#sunday fic post

[comesatimecomesashadow]

sunday covering the sides of your face with his wings when he kisses you in public because he feels bashful just doing it out in the open.. (everyone knows)

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝙀𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬

synopsis: after being away and entertaining others, your husband decides to give you a special something

wrd cnt: 1.1k

tags: cunnalingus, oral, penetration, doggy, vulgar, praise, explicit

a/n: if you couldn’t tell been having major writers block + no time to write but this one reeled me back in a bit so i hope you enjoy <3

It was late at night by the time you got home. The house had been quiet all evening, save for the soft hum of your laptop as you explored some new music. But now that the sun had set, there were no more distractions—just the sound of your own breathing, the whirring blade of the fan above your head, and the occasional creak of floorboards beneath your feet.

You heard the front door open and close, followed by footsteps coming down the hallway towards the living room where you sat on the couch. Your eyes widened when you saw who it was.

“Sunday!” You exclaimed, jumping up and running over to him. He looked incredible, even if he was clearly exhausted from working all day. His face was flushed red with desire, and his black suit pants hung lower on his hips than usual, as his belt was quite undone just as his tie.

“Y/n-,” he said, leaning down to kiss you deeply before pulling away. “I missed you…quite dearly”

You replied breathlessly in agreeance, taking his hand and leading him over to sit beside you on the couch. As soon as he sat down, he pulled you into his lap and started kissing your neck hungrily.

“Mmm... I love how good you tastes,” he murmured against your skin as he moved lower down your chest, licking and sucking at your nipples until they hardened under his touch.

To say you were surprised was an understatement, your husband was always quite well mannered, and in control especially of himself.

Before you could express this pleasant concern, be continued further down, pushing your body down and stopping his peppering of kisses just above your waistband.

“Please don’t stop...” You begged softly. “Keep going...”

He chuckled darkly as he pulled your bottoms down, revealing your pretty laced panties.

“Such a naughty girl,” he whispered seductively. “you know happens when you tease me like that, don’t you?”

With those words still ringing in your ears, he slid his hands around to the front of your panties and began teasing them apart until they fell down around your ankles; now placed on each of his shoulders.

His soft hands spread your legs wide apart and leaned forward to lick along the length of your slit.

“Ohh... yes... keep doing that...” You moaned, feeling yourself growing wetter than ever before.

“Mmmm... such a tasty little thing,” he purred, moving one finger inside you while continuing to lap at your clit with his tongue. “Feels good hm? You’re dripping…” He smirked, slipping a second finger inside you, curling them up and down faster this time. “How does that feel baby?” He asked, before returning to suck your swollen pearl.

“So good... oh god... more-...” You panted, arching your back slightly to allow him better access to you.

“Like this?” He whispered, increasing the speed of his movements until he felt you begin to tremble against him.

“Yes! Oh fuck yes!-” You cried out loudly, throwing your head back against the couch cushions as pleasure washed through every part of your body.

As if sensing your impending climax, he suddenly stopped moving his fingers altogether and instead focused solely on licking and sucking at your clit. With waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body, you squirmed uncontrollably.

“Oh my god... yes... right there...” You gasped, grinding yourself against him as best you could while trying not to fall off the couch entirely.

“Mmmmm... I knew you liked this,” he chuckled wickedly, pushing you down onto the couch once again. “Now let me show you something else.”

With those words still echoing in your mind, he stood up and placed a knee inbetween your legs, slowly pushing into you as he got close to you. Grabbing your hand, he gave you hold of his erection, stroking himself with your hand slowly up and down several times before letting you do it yourself.

“What do you think of that?” He asked teasingly. “See what you do to me?”

“Mhm….,” you answered quietly with a small nod, feeling yourself grow hungrier than ever before.

As if he couldn’t waste another second, he dragged you up and pushed your body against the couch, feeling his chest heavy against your back as your breasts pressed up against the fabric of the apolstry.

“Fuck I missed you-“ He says, slowly dragging his cock up and down your folds as you hear his shaky breath.

“Sunday- please…” You mewl, pushing yourself back into him.

“Use your words, my love.” He breathes against your ear.

You groan in annoyance at his teasing.

He chuckles, and then thrusts his thick cock into your tight, wet heat.

It was like a drug, every movement of his hips, every touch of his hand, every inch of his skin against yours was ecstacy.

After a few moments, his pace becomes steady, and soon enough his hips are snapping furiously against yours.

You moan and writhe beneath him, clawing desperately at the sofa beneath you.

He lets out a deep growl and slams his hands down on either side of your head.

His grip tightens as he pounds into you harder and harder, causing your body to shake uncontrollably.

The friction of his cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy combined with the roughness of his thrusts and the force of his hands against your body, made you see stars.

Your mouth hangs open and your eyes roll back, as you arch your back and thrust your hips upwards, meeting his thrusts eagerly.

Your fingers dig into his biceps, gripping onto him tightly.

With each passing second, you could feel your orgasm building within you, threatening to tear through you any moment now.

You knew that this wasn't going to last much longer.

"Fuck- I'm so close…," you cry out, throwing your head back.

His hand reaches up and grabs your throat, squeezing tightly, and pulling you closer to him.

His thrusts grow even more powerful, and you gasp as he slams his cock deep inside you.

"Come for me then, my darling," he purrs into your ear, his voice low and husky.

He releases his grip on your neck and moves his hand down to grip your ass firmly.

You whimper and writhe beneath him, unable to hold back any longer.

"Fuck-!" You scream, throwing your head back once more and letting the orgasm rip through you.

His cock slides in and out of you faster and faster, as his movements become more erratic.

His fingers dig into your ass as he pulls you even closer, thrusting into you one final time before he explodes inside you.

His hips slow their frantic rhythm as he groans and grunts into your ear, his seed filling you up completely; leaving you tilted over the cushions and wrecked.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[aslettes]

”I won’t love her, i promise I won’t. so please, please don’t kill her.”

♡ dazai , chuuya , giyu , sanemi , aventurine , sunday , dan heng , childe , scaramouche , yingxing ( blade )

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Danny's final Interview with Tim Drake for the Wayne Enterprise's Space Program Operation Janus Crew... Demon Twin AU.

Danny had been waiting for his offer letter from WE to be officially part of the Janus Crew. He'd done all the standard rigorous testing and passed with flying colors. He'd talked to every single head engineer and interviewed at all levels to prove that he was the man for this mission. It was as good as gold, so Danny was surprised when he got a call from the PA to Tim Drake, the CEO himself, to come in for a final interview. Just a formality and mostly just to meet the man who was going to be the poster boy for their program. Makes sense, but is unnerving, nonetheless.

The second he walks into the office space, Tam Fox seemingly does a double take, blinking a few times when he explains that he's there for a final interview. She nods and he proceeds as if nothing about that was weird.

Tim Drake has four laptops in front of him and a scattering of papers, but looking up to see Danny, he closes them all and the image of a scattered young man trying to run a Fortune 500 company is replaced with some one of deadly capability.

"Danny Fenton. Great to meet you, I appreciate you coming by today." Tim says, but Danny can see the sharks fin in the water.

"Of course, I'm excited to be part of the Crew." Danny throws back, making it clear right away that Tim needs to cut to the chase if Danny's not going to be an astronaut with WE. NASA will take him back in a heartbeat if WE is going to try and play games.

"We're excited to have you, everyone speaks of you like the next Armstrong or Aldrin. I just had a few questions, as an informality, that I wanted answered."

"I feel like I've answered every question there could be about me, but go ahead. I'm an open book."

"Great. I suppose I'll start with asking about your adoptive family, the Fentons. Were they good to you when you transitioned to their home?"

"...It's not common knowledge that I'm adopted. Mom and Dad are fine. We have a strained relationship now because of my teenage rebellion but I still go home for most holidays." Danny is on edge, but also a bit excited? How did Tim find this out?

"I see. I'm an adopted child myself, you can understand maybe why I asked. Do you have any relationship with your birth family?" Tim asks, but its clear he's asking something else. Danny calls it how he sees it.

"What are you trying to find out? I mean really, you're very polite but this doesn't have to do with my job."

"I'll cut to the chase then. Do you hold any allegiance to Ra's al Ghul or the League of Assassins?"

"Woah." Danny blinks.

"Woah as in you're surprised I found out, or Woah in surprise that you've been found out?"

"Woah as in, what the fuck, I haven't thought of his name in decades. I escaped pretty young after being abused from birth."

"That's what I needed to know. You have a sister through the Fentons, and a cousin that I suspect is a clone, any other siblings?" Tim asks, his to the point question making Danny's head spin. How the fuck did this guy know about Dani?

"How do you-"

"Any other siblings, Danny?" Tim repeats, cutting him off.

"...Yeah. I should have a twin running around out there. But if this has to do with whatever crazy bullshit he might be up to, I swear i'm not in contact with him or his family. I haven't been since I freed myself."

Tim looks like he's contemplating something, his eyes are still evaluating Danny as though he were a frog in freshman year Bio.

"I have a little brother, Danny, and it's interesting. He's not particularly fascinated by space but he likes to keep up with all the astronauts. I took it upon myself to research you once you came on the roster two years ago for this position. I know you're capable and I had no doubt that you'd be the man for the job. Then I saw your picture."

"You... saw my picture?"

"My brother watches out for Astronauts because he holds onto the hope that someone from his past might be one some day. That it might lead to their reconciliation." Tim clarifies.

Danny can't do anything but stare. No. No way.

"I told Damian not to look into the astronauts for the Janus Crew. Want to guess why?" For the first time, Tim's eyes look soft around the edges. Danny stays silent for a while, head reeling from this information.

"...Is he. Is he free?" Danny finally asks.

"He's left the league and burned all allegiance he held for them, if that's what you're asking. Came to join his dad, my adoptive father, when he was about ten. So just a few years after you made your own way out without him."

"That's... That's good. I'm glad. He's healthy?" Danny can't help himself but inquire. He'd loved his brother until it literally broke him.

"Most days. He runs an animal sanctuary, has a girlfriend and a best friend, gets along with our large family."

"Woah." Danny's near speechless again.

"I'm telling you this because... He's going to find out Friday with the press release of you being our Crew Leader. He'll see you and no doubt try to contact you. I want you to have the choice of reaching out to him before that, or at least make your peace with what you have to say to him if you don't want a relationship."

"Why?"

"Because I don't care to see my siblings hurt. Here, it's my personal line, below it is Damian's. Reach out to me if you'd like for me to plan a meeting spot, reach out to him if you'd prefer I stay out of it. I understand completely if my questions have led you to not trust me." Tim offers him a piece of paper with two phone numbers on it, Danny takes it with shaking hands.

"I... See. Okay." and then after a moment, Danny added numbly "Thanks."

Tim stands and Danny follows, they're both walking towards the door and Danny can't help but feel like he's waiting for another shoe to drop. Tim has a look in his eye like Jazz might on his birthday.

"One last thing before you go and you're officially listed as our star Astronaut: I took care of those pesky case files and lab reports for you. The white ones. It is quite literally impossible for that heinous shit to every bother you again."

"Wait, What? Why would you do that for me? You couldn't have known-"

"It's what family is for. Have a good day, Janus Crew Lead Danny."

[designedtoendure]

yeah I would ruin my life to kiss him and keep him happy and light his cigarettes forever too

less annoying version vv sorry I have to let myself commit to my Vision

[flower-cage]

To Serve

by @flower-cage Ao3 | Masterlist Aemond Targaryen x Servant!Reader Summary: That morning, the crown Prince entered the young Queen's chambers and changed your life forever.

Words: 3,768

Warnings: explicit sexual content, dubious consent, power imbalance, humiliation kink, voyeurism. Minors, do not interact.

Your new role of serfdom started not unlike that of attending to the needs and whims of the Dragons. Up before dawn, you ensured that dresses were washed and perfumed, jewelry and shoes polished. In the late morrow, you served tea to the Queen and her mother. At luncheon, you would have taken the chance, in their absence, to clean and tidy their chambers, had it not been for your newest promotion.

That morning, while his sister and mother broke their fast, the Prince entered the young Queen’s chambers and changed your life forever.

He had always paid you close attention. In truth, only seldom were you ever in the presence of the one-eyed Prince, but whenever chance brought you together, you felt his lingering, insistent gaze on the hairs in the back of your neck. Always. 

It did not take long for others to take notice of it, too. Often the maids would tease you for the interest you had awakened in the Prince known to be harsh and cold and cruel like a winter storm.

“You are fortunate he does not take after his brother’s depraved malversations,” you would often hear.

This was what the whole of Westeros knew of him back then, before the Dance.

That morning, you had twisted your hands in your apron, standing outside his door and garnering the strength to raise one of them to the wooden slabs.

“It is unlike my son to show interest in a lady,” the Dowager Queen had told you, clinking a silver teaspoon against fine porcelain, “or anyone at all, for that matter.”

Your guts knotted of their own accord. Your spine shuddered cold.

“I would like you to tend to his needs from now on,” she had announced easily, breaking apart a piece of crusty bread. “All of his needs.”

Now, you often wonder if she would have offered you so unashamedly if she had known he would mature into such an unscrupulous man. Or, you wonder most often, perhaps she had always known. Perhaps she had hoped he would satisfy his dormant savagery, then inhibited by a pretense of duty and propriety, if only she delivered him a feast before it fully wakened.

And feast he would, though his hunger would never be sated.

In the end, he would teach you everything you learned of this world of carnal indulgences.

That morning, he had risen leisurely from his seat of leather, strode to you lazily, smiled self-assuredly. You stood stoic, hands fidgeting and sweating behind your back, a half-step past his chambers’ door after courage and fear had finally coaxed you in.

He stalked toward you until his nose brushed yours faintly and your back rested against the cold wood. His eye roamed you freely, his masculine scent of leather and cedar crowded your senses, and your body shuddered beneath his desirous stance.

“I shall not take that which is not freely given,” his whisper tickled the shell of your ear, “and I shall not award what is not yet desired.”

His promise stretched on for days on end.

You tended to him much like you had his sister: tending to his chambers, washing his clothing, learning his habits. You served him wine at supper and tea in the morrow. You dressed him before Small Council meetings and bathed him after his daily practices.

Until you didn’t.

“Prince Aemond requests your services,” a familiar knight announces after rapping on the door.

You rise from where you have been sitting at your vanity table, combing your hair to a shine as is your Prince’s preference. You fix the sleeves on your dress, but it does not grant you any decency whatsoever, not when its translucent, iridescent silk ostensibly reveals the shape and shades of your bare body, not when the slit that travels up your right thigh cuts up to your hip bone. 

Such are and have always been your Prince’s preferences.

“Where is your uniform?” he asked you sternly when you met him at the training grounds.

He took the cup of fresh water from the tray you carried, gulping down its contents to then wipe his face and short hair with the towel you brought him.

“M-my Prince?” you asked timidly, breathless at the abrupt inquiry and at the sweat that glistened his pale skin.

“The dresses I gifted you,” he pressed, displeased. “I thought I made myself clear - you are to wear them henceforth. You are to solely wear them.”

His sharp gaze was menacing, surely, but the disappointment was there, too, hidden in the glint of his blue eye to chastise and guilt you. Though mortified at the improper implications of his demands, the thought of disobeying him was what truly shook you to the core.

The White Cloak takes you to a set of heavy doors which he pushes open to reveal King Aegon II’s Small Council. He was once the depraved son of King Viserys I, but he is no longer the exclusive bearer of such a title.

Your Prince sits to the left of the King now, across from the Lord Hand, in a great position of power. The Dance had reshaped many things in the Realm, and he had been no exception. 

He doesn’t cover his monstrous gash and sapphire stone like he used to when his mother was still alive. He hasn’t held many habits of propriety since. More scars cut across his milky skin, some even crawling from beneath his collar, and the long white mane he used to proudly maintain in honor of his heritage is kept short to enhance all of his additional, menacing features.

His body is that of a man, now: no longer slim and taut but large and burly from battle, and yet his most striking transformations had not been merely bodily.

You walk toward him surely but quietly, eyes fixed on him whilst he does not award you a single glance. He is engrossed in the scheming that does not halt at your entrance, but you know he wants you when you see his parted knees, when you see leather pulled tight over his stiff shaft.

His jaw is clenched tight and the fingers on his right hand fiddle around thin air, so you know to step silently between his parted legs and descend to your knees underneath the table. The rough fingers that do not worry over it snake around the back of your head to gently thread through your hair. He needn’t say nor command anything else.

You stroke him to full hardness, grazing your teeth against the base and running your nose along the shaft, to then unbutton him quietly.

He is as silky and warm as always against your tongue. He drags against your cheeks when you hollow them and his skin, taut around his swollen tip, pulls back and forth when you suck on it. You don’t recall when you first enjoyed his weight in your mouth this much.

You risk a glance at him. He pays you no mind, and his stoic façade gives away nothing, but his chest moves up and down rapidly and you know it means you’re being good. You suppress a whine at his modest appreciation.

He is impossibly handsome as he towers over you, gaze sharp and jaw tight as he ignores you. You want nothing more than his praise and attention, so you lick and please him slowly, lazily and patiently. He is busy, you remind yourself, and he will reward you when the time comes. He always does.

Between your thighs, your skimpy dress slickens with your arousal as it builds steadily to an insatiable ache. It has become second nature for your body to give in to him in this way, even when he has yet to touch you. He has trained you this way.

“Have you kept it wet for your Prince?” he whispers against your neck each time he comes back to his quarters in the early evening. 

The question is often accompanied by a slithering hand, like a snake that seeks warmth, it buries itself in your cunt to confirm it is to his standards. He hums in satisfaction each time.

“When in my presence,” he had told you once, depositing you in an armchair across his desk, “I want to marvel at my cunt freely,” he explained as he hooked your knees over the armrests and bunched your skirts around your waist.

And you awakened breathless, hours later, with his tongue licking inside you and his nose on your pearl of pleasure. 

You had stood no chance. To you, he is intrinsically bound to that feeling that crawls under your skin, that under his touch erupts in elation.

Now, you are wide awake and it is you who tastes him eagerly. 

When he begins to drip, hot and salted, your fingers grip his thighs harder as your own quiver in a need you haven't been able to control in a long time. You look at him again. His cheeks are hollowed, jaw locked shut, eyes slitted in fury.

The lords in the Small Council haven’t halted their discussion despite your interruption and it is clear what they discuss displeases your Prince greatly. If not, he might have not summoned you.

This is not the first time the Prince has had you in their presence, it is not the first time he has had you in the presence of others at all. If it had been, perhaps you would have been capable of greater shame.

When he took you in and you proceeded to tend to him exclusively, little of your customary routine changed. But when his demands started to reflect his true intentions, his true desires, it couldn’t be said you were a simple maid of the palace.

That first time, you had been brushing your hair at your vanity, as you often now did, and applying to your skin the feminine oils your Prince preferred. In an immodest lavender dress of his choosing and delicate jewelry he appreciated, you tended to yourself as he demanded.

The doors to his sleeping chambers push open to allow a small entourage of maids to set his breakfast - your breakfast. Your jerk reaction is to look away from them, the people who had once been your colleagues, and hide your healthy, pampered face. 

Your eyes land on his lavish, sunny balcony where he leans against the railing directly across from you. He loves to watch his beast terrorize the city below with her sky-bound rounds first thing in the morrow. But he watches her no longer.

He shines brightly and god-like under the sun; his messy short hair glows a halo above him, and the sapphire lodged on the left side of his face glints to highlight the cut of his scar like thunder. Despite the warmth of the morning shine, he is cold, white-cold, with his silver hair and porcelain skin, his milky chemise that reveals his milky chest, and his silky pants that bulk to reveal his salacious musings.

Your breathing quickens as you take him in fully, in all his terrifying, improper glory. Your hand holds your brush halfway through its path and your lips hang parted as he holds your gaze intently, as you watch him with a hunger that escapes your agency.

When he pushes off the stone ledge, you let your brush hit the floor. Such is the effect he has on you, such is the extent of his influence.

He drops to frame you within his arms, leveraging against the cushioned seat of your vanity desk, to take your lips in sloppy teasing, giving you just enough of a taste that something within you quivers wantonly.

Behind you, the porcelains and silvers continue to clink against the wood, chairs scrape across the stone, and heavy cloth slaps in the still air.

“What’s this, then?” he whispers and deprives you of his tongue too quickly. You grasp onto his strong arms to center yourself, breathing heavily against him. 

Fingers run up your inner thigh and you shiver violently, desiring him violently.

“Are you ashamed of serving your Prince?” he grins maliciously.

“O-of course not my-” you choke on a gasp when he brings his hot lips to your neck, sucking on the spots that have you dripping under your skimpy gown.

He takes your left knee and hooks it around his hip, pulling you flush against him as he presses you down on the long chaise. A yelp escapes you when you feel his hot girth against your cunt.

“Or are you ashamed of how thoroughly you enjoy it?” he grunts against your lips, thrusting his clothed bulge against you. You bite your lips closed painfully as you are painfully aware of the people behind you.

“I didn’t say you could leave,” he barks, glancing upward to your utmost horror. You hear the servants scurry behind you, imagining their bowed heads and embarrassed looks. Your own embarrassment grows until tears gather in the corners of your eyes.

“Not until she comes,” he adds, looking at you, grinning widely, while he snakes a hand between your legs and burrows his fingers deep inside in a swift stroke.

You burn in shame when your eyes roll to the back of your head and a long whine is forced out of your lips.

“It won’t be long now,” he continues, watching your tears spill, fucking your cunt fast, “she is wet and swollen already.”

Indeed, the noises coming from between your legs are excessively obscene. And he is right, he knows your cunt - his cunt - too well.

When he plugs you with his thick girth, you whine and moan in complete abandon. And when he plows you fast enough to make the chaise scrape against the floors, you scream and beg for him before soaking his cock in your unlimited ecstasy.

The first time he’s ever had you in the presence of others was long ago.

Now, you know that when his fingers tighten on your nape you are to release his hard cock quickly. You know to mount it instead.

You make quick, silent work of it not to disturb him and the processes of the court that still unravel behind you. You straddle his thighs, tuck your toes behind his knees, grip his leather vest tightly, and hide your face in the crook of his neck. The hand that had been in your hair now rests on your hip, thumb hooked under the scandalous slit of your dress to bury in the crease where your thigh meets your hip.

You count the time that passes in the drops of sweat that roll down your temple, in shaky breaths you rein against his skin, in the thrums of your blood.

Your cunt, dripping and dripping, quivers weakly around him. Though you refrain from moving and driving yourself to your insanity, it throbs on his shaft as you feel the mere ghost of his touch on your most pleasurable spot.

Your body aches with the effort of keeping composure, keeping quiet, keeping from breaking. And every time your Prince has input on the session that stretches on, his chest rumbles and you must refrain from mewling in satisfaction.

It is not until your mind is hazy with exhaustion and your eyes spill tears of agony that the heavy chairs start to scrape against the stone floors, one by one. Your heartbeats pick up their rhythm from where they had rested in patience. 

And when footsteps follow, he pulls your face from hiding by the sweaty hairs on the back of your neck.

A small yet immensely condescending smile plays on his sculpted lips. It makes you aware of your humiliating conditions: a servant, chosen to fulfill the pleasures of her liege Prince, at the brink of insanity from entertaining her own pleasures instead.

You are lost in his mismatched blue eyes, so much so that you are caught off guard when he starts shoving your hips back and forth to grind on his cock. Instantly, it drags a long gasp from you, crosses your eyes, waters your mouth.

“Hm?” he questions patronizingly, looking down with a raised eyebrow that mocks your lustful reaction.

His ministrations are excruciating, his cockhead bullying hard and unforgiving on your most pleasurable spot. In this way, you are violently driven to ecstasy, just shy of peaking with the same intensity, when he halts all movement without warning.

But you are given time to neither cry nor beg for his mercy, for he hugs you tight to his chest, angles your hips up and away from his cock, and thrusts.

You gasp painfully against his leather-covered pecs when he does, and he soon pulls your head back by your hair to place your chin against it instead.

Through your pleasure-hazed eyes, you see his mirth and his composure. And it is always this way: regardless of how eagerly he takes you, no matter how passionately he desires you, you are always the one debauched and he is always the one untarnished, always viciously becoming of his royal status.

“Go on then,” he murmurs when he watches your tears roll the sides of your face, your lips parted in unbearable pleasure. “Go on and cream on it.”

Because his growl electrifies you from within, because you’ve learned to be promptly obedient, because you cannot help it, you do as he commands.

Your cunt contracts so tightly, for a second his cock gets trapped mid-thrust before he repeatedly shoves himself inside you to forcefully ride the surges of your orgasm. Your loose chin bumps against his chest, leaving sloppy trails behind, and your breasts spill, little by little, from the flimsy restraint of the fabric that skates down between your bodies.

He loves to debase you in this way.

He doesn’t stop, and you are unable to determine when your first orgasm ends and the second starts to mount.

But he can.

He hisses when he feels it - your cunt throbbing again, dripping relentlessly - and bares his sharp teeth in a sneer, watching your glimmering, dopey eyes.

His grip on your hip strengthens, the arm that loops around your back to grasp your hair tenses, and he rises to his feet only to drop you unceremoniously onto the stone surface behind you.

“Gods,” he growls, slows his ministrations, and you savor every excessive inch of his, so evident now your cunt is hot and swollen from the long wait, from the incessant grinding. “I would keep you on my cock from sunrise to nightfall.”

He holds onto your hips, forcing them down against the table so that you don’t slide away from his calculated, powerful pushes, and watches his shaft disappear within you attentively.

“I would keep you on it,” he licks his lips, “at tea with my sister,” he meets your eyes again, after appreciating the uncoordinated bouncing of your breasts.

“On my morning flights,” he continues, lowering himself to hover above you, a hand pressed next to your head. “And I would carry you, and display you on my hard cock, all over this castle.”

He picks up his brutish pace again and you gasp and whine unabashedly, and new tears spill from your unfocused eyes, and your bottom lip quivers. Such is the effect of his praise.

“What’s that now, huh?” he coos, forcing a little sob from you, but you are unable to communicate. Instead, you part your lips and plead with big, wet eyes.

He lets go of your hip to support himself fully on his forearms, hovering a bit closer now. You can feel his warmth, now, you can scent his luscious exertion.

His nose brushes lightly against your own, just beyond reach, and you can’t avoid bending your back, tilting your chin, or your tongue poking out between your teeth, desperate for a taste.

His eye darkens significantly and he tuts in feigned disappointment.

“Needy little thing,” he murmurs, only to plunge his soft tongue right where you yearned for it.

His kisses are supple and sloppy and not enough to sate you. When he pulls away and you whine in agony, he lets his drool slide down his tongue and onto yours. And the debauchery of the act drives pathetic moans from your lips and desperate rolls of your hips.

Above you, your Prince moans and hisses, then plunges himself against your sweetest spot with renewed, unstoppable vigor. And yet again you cry pathetically, eyes crossing and mouth hanging open, tits flying and slapping, cunt gushing and thrumming.

“I fucking love it when you get like this,” your Prince grunts viciously behind gritted teeth, shoving his girthy length in and out without mercy for your sanity.

“Wet,” his hand lowers to grope your plump bottom, “hot,” he forces you against his unforgiving plows, “utterly dimwitted for your Prince’s cock.”

He loves to debase you in this way, and the response you manage is a string of blabbering, dimwitted pleas.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he grunts again, panting above you as his crazed movements and your lascivious reactions burn his muscular body, “I’d think you’re falling in love with it.”

“Oh, I am!” you yelp, long and loud, mind entirely lost in the bliss he fucks into you. “I love it… I love my Prince’s cock,” you whimper timidly against his lips and he angles his cock to bully that spongy, swollen button of yours.

“Yeeess,” you moan again. “There, there,” you beg with your cries and beseeching eyes.

You come on a scream that reverberates through the tall, stony walls of the Small Council room. And though your walls contract viciously, your Prince pushes through them determinedly, driving you to an immediate third peak that absolutely floods your cunt before he even dumps his hot seed inside you. 

You come on his cock long and hard, and you come still when he too finishes. And when he drops his weight onto you, finally, and his head thumps against the table next to yours, your cunt still flutters from the sensorial memory of the onslaught it endured.

Your skin is impossibly hot and sweaty, and your body impossibly exhausted.

And yet.

“Tonight,” your Prince starts after long moments of silence, raising his head only to meet your eyes, “we will hold a private audience for the King.”

Your body shivers cold, your eyes bulge out, but your cunt contracts around him meekly.

He watches you closely, with his eye delighted and a wide grin, malicious. 

“I want you just like this,” he warns, taking your jaw in a firm grasp, “on your best behavior.”

He loves to debase you, and you love to serve him.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 9 - Candy

@wolfstarmicrofic February 9, word count 160

“What’s a five-letter word for confectionary?” Sirius asked from his side of the bed where he was propped up by his pillow and had the Daily Prophet open in front of him. 

“Dunno,” Remus mumbled sleepily. 

“Come on, clever clogs. I’ve been stuck on it for ages. Please help me,” Sirius nudged him with his foot. Remus whined in complaint and burrowed further into the duvet, dragging it over his head and hiding in his downy cave. 

“Candy,” His muffled voice grunted from somewhere beside Sirius. 

“Yes!” He exclaimed as he scribbled it in. “It fits!” He heard Remus grumble something unintelligible before he went silent again. 

Sirius was filling in the last few clues, which were almost too easy now that he had the other word he’d needed, when Remus began to shuffle beneath the covers, his arm snaking around Sirius’s waist and dragging him closer. Sirius abandoned his crossword for a more exciting endeavour. Sirius loved Sunday mornings. 

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

several sentences sunday

tagged by @jesuisici33 @rewritetheending @aroeddiediaz

thanks darlins!

back at it with the post lightning strike texas trip and uhhh buck and eddie are "fighting" and eddie's parents are trying to help 🙃

“You’re different people,” his dad says like an agreement. “Everyone does this in different ways, I think. Your mother, when she’s angry or upset, particularly with me, she gets–She burns. Turns fiery. Loud. But you’re boy–” he glances over his shoulder once more and Eddie is glad his dad can’t see how his heart leaps and his expression breaks at the words your boy, “He gets quiet with it.”

Yeah, that’s a pretty apt description. Surprises and pleases Eddie, though a part of him twists at that, because it seems his dad knows Buck pretty well now, and yet, it took him so long to even try to understand Eddie.

Trying not to be resentful over that stings, but Eddie attempts it nonetheless. It’s a tough effort, maybe futile, maybe necessary, but it clouds over things long enough that Eddie doesn’t notice his dad looking back at him nor does he notice his mom coming up behind him.

She lays a light hand on Eddie’s shoulder, hesitant, and quietly asks, “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Eddie blinks at that, takes it in. It’s so different from what he’s used to.

Neither of them wanted to help when it was Shannon. Any time he and her argued it’s like they took it as proof that things were doomed, that she wasn’t good enough for him.

Eddie grinds his teeth. “You wanna help now?” Maybe it isn’t fair, but a younger version of him was hurting and drowning, and a younger version of the woman he loved was feeling the same, and his parents didn’t want to help either of them.

All his parents wanted was Chris.

It’s an old hurt, one he thought he had covered well enough, but it’s being bared now beneath the dining room light.

tagging @shitouttabuck @bigfootsmom @queerdiazs @spotsandsocks @lemonzestywrites @try-set-me-on-fire @shyaudacity @sibylsleaves @absolutelybifurious @wikiangela @devirnis @colonoscopys @hippolotamus @dr-shortsighted-owl @transboybuckley @lonelychicago @bi-buckrights @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @hotshotsxyz and anyone else who wants to share!

[wikiangela]

several sentence sunday

tagged by @hippolotamus

sooo bucktommy won me over, i couldn't resist anymore 🙈 so here's a bit of them after their date lol (also, I didn't get the Tommy hype before but after seeing him everywhere for two days... I get it now 🥵)

___

"(...) We should do this again.” Tommy says, turning fully towards Buck, and Buck’s eyes immediately find his lips. He can’t wait to kiss him again, and this would be the time, at the end of the date, wouldn’t it?

“We should.” Buck nods, licks his lips, eyes darting up to Tommy’s eyes. He’s smiling softly, just looking at Buck. “I-” he starts, and then thinks, fuck it, and this time he makes a move, as he leans across the console to grab Tommy’s chin, like he did Buck’s in his kitchen, and bring him in for a kiss. Tommy immediately reciprocates, and Buck melts against him, and then when Tommy’s calloused hand covers his cheek, it just feels so- so different, in the best way possible. This kiss lasts longer than the first one, each of them constantly coming back for more, but it’s as gentle and tender as that one. Buck loves it, and can’t help smiling into it. He wants more. “Hey.” Buck says, finally pulling away, licks his spit-covered lips nervously. “Do you- do you maybe wanna come in for a beer?” he asks shyly, and at Tommy’s surprised expression and raised eyebrow he realizes it might sound like he’s inviting him for more than a beer, and he panics again. “I- I- I mean, just a beer. And maybe- maybe more of this.” he pecks Tommy’s lips again, not able to resist a smile. “But just a beer. I don’t think I’m- But who knows, maybe-” he stumbles over his words, because the truth is, he wants Tommy, he wants… he wants so much, he wants to experience so much for the first time – it’s just that he’s not sure if it’s not too quick for this relationship, and for him.

“Evan.” Tommy interrupts, bringing his other hand up, now cradling Buck’s face in both, thumbs moving soothingly along Buck’s cheeks. “Your pace, remember? No pressure, no rush.”

“You’re really cool, you know that?” Buck whispers.

“So I keep hearing.” Tommy chuckles, and it’s adorable. He kisses Buck again, and the butterflies in Buck’s stomach go crazy. Fuck, he doesn't remember the last time he felt this giddy and excited and just light. “I’d love to come in for a beer.”

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @bidisasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @tizniz @your-catfish-friend

[roomwithanopenfire]

Six Something Sunday

Happy Sunday everyone! Thanks for tagging me @confused-bi-queer <333

I still don't have a lot to share. I'm working on the last chapter of The Way We Are and sharing anything would spoil everything. And I still can't share my COBB because you'd figure out my premise so fast. And everything other WIP i'm working on is still in super early stages.

But I've done so much writing since the last time we talked, and i want to post something, so have six unfinished sentences plucked unedited from a variety of projects for a rare peak into my writing process. All caps for both placeholders and notes to self <3

We go to DATE PLACE and DO THINGS

I’d just be an evil, rich vampire with a dead mother and a QUIP HERE.

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” NAME says with a smile.

I soon find that my efforts were for naught GIRL WHAT

Other than that the flat looks the same. BLAHB LAHBALBH NOTICE THINGS.

She runs a hand through her hair. DEAR GOD HAVE HER DO A DIFFERENT ACTION.

let me know your favorite unfinished sentence.

and if you have bright ideas for DATE PLACES and THINGS to do at them let me know.

tag and hellos under the cut

@alexalexinii @aristocratic-otter @argumentativeantitheticalg @artsyunderstudy @arthurkko

@beastmonstertitan @blackberrysummerblog @best--dress @bookishbroadwayandblind @bookish-bogwitch

@the-beard-of-edward-teach @brilla-brilla-estrellita @cccloudsss @ciescen @cutestkilla

@drowninginships @emeryhall @facewithoutheart @fiend-for-culture @hertragedyconnoisseur

@horsesarenotdeer @hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @larkral

@lovelettersto-mars @meanjeansjeans @m1ndwinder @monbons @nausikaaa

@noblecorgi @orange-peony @prettygoododds @raenestee @rimeswithpurple

@run-for-chamo-miles @rbkzz @shrekgogurt @simonscones @skee3000

@supercutedinosaurs @sweetronancer @talentpiper11 @terra-fae @thewholelemon

@valeffelees @you-remind-me-of-the-babe + anyone else who wants to share! i love being tagged <3

[okay-gayass]

sleepwear swap ^-^

[merakiui]

it's time for the second year of tree!!!!! everyone left such kind messages on last year's tree and it made me happy to read all of them. i saw the beloved @yandere-romanticaa's tree for this year and realized it's already december. Σ(°ロ°)

so with that, please feel free to post a message on my tree! i look forward to sharing lots of festive spirit and good vibes with everyone~

[marragurl]

Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

[onthewaytosomewhere]

okay none of my headers really seemed to work this week so i took what might be the title banner for this one and tweaked it lolz - since i have some sentences i'm really luvin' from the rework of the one i'm on and want to share them lolz

thanks for the tags @jmagnabo92 @firstprincehornyramblings @tailsbeth-writes @dizzymisslizzie & @porcelainmortal

It's been a few weeks at least since they’ve been alone in a space that is truly Henry’s, and not just another carefully curated room in the palace. This is Henry’s sanctuary where his bookshelves and what he chooses to put on the wall tell so much of the story of him—not just the prince. In those other rooms family portraits and so much ancestral bric-a-brac line the walls that he sometimes feels the weight of generations press in on him, as if it’s all silently reminding him of who others wants him to be. There is something different about being in Henry’s own space tonight, though—as if there is something heavy around them seemingly charged by the things neither of them have said. Henry sits next to Alex on the sofa and even though the space between them is small it seems almost vast in the ways that seem to matter. The flickering light emanating from the fire burning strong in the fireplace casts shadows across the small space they’re occupying, it seems to stretch the silence between them into something almost tangible until Henry breaks it. “Can I ask you something?” Henry’s surprised that his voice is coming out as hesitant as they are, as if he’s maybe of what he might unearth—and he’s not sure that’s completely inaccurate. Alex turns beside him, twisting so he’s leaning against the back of the sofa, his arm stretched out over the back, so his fingers are mere centimeters away from touching Henry. As if that isn’t enough Alex’s knee rests just barely pressing into Henry’s hip, and the rest of his leg running the length of Henry’s thigh. How he is suppose to even pay attention to the words coming from Alex’s mouth is beyond him. Alex’s response makes it clear he really won’t have a problem with that. “Anything.” That one word reverberates through Henry.

okay tag ur it (in a no-pressure all that jazz way) @adreama-writes @alasse9 @anincompletelist @basil-bird @bitbybitwrites @blueeyedgrlwrites @cactusdragon517 @catdadacd @caterpills @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @dragonflylady77 @duchessdepolignaca03 @emmalostinwonderland @england-would-fall @eusuntgratie @everwitch-magiks @faketrex @firenati0n @firstsprinces @iboatedhere @inexplicablymine @judasofsuburbia @kiwiana-writes @lfg1986-2 @littlemisskittentoes @miharaikko @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @orchidscript @priincebutt @seths-rogens @softboynick @sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow @stratocumulusperlucidus @suseagull5914 @taste-thewaste @theprinceandagcd @thedramasummer @typicalopposite @thesleepyskipper @thighzp @tinyarmedtrex @zwiazdziarka

yes i realize it isn't sunday for some of y'all anymore but i am a slacker and too lazy to figure out who to take out of the list lolz so here we are .... cuz well i forgot to hit post ooops

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph!!! 💜💜💜 I was hoping you could help me find some fics with John as an active medical doctor or E.R. nurse?? Ideally when (or how) he meets Sherlock? *eyebrow wiggle*

Not sure where the urge comes from, but just have a hankering for some hospital shenanigans, haha.

Ty babes!!! 🫶 - Liri

JOHN IS CURRENTLY A DOCTOR

Hey Liri!!!!

Oooo good question!! First off, of course I will rec these probably-John-related-medical-themed fics:

John at the Surgery

Doctor / Caretaker John

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 2

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 3

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 4

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 5

Quarantine / Lockdown / Pandemic (MFL’s)

Coronavirus / CoVID-19 (MFLs)

Then, I have a few where he meets Sherlock as a doctor, though I haven't read them I don't believe... from a tag search and quickly skimming the descriptions. I know I've probably missed a tonne or effed up somewhere, but I'd love to make another list, so if anyone has more for Liri, let me know <3

BOOKMARKS

Non-Toxic by NinjaNina2 (M, 1,713 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Parentlock with Rosie, Established Relationship, Oneshot, Stubborn Sherlock, Worried John, Doctor John, Fluff and Humour, Misunderstandings)  – Based on previous experiences, John has every right to be worried when gone for a medical conference, but what is the extent of damage This time…?!?

Q 1 HR by stillwaters01 (G, 1,795 w., 1 Ch. || New Year's Eve, Hurt/Comfort, BAMF John, Friendship, Doctor John) – On New Year’s Eve, Sherlock discovers that sometimes it’s the seemingly innocuous, rather than life-threatening, conditions that can keep John from The Work. And John is reminded just how deeply their friendship runs.

Excerpts from Purgatory by reapersun, what_alchemy (E, 5,829 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Doctor John, Reunion Fic, Rough Sex, Angry Sex, Bottomlock, Fic with Pics)  – John serves community service in homeless shelters for chinning the superintendent. Unbeknownst to him, the Homeless Network has his back.

And A Doctor by stillwaters01 (T, 24,962 w., 6 Ch. || Five and One, BAMF John, Hurt/Comfort, Doctor John, Friendship, Character Study) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn’t just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That “doctor” actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

Turn Left at the Park by Glenmore (NR (E), 37,409 w., 28 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting / ASiP Divergence, Case Fic, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Loneliness, No Mary, Possessive Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Nightmares/PTSD, Sherlock Saves John, Sherlock Whump-ish, Doctor John) – So what would have happened if John hadn't walked through the park and met Stamford? What if, instead, he walked around the park and just went home?

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Realigning Gravity Series by Raina_at (E, 69,159+ w. across 2 works || Series WiP || Sci-Fi / 24th Century Future AU || Post TRF, Cybernetic John, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Developing Relationship, Anniversary, Case Fic, Happy Endings, Doctor John) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them.

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court. Part 1 of the Care And Companionship series

MARKED FOR LATER

Take me to Baker Street by MorganeUK (G, 2,087 w., 1 Ch. || Adult Ballet AU || Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Doctor John, Song Fic, Pre-Slash) – I always loved Sergei Polunin interpretation of Take me to the church so I decided to write a version where Sherlock is a ballet dancer in serious need of a doctor…

A Doctor's Touch by my_dear_man (E, 3,275 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Canon || First Time, Taking Care, Sick Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Blow Jobs, Love Confessions, Hallucinations, Guilt, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Angst with a Happy Ending) – "I will be there, you may be sure. "I was ill at that time but not on the brink of my death bed, a nasty flu was the case, and yet, he came by to our old rooms, like the good doctor that he is and ever will be.

Fugue (n.) by reyiosa (NR [G], 3,281 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Universe || Post-TRF, Hospital, Hallucinations, Coma, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, It Was All A Dream) – A Sherlock AU were it turns out Sherlock has made up his whole life with John as a consulting detective while stuck in a coma caused by an overdose. The real John is just a kind doctor at the hospital that sits by Sherlock’s bed and reads him detective stories.

John Hamish Watson Lestrade by MidnightMonster (G, 4,731 w., 1 Ch. || John is Lestrade's Son || ASiP, Alternate First Meeting, Older Sherlock, Younger John, POV Sherlock, Protective John) – John is Lestrade's son and is 23 years old training to be a doctor and planning to be an army-doctor. Greg's concern about John being a soldier however is pushed into the background when a new problem presents itself. Sherlock Holmes. He is worried that Sherlock will hurt John or get hurt because of him in some way. But despite his concerns and efforts of keeping them apart it seems that they can't be kept away from each other.

Wretched and Divine by meet_me_in_samarra (M, 5,130 w., 1 Ch. || Punk AU || Pining John, Seductive Sherlock, Slow Burn, Sherlock is a Doctor, Implied / Referenced Drug Use) – Dr. John Watson is on call at the A&E when he attempts to treat a very special patient. Instead he finds himself a very special treat. Part 1 of the Wretched and Divine series

Practically Perfect by vitruvianwatson (E, 6,303 w., 1 Ch. || Sugar Daddy AU || Age Difference, Younger Sherlock, Older John, Finger Fucking, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Office Sex, Emotionally Insecure Sherlock, Barista Sherlock, Doctor John, PWP) – There was a knock on the door, and then it opened. John shook the thoughts out of his head and looked up with his fake “I’m your kindly doctor” smile plastered on his face, but a second later his jaw dropped because his “patient” wasn’t a patient at all. It was none other than Sherlock bloody Holmes. Not only that, but he was dressed in one of his more indecent outfits—skin tight jeans that looked like they’d been bloody painted on, and a purple button-down that was straining, to say the least, to remain buttoned. John wondered if he’d worked at the coffee shop in that outfit today. He shut the door and leaned back against it with a wicked smile, and John heard the click of the lock.

The Curious Incident of the Detective, the Doctor and the Dogs in the Night by mydogwatson (T, 7,652 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting AU || Dogs, First Kiss, Honeymoon) – A meet-cute. Dogs and cases and romance. [TRANSLATION: Русский]

Not Your Doctor, Not Your Captain by weneedtotalkaboutsherlock (E, 8,645 w., 1 Ch. || AU || Daddy John, Barista Sherlock, Legal Age Difference, First Kiss/Time, Blow Jobs, Texting/Phone Sex, Anal, Rimming, Felching, Praise Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Pet Names, Doctor John) – "Coffee for John Watson," a voice calls, a low, deep rumble that sends a shiver down John's spine. The thought is pushed aside, his shoulders sagging at the sight of his long-awaited coffee. "Thank God." His eyes lock with long, elegant fingers around the rim of the cup, dimpling the carton in a way that John can only describe as sensual. It shouldn't be. It's seven-thirty in the bloody morning. "I'm afraid that God had not much to do in making your coffee this morning," the barista replies. "I, on the other hand…"

The Full Package by Kalimyre (E, 9,675 w., 3 Ch. || Omegaverse || First Time, Sex Toys, Virginity, Doctor John) – Kinkmeme fill. The clinic where John works caters specifically to Omegas experiencing their first heat. They provide top of the line service, and do anything necessary to ease their patients' discomfort. Omega!Sherlock is his latest patient.

Quid Pro Quo by J_Baillier (T, 10,035 w., 3 Ch. || Alternate Professions ||  Doctor John, Medical Conditions, Developing Relationship, Bisexual John, Sherlock’s Violin, Minor Injuries) – John Watson is a sports surgeon who thought he was at peace with his career choices but this morning, he's meeting a new patient who might just break the brittle life balance John has constructed.

Iris by Leloi (E, 11,302 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Time Travel, Mpreg, Infertility, Virgin Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Omega Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) –John Watson was quickly learning to hate the Victorian Era. It wasn’t just the lack of proper medical care… Although that was a rather large component. It was the filth. It was the misery and the lack of regard for human life. Ok… So maybe the lack of proper medical care was a major component. It was difficult being a 21st century medical doctor stuck with 19th century technology. There was some sort of time travel involved. The really strange part is that there was a past version of himself living with a past version of Sherlock Holmes. Ok… So maybe that wasn’t the strangest part either. He seemed to be stuck in an alternate universe.

Assistance Required by Soft_Light (E, 12,162 w., 4 Ch. || PWP, Viagra, Sleepy Sherlock, Sleepy Cuddle, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Bisexual John, Demisexual Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Hair Playing, What Boundaries, It’s an Experiment) – Sherlock takes Viagra for an experiment. You can probably guess a lot of what happens next.

Transference by Jean Elizabeth (E, 16,846 w., 6 Ch. || Mental Hospital AU || Schizophrenic Sherlock, Psychologist John, Paranoia, Affairs, Friendship, Sexual Tension, Forbidden Love, Pining John, Sherlock’s Feelings, Sick Sherlock, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Angst and Humour, Sherlock/Victor, Dev. Rel. Johnlock) – Sherlock Holmes has been admitted to a mental institution for paranoid schizophrenia. He is assigned to psychologist Doctor John Watson who he inevitably begins a love affair with. John must wrestle with his guilt in putting not only his job, but Sherlock's mental well-being, in danger. Sherlock struggles with his mental disorder while living in a confining and controlling environment. So much angst and pain that can only be dulled one night a week.

keywords: Gay, Loving, Boyfriends by lookupkate (E, 17,771 w., 17 Ch. || Doctor John AU || Alternate First Meeting, Hospitals, John Writes Smut, Sherlock Reads Smut Fanfiction) – John starts writing gay romance while holed up in hospital. Sherlock reads the first fic on accident, and it sticks with him for days. He can't help but read more from the unknown writer. Little does he know, the writer isn't exactly unknown to him. The writer happens to be the A&E Doctor he's feuding with. Christ, can you imagine what he'll think once he finds out? 

Hello, Hamish by Norma_de_Plume (M, 23,833 w., 18 Ch. || John/OMC and Johnlock || Pre-TRF, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Confused John, Mild Knife Violence, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Sherlock, Doctor John, Mutual Pining, Scheming Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, BAMF John, Hurt / Comfort) – John and Sherlock never imagined that their relationship could ever be more than flatmates and best friends. Hoped, perhaps...but... *ahem* Could one person change that? What if someone else had their eye on Dr. Watson? What if it wasn't a woman?

The Scientist's Method by spacemutineer (T, 26,607 w., 7 Ch. || ACD / Granada Holmes Canon || Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt / Comfort, Time Loop, Blood / Injury, Doctor John, Developing Relationship, BAMF John, Temporary Character Death, Guilt, Drug Use / Addiction, Grief / Mourning, Friendship / Love) – Sherlock Holmes has always known the world through the straightforward lenses of evidence, logic, and reasoning. But when Watson is caught in a tragic preventable disaster, his trusted clear lines of reality start to shift and blur, and the scientist detective begins to piece together a grand discovery far beyond even his exceptional imagination. Detection is a way of learning and science is a way of knowing, but as Sherlock Holmes is about to realise, love is a way of understanding.

When We Were Young by Calais_Reno (T, 27,230 w., 10 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting AU || First Love, Nostalgia, Pre and Post TRF, Doctor John, Angst with Happy Ending) – John and Sherlock met at school, and were a bit more than friends. But they didn't stay in touch afterwards. Life goes on, and when John returns from Afghanistan, he takes a position at Barts as a trauma specialist, working in the Emergency Department. As he reports for work one day, a man jumps off the roof of the hospital. John's world tilts on its axis.

We'll Meet Again by isitandwonder (E, 29,306 w., 7 Ch. || 1940′s WWII AU || Semi-Public Sex, Blow / Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Love Letters, Prolonged Separation, Implied/Referenced Rape, Epistolary, War Crimes, Infidelity, Reunion Sex, Magical Realism, Ghosts, Suicide, Sad with Happy Ending) – London during WW II: Doctor John Watson has a hot, anonymous brief encounter with a beautiful stranger during blackout. But they get interrupted. Will they ever meet again? Bittersweet Johnlock WWII AU with a twist to the present day in the end.

No Power of Mind by ab_initio (M, 29,436 w., 12 Ch. || Mental Hospital AU || Sherlock Sees Dead People, Mystrade) – On Monday, it's the Woman. Tuesday brings Henry Knight. Wednesday is Magnussen. Greg is Thursday followed by Moriarty on Friday. Sherlock see dead people in his palace of white. When Mycroft hires Doctor John Watson to take care of Sherlock, Sherlock wonders how long this doctor will last. As time passes, the doctor-patient relationship drifts away and Sherlock's visions begin to take control. As his sanity slips away, John tries to hold on and bring Sherlock back from the depths of his mind.

A Doctor in the House by KittenKin (T, 32,394 w., 24 Ch. || TEH Fix It, Hurt/Comfort, Doctor John, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, First Kiss) – A replacement for Series 3 Episode 1 of BBC's "Sherlock", because my John would never. Part 1 of the A Doctor in the House series

To Help Another by DrFish (E, 38,898 w., 20 Ch. || Omegaverse || Rape/Non-Con, Omega Sherlock, Alpha John, BAMF John, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Mating Cycles, Bonding, Non-Con Drugs, Violence, Knotting, Oral Sex, Past Sexual Abuse, Illness, Doctor John, Case Fic, Come Inflation, Porn With Plot, Vulnerable Sherlock, Pillows and Blanket Forts, Nightmares, Kidnapping, Grief/Mourning, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Dirty Talk, Discipline) – Dr. John Watson has been invalided out of the Army and he is struggling to come to terms with what's left of his life. When he agrees to help out with a difficult case at the hospital where he works as an emergency room physician, he not only saves this particular abused omega and others like him, but he discovers a new and better life for himself in the process.

The Montague Street Doctor by The_Circus (T, 61,488 w., 13 Ch. || Post-TRF, ACD Canon-Feeling Relationship, Gen/No Slash, Montague Street, Doctor John, Care in the Community, Reunion) – Just because Sherlock stopped, doesn't mean the Work has to. London is John's city now and he will keep it together with stitching, string, his healing, the food off his table, and sometimes the clothes off his back. John Watson keeps going. He's good at that.

A Telling Touch by MiyakoToudaiji (E, 91,656 w., 28 Ch. || Post-TRF Divergence, Reunion, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Soldier John, Friends to Lovers, BAMF John, Doctor John, War, Syria, Violence, Blood, Injury, Fighting, Soulmates, True Love, First Kiss / Time, Slow Build, Romance, Christmas, Family, Holmes Manor, Childhood Memories, Sherlock’s Violin, Case Fic) – After Sherlock’s death, John manages to get himself re-enlisted and is sent back to war. But when two series of gruesome murders link home and outland together, John is suddenly faced with more battles than he could have imagined.  

You Go To My Head Series by 7PercentSolution and J_Baillier (E, 987,192 w. across 23 Works || Surgeon AU || Medical Realism, Autism Spectrum, Anaesthetist John / Neurosurgeon Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Addiction, Angst, Slow Burn, PTSD, Pining, Insecurity, Additional Tags Under Link) – This series is an alternate universe one, featuring the exciting medical and romantic adventures of doctors Watson and Holmes.

WORKS IN PROGRESS

How They Move In Silence by Breath4Soul (M, 5,186 w., 4/? Ch. || WiP || Doctor John, Doctor/Patient, Voiceless Sherlock, Sick Sherlock, Texting) – Sherlock loses his voice and has to communicate through texts which leads to love confessions.

we are more than the footnotes my love by poechild (T, 17,874+ w., 1 of 2 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Unilock, Drug Addict Sherlock, Caring / Doctor John, Protective John, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-ASiP, Pining John, Massage, Shaving, Hurt Sherlock, Concussions, Drug Withdrawal) – A druggie kisses John on the street then steals his wallet. John, of course, takes him home.

20,000 leagues under the sea: A Victorian Sherlock AU by MorganeUK (G, 30,544+ w., 15/? Ch || Victorian Steampunk AU || WiP || Scientist Sherlock, Submarines) – The Holmes Brothers are living under the sea, protected from the world violence and general stupidity… Alone, with only a small crew, they explore the world inside their submersible. Perfectly satisfied and unaware of their loneliness, until they meet Captain Lestrade and Doctor Watson from the Royal Navy.

Only Yesterday by Berty (T, 47,530+ w., 18/20 Ch. || WiP || Alternate Timelines / 'Yesterday' AU || Post-TRF, POV John, Grief, Mental Instability, Angst, Unrequited Love, Suspense, Scotland, Hurt John, Developing Relationship, Doctor John, John is a Mess) – Sherlock has been gone for two years and John Watson is doing okay. He goes to work. He sleeps (sometimes). He eats. He has colleagues, some of whom are even friends. He has purpose. If it's not a life as others might view it, it's a fair approximation. It's fine. He's fine. One night the lights go out and when they come back on everything is the same except for one important thing. For John it's the most important thing. And suddenly John is not fine at all.

Vampires In London Series by Madam_Fandom (E, 148,590+ w. across 4 works || Series WiP || Vampire AU || Vampire Sherlock, Psychic/Empath John, Mutual Pining, Blood Drinking, Feeding, Jealousy, Angst, Implied / Referenced Rape/Non Con, Graphic Violence, Past Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Physical /Emotional / Psychological Abuse, Vampire Sex, First Time, Doctor John, Bisexual John) – John is a doctor and nothing ever happens to him, and then it does. He meets two fascinating men at a fundraiser...he soon finds out vampires are real and they are in London.

Care And Companionship Series by elldotsee and J_Baillier (E, 209,820+ w. across 5 works || Series WiP || Me Before You Fusion || Angst, Romance, Depression, Medical Ethics, Insecure Sherlock, Serious Illness, Permanent Injury, Sherlock Whump, BAMF John, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Physical Rehabilitation, Medical Realism, Assisted Suicide, Awkward Sex, Friends to Lovers, Alcoholism, John Whump, PTSD, Anxiety, Family Drama, Caretaker John, Alternating POVs) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

UNEXPECTED OCCURENCE by Victoria557 (M, 295,878+ w., 124/? Ch. || WiP || Post-TRF Divergence, Unexpected Parenthood, PTSD, Trauma, Child Abandonment, Slow Burn, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Self-Harm, Intrusive Thoughts, Doctor John, Self-Esteem Issues, Anxiety Disorder, Misunderstandings, No Mary) – Barely five months after Sherlock's death, John was slowly yet so ever damn surely falling apart. Every day since then, he had just been surviving not living. When Lestrade phone him, with nervousness and uncertainty in his voice, asking for some help with a case since Anderson who usually did the forensic stuff, and another worker who examined the body had been unfortunately unavailable and with the downfall of Lestrade's record recently, he couldn't afford to risk another scolding from his supervisor, John agreed, despite the forming of the painful twist in his stomach at the thought of being at a crime scene without a certain arrogant high-functioning sociopath. Never did he expect to encounter such a surreal event and never did he expect to find out Sherlock having a secret - well secret would be unfitting as the man himself didn't realize this.

[theghostofashton]

seven sentence sunday

thank you @heartstringsduet @welcometololaland for the tags <3

“Sometimes I kinda feel like you don’t even have a roommate,” Mateo says. “Like you made him up.” “Mateo!” Marjan chides. “What?” He asks. “I don’t think I’ve seen the guy once.” “Yes, you have,” Marjan says. “He was at the last mandatory floor meeting. He’s been at every mandatory floor meeting.” “What’s he look like?” “Curly brown hair. And uh…” she trails off, as she thinks about it. “He wears glasses, right TK?” “Yeah,” TK replies. “Sometimes.” He wore them to the last floor meeting. TK knows because he spent most of the half hour trying not to stare.  “And he’s taller than you, right?” “Not by much,” TK mutters, a wave of indignance washing over him. He didn’t think anyone noticed those couple inches. Carlos is barely taller than him.

tagging @paperstorm @sanjuwrites @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @carlos-in-glasses @carlossreaders @tellmegoodbye @alrightbuckaroo @henrygrass @nisbanisba @bonheur-cafe and anyone else who wants to share!