it’s very much on purpose.

END

I didn't want to spoil the turn, but yeah that's the face he gives her and it makes me emotional just looking at it.

[thatbitcheryextras]

Hello 👋🏾 🤗

You mentioned this a couple times when it comes to dressing in the workplace, to find local brands. Can you elaborate more on what you mean like do we shop at a luxury boutique, how can we tell good quality clothing, where to find a good tailor for your clothes, or anything like that?

hi <3

Yes I can. Here's the thing, luxury shopping is a waste of money, simply put. Armani and versace do not import fabric from mars or craftsmsn from Jupiter it's the exact same thing as your local designer selling a better piece that's tailored to your body for a quarter of the price,and you're not signalling to people that you're a reeeeech girl so you're not getting unnecessarily overcharged and stink eyes from other colleagues because they feel threatened.

Here's what makes luxury, luxury- exclusivity. That's it.

What I want you to signal with your clothes isnt 'im reech so I don't need a promotion' it's 'im put together, I'm classy, I'm elegant, Im sophisticated and I was raised right. Also, I'm mysteriously wealthy, take a guess but I'm not giving you any hints.'

That is to say no sequin no shein no blush on cheeks no sparkles no girly girl no overdoing no flamboyance just, quiet old money vibes.

Few things say 'i don't feel the need to perform to please you' as local hometown brands do. If the fabric is very high quality, the right fabrics with the right type buttons and zips for the right body types with the right silhouettes AND with a tiny little brand logo you look as old money as they come. Tell me, have you ever seen Princess Charolette in Ralph Lauren? Even though it's marketed as old money? Nope. Because luxury brands are costumes to cosplay being wealthy.

Now, brands also protect you from low quality experiences so do get a very high quality knockoff chanel pin for half price and save money while signalling what you need to.

Steps:

Find a local tailor with sample garments that look classy

Go fabric shopping for high quality natural fabrics

show them the designs (corporate ver) that you want

Get your clothes tailored

Have them place some form of personal signature. Whether it's a bone button on the collar or a tiny little logo you made up on the breast pocket, have them place it in some noticeable place. Tiny. Tiny little detail that'll be part of your signature.

Get basics, so you can mix and match.

Done. Save tons on designer, look put together and sophisticated and mature and raised right and, and, LUXURIOUS. because luxury isn't a brand thing it's a look thing.

Deal with your basics. Seamless underwear. Stockings for skirt days. Close toe shoes. A tie maybe. Flawless skin, rich supple hair, beautiful short nude colored nails (or french tips, white) and the bags. Plus, scents.

Never tell anyone where you got your clothes from or what your perfume is. Ever. Gatekeep like your life depends on it.

Save tons of money (if you get your basics right mixing and matching is easy, so you don't need a lot of garments.

When it comes to good quality clothing, well that's not exactly my area of expertise but I did take a styling class so I'll do my best here. Good clothing is dependent on a few pillars

The type of fabric.

Your color seasons, undertones and skin tone

The stitching, buttons and zips if any

How well it's tailored to your body / sits on your silhouette

Simplicity

Your body type

Ease of pairing.

Since this is a corporate setting, let's stick to it as a reference for this list

The more natural looking the fabric the better. All but leather and silk. You can get away with silk but leather has a sexy element to it, unless it's a bag it shoes please don't. We are talking, Cotton. Wool. Tweed. Linen. Sisal. The more natural it looks, like something you'd see on an animal or a farm, the better

It's 2024 you can get your color analysis done by AI for free do not be lazy. Here's a failproof plan; your top must compliment your face, which is to say if you're on the darker side (darkskin black or brown) a white blouse will wash your face out and steal all the focus, and if you're white / light skin, a black blouse might be too harsh (and even on the sexy side). The colors in between follow the same rule, for your basic top choose three colors just above or just below your skin color. Your bottom (pants or skirt) can be anything really, and your coat must be in between. Try for colors with your bag.

stitching- you can tell. When the hems are all over and the stitching does not allow symmetry of patters or shapes if any and if you- you can tell s high quality cloth just by the stitching. Shouty zips and buttons look cheap - could be real gold or silver and it will still look cheap. Pearl like buttons stitched well are much better, bone looking and black buttons matte are basically gods in this area and you can get away with metallic looking buttons if there's some sort of emblem on them. Buttons with some fabric on them, if the fabric matches the cloth- godsent. Zips also shouldn't be shouty or plastic, god's sake, please, and if they can be covered please do just that.

Clothes that are tailored to your body automatically look expensive. Not too tight that it's vulgar and not too loose that it's absurd. Here's a fail proof formula part 2; only one can be tight- your top or bottom. Loose skirt x fitted blouse is okay. Well fitted pants x loose blouse can do it. And, it always looks good (if your body type allows it). Coats and blazers not too boxy and usually, should fall just a little under your hips. If they'll not be buttoned - or exactly on your hips if they will be.

Body type - YouTube exists lol. Pinterest? Google??

Ease of matching - we are the working class we have to think of our ROI (Return on investment) and think hard. You do not want to pay all that for a cloth to find you can only pair it in one way. How many ways can you pair it with other pieces in your wardrobe to come up with different outfits? A quality cloth is a Solomon level lover- 300 wives 700 concubines.

Skin, hair, shoes and bags will save your entire wardrobe, trust me. Clear, clean skin, minimal make up, short nails with simple manicure, low heel shoes and bold, block bag will save you. And of course, minimal perfume.

All the best, love.

[corruptedcaps]

Something Wicked: part three

Read part one here

Read part two here

Jenna arrived at the mall and viewed it like never before. Where before she had seen it as a place to spend daddy’s money and get pampered while getting hit on by cute boys she now saw it as a monument to consumerism that made her sick. However it did have its uses she thought as she entered the alternative salon.

She remembered scoffing at the tattooed and pierced employees with her clique of beta bitches every time she passed it, often declaring she would never been seen dead in there. Now she looked at the pictures that adorned the walls with aspiration. She wanted that girls hair, that girls nails, that girls piercing. She wanted her very look to strike fear into Jennifer and her loser friends.

“How can I help you dear?” Said the lady at the counter and a sly smile crept onto Jenna’s lips.

Hours later Jenna stepped out of the salon feeling like a new woman. Her hair was dyed, her nails were black and sharp and her lip, tongue and nipples were pierced. She loved it all, especially the nipple piercing which she played with endlessly.

There was just one thing lacking now and that was her wardrobe. The baggy hoody was starting to feel like a weight upon her. She needed clothes that showed off her body and her impressive tits. Her body felt as though it was on autopilot as she entered a goth boutique called "Eclipse."

The store’s neon signs and edgy window displays drew her in, and she wasted no time browsing the racks filled with goth clothing. Her eyes fell on a particularly revealing black latex top and a pair of fishnet stockings. Excitement bubbled within her as she picked them up and headed to the dressing room.

Inside the fitting room, Jenna slipped into the a black latex top with matching latex min skirt, and fishnet stockings. She admired her reflection in the mirror, noting to herself once again that Lily had a great body before correcting herself with pleasure that SHE had a great body. Lily hid it under layers of clothing and timidness but Jenna oozed confidence, now more than ever.

A sinister smile curled on Jenna's lips as she admired her new appearance. The piercings, the hair, the nails, the edgy makeup – they all seemed to amplify her newfound seduction. With each passing moment, the lines between her old self and the person she had become blurred.

She whispered to her reflection, "There's a darkness within me, waiting to be unleashed. It's time to embrace the power of this body fully. This world has no fucking idea what's coming."

Her outfit complete she stepped out of the dressing room as a sales associate, Raven, approached, and Jenna suddenly felt butterflies in her stomach.

“Wow Lily you look amazing! New hair and new makeup? I’m glad you finally took me up on the offer to try something other than the baggy tops.” Raven said and Jenna’s mind became awash with memories. Lily frequented this store dozens and dozens of time, rarely buying anything. No, instead she came to see Raven.

Raven was a striking figure with a distinctive appearance that immediately caught the eye. She had jet-black hair that fell in tousled waves, framing her face with an air of effortless coolness.

Raven’s style was impeccable, reflecting her role as a sales associate in the goth clothing store. She was often seen in edgy, all-black ensembles that accentuated her unique look. Her outfit typically included a collection of silver jewelry and accessories, adding a touch of rebellion to her appearance.

Raven was a college dropout who worked part time at the store but Lily had memorized her schedule making she to never miss an opportunity to see her. Lily was infatuated with Raven and this obsession had rubbed off on Jenna without her knowing. This was why she instinctively went for this store.

Jenna had never thought of girls in any sort of lustful way but looking at Raven made her hornier than she had ever been before in her life. Lily never asked Raven out, too scared of rejection. But Jenna wasn’t Lily and Jenna got what she wanted.

“Well, you were right, Raven. Sometimes a little change can be quite… liberating. Thanks for the stylish guidance and for showing me a different side of fashion. I’m going for a goth princess kind of look, do you think I’m pulling it off?” Jenna said as she gave a striking pose for Raven.

Fear momentarily struck Jenna as Raven seemed shocked by her new confidence. Had she gone too far too fast? Her worry was dashed seconds later when Raven moved in closer to her. “No I don’t. You’ve got much more of a goth queen vibe.”

Jenna felt her heart begin to race a little as she sensed the flirtation between them. Her body was nearly red hot with desire and even Lily’s normally shy and reserved voice in her head was screaming out for pleasurable release. But Jenna was no stranger to this dance, even if this was with a woman.

“Is that so?” Jenna said moving even closer to Raven, the rest of the store seemed to fade away. “Well shouldn’t you be kneeling then?”

A playful smirk played on Jenna’s lips as Raven leaned in to whisper in her ear, “The question is would you make me kneel if I refused?”

Moments later the door to Eclipse was shut as both Jenna and Raven stumbled into the back stock room of the store, their hands grasping madly at each other’s bodies, their lips kissing any bare skin available. Jenna pushed Raven hard against the wall causing the sales clerk to groan happily. Jenna gave her a deep kiss as she grabbed at Raven’s sensitive tits. Jenna moved from her lips and started kissing further south before Raven stopped her.

“Ah ah wait. A Queen deserves a throne.” Raven said with a smirk as she led Jenna to a red leather seat behind some shelves and sat her down. Raven lifted up Jenna’s yet to paid for latex mini skirt and knelt down in front of Jenna’s glistening pussy and started licking her clit.

Jenna moaned an animalistic moan like no man had ever given her before. She didn’t know if it was Lily’s mind further merging with her own or whether it was something in her own that had awakened but she didn’t care. She was different now, she was better.

Running her obsidian nails through Raven’s hair, Jenna guided her new thrall to her most sensitive of areas, which Raven did eagerly. In the dim light of the stock room, Jenna could see a blinking light in the corner and realized the security camera was pointed directly at them. Rather than become concerned about it, Jenna instead felt a wicked plan take root in her mind. One so depraved and bad that she got even more turned on.

Jenna could feel any remnants of her cheerleading former life melt away with each pleasurable sensation Raven was invoking. She realized that as Jenna the cheerleader she was weak, hiding behind her blonde perfect hair, her rich family and her popularity. For the first time in her life she felt true power. Raven was eating her pussy perfectly because she wasn’t some rich spoilt princess. No she did it because this goth bitch commanded it so. Jenna and Lily were both dead now. Only Lilith remained.

As she came at this realization her eyes rolled into the back of her head cementing Lilith as the only personality in her mind. She was an evil, wicked little bitch and she was going to take Jennifer down and become the goth queen she was destined to be.

Lilith grabbed Raven’s hair and pulled her up into a dark embrace, tasting her own juices with delight. Lilith was even more assertive and dominant than Jenna was and Raven was about to experience it first hand. She threw Raven to the floor and pulled the shop goth’s panties out from below her plaid skirt. Lilith got to work as if she had done it a thousand times, Raven was moaning within seconds.

“Ohhhh fuck…. Ohhhh god…. Oh Lily!” She yelled as Lilith worked her way around her pussy like an expert, however she needed to correct one thing first.

“Lily is fucking dead, it’s Lilith from now on.” She grinned darkly as she went back down for more. Raven had never experienced such pleasure. She was no prude, and she had been called the opposite numerous times but there was something wild and animalistic about Lilith. Like a caged beast had finally been unleashed. She loved it.

“Oh fuck yes Lilith you bitch! You slut! You fucking queen!” Raven moaned. Lilith meanwhile was like a woman possessed, every second that ticked by cemented the new darker persona in her head. She didn’t want power anymore, she wanted chaos.

Removing her tongue from Raven’s soaking wet pussy she replaced it with three fingers which she used to expertly massage her lover’s sensitivities. As she did this, Lilith maneuvered up to Raven’s ear to whisper her silky words.

“Now tell me, who do you serve?” Lilith purred with the tone of a woman in total control.

“You my queen. Ohhhhh fuck! Queen Lilith!” Raven groaned as her body vibrated.

“And you would do anything for me, isn’t that right?” Lilith asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“Of course! Just say the word…. Oh goooood!” Raven gasped.

“Good. Then I want you to cum. Longer and louder than you ever had in your life. If you don’t do this, you will be punished, understand?” Lilith said as she twisted her fingers inside Raven to show she was serious.

“Yes yes yes yes my queen!” Raven said almost pleading.

“Perfect. Now do it my little cumslut!” Lilith demanded and Raven soon obeyed with a guttural roar and an intense contortion of her body. Lilith went back to her impromptu throne and watched in delight as Raven continued to writhe around in pleasure on the floor.

When she was finally done she basically crawled over to Lilith who sat casually on the chair. “Oh my god Lilith, you are amazing! I meant every word I said, I’ll do anything for you…. My queen.” Raven said on her knees in front of Lilith.

Lilith put Raven’s face into her hand and ran a sharp nail softly down her cheek. “I know my pet, which is why for starters you’re going to give me anything from this store that I desire.”

“Of course mistress, anything you want is yours. Everything looks so good on you.” Raven said showering her lover with praise.

“But course it does but it’s not just clothes I’m interested in.” Lilith said with a wicked smile as she turned her gaze up to the still blinking red light of the security camera. Raven followed her gaze to the camera and was confused but anything her mistress wanted, she would now provide.

To be concluded…

[duaghterofstories]

Adam was the first man.

He wasn’t really sure what that meant. But it was what the Angels called him. And they told the truth. They told the truth always. But his body wasn’t comfortable. He didn’t like it. He was told it was made to be perfect for him.

Then he saw Lilith. She was beautiful. Adam envied her. She was small, like he wanted to be. She was curvy where he was blocky and she was elegant and soft. He wished he had her body.

Then Lucifer took her, his best friend. His greatest trust. He took the one thing that he wanted. And okay, maybe he felt a little better, no longer having to spend every day staring and a being who had exactly what he wanted.

Adam was the first person to go to Heaven.

Heaven was… okay. It was pretty bland, and Abel was waiting for him. But his body was still the same. It was supposed to be paradise, be exactly what he wanted. But his body was still blocky and it never curved.

He fell into his macho man persona. He played it up. Maybe if he did it enough his body would feel comfortable, it would be the right one. But it didn’t work.

He was given a whole group of people. Women. They would work with them to kill demons. Sinners. It felt nice to get some revenge on Lucifer.

Lute and Vaggie were his two best. Vaggie wasn’t the type to be touchy feely though. So in the end, as much as Adam loved all his exorcists, it was Lute he was closest with.

He loved to fuck women. But in the dead of night, cuddling in his bed with Lute, he would confess he did this to feel their soft curves and love the kind of body he wishes he could.

Adam was not the first Fallen Angel.

He showed up in Hell as a little lamb sinner. His body was no longer big, and blocky. Instead it was soft and smooth. It didn’t curve exactly how he wanted. But his fluff was as soft as the bodies he envied, and he passed himself off a girl. To hide his identity from people who would want to hurt him, he claimed. It wasn’t true.

She didn’t want to go to the Hazbin Hotel. She had enough self awareness to know they wouldn’t want her there. Instead she sang songs in her room about feeling wrong in her body.

She got a job at a boutique as a model for the dresses and it felt so nice to finally feel the soft of the fabric rushing over her skin. Something she hadn’t felt before. Anything Lute tried to lend her was too small. It never worked.

But somehow the Spider Demon and Adam crossed paths. He insisted that she come. Adam guessed this would come. That they would try to punish her.

At the Hotel, however, Charlie insisted she try and get rehab. To become better. Even at the protests of Vaggie and everyone else.

And maybe it hurt when Lucifer called her a boy, a man, or when the residents called her using male pronouns, or when Charlie stocked her closet with masculine clothes, and male magazines, and boy boy boy.

But it was okay. It was okay, and the pain wasn’t too bad.

She He deserved it after all.

[leighsartworks216]

The Burlesque Boutique

Astarion x male/AMAB!Tav/Reader

Based on this art by @marbledgummi

I could not resist

There are two versions of this fic. Read the strap-on version here

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: explicit smut, crying, orgasm denial, swearing, one reference to past trauma

Word Count: 2,620

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“Dove?”

Astarion poked his head into the study. You were hunched over the desk on your side of the room, hands working away at something. The other half of the room (his half) was cluttered with sewing and jewelry supplies, half-made dresses and suits, and a stack of pillows for when he wanted to take a nap without straying too far from you. He never really imagined settling down, owning a house, but now he couldn’t imagine it being any other way.

“Did you order something from,” he glances at the box in his hand, “the ‘Burlesque Boutique’, by any chance?”

“No,” you answered. You look up from your project with a quirked brow. “Why?”

His mouth opens, about to explain. But then a wicked little idea curled around his brainstem, crooking a finger at him and tempting him toward mischief. Instead, he smiled in that way that showed he was planning something. You raise your brows higher at him. “No reason, darling.”

“Mhm.” You turn back to your work. “Don’t catch anything on fire.”

He scoffs, shouting back as he pads down the rest of the hall to the bedroom. “It was one time!” He heard you chuckle in response.

The box wasn’t big - a foot or so wide and rectangular. It also wasn’t much to look at, despite the shop’s name in script on the top suggesting something racy or scandalous. He flipped it over a few times, but there was no name. The mail carrier must have delivered it to the wrong house, or it was a lame prank from some teens.

He sighed. He really hoped it was something more than that.

He cut the silky red ribbon holding it shut with a knife he kept in his bedside table. He almost considered saving it. If the rest of this turned out to be a bust, at least he could tie your hands up with this. But the rope he had for such an act was much softer, and quite a bit stronger. So he dropped it carelessly to the side and lifted the lid.

He chuckled, delighted and utterly amused as he unfolded the tissue paper and revealed a set of pink and white lingerie. The top was a sheer negligee with thin straps and a little bow that would rest prettily between a pair of breasts. Long, white stockings were folded beneath it, with a matching garter belt to keep them up.

Oh, this was… He could just picture you wearing it, all dolled up just for him.

And then the thought turned back on him.

What if he got all dolled up for you? He wasn’t a stranger to wearing feminine clothing - you’d particularly enjoyed him in the Wavemother’s robe. Testing the thought, he lifted the negligee by the straps and held it up to his chest. It looked like it would fit…

He started to lower it back into the box when something else caught his eye. He placed it on the bed instead and moved the stocking out of the way and- Oh. Oh gods. A pretty pair of panties hidden at the bottom of the box, the same pink as the negligee and with a little ribbon of its own.

Now, how could he resist?

-

You didn’t jump when arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind, so used to Astarion’s habit of sneaking up just for affection. He pressed like kisses to the side of your neck as he peered over your shoulder.

Your hands worked diligently on your project. Astarion pressed another kiss just below your ear, where he whispered, “Can you spare a moment, darling? I wish to show you something.”

You hum, taking in his words but too focused to answer. Once you find a good moment to stop, you set everything down and turn your head to look at him. “What is it, star?”

He grins deviously as he captures your lips, cupping your cheek and keeping you in place. He’d hate to spoil the surprise.

He doesn’t pull away as he sidles around your chair. You sigh quietly into his mouth when he parts your lips with his tongue. The sound alone makes his cock twitch, pressed tightly against the lace of the panties that keep it in place. He groans quietly.

Dexterous as ever, he sits himself on your lap easily, straddling your legs. You automatically reach up to support him, hands landing on his hips to keep him from sliding off, but then your eyes shoot open.

He’s smirking when you pull away with wide eyes as you lean back to take him in. You can’t get enough. Your eyes trail all down his body, looking at his chest and stomach through the sheer pink negligee. The garter belt hugs his waist, straps reach down his thighs to hold onto the tall stockings. The matching lace panties, bulging with his growing erection. A pretty silk ribbon is tied around his neck, just below his Adam’s apple.

You look up at him in awe, all flushed with dilating pupils. “Where did you get this?”

“Somebody left a package at the door,” he explains, leaning down to kiss at your neck. You immediately give in to the attention, tilting your head to the side as you grip his thigh and tangle your fingers in his hair. “No name, no address. I expected a prank, but the temptation was too good to miss.”

He nipped at your pulse and you groaned. “Speaking of temptation.” You tugged at his hair, pulling him away from your neck. A little harder than strictly necessary, but he just grinned as his head was tipped back with the pressure. The ribbon strained against his throat. “Gods, how should I have you?”

“In any way you please, my love.”

You smirk up at him. “In any way?” You tug at his hair again, drawing a grunt of pleasure from your lover. His Adam’s apple bobbed, fully exposed and prominent. You release his hair and slide your hand to his throat. He watches through lidded eyes. With deft fingers, you pull at one end of the ribbon, and it comes apart, falling from his neck. You tap his thigh. “Get up.”

He gives you an uncertain look, almost a frown, but he complies. You stand and push him back until his ass hits the edge of the desk. He blindly reaches behind him to push your stuff back carelessly. You’re too entranced with him and the lewd images racing through your mind to care.

You grab his hip and push lightly, telling him without words what you wanted him to do. He lifts himself onto the edge. You press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Good boy.”

You step back to take him all in. Such a pretty little thing, all dressed up in someone else’s lingerie just for you.

You don’t take your eyes off his as you kneel down before him. The sight of you on your knees, face so close to his aching cock, sends a thrill down his spine. He grips onto the edge of the desk to retain some self-control.

You hold onto his legs as you begin trailing kisses along them. You kiss a line from his knee, up along the stocking, until you finally reach skin. There, you nip at the soft flesh. Closer and closer to where he needs you.

He groans above you. “You’re going to kill me at this rate,” he whines.

You grin against his skin, but don’t immediately act to provide him any relief. Instead, you kiss and bite your way to the edge of the panties. And, devil that you are, you kiss over the bulge. It twitches under your lips as Astarion hisses. You lick a stripe against it and he tenses with a strangled moan.

“Gods, please,” he begs, voice airy. “Too tight. Too tight.”

Mercifully, you pull the lace down, freeing him from his prison and tucking it under his balls. His dick was hard and sensitive. A small bead of precum already shined at the head.

“Desperate?” you tease.

He glares down at you. “Excited,” he corrects sharply. “To have your pretty little mouth around me.”

You hum, studying his dick. The longer you did nothing, the more it strained, eager to be touched, tasted, teased. You press a little kiss at the head, kitten-licking the precum away as his hips buck for more.

And then you stand. He whines.

“Bedroom. I want to take you properly.”

He wastes no time, leaping up from his seat and rushing to the bedroom. You follow after, leisurely. He sits at the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the covers to stop from touching himself. You walk around to your bedside table. “Lay down.”

His eyes never stray from you as he crawls back to the center of the bed. He swallows excitedly as you pull out a small container of oil. Truth be told, Astarion doesn’t bottom very often. It can bring back bad memories, of being used, but he enjoys this immensely, and he can’t wait to be fucked by you.

You kneel by him and lean down to kiss him. It’s hot and eager, Astarion nipping and sucking as he tries to distract himself. Your hand finds his inner thigh and his hips jerk to find friction. You don’t provide him any, of course.

You pull away to kiss his neck, massaging his thigh and hip as you mark him up. “Such a good boy,” you whisper into his skin. He whines, pressing his head back into the bed. He loves your praise.

His cock is weeping and red with need when you pull away. You stand and make your way to the foot of the bed. “Back or stomach?”

Gods, thinking about either makes him keen. He has to bite his lip to form a coherent thought. “Stomach.”

“Flip over.”

He does immediately. He gets on his hands and knees, back arching in anticipation. His cock dribbles onto the sheets, but neither of you can care in this moment.

He feels the bed shift as you climb back on behind him. He tries to look back, to see what you’re doing. It’s futile. All he knows is he needs to be touched so fucking bad. It consumes his entire mind.

You slide the panties down until it’s bridging between his thighs, unable to be fully removed with the garter belt holding up the stockings. You caress one of his ass cheeks, pulling it to the side to reveal his tight asshole. You bite the other cheek, quite hard, enough to leave a slight imprint of your teeth. He lowers down to his elbows so he can press his face in his arms.

“Good?” you ask, pressing a light kiss over the reddening mark.

He nods frantically. “Don’t stop,” he whimpers.

Your hand leaves him for a moment, but he can hear the sound of the oil bottle opening. You slick your fingers and spread his cheeks once more. He can’t help the keening moan that erupts from his mouth when you rub and prod at his entrance. He tries to rock back into your fingers, to fuck himself on them, but you hold him in place.

You take your time to gently stretch him, adding one finger at a time and never going deep enough. At one point, you push your fingers as deep as they can go and he sobs into his arms.

When you think he’s ready, you slick yourself up with more oil, sitting up on your knees and grabbing onto his hips with both hands. He’s a mess, pressing into you against his will. He needs you inside him.

You coo sweetly to him. “Don’t worry, my love, I’ve got you. You’re so pretty like this.” You line up your dick with his asshole and slowly, so fucking slowly, push in. He groans and keens and makes all sorts of lovely noises. He grips at the bedsheets and squirms slightly as you fill him. “So fucking gorgeous. My good boy. So good.”

You still when your hips are flush with his ass. He whines and tries to press back again, but there’s nothing more to take. He is completely full of your cock.

You roll your hips and he gasps, babbling to beg you to move, to fuck him. You shush him as you slowly pull your cock almost all the way out, and press in again. There’s less resistance each time, until you can set a good pace without hurting him.

He moans and whines your name, gasping when you sharply thrust into him. The negligee slips down his body with the rocking motion until it pools around his chest and bunches at his shoulder blades.

“You look so good in pink, baby,” you tell him. You lean over his back and press loving kisses on his neck and shoulders. He turns his head to try looking at you, to try to say something playful. But he can’t open his eyes, and none of his words come out as words. “You’re being so good for me, pretty boy. I’ll take care of you.”

You sit back up and grab his hips tighter, pulling them toward you with each thrust. He cries out as you pound into him, speeding up as you feel your own orgasm approaching. Your movements become sloppy and lose the rhythm, but you only fuck him harder and faster to compensate. You can tell he’s close. He gasps breathlessly against the covers, hips rocking for friction against the air. He’s so fucking close.

You lift a leg to be effectively kneeling behind him. It changes the angle just enough that you rub against his prostate with each thrust. He moans loudly, the sound choking in his throat and coming out as a desperate whine. He doesn’t last.

A few more thrusts and his orgasm tears through him. He cums hard, body trembling and cock twitching as he finally finds the release he longed for, without hardly being touched.

His asshole clenches around you, squeezing your cock with each spurt of cum. You don’t stop fucking him until you orgasm, stuffing him with cum, buried deep inside his ass. You’re both panting, whimpering messes as you fill him, as he stains the blankets and coats his stomach. The negligee is just barely out of reach, unstained by just a hair.

When you’re both spent, you sit there a moment, catching your breath. You slowly ease out of him. He whimpers softly, but sighs contently once the pressure is gone. He can still feel your seed filling him up, starting to drip out as his stretched asshole clenches around nothing once more. His legs are unsteady, hands merely resting on the blankets instead of clutching for dear life.

You get up from the bed and go to the side to help him roll over and lay on his back without laying in his own spend. He clumsily finds your hand where you held his waist and holds it.

“Good?” you ask again. You push his matted curls from his forehead and kiss his brow. He nods against your lips. He still can’t quite find his words. You kiss his cheek. “Bath?”

He nods again, but holds tighter to your hand when you try to pull away. “Not yet,” he mumbles. He draws your hand up to his face, holding it to his cheek as he leans into it with a quiet sigh.

You press your head to his, kissing his temple and the length of his ear tenderly. “Take your time, my love. I’ll take care of you.”

---

Tag List:

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[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Soup.

The first thing Draco noticed was that Harry hadn't shaved that morning. Harry shaved every morning. It was only on vacation that he would let his stubble grow out a bit - his own way of relaxing, Draco supposed.

But then Draco saw the way Harry rubbed his eyes, bloodshot and heavy, and pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses pushed up to his forehead.

When, ten minutes later, Harry still hadn't touched his breakfast, instead just sitting hunched while steadily sipping hot tea, Draco lowered the month's copy of Up Your Sleeve with a small frown.

"All right?" he asked.

Harry looked up, eyes wide, steam from the tea fogging his glasses. "Yeah," he said, and Draco decided that he was simply imagining the slight hoarseness in his voice.

"Not hungry?"

"Not really. Tummy feels weird."

"Weird, how?"

"Just queasy." Harry drained his mug and got to his feet, swinging on his maroon cloak. "Must be the takeout last night."

"I did advise you not to get overzealous with the chilly sauce," Draco turned the page, looking back down at the article about how talking brooches were back in fashion now, "You need to listen to me sometimes."

"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry said, and simply marched out of the kitchen.

Draco listened to the Floo flare and then go out, his gaze on Harry's plate, breakfast cold and untouched. Ten minutes later as he left for work, Harry and his reddened eyes had slipped out of his mind.

He should have known when, four and a half hours later, Harry didn't show up for lunch at the boutique. Draco ordered Greek from Melina's and the tzatziki looked incredible and smelled delicately of garlic and Draco ended up eating all of it along with warm pita. He had robes to finish hemming and ironing and so he left the rest of the food under a Stasis and went back to his sewing machine. Maybe Harry wouldn't mind some Greek at dinner.

But by five o'clock that evening, when Draco finally had a moment to sit down with a cup of tea, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It wasn't like Harry to just not show up to lunch. He missed lunch all the time, but never without owling Draco about it.

Leaving his assistant to lock up after their last customer (who was trying on robes in increasingly dark shades of green and getting more and more flustered and confused) Draco Floo'ed home.

"Harry?" he called out, even before he was completely out of the Floo, even though Harry never got home before him.

There was a grunt from the sofa. Draco went and looked over the backrest to find Harry, still in full Auror uniform, curled up tightly with his head on two cushions.

"What are you-- What's happened to you?" Draco demanded, a tad bit louder than he'd intended, but then he was suddenly worried and Draco could never handle being worried.

Harry didn't answer and so Draco strode around the sofa, thumped the lunch leftovers on the coffee table next to Harry's glasses, and shook Harry lightly by the shoulder.

"Potter!"

Harry just sighed and blinked open tired, very, very red eyes. "Don't feel good," he said in a hoarse whisper, and then shut his eyes again.

Draco pushed thick, unruly black hair off Harry's forehead and pressed his palm to it.

"You're burning up," he said shortly. "When did you get home?"

"Dunno." A pause, then, "They sent me home at the eleven o'clock meeting."

"You've been home all day, feeling sick, and you didn't bother owling?"

"Couldn't find Hera."

"Have you forgotten you're a wizard? Why didn't you send me a patronus?"

"Nnngblr," replied Harry.

"Have you eaten something?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'm gonna make you soup." Draco was already on his way to the kitchen, kicking off his shoes on the way.

"I'll throw up."

"You will drink it and you will like it. And then you'll get in the bath." He put the kettle on and went rummaging for chicken stock cubes.

"Want to sleep."

"While you're in the bath, I'll go buy a few vials of Fever Fixer."

"Head hurts."

"We have pain potions for that. I'll give you one of those too."

Twenty minutes later, Harry was sat in their bed, wrapped in two blankets, his uniform in a heap on the floor. In the en suite, Draco drew him a bath, poured in some muscle relaxant, and dimmed the lights.

Harry was obediently eating his soup when Draco went back out. His glasses were perched on his head now. Every other minute he'd sneeze and they'd slip down only to be pushed back up. He wore only his boxer shorts and socks and had a light sheen of sweat on his face from the hot soup.

"It's good," he said sincerely.

Draco sat down next to him, mouth turned down at the corners. "Why didn't you inform me that you're ill?"

Harry just blinked. "It's not such a big deal."

"It is. You're ill. You're properly ill. You can't be lying alone on the sofa, without potions or food for a whole day without informing someone." Draco sighed irritably through his nose. "Without informing me."

Harry smiled, set his empty bowl on the bedside table and pulled the blankets tighter around himself. "You look like you're going to cry, Malfoy."

"Harry, I'm being bloody serious right now."

Harry immediately stopped smiling. "It's just the flu or something? I dunno. You don't have to worry."

"Look at you!" Draco said, his voice rising again. "If you'd come home to me looking like this, I'd be in the VIP Emergency Ward at Mungo's right now! Don't deny it."

Harry licked his lips, smiled again, hands held up in surrender. "I'm not denying anything."

"You've never been ill before."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"We've been together three years and you've never been ill." Draco swallowed hard. "It's scary and I don't like it."

"I'm...sorry?"

"Shut it. I'm sorry I let you go to work looking like shit. And I'm sorry I didn't check on you when you didn't show up to lunch."

"What'd you get?"

"Melina's."

"Nice."

"I brought leftovers. They're in the fridge."

"Sounds good." Harry smiled again and reached out, gripping Draco by the wrist and pulling him closer.

"Don't give me your germs," Draco said, letting Harry kiss him wetly on the cheek. "Go get in the bath. I'll be back in a few."

"You're very handsome when you're worried," Harry said, and with his voice so distractingly hoarse and his grip so much warmer than usual, Draco thought that even when ill and red-nosed, Harry Potter had his entire heart - and with good reason. Draco wouldn't bother making soup for anybody else.

[magicalbats]

tbh thinkin abt the neuvi kinktober fic of urs... and just imagining him lockin you in a chastity belt like a meanie and not lettin you cum without him, if ever !!

Omg, anon. A few people asked for a continuation of that one and I was definitely thinking about incorporating chastity into it. 🤤 Like, in a broad sense I’m trying not to have too much overlap between kinks just to keep the prompts nice and neat, and Scara ofc took the actual chastity day, but!! I do SO love belts and cages. 💦

And with Neuvillette in particular it’s just such a good concept. I see him making a big to do about the whole affair. He’d very much treat it with the same pomp and ceremony of bestowing a crown to a princess, as if it was really something as grand as that and not the grim reality of having your cunt locked away from you. Perhaps he will bathe you in the finest soaps and oils first until you smell like the most decadent flower, the sweetest of truffles. He’ll take his time just pampering you and petting your hair while he puts tender, coaxing hands all over your body to ensure you’re sparkling clean and soft skinned going into your bridling. You’ll be gently dried with the biggest, fluffiest, softest towel you’ve ever seen while an endless rain of doting kisses is placed upon your face. Then he’ll do your hair up nice and pretty, so that you feel beautiful and spoiled when you’re wearing his belt later.

He’s picked out only the best for you, of course. Something made of finest leather for the harness that would see you kept well behaved and ever at his mercy well into the foreseeable future.

Neuvillette would assure you that it’s for the best, really, and he only does it with your wellness in mind while he quite carefully secures the straps around your waist, making sure it’s neither too tight nor too loose. Then he’d feed the seat of it up between your thighs, and you’d be so warm and pliant after all the petting and the coddling that you accept your fate without protest. At the quiet whimper you’d noise when he notches the center strap a bit too firmly, causing it to dig up into your cunt just so, he’d give you a soft shushing and a persuading string of mollifying coos to keep you nice and malleable for him. And once it’s done, and you’re safe and secure in your “pretty new belt”, he’ll dress you in the softest lace and satin that money can buy. Something girlish and gauzy. Expensive lingerie from the most exclusively chic boutiques in the city that show off the color of your nipples through sheer panels on the front and, of course, the bottom half in such a cut that it shows off your chastity to his ever watchful eyes.

Are you a pet or a doll? A captive or a willing martyr? The title itself probably doesn’t matter all that much when the end results saw you so spoiled and richly catered to. Even having your bodily autonomy taken away can easily be overlooked when he pulls you into his lap to cuddle you close and hand feed you the sweets he keeps stocked up on for good girls. And thanks to the belt he’s gifted you, the key tucked safely away deep inside a pocket, he has thoroughly ensured you will continue to remain a good girl for him no matter what nasty, unladylike thoughts might come into your head. Your compliance in the matter was guaranteed the moment he’d soundly snapped the petite lock into place.

[mariacallous]

Even as missiles fall on Ukraine and troops brace for a Russian spring offensive from the east, Kyiv is looking west. The U.S. congressional fight over aid to Ukraine, entangled as it is with border policy and presidential politics, has become a matter of survival for 43 million Ukrainians. In more than two years of war, Russian President Vladimir Putin has not broken Ukrainian will. Abandonment by the United States could achieve what Putin never has.

This month, I made a 1300-mile trip around Ukraine as part of a delegation hosted by the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). We visited Kyiv and Odesa as well as Dnipro, Kharkiv, and other places farther east. The situation on the ground is changing, and U.S. political leaders should understand the enormous stakes. Those now debating the fate of assistance to Ukraine are deliberating over the fate of Ukraine itself.

The first thing that strikes a visitor to wartime in Ukraine is how remarkably normal life seems in many areas. Normal, that is, until the signs of war creep in—gradually and then suddenly.

Odesa’s elegantly beautiful theater remains open, and operas and shows go on. (Giuseppe Verdi’s Nabucco and Franco Alfano and Giacomo Puccini’s Turandot played a few days after our visit.) Yet the city was under an air alert as we arrived, and a walk along the seaside promenade revealed coiled barbed wire at each staircase.

In a mostly unheralded success, Ukraine has cleared the Black Sea coast of Russian warships—despite having a tiny navy with no warships of its own—and now exports grain from Odesa at near prewar levels. Ships load grain and skirt the coast as they head west, staying away from Russian predation. Outside the city, soldiers man roadside checkpoints to examine the papers of draft-age men.

In a town that we visited in Kherson Oblast, which suffered under Russian occupation until late 2022, virtually every building was damaged. Missile strikes, mortar fire, and machine guns took a serious toll. Many inhabitants fled the fighting, joining either the 6.5 million Ukrainian refugees outside the country or the 3.7 million displaced inside it. UNHCR and other aid agencies are assisting those who remained and others who have returned. Some never will.

We met one man in the town who stayed through it all. “It’s like you see on TV in America,” he said. “You know when there’s a hurricane and someone says, ‘It’s my home, I’m not leaving?’ That was me.”

The biggest problem, he said, were soldiers from the so-called Donetsk and Luhansk People’s Republics, the puppet governments set up in the regions by Moscow. Often drunk, the soldiers looted houses, hassled people, and carted home everything they could. A local official said that Russian troops had established multiple torture centers during the occupation.

The man’s son, a tall 15-year-old with a grin and the taciturn bearing of a teenage boy, described life before and after the Russians came. Did he miss the way things were before the war? Yes, he said: “Some of my acquaintances have passed away.”

Downtown Dnipro could pass for Vancouver or Boston, with its illuminated streets, pedestrian areas, fine restaurants, and high-end boutiques. Couples dine, families stroll at night, and the stores are stocked. Yet the war wasn’t far away during our visit; an air alert awakened us early in the morning. As our phone alerts went off and air raid sirens sounded, we headed to the shelter. Russia launched more than 60 drones and missiles at Ukraine that day, some of which made it to Kyiv. The attack set a large apartment building on fire in the capital and killed four people. Two days later, we would visit this site, where the rebuilding had already begun.

Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second-largest city, has emerged as an epicenter of recent Russian military activity. Most students there are relegated to online learning, since their schools lack the shelters necessary to protect against air attacks. More than 2,000 children go to class underground in subway stations. We visited one of these subway schools, watching fourth graders solve math problems and work on projects. Play areas took up space at the backs of classrooms. I wish members of the U.S. Congress could see the effects of Russia’s two-year war on the country and witness Ukrainian resilience in the face of relentless attack.

Ukrainians are resilient but not invincible. They see bombed-out buildings, awaken to air alert sirens each night, and feel Moscow’s newfound confidence on the battlefield. They know that last year’s counteroffensive produced few gains, and that Avdiivka’s recent fall marks Russia’s first significant territorial gain since May 2023. Diminishing supplies of ammunition and other Western-provided weapons have made the war more difficult and more costly in terms of Ukrainian lives.

Yet most wish to fight on. Polls show a small but growing number of Ukrainians wishing to trade land for peace, if such an outcome is possible. The majority wish to continue the fight. They watched Putin’s interview with Tucker Carlson and saw the Russian president’s insistence on their country’s historic artificiality. They know, from the atrocities that have occurred in Bucha and elsewhere, what Russian occupation might mean. They see the war as a fight for survival.

Ukrainians also know, however, that they cannot keep it up alone. They quietly observe that European aid (generous though it is) won’t be sufficient, either. In Kyiv, officials follow every twist and turn of the $60 billion earmarked for Ukraine in a proposed supplemental aid package from the United States. It’s a large amount of money, equivalent to roughly 7 percent of the U.S. Defense Department’s annual budget, and combines military, humanitarian, and budget support. Ukraine’s future turns greatly on it.

U.S. missile defense currently protects Ukrainian cities, and officials worry about the violence that Russia will unleash if U.S. interceptors stop arriving. Front-line Ukrainian troops are running out of ammunition, and declining access to military equipment could allow Russia to take more territory. Even factoring in the latest European aid package, Ukrainian officials (and those at the U.S. Treasury Department) project empty government coffers within months, rendering them unable to pay worker salaries or pensions. Their fallback plan is to print more money, fully understanding the disastrous hyperinflation such a move would produce.

In the meantime, U.S. humanitarian aid provides food, shelter, medical care, and other support for a traumatized population that nevertheless wishes to carry on.

Beyond material support, my visit made clear that the psychological effect of global solidarity, especially from the United States, remains vital. In conversations with everyone, from the top of government to citizens living just miles from the front lines, there was one message: Please stay with us—we can’t do this alone. U.S. abandonment would be devastating.

There is a lot of trouble in the world today, some of it far closer to home for Washington than places such as Dnipro, Kharkiv, and Kherson. A poll conducted in February by the Chicago Council on Global Affairs and Ipsos found that a majority of Americans continue to support helping Ukraine, as do majorities in both houses of Congress. Yet two years in, and after billions of aid has already been delivered, Americans might reasonably ask why more, and why now.

Calls to defend the rules-based international order tend to provoke eye-rolling derision these days. So too do descriptions of the United States’ indispensability in the face of global problems. Yet the prohibition against forcible conquest stands at the heart of the postwar global order. Putin’s violation of that taboo—if ultimately successful—would augur a new and more dangerous era. The United States, unfashionable though it may be to observe, is indispensable in resisting it.

Ultimately, Ukraine is fighting a shift from order to the law of the jungle, where the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must. In a world awash with trouble, and with huge demands on U.S. resources, the stakes in Ukraine remain very high—and perhaps unique. The alternative to continued Western support is not an indefinite stalemate or frozen conflict. It is a potential Russian victory.

This is the context in which today’s debate should take place. It’s clear on the ground: Ukrainian will to resist aggression is remarkable, but it remains inextricably linked to U.S. support and solidarity. If the United States abandons Ukraine, then the West may well accomplish the very thing that Putin has thus far found impossible.