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#bathhouse dress
dresshistorynerd · 2 years
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Sewing Medieval Bathhouse Dress
I'm a big boob person and for me bras have always been very uncomfortable. They never support enough even with the metallic wire support as the elastic strap is not secure enough and that wire curve is also just uncomfortable. My shoulders are also always aching because of the pressure put on shoulders. But no bras is even more uncomfortable especially if I have to do anything else than sitting. Which is why I have been considering testing out historical options ever since I got into historical sewing.
When it comes to historical sewing (and to some extent sewing in general) I'm still a noob and so I have been quite intimidated by stays and corsets and I've figured I'll start with medieval supportive garments, like kirtle, as they are much simpler. Then I saw the video where Morgan Donner made a bathhouse dress and I immediately wanted to test it out too.
Some history
Bathhouse dress is a garment that appears around 14th to 16th century in central Europe, mostly around Bohemia, Austria and German states and their vicinity. Perhaps the most famous finding of this garment is the Lengberg Castle Bra found in Austria.
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It's often called medieval bra because it has cups like bra. I think that's somewhat misleading as it was a full dress and this is just fragments of the dress. There's theory that there's only this left because the larger continuous pieces of linen were cut off and used for some other garment. The dress was quite different from shift, the usual loose undergarment that would be used under supportive kirtle around most of Europe at the time. It was sleeveless and tailored with lacing, usually on the side. The reason it's often called bathhouse dress is that there's a lot of depictions of it in bathhouse use, especially in Bohemia, and these depictions are sometimes referred as Bohemian bathhouse babes.
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All of these types of garments didn't have cups like this example from 1389 Bohemia, and there were a lot of different designs. There's different shaped bodices, some had waist seem, some didn't. In German the garment with cups was called breastbag at the time. In the literary mentions there was often degrading tone when talking about it, and it seemed that the writers at least thought women who used breastbag were "showing off". When have men not complained about women's fashion in a patriarchal society? Perhaps with the other designs there wasn't similar derision. The writings and some other depictions of the garment suggest that it was used more generally as an undergarment and not just for bathhouse. Which would make sense as it would seen uncharacteristic for Middle Ages to tailor a supporting garment (not cheep) just to use in bathhouses.
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Here's a potter wearing similar garment with different design from late 15th century Austria.
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Another one from mid 15th century Austria of a woman putting clothes on and obviously wearing the dress as undergarment.
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Here's a German example from late 15th century of a woman wearing it as a nightgown, which shift was also used for.
The sewing part
If you want a tutorial, go and watch that Morgan Donner video linked in the beginning, I'm not a good source on sewing, especially historical.
I wanted to make my version of the dress fairly historical, but I wasn't too concerned with making in exactly right as it's purpose is for daily use and not historical costuming. I hand-sewed it with historical techniques though, but the patterning part was quite chaotic and I basically came up with it as I went so there ended up being some weirdness in finishings as I didn't plan far enough.
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So here's how it turned out. I very intentionally made it much shorter than it should be. Most depictions have it reach half calf. I was making it for daily use and not historical costuming and I have a lot of knee length skirts, so I wanted it short enough for that. I actually made the bodice and skirt into separate pieces that are just loosely whipstitched together so I can use them both alone too, especially the bodice with trousers.
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The shape of the bodice isn't historical. The cleavage goes fairly high and is fairly straight in most of the historical examples (especially with the cups). Even the Lengberg bra originally had crochet covering the chest area. But again that wouldn't have fitted so well with a lot of my modern clothing, and my purpose wasn't historical recreation.
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As I was talking about the pretty weird finishings, here you can see them. The result isn't very neat, but it's fine.
I have been wearing this now a couple of months and I'm in love with it. It's much more supportive while being also so much more comfortable. The lacing on the side distributes the force around the waist, so it doesn't put nearly as much pressure on my shoulders. It's made entirely out of linen and is very nice against skin and as it doesn't have any metallic wires it also doesn't press anywhere. It also is just much more flattering than bras at least for me. It doesn't work that well without the skirt, the waist starts wrinkling and moving up, but the skirt keeps it pretty straight. The bodice is also slightly too long and it doesn't sit exactly on my waist, so it adds to the problem. It's not a huge problem though, it's just a bit annoying.
I'm planning to test out a version where I'll reinforce the eyelets with synthetic baleen instead of cord and put baleen in the other side too and maybe in the center front so I could use it as a separate undergarment without the annoying wrinkling. I'm also planning on doing 16th century kirtle bodice or the full kirtle (or both maybe as separate but attachable pieces, like with the bathhouse dress) with either stiff interlining or boning and Regency short stays. I want to test out different types of supportive undergarments in my quest for better bra options. Maybe after I've done them I'm ready to try Victorian corset too.
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penandinkprincess · 2 years
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okay but what i think i love most about The Bath Scene is that jask fucking has a towel over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up, bopping about picking things up and tossing them in, all as if he has been hired to do this when like...fucking no one asked him?? to do any of it??? 
would LOVE to have seen like five minutes before when jask is just taking off his doublet, rolling his sleeves up, tossing a towel over his shoulder, all with an air of “ah yes in we go” while geralt is just. alright. this is happening now i guess. 
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kkusuka · 2 years
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tr headcannons that are cannon.
bc i said so!
cw: smut, all timeskip, afab reader, they/them pronouns
- izana has a nasty habit of flicking up skirts you wear just to see what underwear you picked that day
- if shion is interested in you he’ll follow you around like a puppy dog until you acknowledge him
- takemichi has fainted after seeing your boobs
- during meetings mikey uses your poor tits as stress balls, but only he’s allowed to look at them and everyone knows that, so when he sees come low level toman member looking, you’re left shirtless watching your boyfriend scare the shot out of some poor guy. but hey! pretty titties!
- kakucho did not know where the clit was until he saw you masturbating and was like ‘wtf are they rubbing???’
- sanzu doesn’t know when it started but he just has to hold onto your thighs whenever he sits next to you
- rindou has definitely walked in on you and ran fucking- in the kitchen- and they both have started a conversation as if he wasn’t balls deep in your cunt (can be the other way around but rindou would at least stop fucking you until ran left)
- anytime you’re standing next to hanma he has both palms settled on your ass
- draken blocks any other noise out when he’s fucking you, all he wants to hear are your little pants and moans- until somebody walks in on him fucking you stupid
- senju would 100% ask to go to a bathhouse with you just to end up asking to ‘compare boobs’ because she has all brothers and didn’t know her mother so she needs help- just to make sure everything is ok( as in she wants to touch your boobs!)
- izana has cut tenjuku meetings short because he wanted you to sit on his face
- sometimes mikey would take you to these huge dinner parties in the prettiest dress and shoes he could find and walk you around as a tiny bullet vibrator delivered orgasm after orgasm through your poor pussy
- ran gas definitely let other dudes fuck you just for you to see how good you have it- and the other guys didn’t make it too far after anyway
- mikey isn’t good with emotion but he does know that boobs = proof of god
- shinichiro’s biggest fantasy has always been fucking you on his bike
- rindou makes you moan so loud that he’s had to replace speakers in his room bc they aren’t load enough to drown you out
- sanzu has sent mikey your sex tape
- takeomi has been know to make you cockwarm him during meetings with other gangs
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aerynwrites · 6 months
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Baldur’s Gate 3 Masterlist
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Halsin
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Longing || part 2 - NSFW. Reader has been pining after Halsin for a while now but has hesitated to make a move due to her inexperience, little does she know - a certain Druid might just feel the same and is more than willing to show her.
Remember - A drunken night leads to confessions and Halsin still being a gentleman.
Not alone - Reader is feeling overwhelmed with the responsibilities of being the defacto leader. Halsin tries to show them they don’t have to bear the weight alone. (Requested)
Scars - Reader hates the scars they bare, but Halsin shows them that there is nothing to be ashamed of.
Lover’s Embrace - NSFW. An alchemical mishap puts reader in a situation she’s not expecting, and as usual, Halsin is there to help. aka - reader accidentally creates an aphrodisiac potion and Halsin helps her through the after effects.
Dance The Night Away - Tav/reader gets a chance to finally show off a dress she acquired some time ago, something Halsin greatly appreciates as they dance.
Cherished - NSFW! A/B/O fic with omega!fem!reader. Reader has been on supressants for years only to be faced with the ordeal of an unexpected and intense heat when she loses her supply. Halsin is there to help.
Loss - reader mourns the loss of a beloved pet. Halsin is there to comfort them. (Based on a request)
Losing You - You get injured in battle and Halsin finally feels a fear he hasn’t felt in quite some time, a confession he makes to you as he nurses you back to health.
Reciprocation - NSFW! Reader notices that Halsin is usually the one to give during intimacy, this time, reader decides to return the favor.
Mistaken Identity - the reader meets a bear in the woods, unbeknownst to her this bear is the same Druid she has a crush on.
Desire - based on a request for breeding kink with Halsin
Whittle Mistakes - Reader injures themself while Halsin teaches them to Whittle.
Peaceful Moments - Reader and Halsin spend a quiet moment together.
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Send Me an Angel (Halsin x Fem!angle!Reader)
After witnessing an angel fall from the sky, Halsin takes it upon himself to nurse her back to health. But as the days go by, the shadow curse still prevails, and he starts to find out there’s more than meets the eye with his new Angel companion.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |
Gale Dekarios
Late Nights - Gale has slipped away from you in the middle of the night - again - so, it’s your duty to bring him back to your side.
Unexpected, but Not Unwelcome - Reader announces she’s pregnant to Gale, he reacts in the best way possible.
Perks of The City - NSFW! Gale and Reader take part in all the city has to offer. Aka: they fuck in a bathhouse
Make it Right - Durge!Reader is struggling with finding out their past and their part in the absolute plot, their companions turning away from them. They decide to do go after Orin to make it right.
Masquerade of Liars - Gale and Reader take their son out to celebrate a traditional Waterdeep holiday (aka the forgotten realms version of Halloween!)
Worthy - reader/tav feels like they aren’t worthy of Gale. He’s quick to tell them otherwise.
Lost for Words - reader tried on the Wavemother Robe and shows off the new item to Gale who, well…he’s lost for words.
Dreams Become Reality - NSFW! reader has a rather…debauched dream and wakes Gale up. Good thing he’s curious and willing to satiate your fantasies.
Astarion x Halsin
Worries and Doubts - On a quiet afternoon in the forest, Astarion starts to have doubts about the future. Halsin is there to comfort him.
Love Lost - Halsin was unable to sway Astarion from ascending and now…Now he’s left to try and reconcile his love for the man he knew and the vampire lord before him now.
Dammon
Emeralds - You’ve been pinning after Dammon for quite some time now, little do you know the blacksmith feels the same way.
Fear of Losing You - (part 2 of emeralds) Reader stumbles upon the tiefling massacre in the shadow cursed lands and assumes the worst.
Bound by The Heart (and other things) - you stumble upon one of Dammon’s more…lewd books, and find out something he’s wanted to try. You eagerly volunteer.
Rolan
Freckles - you spend the morning admiring Rolan as he sleeps.
Headcanons
Halsin and Gale with Reader who tries pheromone perfume
Love languages with Gale and Dammon (SFW and NSFW)
Physical Touch and Gift Giving w/ Gale, Halsin and Dammon
Halsin as a New Dad
Dammon with a plus size S/O
Halsin and Reader Post Game
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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year
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Aftercare with Luffy (Post Aphrodisiac Sex) (FLUFF)
Sanji Aftercare
Zoro Aftercare
WC: 1.7k
This is a continuation of THIS FIC please read this first before continuing here !:)
CW: Learning about Aftercare, Luffy Learns How to be a Better Boyfriend, Kisses, Soft!Luffy
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Enjoy!
-
It has been about an hour and a half since the effects of the aphrodisiac wore off of Luffy. He managed to actually fuck you until you both passed out leaving a sweaty cum filled mess on top of your bed.
You were the first to wake up seeing his stretchy limbs wrapped around your sticky body, his face was drenched in sweat drooling on your neck not wanting to let go. You tried sitting up but it deemed difficult seeing how tangled your body was with his.
“Luffy..” Your Voice was groggy and a little swelled. You managed to free one of your arms out of his grasp to grip his hair firmly and lift his head, he had that same blissful smile he usually has when he is sleeping with a few hickies on his neck. “Luffy…get off of me.”
The sounds of him groaning mixing with whining not wanting to budge from his grip, so you sigh trying to adjust yourself but you moan out feeling his cock still partially inside you.
“Luffy! Luffy! Luffy!” You slapped his shoulder repeatedly.
“‘M tireedddddd.” He pinched your sides making your shriek.
“Get upppppp!!!”
“Mmm…Y/N! Oooh you look a mess are you okay? What happened?!”
“I’m—ow!” You slapped his rough hands rubbing your sides harshly away from you as he was seated in between your legs. “I’m fine just get up!”
“Oh okay!…can you walk?” He asked noticing your struggling to get up, he immediately aids you from the bed and now holding your waist from behind, but he notices the marks and bruises on your back, “Y/N what the hell happened to you?! Who hurt you like this??”
Your eyebrows furrow cocking your head at him and turn to his face, “Uh..you did.”
This was probably one of the first times you seen Luffy’s smiles slowly fade into worry, “Nuh uh. I—-oh wait! “ He laughs holding his head now recalling past events, “I did! Sorry about that! You felt really good though, but I’m STARVING now.”
He places you back down to sit on to walk over to your shared drawers, squatting grabbing something to shove his face with.
He always did this.
After sex it’s either Luffy gets up and goes to eat or falls asleep immediately. You grown to not mind it, but right now you kinda felt a bit….
Sad, almost.
It was weird you felt like your mood just shifted from okay to sorrow and you don’t understand why. You grab each of you some clean clothing and place it on your bed. Luffy turns and watches you while still eating studying your saddened gaze.
“You okay? Does your butt hurt ?” He asks noticing the slap marks on it, you look back to see and shake your head, you felt so weighed down for some reason and you couldn’t figure out why. You have no complaints about the sex that isn’t the issue but after such an intense session.
You just
Wanted to be held right now.
“Let’s take another bath. I’m sticky.”
“Ughhhh whyyyyyy just throw on a dress! You’ll be okay.”
“Can you at least come to bed I’m tired.”
“Just a second Y/N im hungrrryyyy…” He scrambled in the drawers for more food contemplating to quickly get dressed and head to the kitchen.
For some reason Luffy’s defiance made your chest hurt, he’s always like this, but right now him not wanting to do anything made your lips quiver. You looked glossy in the eyes holding his clothing. It wasn’t until your did a soft sniff he turned his head back at you.
“Y/N…” He seen your head down, thumb caressing his shirt, still in the nude and fighting back your will to cry for something you don’t understand why. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” You handed him his shirt to grab your robe hanging off your door, “‘M ganna take a shower.”
You left Luffy alone to start up some water, the bathhouse was cleaned top to bottom from when you and Luffy left it with a note on the mirror.
“To Y/N & Luffy: At Least clean the bathhouse before leaving to have sex! Perverts! -Nami”
Now not only are you sad, but embarrassed now.
“Ugh.” You groaned tossing the note to start some water to hop in the shower, but right before you stepped in here comes a naked Luffy causing your eyes to widen
“LU!” You pulled him in shutting the door behind you wondering what the hell was going on, “You can’t keep walking around—“
“Its fine nobody is awake.” He didnt break contact of your eyes. Luffy felt a bit worried seeing your storm off, and he could have sworn you—
“Did i make you cry?”
“What?” You snap your face at him, subconsciously touching your warm cheeks, “no you didn’t.”
“Then why are you—“
“Nothing Luffy.”
“Tell me.” He grabbed your arm before you could walk inside the steaming water, you kinda hoped he would come to join you, but you also had a bit of you wanting to just be alone to rid of the pains you felt.
Both physically and emotionally.
Luffy didn’t quite understand why your mood changed, youre usually as happy as he is after sex,
“Was i bad?” He finally broke the quiet tension between you both.
“Hm?”
“Was i bad? Did I not make you feel good?”
“No Luffy it’s just…” you sigh rubbing your forehead, before pulling him inside the shower with you, he waiting patiently as you began to clean his back, maybe not looking into his eyes will ease some of your nerves. “It’s just…after we have sex…sometimes I just…wanna be held by you. I know it sounds stupid, but i like a little comfort after we finish…being told I did really good, ….maybe even a kiss, but—-“
In an instant your lips were pressed against his, they were always smaller than yours, lower lip just a tad plumper than his top, his cold wet hands cupped your warmed cheeks, you felt his thumb rub against your temple gently as if he wanted you to know he heard you.
“Like that?” Still holding your face, he looked into your eyes filled with some hope he did it right to make you happy. You lean into his touch and smile.
“Yeah. Something like that.” Your face finally cracked into a smile, which in turn made him as well.
“Oh thank God!” Luffy exhales making you both laugh, “All you had to do was ask Y/N I’ll do whatever you want.”
You almost felt stupid not asking him sooner, your communication with Luffy wasn’t far from bad. He spoke to you about things he wanted and needed out of you so what makes you think you couldn’t?
“Here. Turn around.” Your raven haired boyfriend moved you and you heard what you assumed to be the body wash tab open and his hands rubbing roughly against each other, but by the smell you knew—
“Wait wait! Lu!” You reached over in front of you to grab the soap to hand him, “that’s shampoo not soap!”
“…aint it the same thing?”
-
It was such a comforting silence for a moment as Luffy washed you, he was delicate with his touches after a while, cracking jokes per usual to hear you laugh again. Once you both rinse each other off you were ready to get out, but Luffy didn’t seem ready to do so yet.
“Wait!” He pulled you closer to him, your breast now smushed against his, his stare was almost intimidating right now, “um…”
Your boyfriend grabbed your cheeks again to kiss you, this time small pecks not giving you anytime to return the favor which made you giggle, “h-hey-“
“I do lo…um…I do…love you…y/n. You know that right?”
His stutter made your eyes widen. Why was he so nervous to say that? You wonder, but instead of questioning it you nod, “mmhm. I love you too Luffy.”
Hearing that made his heart feel funny, he masked his worry with that pretty big smile you loved so much.
Once you both get out and head to your room in your towel and robe you felt him hold your pinky in with his, when you felt the tightness against it you looked and then seen him look the opposite way, possibly hiding the small blush on his face as you walked to your room. You smile at the sentiment.
-
“Let’s get something to eat.” You suggest brushing Luffy’s hair as he sits in between your legs, “I know You’re still hungry.”
“Mmhm.” He hummed, arms wrapped around your waist and face in your cleavage, “‘want meat.”
You both sneak your way into the kitchen praying Sanji’s 6th sense doesn’t get him to wake up and catch you both. There was a note on the fridge.
“To my dearest Y/N: I made a plate specifically for you, whenever you come to eat. It’s your favorite! -Love, Sanji”
There was tears on the note.
Sanji also left a note for Luffy too:
“I hate you. Don’t eat Y/N’s food. - Sanji”
There were two plates for you both, you grabbed them and Luffy grabbed some more for the road and you head back to your room to eat.
“Y’know i still don’t know why I did that.” Luffy muffled, face stuffed as he was eating across from you on the bed crisscross shirtless, “You think it was something i ate?”
“Ion know.” You shrugged eating with a little more decorum than your boyfriend, he shrugs as well. Best not to think about what the possibilities were, not like you remembered much hours prior.
“You did do good by the way.” He spoke again, this time his voice more clear and soft, “You always feel really good. I don’t think you understand that, but I can tell you that more.”
“…thank you, Lu.”
“Hahaha, i like when you call me that too. It sounds so hot when you moan it—“
“Okay, Luffy!” You groaned, you knew sweet moments with him never last, he laughs holding his stomach at your embarrassment.
Once you both ate Luffy stretched out his body for you to lay on, your weight felt so good against him. He could get used to moments like this, moments where it’s just you and him. Relaxing.
You adjusted on top, arms and blankets around you both, he was so comfortable to lay on, his heart beat still relatively fast, but soothing none the less.
“I love you, Y/N.” Was the last thing you heard and a peck on the forehead before dozing off again.
It felt good to you both to learn how to properly take care of each other.
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aurawrawr · 5 months
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I adore you too much to hate you now
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna x afab! brown reader
This short fic is written mostly in second person PoV. Character has a name but it's not heavily used. I'm about to ferally self-insert into the following work.
The fic is set in a feudal time period so there are themes of prostitution and non-con/dub-con included.
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Minors, DNI. Word count: 2.9k.
CW: themes of bloodshed, prostitution, scars, little bit of non-con/dub-con, description of smut, oral sex (f! receiving), voyeurism, auralism, submission, worship, PIV, Sukuna's true form (no smut with true form); Uraume is an Oiran (with they/them pronouns) [no, I won't explain it]
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King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who fucks a different working woman of the household every night because none of them satisfies him enough for a double take. Concubines visit his palace in rotations. Some never make their way out.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who despises the cooks in his household — why is the rice never soft, curry too salty, fish not salted enough, soba soggy, desserts always dry? He has killed many a cook, replaced them with new ones, only to be disappointed in a different way.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who does not care who is hired in the kitchens, in the lawns, to clean, to wash his clothes, to keep it all running, but turns the house upside down if anything in his chambers is out of place.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who switches between his real form and human form depending on who he's with. Only Uraume has ever seen his true form, the Oiran who trains and dresses the girls before sending them to Sukuna's bed.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who takes one bite of a non-Japanese cuisine and his eyes blow wide in wonderment. He demands to see the cook immediately.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who looks at you once, drinks in all your amber glory with his lustful gaze, before asking, "What's for dessert?" You still haven't learned to speak or understand Nihongo so you must rely on Uraume-hime to talk on your behalf. All you know is to keep your sight fixed on the Lord's feet. Puny, filthy humans must never lock eyes with Sukuna-sama. Nobody told you so but you came to that conclusion yourself by the way the Oiran kept pushing your head down while in the Lord's chambers.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who groans, shifts in his seat when Uraume-hime tells him something in Nihongo. Before you know it, your hands are being pulled by two other women. You are laid on your back, the hem of your robe pushed up to your hips. You pull your thighs tight together, whispering words of resistance in your tongue, words unintelligible to the Lord.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who is intrigued by your foreignness. In his thick, all-knowing voice, he asks you something from between your legs. In his language, but you've been asked this before several times so you know the answer. "Anata no namaê wa?" He asks. You still can't see his face.
And you answer, Aparajita. The name of a beautiful blue flower laid at your God's feet as an offering. Literal meaning, unconquered. Your mother had given you the name, in hopes that you won't end up on the same path as herself. That you will escape the brothels of Bengal and find your own place in the world. Her dreams had come quite true, you had escaped. Only to then find yourself at the mercy of a creature you didn't quite understand.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who plays with your name on his tongue while his fingers play on your clit. Your hips have to be held down by Uraume-hime because of how much he's making you shiver with the most minimal touches. You've grown up in a bordello, even spent a night in a Japanese bathhouse before finding this job in Sukuna-sama's kitchen, but never have you heard of the woman being on the receiving end of pleasure.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who holds lengthy discussions with Uraume-hime while three of his fingers are knuckle-deep inside you. You have a palm over your mouth to keep you from gasping out but it's promptly removed by one of the women. When you look at her, she has nothing to say, only knotted eyebrows and a gaze filled with guilt. You know this will probably happen again, maybe you will be the one holding someone down, and you'll have the same guilt on your face.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who delights in the sound of you, pauses all conversations and trains his ears to your honeydew voice. When he places his mouth on your flesh, the pleasure tears you apart. Needy moans leak from your lips while he laps at you, taking his fill of dessert.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who wants you in his chambers every night now. And he wants you to understand what he's saying without Uraume translating and gesturing. It wastes a lot of time. Time he'd rather spend burying his cock down your pretty, mauve pussy. So he gets you a tutor. You are to spend your days learning Nihongo — initially spoken language only — and cooking for Sukuna-sama, and nights in his bed, face down, ass up, crying as loud as you can because that's what gets him off. Your voice.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who doesn't realize how long it has been since he's seen a different woman. You satiate him, more than enough.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who doesn't realize that he's slowly starting to wonder if he's enough for you. He watches you all day from the landing of his first floor quarters as you do your duties in the yard. Your dedication to learning a new language just for his sake is mesmerizing. How your delicate fingers wrap around the stem of the brush as you learn to draw the alphabet. The way your lips move as you repeat the tutor's words. When you sit down to cook for him, your leadership invigorates him. You assign jobs to others, teach the new hires how to mix spices, dice vegetables, stoke the coal until it's burning bright. He curses under his breath when the fire iron lands on the side of your feet, scalding your skin, making you hiss out in pain.
You laugh it off when someone brings you a mug of water, the sound of your joy enchanting to Sukuna-sama. He decides the fate of that coal poker. You're busy wrapping a piece of cloth around your wound when, out of nowhere, the iron rod catches on crimson hot fire. It scares your colleagues but you know exactly whose work that is.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who heals your wound when you're lying in his bed, freshly fucked, your back facing him since you're still not allowed to look at him. You've tried to leave wordlessly several nights but his strong arms have held you back, whispering a stern yet somehow soft "Tomaru." So you leave in the mornings and he watches with sleepy eyes as you drape your saree around yourself, clean and fix his bedchamber before leaving. He is a tiger when he fucks — he'd lay you down on any flat surface, take as long as he wants. The only criteria is he should be able to hear you. It's only collateral that the room would be in absolute disarray, left for you to fix lest Sukuna-sama's wrath befalls the entire household.
You sit up, alarmed, when you feel his hand on your feet. In your culture, only a child touches a woman's feet. Definitely not the Lord of the house, and definitely not the man whose bed you sleep in every night. He may not be human anymore, but he is your King, he is who you submit to. In a way, Sukuna-sama is your God and you are the flower at his feet.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who doesn't know that all his efforts and adjustments are being duly noted and silently appreciated. You wanted to wear sarees and ghagras instead of the furisode so Uraume-hime allowed it, even going to the extent of bringing in a tailor for you; you knew it was not their decision to make. When he noticed the dryness of your hands, of your back, he ordered for butter and cream to be made in abundance so the women of the household can use them for cosmetic purposes. The only woman he cared to have softer skin was you. When a beggar invaded your kitchen, he brought his trident to the doorway only to find them with a plate full of food, relinquishing their appetite. He may be a King, but you are his Goddess of peace, surfeit, pleasure, warmth — everything, everything nice.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who wants to know the color of your eyes — see for himself, not hear from Uraume how black your pupils are, it's like you absorb all the light of the world and reflect nothing back. It's not subtle that the Oiran despises you but Sukuna-sama knows they won't let a finger on you without his permission.
It's not like you've never looked at him. When he paces the yard in his crimson and black robe, sometimes in his white and blue robe, you're taken aback by his form, his posture, his powerful gait. The thick black lines on his face and wrists have always made you curious. The extra pair of eyes add a layer of smugness to his persona. One night, when he is tossing and turning in his sleep, you find yourself driven by urges you can't describe, to look at him. You give in. His broad back is marred by scars — slashes, burns, puncture wounds galore. And that forms more questions in your mind. If he can heal you, why doesn't he heal himself?
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who has always fucked you from behind, been satisfied with your voice guiding him to your peaks and lows. But tonight, he wants to see your face contort with pleasure when he settles his thick cock inside you. All his conviction flies out the window when he looks at you, helpless, shaking, not knowing where to look because nobody prepared you for this. He loses control, hungrily kissing your lips — something he has never done before — leaving marks on your jaw and neck. When he grabs your tits, and sinks his teeth on your fat, you cry out. You didn't know having the Lord feed on you would drive you so crazy, it would coax something unthinkable out of your mouth. Moans and gasps go eat grass, Sukuna-sama didn't know being called his name by his lovely, honey-skinned lover could send him deeper into his void of lust. And not just any name. Not even Sukuna-sama. You whisper, Ryo-sama. Ryo-sama. Like you've been thinking about this ever since he first touched you. Like you've been saying this name behind your sealed lips all these nights. He hasn't been called Ryo for years, never by anybody other than his human mother.
You've done it now. This is as far as you go, as far as your mother's ambitious naming could push you. When he pulls out of you and makes you sit up, all you know to do is bow to him, forehead touching the floor between the two of you. "Sumimasen. Sumimasen. Sumimasen, Sukuna-sama." You keep whispering in your awkward yet earnest accent.
He shifts on his knees, awkward for the first time ever in his immortality. "Look at me."
You keep your eyes trained to the ground, shaking your head.
"Look at me, Paro." His voice is surprisingly mild, like he's only amused. Paro is his name for you, chosen at first for convenience during moments of passion, but soon it became a name of ownership, nobody else could call you Paro, and now... it's something else.
"Is this a test, my Lord?" You're scared. You've been scared of him before. This is not something new.
"Look at me."
"You can make me look at you whenever you want, my Lord."
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who has never apologized to anyone, never pleaded. He never needed to, he is the King. He is so powerful, his blood boiling with cursed magic, he can take several lives with a flick of his wrist, instill fear in the common man just by revealing his true form. Here he is, sitting in front of a woman who cooks for him, keeps his household tidy, his cock warm. You have him wrapped around your pinky; you could poison his food, castrate him when he's hard, stab him once he's asleep with you in his arms. But you don't. You've either lost hope in life or your heart to him. He hopes it's the latter.
"P-please." He says under his breath. "Please look at me, Paro."
Your eyes shoot up in disbelief. The Lord pleading with you? Begging you? If Uraume-hime hears of it, they'd make sure you don't live to see another day. But, you don't care. Right now, you're swimming in the blood sea of your Ryo-sama's eyes. What a crime it is to have kept this vision from you! You don't want to look at anything else ever again. But your heart is feeble. You're afraid if you stare, you will end up offending him. So you try to look away but he catches your face in his grasp, squeezing your chin, tilting it up. He breathes on your face, on your mouth. "Is there anything in your heart for me?"
You nod. Not because you're scared of the consequences of telling him otherwise, not because you have nowhere else to go, but because it's true.
"You adore me?"
You nod again.
"Look at me, Paro. I don't want to have to tell you that again." You meet his eyes. "This is not my true form. I conceal it so as to not scare you."
"You scare me enough already, my Lord."
Sukuna laughs. After months of being in each other's company, you finally feel the tension easing. "I don't have a heart, Paro, but there's a warmth in me, somewhere, for you too. Maybe it is love."
"Maybe only lust."
"I've lived long enough to know the difference."
You avert your gaze and bow to him again. "Sumimasen, Sukuna-sama. I shouldn't have questioned you." You touch his feet like your mother had taught you to do with elders and idols of Gods and Goddesses. He is both to you. You're not sure where he learnt it from but every time you have done this before, he has placed a hand on your head, as if to bless you. This time, he takes your wrist to his mouth to kiss it.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who wants to trust you with his true form. He wants to tell you how he came to be cursed with that body, what he had done to deserve immortality, an eternity of wealth, monstrous glory and fame but also peerless, loveless, cold torture. He wants you by his side, not for a brief era of his limbo, but forever. Yet, he's sure you wouldn't want that kind of power. Your strength is in your altruism. To ask you to be by his side for centuries, maybe even millenia, will be to burden you, to keep you from ten where angels like you belong.
"Do you want me to see your true form, my Lord?" You read his mind.
"Would you like to see the real me? Aren't you afraid? I'm sure you've heard Uraume talk about it."
You toy with the answer in your head for some time. You are afraid. But you know he is probably more scared. So you ask, "Are you afraid I'll be repulsed, my Lord?"
He doesn't answer. You know him more than he wants to admit.
"I adore you too much to hate you now, my Lord." You confess. In a bold stunt, you raise yourself on your knees and put your hands around his neck. You can feel your shoulders tense in fear. But when his arms engulf you, you relax a little. You place your lips near his, desperate for his touch and he gives it to you. He kisses you fervently, smooches after smooches, tongues over each other, his strong hands kneading your skin because he needs your skin.
You gasp when it happens. It's not slow. It starts with the loving pads of his fingers being replaced by sharp nails. He holds your head tightly to his as he changes, denying you a glance until he's fully transformed. Your legs detach from the floor when he picks you up, hooking your feet behind his waist. You feel yourself rising against gravity, your thighs being pulled apart to capacity around his abdomen. All is still well, until you feel two more hands on you, something rough on your face, and something wet and slimy against your belly.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who has never been ashamed, intimidated, now looking at you, wondering what you think of the villain who stands in front of you, asking you to love him regardless of how vile he is. You... you still want him, that's all there is to it. You look at his four muscular arms, the ghastly mask covering half of his face, the tongue sticking out of his abdomen, and most surprisingly, his two penises, and you still want him. All you're thinking of is how you can pleasure this him. He kneels in front of you, an act of submission, and he's still as tall as you are standing. You finally understand why only his bedroom has such a high roof.
You take his face in your hands, both the softer, a little human side and the rough, grotesque side, and you declare, "Ryo-sama, I will start a religion in your name, carve an idol akin to your true form, and tell people of your ire and also your sincerity. If you let me."
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please don't copy my work, or publish it elsewhere without my consent. all banners are from pinterest.
I felt like cooking so there is a second part. Go, read that too.
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inexplicifics · 5 months
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💛 or 💙 pretty please, Oh great Inex!
“Geralt!” Jaskier cries delightedly.
Geralt hesitates in the doorway. Jaskier is clearly drunk - not so drunk as to be falling over his own feet, but well past tipsy - and so are the others at his table. Geralt has faced selkiemores and leshens and nightwraiths without a qualm, but drunk bards give him pause.
Unfortunately it seems to be too late to perform a strategic retreat, so he girds his loins and heads for the bards.
There isn’t a chair available - the tavern is very crowded, enough that he has to squeeze his way through the crowd, which rather bafflingly does not give way around him the way people usually do for a large and well-armed man in armor, even leaving aside the whole ‘witcher’ thing - but Jaskier gets up at once and gestures grandly for Geralt to take his seat, almost knocking the hat off of a man at the next table. Geralt sits down before Jaskier can become even more effusive in his gesticulating. Jaskier, naturally, sits on his lap.
Jaskier likes to dress and act like he is a waifish and delicate man, but in point of fact he’s six feet tall and astonishingly sturdy, and Geralt grunts a little as Jaskier’s full weight lands on his legs.
“Oh, shush, darling,” Jaskier says cheerfully, and -
Well, Geralt assumes the bard means to plant a messy kiss against Geralt’s cheek, that being something Jaskier has done before while in his cups, but Geralt has turned his head to try to say something to a harried barmaid as she goes by and Jaskier is drunk enough to be clumsy and -
Well. It’s not a great kiss, all things considered, being rather sloppy and off-center, but it is most definitely Jaskier’s lips on Geralt’s.
“Huh,” Jaskier says, pulling back and blinking at Geralt as the other bards catcall and whoop. “You taste like mint.”
“I was at the bathhouse,” Geralt points out. They had mint to chew in addition to the usual array of soaps and oils, and Geralt does like feeling clean when the option is available.
“Yes! Your hair’s all shiny and cleeeean,” Jaskier coos, running his fingers through Geralt’s unbound hair gleefully. “Look! Isn’t it lovely? Like moonlight on snow!”
All the other bards nod and giggle, because becoming a bard apparently means that you’re incapable of calling white hair white like any sensible person.
“That wasn’t a very good kiss,” Jaskier informs Geralt solemnly. “I’ll do better next time.”
Geralt raises an eyebrow and hums dubiously. Jaskier bops a finger against his nose. “Don’t you ‘hm’ at me! I will, you’ll see.”
“Like you did with Demyan, last midwinter?” one of the other bards asks with a sly smile, and Jaskier turns to expostulate at her indignantly.
Geralt rolls his eyes and winds an arm around Jaskier’s waist to make sure his bard doesn’t fall entirely off his lap. Jaskier will have forgotten all about this by tomorrow morning.
(Jaskier doesn’t forget.)
(Or here on AO3!)
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blackopals-world · 6 months
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Maid!Yuu: I been wondering something. No one really knows much about you.
Onsen!Yuu: There isn't much to say.
Maid!Yuu: What about your past?
Onsen!Yuu: That's...well. I came from a small village in the country. After a fire destroyed much of the village a man came to our house. He offered a contract to my parents and I and my sister were sold to a brothel.
Maid!Yuu: What! Thats horrible!
Onsen!Yuu: It could have been worse. I wore nice clothes and ate good food. I didn't serve clients because I was too young. I was a darling kamuro, treasured and spoiled by the people and the courtesans alike. We were meant to represent innocence. We got to play when we didn't run errands for our courtesan sister. But we were educated well. Costumers believed they could use us to get to our Mistresses but we knew how to manipulate them into spending more money or learning their secrets. We were her little spys and kept her rivals in check. My sister didn't care for that life. She wanted to be free of it. I on the other hand wanted to stay. I had dreams of rising through the ranks and becoming the next Tayū, the crowing jewel of the district. But I was held back by my appearance.
Maid!Yuu: But you're so beautiful. Everyone knows that.
Onsen!Yuu:(laughs) I wasn't a matter of attraction. It was of gender. I was young and cute but I was still a b-male in origin. My time as kamuro was limited and the owners knew it. There would be no more silk dresses for me and I'd never get to use white makeup. It was for the best that our contract was traded and we were sold to a bathhouse/teahouse. We became a Snacha and a Yuna respectively. I learned the ways of the bathhouse and my sister the teahouse. Singing, dancing, music, spa treatments and food. That was my life and I finally finished my transition. All who looked at me saw a beautiful girl who could have been a Tayū but was now the future manager of the house.
Maid!Yuu: You still wanted to sell yourself? After all that.
Onsen!Yuu: No, my body is my own. I wanted the fame and parise of it. But I had learned my lesson and why my sister hated that life. She saw what I didn't. She too wanted recognition and earned it from our owners. We called them our grandparents and they took us in even after our contracts ended. They couldn't waste educated children like us who knew the red light district. But none of it matters now. Like when a girl enters a brothel for the first time and her past is erased so was mine when I entered this world.
Maid!Yuu:But you're sister-
Onsen!Yuu: Will be fine. I wish her happiness and know Grandmother will care for her. I must take care of myself now. I have the skills to do so and I have my own bathhouse now. So there is not much to tell about myself.
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3d-wifey · 6 months
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Hozier writes with a sluttiness one would only find written on the walls of a Greek bathhouse. Perhaps with the poetic horniness, you'd find in an 18th-century letter from a man who has a healthy sex life with his new wife. All of this, to dress like an 80s masc lesbian.
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Genshin Catboy Maids Imagines (NSFW)
Characters: Gorou, Kazuha, Venti, Xiao, Heizou, Scaramouche/Kunikuzushi, Albedo and Aether
A/N: I would be lying if I say I didn't have so many daydreams while writing this and I want to turn all of these into their owns fics.
----------minors DNI-----------
Gorou
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Who begged not to do this out of embarrassment and tried not to focus on how short the dress was or how his ears perked at every change in your body language, not at all trying to hide how aroused you were and pulled back the fabric of his stockings only to let them snap against his skin.
Who completed every task you asked him to do with such speed and and perfection, aiming to please you the best he could and obeying ever wish you uttered without humiliating himself.
Who tried to his his growing erection or the way his tail rapidly wagged when he accidently walked in on your in the bathhouse on his way to relax and let out some repressed tension, not expecting to have you ask him to help you with a problem and offering to wash his body in return (maybe even him him with his own issue).
Who doesn’t keep his moans suppressed at your request and pleasures you like you deserve while rutting his hips into your hole, water splashing out of the pool as you sank back down into his cock and kissed you like you were going to disappear.
Who will orgasm immediately if you pull his ears or tail and praise how good he is on taking your cock, his pretty tears sliding down his red face as he mindlessly babbles on and on about how he’s your good boy.
Kazuha
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Who starts being a housekeeper for a small period of time since he was a simple traveler writing bits of poetry wherever he wanted to but took any job for the time and slowly became more infatuated with you.
Who looks like he was blessed by the gods is all too aware of your adoring stares and compliments about his gorgeous cream ears with red highlights, completing his work and offering to comb his silky tail.
Who notices that you often disappear for a brief period of time into your room and hearing strange noises thanks to his sensitive feline ears, coming back very flushed and avoiding his gaze.
Who can’t help to ask you if you’re okay or need help with anything and welcomes your kiss after you confess your feelings for him, pinning you against your bedroom door and hungrily nipping your neck that would for sure leave tasteful bruises.
Who is all too eager to undress you and play your body fluently like his flute you often see, sinking himself into your warm bare body and working his hips at a brutal unrelenting pace.
Venti
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Who is always getting on your nerves by purposely bending down a bit too low so you see his matching pearly white panties that matched his uniform stained with with arousal and then laughing at your flustered expression with a innocently seeming question.
Who will do anything you ask while whining about how tight his stockings are and how the white parts of his maid outfit are going to become transparent if anything gets on it, grinning when he thanks you for the reward and remarking he would’ve done the task anyway.
Whose tail perks up whenever you walk into the room or smile at him and pet his ears to hear his deep purrs, complimenting his soft furry tail that he so nicely groomed just for this occasion and to please you.
Who always hums a tune while he scrubs the floors or makes the bed but constantly having a dirty image of him sucking you off before you fuck him silly and always ends up fucking his hand thinking of all the times he’s heard you masturbating with his ears
Who isn’t afraid to say in front of others how your moans are the best song of all and smirk when you drag him back to your room to punish when all along that’s what he wanted.
Albedo
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Who already worked for your parents as a groundskeeper and had an adorable little sister who occasionally stopped by to play with your younger siblings, but not without giving you a hug and whispering about his older brother always talking about you while his tail and ear twitch.
Who has a deep blush on his cheeks as he pulls away Klee and apologizes for her “tall tales”, noticing how you sweetly smile at him and ask if you do talk about you outside.
Who begins to come over more often with Klee now at Daycare and leaves flushed with loosely put on clothing after being ruthlessly fucked by you, buttoning up his shirt to ensure that the dozens of hickeys that littered his body and sending you a quick text to have a good day.
Who can’t help but give in to your requests to see his art when you hear about it but warns you its lewd and then blushes upon hearing you want to be drawn like the nude models in his sketchbook, asking you to undress at least to the lingerie he’s seen on your this morning and has you lay down on the couch in a position that suited you best.
Who is always welcome to try something new like shibari or wax play, smooth but tight ropes binding his thighs apart so you could have full access to his pretty flushed cock that leaked precum and the hot burn of the wax dripping onto his perky sensitive nipples.
Xiao
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Who never strays away from his duties no matter what you say and priorities his job before anything else, trying his best to suppress the dirty fantasies playing out in his mind and hiding his growing erection whenever you come in to check up on him.
Who doesn’t refuse whenever you ask him to each lunch with you or to help comb through the knots behind his fuzzy ears, complimenting his colored fur patterned on his tail and how he always seems to keep his feline features in the best shape.
Who caves when you ask if you can help him with your sexual frustration (of course you ask him if he’s okay with it with consent and all) and how you’ve seen him seemingly “unnoticeable” stares eyeing your figure.
Who can’t help but sink his fangs into your neck when you express how long you’ve waited to do this and kept hoping he’d realize those longing stares or break you’d both take together weren’t plutonic, the tons of love your held for your pretty kitty from the start.
Who gasps for air as he lifts his head up from pleasuring you with cum dripping from his mouth and just to dive back in, smirking at the moans coming from your mouth and working you towards another orgasm.
Who is the best at aftercare and lets the warm water wash over your shoulders while you lean against him ignoring the fact that he hates water for you, allowing his slightly sharp nails to graze your flushed sensitives nipples and gently kissing your puffed plump lips.
Aether
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Who is always a good catboy and doesn’t need to be told what to do because he’s already done it, hoping to be praised in that sweet soft voice of yours and rewarded for going beyond what you asked.
Who will always shly ask to be pet on his head and cuddled on top of a mountain of blankets, purring while he hugs you tightly and thanking you for the best boss he’s ever had.
Who doesn’t hesitate to protect you if he gets a bad feeling from a guest or anyone that insults you and quietly letting you know that something’s off with the person, never leaving your side until they’re off the property entirely.
Who calls out your name before you leave the house to make sure you have everything and gets promised a reward if he doesn’t touch himself until you get back, tensing his thighs together as you send explicit nude photos to him as you work and rewinding the voice memos of your voice whining his name into the microphone.
Whose long blond braided hair provides the perfect hold as you fuck him from behind (don’t forget how sensitive his tail is) and praise him on how well he’s taking you, especially since his cock had two large silicone vibrators being pressed on either side of Aether’s shaft.
Kunikuzushi/Wanderer
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Who acts like you’re the bain of his existence yet always leaves the house spotless and never goes home without checking if everything is locked for your safety, rolling his eyes when you sweetly wished him good night but secretly smiled at your concern for his well-being.
Who rudely wakes you up in time for your work, already preparing breakfast and chiding you on your fatigue when you slowly creep downstairs with a tired smile for your head maid or “assistant” as he liked to call it.
Who never failed to notice every twitch or change in your body language and would often tease you about being tense around him, closing the distance between you two and backing away to get back to the task he was working on.
Who pushed your buttons until you snapped, pulling him into a passionate kiss and humming happily when he pushed back.
Who until now has been so closed off and cold but when shown affection is all too eager to be fucked, pale small stature trembling beneath you as you rocked your hips up and down and feeling one of his hands cup your cheek while the other pinches your nipples.
Mumbling praises under his breath about how you feel so good inside him and begging for you to go faster, promising to never be bratty again and be a good boy if you would finally let him cum after being edged for a couple hours.
Heizou
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Who was originally a detective that was assigned to you when someone briefly robbed your house but left no clues except for an old family heirloom that you hadn’t seen in years, feeling your stare whenever his ears twitched while he was deep in thought and suppressing a small giggle whenever his tail swayed happily.
Who grew attached to you and asked if you needed some security since it seemed that you (and your family) attract trouble, cheekily making a comment on how safe you’d be in his hands and using his tail to wrap around your neck with lidded eyes.
Who is no time memorized your schedule and property to make sure no one gets in without him knowing, politely flirting with you aware that it’ll lead to you two going at it like rabbits in his bedroom and testing how much he could push you before it got him punished.
Who sends you photos of his hard flushed cock leaking precum and videos of Heizou using a toy to making himself orgasm while he begged you to come home as fast as you could.
Who hears you close the door and is by your side in an instant with his maroon tail winding around your waist, asking oh so innocently to let him give you endless pleasure and guiding your hand up to his fluffy ears that you always stared at.
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dresshistorynerd · 23 days
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This is kind of random, but would it have been a struggle for a big busted women to wear fashionable silhouettes in the medieval era? I’ve heard some costume historians discuss that there were forms of bust support, but most of what I’ve seen pre-1500s seems like it would have been a nightmare for any ancestor with a similar bodytype to wear. Am I just from a line of women doomed to horrible back pain? (On the flip side of the situation, I’ve found corsets and stays to be rather comfortable, so that’s not a problem)
As a fellow big boob haver, I have good news for you! There were pretty good Medieval bust supporting garments and I have tested one of them.
With sturdy fabric, tailoring and lacing you can create pretty good bust support. Lacing was popularized first in 12th century in form of bliaut, and in 14th century tailoring became standard for everyday garments. I don't know how well bliaut supported the bust, but since it doesn't fit super snugly, I assume it doesn't distribute the weight of the boobs as well as tailored supporting garments and therefore isn't as supportive. I'm also not actually sure if there was proper bust supporting garments before that, I haven't looked into it. I know Romans bound their breasts with cloth wrapped around the chest, so maybe that technique continued (at least for those who especially needed it) till lacing and tailoring became a thing. For more about how supporting garments developed in Europe through history, I have a post about development of lacing, which coincides pretty well with that history from 12th century forward.
Personally I have experience with Medieval Bathhouse dress, which was used in the Germanic Central-European area roughly in 14th to 16th century. It's called the Bathhouse dress because most depictions of it are from bathhouse settings, but there's depiction also in bed chambers and other contexts, so I think it's pretty safe to assume it was used more generally as an undergarment. It often had separate cups for the boobs (see the only extant garment left of it, the so called "Lengberg Castle Bra"), but not always. Unlike most other undergarments at the time, it was sort of a shift (the lowest layer) and a supporting garment combined into one.
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I sewed my own recreation of it (with some alterations because I made it for my everyday use, not as a historical recreation) and did a post about my results, where I go deeper into the history of the garment too. I didn't construct it very well and I did an error in the design of the back, which cause the strain of the shoulder straps to focus too much on very specific spots in the back panel, which eventually made the fabric there break too many times. (There were some other smaller design flaws too, like the waistline is lower than my natural waist so it rose and wrinkled annoyingly.) I did use it daily (except when I washed it) for a fairly long time though and it was super comfortable and helped a lot with back pain (and shoulder pain caused by use of modern bras). I hate that I've had to go back to modern bras because I haven't had the time to remake it yet. (I'll probably make a follow up post once I get around to it, where I go through the issues of the first version and how I addressed them in the next attempt.) Well fitted and shaped bodice which is then laced does surprisingly much even without any additional reinforcements.
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I haven't made a Medieval kirtle (though I will some day), but it was the more widely used Medieval supporting garment, which eventually replaced Bathhouse dress in the area where that was used. Kirtle is worn over a shift, but it broadly works similarly. Kirtles could be front, side or back laced depending on the time period and how the Kirtle was constructed. Multiple layers of kirtles could be used and looser overgarments (like houppelande) were often used on top of it. Kirtle was used by everyone, including men, but for those who didn't need bust support, it's purpose was mainly to create the fashionable silhouette. Here's three depictions of kirtles from 15th century. First unlaced, but has lacing on the front, second close up of the side lacing and third shows nicely how both front and side/backlacing shaped the bust.
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Morgan Donner is a costumer, who focuses a lot on Medieval costuming and has a big bust, so while I haven't personally tested the supportiveness of kirtle, she certainly has. The kirtle bodice part needs to be patterned to accommodate the breasts by giving it round shapes and the kirtle needs to be a little too small so there's room to lace it to fit well. Lining also helps to reinforce the fabric and make it more firm and supportive. Here's Morgan's pattern from the tutorial in her website and how the kirtle eventually fits for her. (Also look at the handsome boy in his handsome matching outfit.)
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She also has a video relating to the same kirtle project, where she explains her method to pattern a kirtle specifically so it's supportive for big bust.
In 16th century more stiffness was added to kirtles, first with very stiff lining and then with boning, but that doesn't necessarily add to the bust support, rather it just allows the kirtle to shape the bust and the body in general more and better support a heavy skirt. Firm fabric secured snugly with lacing is already very good at distributing the weight of the boobs to the whole torso.
In conclusion, at least since 14th century people with our body type were not doomed to eternal back pain and even before that some ways to help with it were probably used.
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lustrousims · 2 years
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ᕙ Lustrousims - all world save file
check out some of the world residents here
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at last, the long awaited save file is here!
THE SAVE FILE WILL INCLUDE MODS IN A FOLDER TO ENHANCE GAMEPLAY, BUT DO NOT DOWNLOAD IT IF YOU OWN THE WEREWOLVES PACK!!! IT'S NOT REQUIRED TO USE THE MODS, BUT HIGHLY HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!!
!!!! PLEASE READ THE PDF INCLUDED IN THE DOWNLOAD !!!!
all worlds are completely done except for moonwood mill.
all the sims are by me, except for one family in newcrest which was created by @aheathen-conceivably and except for some NPCs which I downloaded from the gallery. the lots are all mostly from the gallery and lots ive had sitting in my folder for years, finally found some use for them.
!!!! DISCLAIMER !!!!
i have all the packs, if you do not own some, some sims may be nude and bald when you start up the file, but I also made a few households dress only in gase-game clothing/hair just so they're not all in need of TLC.
ᕙ ᕙ ᕙ ᕙ ᕙ ᕙ ᕙ ᕙ ᕙ ᕙ ᕙ
if you want to see more info on the lots & what's included, check under the cut! theres a lot to do in every world regardless of which packs you own
world info
Willow Creek
16 homes - 10 open, 6 occupied
1 park
1 museum
1 lounge
1 cafe
1 wedding venue
Oasis Springs
16 homes - 9 open, 7 occupied
1 rental
1 large park
1 kids/teen hangout park
1 large cafe
1 retro diner restaurant
1 bar/bowling place
Newcrest
11 homes - 7 open, 4 occupied
1 pride park
1 restaurant
1 small cafe
Magnolia Promenade
1 outdoor gym/basketball court
1 restaurant
1 cafe
1 wedding venue
Windenburg
13 homes - 3 open, 10 occupied
1 kids summer camp
1 swimming pool
1 vet clinic
1 restaurant
1 bar
1 cafe
1 library
1 community garden
San Myshuno
16 apartments open, 7 occupied
1 rental
1 park7
1 cafe
2 restaurants: 1 rooftop & 1 regular
1 art center
1 karaoke bar
Forgotten Hollow
5 homes - 2 open, 3 occupied
Brindleton Bay
9 homes - 5 open, 4 occupied
1 rental
1 small park
1 museum
1 vet clinic
1 small restaurant
2 bars
Del Sol Valley
6 homes -
1 couples park
1 lounge
1 nightclub
1 gym
1 museum
Strangerville
6 homes - 3 open, 3 occupied
1 library
1 bar
1 camping park
Sulani
6 homes - 4 open, 2 occupied
2 rentals
2 beaches
1 bar
1 restaurant
1 spa
1 nightclub
Glimmerbrook
4 homes - 2 open, 2 occupied
1 bar
Britechester
3 homes - none open
6 university housings
1 bar
1 park
Evergreen Harbor
8 homes - 4 open, 4 occupied
2 restaurants
1 skating rink park
1 eco cafe
1 community landfill
Mt. Komorebi
7 homes - 4 open, 3 occupied
1 cafe
1 bar
2 rentals
1 spa & bathhouse
Henford-on-Bagley
9 homes - 6 open, 3 occupied
1 rental
2 restaurants
Tartosa
4 homes - 3 open
1 rental
1 wedding venue
1 community garden
1 restaurant
1 resort hotel pool
Granite Falls
1 rental campground
1 vacation home
1 small rental trailer
1 wellness resort/spa
1 b&b restaurant
1 large rustic wedding venue
Selvadorada
5 rental lots
1 bar
1 temple ruins
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DOWNLOAD HERE
[please PLEASE read the PDF before you ask me any questions!]
3K notes · View notes
queen0fm0nsterz · 7 months
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Also guys, about the locations of the podcasts: they are real places. 100%. They are real places somewhere in the Nowhere - most importantely, somewhen.
Prophetic dreams are very real in Little Nightmares and they are things that often happen: however, I do not believe this is yet the case for Noone. She describes feeling sensations and smells multiple times, something that can only happen if the plane of reality one is in is... well. Real. She also describes feeling Jester's presence as she does with Otto's, who is a real person in the real world alongside her. The fact that Noone isn't currently fully there yet doesn't necessarely mean the places aren't real.
Now, whether she's visiting the past versions of some already existing locations is up to debate (COUGH THE BATHHOUSE COUGH), and that locations and habitants of said locations can be parallels to some already existing ones, but the only certainty we have at this point is that these other places that are being described and witnessed by Noone are real places somewhere. After all, the Nowhere is an incredibly vast place of which we have explored incredibly little.
Would it be so surprising if the places Noone visits are separate from the, like, 3 ones we have visited?
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(map is from LN II, the school, and is supposedly rappresenting a region of which we only see a single city.)
And another thing, actually: I have seen many compare the Lady to the Woman in Chains, but honestly, after reading through the transcript of the first episode of TSON made by @softichill... the two sound like the complete opposite of each other, appearence and behaviour wise.
The Woman in Chains is described as having a "stretched back face", therefore causing her to have wrinkles due to how her face is structured, which explains Noone talking about her as being "both old and young". There is no concealing, no mask, nothing to hide her face. She doesn't live in secrecy like the Lady does -- quite the contrary, infact.
And about features: in both her forms, the Lady's face looks the opposite of hers. Either completely relaxed, or... nearly like it's melting.
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I have also seen some people try to claim that the "familiar outfit" as a reference to the Lady's kimono, but you must remember who the narrator is. The outfit is familiar to Noone. Not us. It is likely that the Woman is wearing either a nun's dress (Noone mentions seeing three laying on a bed in the Prisoner's bedroom) or something Noone might have seen from the institution she's kept in.
While the Lady does thrive in her occupation, she doesn't necessarely take joy in it like the Woman in Chains (Prison Ward, atp) does. For the Lady, it's much more a matter of survival. She is on the Maw because it's convenient, see as she's in a powerful position. The Woman in Chains is instead happily preparing torture devices to haunt the Prisoners with.
Some parallels are certainly there. Referring to them as being, even metaphorically, the same person... it would mean that the team wrote a very bad analogy. They are nothing alike in any other aspect BUT their occupation. Funnily enough, you could say the Thin Man and the Signal Tower operate in a near identical manner to both these places. He's also the living center/battery of his own mechanism.
Noone also mentions that the Workers seem to be made of shadows, similarly to the Shadow Children. However, it is also evident that these beings are different, as they work and can hold objects much like the nomes. Later, when she meets a living child, she notes that they have black goo in their hair that moves like shadows. If that's the same material the Workers are made of, then this would make them some sort of liquid entities.
Lastly, about the inhabitants themselves: no one else in this Prison is here because they want to be. The Prisoners are not like the Guests, who come on the Maw willingly. The Workers are mindless beings, unlike the Nomes who draw and the Shadow Kids who play just like children. The child and Noone want to leave... and that's understandable.
My friend @chorusofkhonshu smartly pointed this out, so I'm just gonna copy and paste what he said word for word.
"So I thought, if these creatures are made of liquid, it has to come from somewhere. So my mind wandered to the prisoners, their purpose. Perhaps like the Maw and Signal Tower need to absorb people. The Signal Towers thru TVs and the Maw thru the Lady. What if those prisoners are only alive to be bled dry so long as they live. Noone smells the prisoner rotting. All those prisoners have to share some purpose, they might be tortured. Some device that the lady there has. She uses straps and cranks. Masks with spikes in the mouth. It runs on tortured souls."
And just as Noone mentions later on:
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Swelling.
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If anything... rather than paralleling Six's journey, Noone seems to be living it backwards. Completely backwards.
... Mh.
203 notes · View notes
tadpolesonalgae · 9 months
Text
Demon!Azriel x Reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 5[*?]
A/N: Baby steps, Azzie. Baby steps.
Warnings: degradation, sexual tension, almost smut, 6.9K words
-Part 4- -Part 6-
You wake to the feeling of a wet snout pressing into the crook of your neck.
Azriel.
You jerk away from the large creature, deep hazel shining through the darkness of his blacked out eyes. “I’ve told you not to do that,” you snap groggily at him. He ignores you. Typical. You shift away from him again but flinch when his tongue lolls out, flicking over the bare skin as he tastes you, shoving tighter against your body. Your fingers thread through his fur for purchase, gripping him as you tug lightly, ordering him to get off you.
“Azriel…I’m trying to sleep, can you not?” The male merely growls softly in response. You huff, then yelp when he shifts—more toward his humanoid form—one powerful arm wrapping beneath your torso as he smushes you against him. You hesitate. He’s never this affectionate. The only time he particularly cares to touch you is while he’s fucking you—or breeding you, as he so detachedly calls it. Your nose crinkles at his wording alone. It makes it sound so unemotional. You suppose fucking isn’t exactly any better.
You sigh. The bathhouse had been nice, in a way. He’d seemed to care about your pain, though you were unsure if that was due to you being his bride or not. Perhaps it was a proprietary instinct. You sometimes wondered if he had any attachment to you or if it was just that you held the title of bride. The name had become a weight, as of late.
“Get ready,” he says, finally pulling from your body, allowing you to flop unceremoniously back into the plethora of pillows—you still don’t know where they had come from, they just sort of appeared one night. You peer up at him, fingers still laced in the fur that dusts the corded muscle of his upper paws. “For what?” You narrow your eyes at the male, his features completely blank, save for the light reflecting in his mostly onyx gaze.
He growls softly at the questioning, but relents. “Out.” You stare up at him—glare up at him—silently willing him to understand how unhelpful he is. His brow dips when you don’t release him. You wonder why he doesn’t just pull away, it wouldn’t be too much effort. You both know he’s far superior to you in terms of, well, everything…
“It will do you some good to go outside again. It’s been a week.” Since you were dragged through unending marshland, cold biting at your soggy skin. You shake your head, “I don’t want to.” The light in his eyes sharpens to something more lethal, more dæmon-like. “Either you prepare, or I take you as you are.” Almost entirely unclothed. “It’s for your own good,” he adds when your fingers loosen their grip, “your kind shouldn’t go long without the light of the world.”
Your lips twist in a satiric smile, “I would have thought your kind would detest the sun.” It had become a game of sorts—to yourself, you doubt Azriel derives any sort of pleasure from humour—to see how many passive aggressive comments you could make before he finally picks up on them.
He doesn’t deign you with a response.
“I need you to get off me in order to change,” you deadpan, unthreading your hands from his fur, albeit reluctantly. His brows narrow but he removes himself from you, shifting to stand at the edge of the bed, waiting silently as you move to the chest that holds your clothes. “Where are you taking me?” You don’t look at him as you speak, though you feel his gaze stabbing between your shoulder blades. “Out.” He repeats. You drop the clothes in frustration, spinning on your feet, “I need to know more than ‘out’ so I can dress appropriately.”
His arms fold over his chest as his features morph into what can only be described as a grimace, his eyes glazed. They sharpen again, as if he had come out of thought. “By a river.”
“By a river…” you repeat, trying not to show your exasperation. Your fingers find your temples as you rub lightly, then move to the bridge of your nose. You take a deep breath, returning your gaze to him, “and the temperature? The weather?”
“Fine.”
“I need more than fine, Azriel.” His brow narrows—he’s getting impatient.
He prowls across the room on lethally silent feet. You take a step back slowly, your thighs bumping into the chest, making you stumble. Hastily, you right yourself, in time to see the male pull an ankle length dress from the wooden box. He forcefully pushes it into your arms, his inhuman strength having you yield a step with the momentum behind it. Then he’s grabbing you by your upper arm, pulling you tight against him, free hand gripping your hip as shadows and darkness swarms around you. Just like how they had when he had first found you.
A horrifying weightlessness overtakes you, and you grip onto him in any way you can as something like wind howls in your ears. And then it’s over, and you’re stood on grass. You blink; he releases you. Immediately, your arms crisscross over your body, stepping into the large build of his body.
He watches you keenly—you’re panicking. His hands grip your shoulders, steadying you. “What is it?” You glare up at him, fury and fear blazing together in your eyes. “‘What is it?’” You seethe, “I’m practically bare!” You hiss, eyes jumping about as you scan for other people that would inevitably be around. “What is—” you cut yourself off, “why did you do this? What did I do wrong?” Ire lights your eyes as they return to his, “what if someone sees me? Do you not understand human dignity?” You snap, angrily.
His fingers tighten on your shoulders in silent reprimand. “You think I would bring you somewhere other eyes could see you?” Azriel growls, displeasure shining through his usually bland tone. You tilt your head at that, confusion marring your features. “What’s that supposed to mean? And what does it matter if people see me?” You retort. When he opens his mouth to respond, lips twisted down at the edges, you hurriedly beat him to it—which he does not appreciate. “With clothes on.”
“You’re my bride,” he says simply, voice rough around the edges, as if that clears everything up. You furrow your brows at him, still skittish from the idea of someone seeing, and it makes you jumpy. His wings flare at his back, furling around you as you’re hidden from sight, despite him knowing there’s not another soul anywhere nearby.
Contemplation flashes through your eyes at the action, making you pause. You clear your throat, tension slowly seeping from your body, “calling me your bride doesn’t explain anything to me.” Your voice has evened out. It seems you’ve calmed now that your imagined threat is held at bay. A kernel of satisfaction sprouts in his chest.
“Until the ceremony, you are to be kept under my watch from now on.” Your head tilts, like a curious animal. You’re picking up on some less-human mannerisms, and it pleases him. The less human you appear, the easier he can forget about the Ritual.
“What ceremony? Why only now?”
“Stop asking so many questions. They bore me.” Your fingers tighten on the dress he’d shoved in your direction. “I’m so sorry they bore you, Azriel.” His brow dips at your tone, sensing you want to argue. “Get changed if you’re uncomfortable. You have clothes.”
“Where am I supposed to change?” You bite out, clutching the dress closer to your torso. “Here.”
You stare up at him, taken aback. “In front of you?”
“Does it bother you?” Your eyes widen, lips parting in shock.
“We’re in public,” you beseech, “can’t you use those shadows or something? I’m not having you watch while I change!”
“You would like my hands on you as well as my eyes?” It’s impossible but you manage to look positively scandalised. You splutter up at him, while he watches silently. “You can feel? With those shadows?” You murmur.
Azriel nods, pleasure warming him as you flush. All you can think about is every quiet brush they’ve given you, every small push to get you out of bed, every touch as you fall asleep, every lick between your thighs. You swallow, “oh…” He waits. “I didn’t…I didn’t know that.” You clear your throat at a poor attempt at modesty.
Heat always seems to twist inside him whenever you try to appear dignified. The promise he’ll get to spoil it.
You realise he’s waiting for you to change, and you tug your lower lip between your teeth, “can you at least close your eyes?” They seem to sharpen at your comment, taking you in with renewed interest. “You seemed to like my eyes on you when I had my tongue between your legs.” You suck in a sharp breath, cheeks heating as you freeze, mouth open at his salacious statement.
“There is a time and a place for everything,” you manage, primly, locking your eyes on a space below his jaw. “When’s the time and place for breeding you again?” He drawls casually, silently revelling at the heat radiating from your body. Maybe he said that simply to get a rise out of you. You take a step back from him, but his shadows glide up your legs—up the backs of your bare thighs—to keep you in place as they twine about. He can scent the arousal that’s alight in your belly, the beast inside of him wishing for nothing more than to pin you to the ground and fuck you into the dirt.
He knows you would enjoy it.
Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, watching the moment his pupils dilate, the only sign of his own arousal your human senses can pick up on. Fear and heat twine together, making a mess of your insides. “Strip.” Your mouth goes dry at the quiet command. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips that are suddenly dry, but regret it when his blown out eyes mark the movement.
“I…” you stammer, his gaze flicking up to yours with arrogant expectation. “Not now…” you request softly—fearfully. “I don’t— Not after…” Not after the everlasting fields of freezing mud you were dragged through, thinking every breath was the last before you were pulled beneath the stagnant pools of water. “I’m telling you to change,” he drawls, and shame heats your body, looking away hurriedly. You hate it when he misleads you like that, plays his games with you that leave you stumbling blindly after him, in a mix of fear and confusion. A mess of emotions.
You try to push your embarrassment down, but you know he can sense every sign your human body reveals to him, leaving you stripped bare before him. As though you’re strapped to a dissection table for him to examine at his pleasure. “Go on,” he encourages, dark amusement underlying his tone as his eyes pierce into you.
Swallowing, you turn away from him, sliding the straps of the silky night vest off your shoulders. “You think it wise to turn your back to me?” He drawls. You freeze when his shadows wrap around your waist, slipping beneath your top. He can feel all of that. “Azriel…” you breathe, shakily, “why did you bring me here? Really?” You turn your head, peering at him demurely from over the bare slope of your shoulder.
The dim hazel of his eyes is cold; hard. Despite the sun in the sky, hairs raise across your body beneath his icy gaze. “Because you need it.” He replies, mouth set in its usual bland line.
“Who are you to say what I need?” You murmur quietly, watching him through your lashes. His shadows thicken, beginning to blot out the sun. The male prowls closer, wings tightening around you, “do you believe differently?”
“I believe I would like to have my agency returned, and not have you lord over me.”
“You’d like me to leave you alone?” You dip your head. Yes, that would be perfect. “That ended well the last time, didn’t it?” He drawls, words bladed with a lethal edge.
Heat ravages your body, “you’re not putting that on me.”
His wings circle tighter, and with a final shove, you’re sent stumbling into him, his hands snaking round your waist, brushing over your hips as they choose to set themselves at the small of your back. “If you hadn’t been so set on remaining a lone creature, then no. It wouldn’t have happened,” he growls.
“So what? I’m supposed to remain locked in your chambers until…? When? You were the one who stressed how my kind need to feel the outside world every once in while, yet now you’re trying to take that away from me?” Anger freezes his eyes, warmth seeping from the hazel as they’re swallowed by blackness.
“If you would just learn to obey me, you wouldn’t find your life riddled with such suffering,” he snarls softly, shadows completely blocking out the sun. “Obey you?” You utter quietly, staring up at him in horrified disbelief. “And why would I ever do that?” With each word, his hands raise higher, until they’re set on your waist. “Because you chose to submit to me, remember?” He snarls, lip curling. “I made it very clear. Gave you every opportunity to pull away. But you were the one who came to me, the one who crawled on her hands and knees to me, every night.” One hand leaves your waist, only to wrap around your throat. “Or do you need a reminder what you were crawling for?”
You bristle at his owning touch, wanting to shrink away, knowing how easily he could snap your neck. “You don’t own me,” you tremble, feeling the squeeze of his fingers, the press of his hips—and something else you dare not acknowledge—as he pulls you tight against his body. “You can’t—…you can’t tell me what to do. Or order me about like that. That’s not how—” you cut yourself off, before you lay more of your aching heart bare to him, “that’s not right.”
A terrifying silence echoes between you, freezing ire blazing in the depths of his pitch black eyes. He jerks you closer, squeezing your neck as he curls down, features sharpening, turning beastly. “What’s stopping me?”
Heat wells behind your eyes as the extent of his power dawns on you. No one’s going to stop him, and between him and the beasts that stole you away, he knows that to you he’s the lesser evil. So you’ll remain with him until he’s done with you, because he’s the best that you have. “That’s right,” he murmurs over your mouth, “you can’t do anything against me. If I want something from you, I’m going to take it.”
He releases you, suddenly. So suddenly you don’t have a chance to realise how dependant you’d become on him until he removes his support. Your knees buckle as you stumble, crashing to the floor, bare knees hitting the grass. “Now, why don’t we start on getting you properly trained, and have you change out of those damned clothes?” He growls quietly, not an ounce of amusement to be found, getting off on how far he can push you. How low he can shove you.
The dress is still clutched to your chest, both straps of your vest spilling off your arms. Shakily, you move to stand, so you can follow his orders, like he wants.
Azriel lifts his boot from the ground, pressing it down on your shoulder painfully. You wince at the heavy pressure, collapsing back onto your knees. “I think you should stay down there a little longer,” he drawls, sadism shining in his charcoal gaze, “help you learn your place.”
Shame weighs heavily on you as you bow your head, too hurt and embarrassed to look at him. He’d been so gentle before—asking you where the pain was so he could stop it. How are you supposed to resolve the polar opposites of his character?
You choose to further repress the part of you that wants him to push you down into the dirt.
He removes his boot, allowing you to follow through with his orders. You refuse to look up as you kneel in front of him—the Mother knows where it would lead. You peel away the silk of your top, and you suck in a sharp breath of air between your teeth when his shadows grow at your back. They build, their cool caress like whispers over your skin as they wrap around your middle, flowing across your stomach before branching upward, cupping your breasts.
Azriel releases a pleased growl when you don’t attempt to move away from them, allowing his shadows to brush your skin, flick gently over your nipples. He sees you biting your lip but says nothing about your silence, just content you’ve finally obeyed him and adorned yourself in the dress.
Ever so slowly, you raise up onto your knees, and it takes a surprising amount of effort on his end to not grab your oblivious form by the hair and pull you against his hips. He can only imagine what you would look like, lips swallowing his cock, tongue licking over the tip, tears rolling down your cheeks. He grits his teeth as he imagines how you would look with his come decorating your cheeks, the erotic liquid like a smattering of freckles. Maybe you’d swallow him down. Open your mouth wide with a smile to show him how obedient you’d been.
One day, he swears to himself, one day he’ll have you trained well enough you’ll do that unprompted.
The perfect, superficial symbol of innocence for him to have fun with.
You manage to get to your feet, and flush when you look down at yourself. The dress is cream, light and breathable, as modest as any dress you would normally wear out. Sleeves down to the wrist, hem down to your ankles, the neck concealing your collar bones. It feels like a small snippet of home, and you allow your fingers to graze the crisp material.
“Thank me.”
You peer up at him, arms wrapping across your chest, keeping your nightclothes in your hands. “‘Thank me’?” You echo, voice shaking. “For what?” You swear something like amusement gleams in his eyes as he leans down, so he can stare at you. “For bringing you to a river instead of dumping you in some frozen wasteland for the beasts to fight over.”
Then his wings are pulling away, shadows retracting back to him, light returning to your skin.
You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and feel yourself fracture. The tiniest break, splitting along your vertebrae. Your lips part slightly, vision blurring with painful confusion. He’s so…volatile. You can never tell what mood he’s in. Whether he’ll be nice to you, let you nestle into his fur when he shifts to sleep, or whether he’ll snarl and snap, degrade and punish you until your pieces are lying scattered across the ground.
“Why must you say things like that?” You ask weakly. Keeping yourself together in front of him. He’d enjoy your destruction, no doubt. You won’t give him the satisfaction. Not this time, at least.
“I will not repeat myself to you.”
You hear the words loud and clear. I will not repeat myself to a human. The edges of your mouth wobble, but you straighten your spine, raising your chin. “Do you find them funny?” Your voice trembles, but you dig your nails into your palms as you lower your fists to your side. “Does it entertain you to torment my people? To be so cruel to me?” A muscle feathers in your jaw as you try to maintain your stance, but it’s difficult to do when you’ve seen the carnage he can wreak.
“Do you find amusement in belittling me? Hope to push me until I crumble before you, like the weak human I am?” Your mouth is set in a sad line, turned down at the edges while your pupils are blown out with fear. You take a small, trembling step forward, craning your neck to stare him down, baring your throat. He could rip it out before you even know he’s moving. It’s a quiet taunt on your part, perhaps the only act of rebellion he will tolerate. One where you’re put at his mercy.
“I will weather you, Azriel. And I will not crumble. For some reason, the gods have thrown me to you, but I trust in them to guide me, so until my last breath, I will stand against you, and use my every skill to push back.” You silently pray you haven’t been abandoned. That some entity watches over you, still.
A small kernel of hope lights in your chest as you move to walk past him, and he does not reach to murder or maim you.
A shudder passes through your body as your feet carry you farther and farther away, enjoying the distance they give you as they move you to the river bank.
You hadn’t had a chance to admire it’s beauty, the pebbled land beside the babbling river. The willow trees that line it’s edge, swaying with the breeze. You could sigh with contentment as the light wind catches at your dress, playing with its hem. You make your way toward the edge of the grassland, and a slight drop down onto the small shore has you crouching to make the jump.
Some distance away, Azriel watches you. He feels disturbed; ruffled. He should be splattering you on the stones, drowning you in a muddy field, but he can’t find so much as a spark of anger. Instead, he feels strangely calm.
You’d spoken so softly to him, and though he hadn’t liked what you had to say, you’d been so understated he’d been left with a yawning pit inside his chest yet nothing was filling it. Rage should be pouring in, lighting his skin, but he just feels empty. Itchy, almost skittish.
If you had spoken at him with fury, or hatred, he would be able to retaliate.
A low growl sounds in his chest with grim frustration at your strategies. He’s not familiar with your quiet warfare. He wants to get under your skin, make you spark up like he does, wants you to bare you fangs at him and show your talons but you insist on keeping them hidden.
Maybe he’d misjudged you.
Maybe you don’t even have any claws to bare.
————
You feel jumpy with him being so silent.
You sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye, crouching beside the shallow river. He’s shifted into a more beastly form, fur covering him, snout resting over the powerful muscle of one of his paws, wings tucked into his sides while he lies on his stomach.
You do your best to ignore him, but he’s been surprisingly docile, snoozing peacefully in the dappled shade of a willow tree. Sometimes you think you feel his eyes on you, but they’re always closed when you turn to check.
The water looks delightfully cool, and you consider dipping your feet in, only to be reminded how inappropriate that would be. Especially with male company.
A butterfly flutters up to you and you yelp, falling backward with surprise as it remains in your face. You stiffen, squeezing your eyes shut. Something tickles the bridge of your nose, and when you open your eyes, you see it’s settled down.
You scream, reeling back as you frantically brush it from your face, heart pounding as you feel the flutter of it’s wings against your palms. It leaves you in peace, thankfully, as you shudder, wiping down your hands on your dress, trying to rid them of that spasmodic sensation.
Azriel growls lowly, displeased at your racket, cracking open a single eye to peer at your form. You quickly turn away when you see he’s watching you, freezing where you are, waiting for him to inevitably prowl up behind you, poised to rip you apart. But he just huffs, settling back into his dozing.
Maybe he likes it here.
You suppose it wouldn’t be unreasonable. You used to see creatures lazing by the riverside before you were snatched away. How they would bathe in the water then dry off on the large, flat rocks. They looked so peaceful and calm, relaxing in the sun, made drowsy from the heat.
A bead of sweat slides down your temple and you hastily brush it aside. It’s getting quite hot.
Well, it’s either settle beside him in the limited shade, or wander to the river. The willow trees provide a small amount of shadow on the opposite side, which is perhaps six large steps across from you. One look at the sleeping beast has you getting to your feet and gingerly tip-toeing to the water’s edge.
You lift the hem of your dress, so it comes to your knees as you take a small step into the cool stream. It’s shockingly cold, considering the heat, and you quickly remove your toes from it’s freezing current. But you’re still to hot, so you try again.
It takes you a while before you’re able to wander deeper, the peaceful water raising to your ankles. You sigh with contentment, eyes sliding shut for a moment as a breeze blows past you, ruffling your hair as it spins the wisps from your face, pleasantly cooling your heated skin. You take a few small steps farther, entering the dip in the riverbed.
The water rises to your calves, and you raise your dress higher, bunching it so it’s just below your hips. The shade washes over you, now up to the tops of your thighs in the babbling stream, the deepest it goes. Perfectly safe, and calm. Surprisingly tranquil.
Until that damned butterfly.
It’s returned with a pair, and they flutter straight into you, dancing around your head as they twirl and flap. You flinch, foot slipping on the slick river stones, and you drop.
The water swallows you, freezing cold shocking against your skin as your eyes squeeze shut, lips sealing against the invasive pressure of the river. The iciness seeps into your bones too quickly, cooling your sun warmed skin in an instant, and suddenly you’re back in the marshland. Like you never escaped in the first place.
The rain is lashing against your skin, wind whipping your hair as it cracks against your muddied cheeks, lightening and thunder sparking in the sky as it booms across the clouds. Your fingers sink into thickened, sludgy water as you claw for air, heart slamming against your ribs as the bed gives out beneath you.
It feels as though there’s no bottom, and you can’t tell up from down, and you need air dear gods you need air and—
In the back of your mind, you hear something from the outside world splash. And then something is hooking beneath you, hoisting you from the water and you splutter, gasping for precious air. The world’s swaying slightly when you manage to open your eyes, collapsing against the sturdy warmth beneath you.
You swallow, looking down as you use your hands to push your upper body straight. You choke on saliva in surprise as you realise you’re perched on his snout, legs hooked either side it’s bridge, your hands resting on the space between his eyes. You’re in his blind spot.
You yelp as he begins to move, flattening yourself against his wet fur as he shifts out of the water, disrupting its flow as if cutting through butter that’s been left in the sun. Your legs squeeze him as your grab at his fur, tensing as he prowls out of the water, so quiet despite his large form.
A thin branch of willow traces over your spine with how high he’s raised you and you flinch, shuddering as the wind begins to freeze your water-soaked dress. He growls as he brings you into the sun, leaping up onto the grassy bank, lowering to a crouch for you to slide off as he begins to shift.
It catches you by surprise though, and you tighten your grip in his fur, trying to keep from slumping to the ground. It doesn’t do much to help you—you end up flat on your back, eyes squeezed shut, hands still fisted in his fur.
“Get off me.”
He’s looking more familiar, hazel eyes returned, humanoid features peaking through against the natural sharpness of his dæmon complexion.
Your heart is still pounding, but you can feel the breeze, can feel the grass beneath your back, and you’re inhaling the clean air that’s void of any stagnant smells. Your vision blurs as you stare up at him, pulling your hands away.
You feel wrecked.
You curl up into yourself, rolling onto your side, covering your face with your hands as tremors run through your skin. Your lungs spasm as your breathing increasing, turning to startling gasps, quick and hurried. You grit your teeth, muscles contracting across your body as your brow furrows, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you try to block out the onslaught on memories.
With a frustrating amount of effort, you roll onto your stomach, crawling out from under him, but his hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you back. You grunt as you hit the ground, his shadows rolling you over so you’re facing him.
“What was that?”
He’s watching you intently, and you feel a spark of anger toward him, but quickly smother it. It wouldn’t be wise to piss him off, not when he just hauled you out of that river.
“What was what?” You manage, mouth trembling. His lip curls as you feign ignorance. “That.”
You exhale a shaky breath, pushing up onto your elbows. He doesn’t yield any space as you prop yourself up, your faces inches apart. You try to shuffle back but he prowls after you. “You can’t swim.”
“I can swim perfectly fine,” you breathe, trying not to let his proximity overwhelm you. “I just slipped.”
“You were scared.”
“I was not.” You insist.
“I can feel it. You’re still scared.”
“I am not.” You don’t think it’s a good idea to let him know your fears. “Is it me?” He growls, lowering closer to you, “do I scare you?”
“Not one bit.” It’s an obvious lie, but one said to protect yourself. He knows it as well as you do.
“Liar.”
Piss off.
“You don’t scare me.” You lift closer to him, praying your arms don’t give out as your mouth brushes his. “You can’t kill me. I’m your bride.”
“I can do worse than kill you.”
“If you wanted to, you would have. If you wanted to, you wouldn’t have come to get me when I was—” You swallow, pushing away the memories as they invasively press against your mind. “You wouldn’t have saved me,” you admit, refusing to back away, calmly standing your ground as he bares down on you.
Fuck, you’re so close to him. If he just lowers his mouth, just shifts a little closer—
The river water has soaked your dress, highlighting every dip and line of your body, showing off the shape of your breasts without revealing anything. And you’re beneath him. If he just lifts your dress, he could get to you. You’re practically begging for him to take you, with that scent of yours, those quietly determined eyes…
“You wouldn’t have helped me out of the river just now, either.”
Azriel zones back in, eyes lifting from your body to return to your face, and your mouth.
“I don’t know if it has something to do with my supposed ‘perfect compatibility’, but so far, you’ve managed to keep from hurting me. Even if you’ve been wildly unpleasant during the course of my stay.”
He curses silently. There you go, acting all prim and proper again, letting foolish human dignity guide your actions. Heat coils down his spine, boiling beneath his skin. Your prudish nature, the cream gown that’s accentuating the inherent eroticism he finds in you, the firm set of your eyes as you steadily take him in— He feels himself hardening.
“‘Wildly unpleasant’?” He snarls softly, moving forward, forcing you to yield ground or else his mouth will connect with your own. “I’ve been nothing but generous to you,” he grits out. His pupils are dilated, pulse picking up as he again imagines you in all sorts of positions you would surely wish to slap him for picturing.
How good your mouth would feel, how perfect you would look kneeling. His shadows whisper to him, repeating how you’d moaned his name.
‘Azriel’
‘Az’
‘Azzie…’
“You stole me from my home,” you accuse, softly. His breathing seems shallower, and you wonder if he needs to move into the shade. The sun’s been beating down on his back for a while now. Even your own clothes have more or less stopped dripping. He must be boiling.
A harsh breath hisses from his teeth. “You seem to conveniently forget that it was me who saved you.”
“In that frozen wasteland, yes.” You repeat his words back to him, with a little more bite that you had intended. His lip pulls back from his teeth, gritting them against the urge to wrap his arm beneath your back to pull your chest tight against him. Just to have you touching him in some way. Not this taunting game you’re playing, keeping him just out of reach.
“You were going to be eaten in that forest. I took you from those creatures. They would have shredded your soft skin with the gentlest brush of their teeth.”
Your lips purse. He’s got you there.
“Nothing to say against that?” He taunts quietly, moving so you have to look at him. He needs to get this conversation wrapped up so he can put his own teeth on you. It’s been so long since he last tasted you, and his tongue flicks against his canines with anticipation, mouth watering.
He watches as your eyes dip away from his, body stiffening as your gaze lands between his legs. Heat flushes your cheeks and he needs you. You move backward, raising a hand to press against his shoulder as he inevitably follows. Something like a mix between a growl and a purr sounds in his chest, and your lower belly heats.
“Azriel…” You warn, pressing harder against him as you try to crawl away. His arm snakes around your back, smushing you against him but he needs more, needs to have you riding him. He needs you to need him.
“I don’t believe you’re hurt when I pleasure you.” He growls, and you feel every letter on your lips, the aroused drag of his voice as his hand trails lower, settling on the swell of your ass. “In fact, I think you rather enjoy me. As much as you try to deny yourself.” You shake your head, attempting denial. But then his large palm scoops beneath you, lifting you up and you have to grab onto his neck to keep from falling backward.
He pulls back, so he’s kneeling on the grass, keeping you tight against him, not an ounce of space between your chests and finally he feels himself begin to relax. He indulges in the decadent feel of your body over his, the elegant sweep of your arms, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your thighs tense with how close you are.
You gasp, hurriedly untangling your arms from his shoulders as you attempt to pull your dress down that’s ridden up to your thighs. Azriel growls, gaze dropping to between your legs as he thumbs the front of your dress up further, revealing you to him. This time you swear he purrs, shadows gripping your hips as he raises you to perch atop his cock.
“Azriel, stop.” You bark with surprising force, palms splaying across his broad shoulders in attempts to leverage yourself.
His large, near-black eyes bare into you, and it’s a struggle to keep his gaze. You realise his pupils are dilating. No, not dilating. Almost splitting— seeping across his irises and they begin to fill the whites of his eyes.
Oh.
“Azriel, do not—”
He’s already shifting, eyes dimming to pitch black, carnal features sharpening as his canines protrude from his upper lip. In another situation, you might have been in awe as you feel him shift, actually feel how the skin grows to accommodate the transformation. Traitorous heat flushes your cheeks as you feel his fur brush against your legs, your inner thighs—
You can feel his cock at your entrance, and you think you might already be dripping down onto him.
A large, taloned hand lifts your chin as his hips press upward, making to guide himself deeper into your heat. “Just the tip,” he taunts, that lazy drawl of his setting something fluttering between your legs. “You can manage the tip, can’t you?” Your nails bite into his skin but he doesn’t even feel it. “Don’t you ‘just the tip’, me,” you whisper, finding it difficult to speak properly with the knowledge that you could just sink down—
No, you can’t let him do this. He has a mastery over lulling you into a state of submissive arousal, using his temptation to seduce you in obeying him.
What were you talking about again?
Satisfaction glides down his spine as he notes your glazed eyes, how you’re becoming more pliant beneath his touch. Just a little longer, and you’ll be sinking down into his lap, and he can feel as your heat swallows him, wrapping snuggly around his cock. He nearly groans from pleasure.
He can scent your arousal, feel how slick you are. How easy it will be to slide in, bury himself inside of you.
“No. You always do this.” You say, pushing out of his lenient grip, quickly stumbling backward as you shove your dress down to your ankles.
What?
He blinks away the haze that you’d manage to cast him under. Witch.
Your cheeks are still flushed, but awareness is sparking in your eyes as you take him in. Damn you.
He begins to prowl forward, shifting his arms to paws, his features sharpening further as he rises into a quadrupedal form.
You root yourself to the ground as he stalks forward, your hands fisting in your cold dress. Before he can start anything however, you speak first. “I want you to listen to me,” you manage, shakily. You have to do better. If he senses uncertainty, he’ll pounce.
Azriel snarls, snout nosing roughly at the mouthful of your belly, running up between your breasts.
“You’re capable of reason, just like I am. So act like it.”
He shifts in the blink of an eye, startling you, but you refuse to yield any ground, even as his shadow spills onto you. He’s trying to intimidate you, you realise. You’d seen animals do it countless times: making themselves appear larger to scare off— Predators.
For whatever reason that he’ll inevitably hide from you, he believes you to be a threat of some kind. Something he doesn’t know how to deal with.
“You have rationality, and a conscious, don’t you?” You meet his blacked out gaze, and feel your courage draining. Why are you trying to pick a fight with a dæmon? “I can take whatever I want from you, human.” He growls softly, reaching for your hips.
“No, you can’t.” His fingers pause a little away from your clothed skin.
“What’s stopping me?” He growls, stepping closer so you can feel his presence.
You clench your hands into fists as you look up at him steadily, “maybe you should be asking yourself that, Azriel.”
He stiffens, and you’ve gotten him. You don’t need him to concede, or for it to be a clear win—you know you’ve gotten him.
Finally, you take a step away, and his pupils shrink with the movement. “I’m going to lay in the sun, and dry off. Don’t try anything while I’m resting.”
Maybe you could have done without the niceties, but you seemed to have found somewhat stable footing, and you aren’t going to squander that by suddenly trying to push him around.
It’s progress, you remind yourself as you step out of his reach, walking back toward the bank. It seems like progress is being made.
You settle down a little way from his previous spot in the shade, so he won’t be as on edge. Maybe it would be worth thanking him for saving you—he does have a point about that. You would most definitely be dead had he not taken you from those woods.
Azriel said he wouldn’t bring you to a place where other eyes could see you, so you decide to show him you’ll trust him—this once. Work on that tenuous bond that’s slowly forming.
It’s probably not much by dæmon standards, but you undo some of the buttons of your dress, creating a V that shows the top of your chest, and loosening your sleeves to reveal your forearms a little more.
You hear him prowling by, moving to settle beneath the dappled shade.
You wonder if he made the noise for your sake.
Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020
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mypoisonedvine · 2 years
Text
𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫 || percy dolarhyde x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || the world's oldest profession attracts some of the West's oddest characters, and Percy is a strange bedfellow as much as he is a reliable regular. being a no-good, half-witted son-of-a-bitch, you really have no excuse for developing a bit of a crush on him while on the clock.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.1k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || smut (slightly dubious consent, overstimulation, unprotected sex, sex in the bath, and a clothed footjob lol), mild foot/stockings fetish, prostitution (reader works in a bathhouse), dom/sub dynamics (featuring switchy percy), angst, unrequited love (kinda?), percy is a dick (also known as: canon) but also he's just kinda emotionally constipated
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A choked groan caught in Percy’s throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watched you intently.  “Sweetpea, c’mon— lemme touch ya, I’ll make you feel so good…”
You simply shook your head, continuing to rub the bulge in his trousers with your stocking-covered foot.  “I bet you could get off like this,” you challenged with a smirk.
“No, baby, please,” he panted, “not like this— I can make a mess in my pants at home, let me get inside ya while I’m here, please—”
“Are you sure you can handle it?” you purred.  “You’re pretty worked up and you’re still dressed— I’m still dressed.  Should I take these stockings off?”
“N-no,” he choked, “those are nice… you can keep ‘em on, if you wan’...”
You smiled proudly, not surprised by that response at all; he clearly had a thing for the silk, and you kept catching his eyes wandering to where the socks ended at your upper thighs with a lacy hem.  Your thin dress, fallen off your shoulder on one side to give him a good view of your tits, was perfect for the warm weather— even if it was so revealing that you’d be arrested for leaving the bathhouse without covering up more.
Percy was a regular, coming in three or four times a week to get his fix.  It being a bathhouse and all, you figured these last few months since he started seeing you were the cleanest he’d ever been in his life.  He still managed to dirty himself up quite a bit in between his visits, giving you plenty to do when you were scrubbing him down, washing his hair, rubbing his back and shoulders as he sighed and sank into the hot water.
Today was different.  Before you even got him stripped down for his bath, you couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him.  He was just so fun to pick on, watching that cocky attitude falter was terribly satisfying.  You’d just gotten sick of his mocking, taunting demeanor and self-aggrandizing comments that never seemed to stop once you’d gotten him clean and he’d gotten you on all fours.  “Who’s got you screamin’ so loud, baby?  That’s right— nobody else fucks you this deep, I bet.  I’m your favorite customer, huh?  Always make this whore pussy come?”  That sort of thing.  It was hot, in its own way, but it could get annoying too.  You just wanted to make sure he knew that you still had all the control, even if he liked to play the big tough cowboy who takes what he wants; you knew that under that ego, he was just a sweet little boy looking for attention.  And he seemed to need your attention most.
“Baby,” he croaked when you pressed your heel up against his balls, making him shift in the chair.  “Are we even gonna get in the bath before you make me come?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” you replied honestly.  “I think if you ask me real nice, I’ll run it for you soon.”
“Fuck, dunno if I can wait that long,” he breathed, hips moving up to rub his cock against your foot— the curve of your sole seemed to fit with the shape of his cock, and he let his head fall back in a gasp.  “Can’t I just fuck you now, and we can take a bath after?  I’m gonna get you dirty anyways.”
You chuckled at that, because it was true— he liked to come inside, as deep as he could, and watch it slowly seep out of you over the course of the next half hour before you eventually kicked him out.  
That goal was getting more and more distant as you kept stroking him with your foot— a little faster now.  He was panting by this point, and you smiled at the sight of his suppressed desperation.  He was getting close, and he could hardly stand it.  "Wait," he pleaded, "sweetpea— stop, not like this…"
His words resisted, but his hips moved of their own accord and rubbed up against you.  You could see the conflict on his face, his eyes shut tightly as his lack of self-control struggled against his greed for more.  Percy was never one for delayed gratification…
"Please, please," he croaked, "just stop and we can get in the bath— baby, can't take much more'a this…"
"I know," you hummed.
"Don't you wanna feel good too?" he bargained.  "I know you like how I fuck ya— ah, shit, m'so close, shit!"
"It's okay, baby, just come," you cooed encouragingly.  He hissed in a breath through his teeth, whimpering slightly, and you grinned as you felt his cock pulse against the arch of your foot.  "Mm, just like that…"
You could feel the wetness starting to soak through his pants and seep into your stocking, and you tickled his balls with your toes to make his moans get all high-pitched and whiny.
"Keep goin', honey," you purred.
Obviously, that was a bit redundant since he had no way to stop it; he bucked up against nothing as the stain on his pants grew and the bulge just under it flexed uncontrollably.  His eyes were shut and his head tossed back, so thankfully he didn't see you bite your lip at the sight.  The other girls didn't like Percy much, for his looks or attitude, so they always acted like you were a saint (or maybe a sinner being punished) for taking him on as a regular— but you thought he was pretty cute, especially like this, blushing and groaning and whimpering your name.
Finally, he seemed to finish up as he relaxed down into the chair with a long sigh.  "Good boy," you winked, and he shivered slightly before blinking his eyes open and looking at you again.
"Fuck was that for?" he asked hoarsely, catching his breath.
"I think you are getting a little too proud of how easy you make me come," you explained.  "Wanted to remind you that I'm still better at making you lose your cool."
"Well, no kidding," he hissed, "you sure know how to make your living, sweetpea.  I never said otherwise.  S'no reason to stop me from getting my money's worth outta you."
"Don't worry, baby, you're still gonna get your bath," you smiled, standing up.  "I'll wash your clothes for you while the water's getting warm— just so you don't have to put back on your pants with jism in them."
"Hm, figure you should," he agreed, standing up and taking off his vest before he started unbuttoning his shirt, "since it's your fault anyways."
"Oh, please," you rolled your eyes, getting the big basin-stove turned on to heat up the bathwater, "with how excitable you are, bet it happens to ya all the time."
"Does not!" he defended, petulant as ever.  "I never even did that to myself when I was a boy!  I always had the foresight to find a rag or something to spill into."
“You can’t even spell ‘foresight’,” you rolled your eyes.
“F-O-R-S-I-T,” he announced confidently.
“I stand corrected,” you sighed, dipping your fingers in the water and feeling it was just about where you wanted it.  “You’re so strong, Percy, would you lift this for me?”
“Sure thing, sweetpea,” he announced proudly, flexing his arms a bit before he picked up the bucket of hot water and poured it into the copper bathtub.  He took his boots and pants off next, rather eagerly; the second he was naked, he was slipping into the water with a sigh and you were gathering his clothes to toss into the wicker hamper for washing.
“I’ll be back when these are washed and hung out to dry, alright?” you explained as he sank lower under the water’s surface.
“Don’t take too long,” he breathed, leaning back and relaxing in the warmth.  Smiling to yourself, you carried the basket on your hip as you walked past the bed and slipped out the door back into the hallway.
It was louder out here, when you could hear other girls and clients, even the music downstairs was audible through the floor.  This was a pretty classy place, all things considered— there wasn’t nearly the ruckus you’d find in a normal whorehouse or saloon, those places were dirty in every sense of the word.  Not the bathhouse, though, this little oasis in the desert was about peace, cleanliness… and, of course, shameless prostitution, but it was still better than some other spots.  It certainly wasn’t the cheapest, either, and for a higher price you and your fellow good-time girls were held to a much higher standard.  You figured that was why a man like Percy, with more time and money than he knew what to do with, came out here: for a better product and a more luxurious experience.
Turning the corner in the hall, you stepped into one of the ‘backstage’ areas as they were often called— the places only employees of the bathhouse could go— where you found several women relaxing and talking with each other in between appointments, in various states of undress.  The room was steamy and lit with just one window, old silk curtains draped along the walls, and you glanced longingly at a bottle of gin; you didn’t like to drink on the job, but you made a mental note to come back for a finger or two later.
“Whose clothes are those?” another girl— a friend of yours, Sadie— asked as you walked by, but someone else answered before you.
“Don’t you know?” Margaret (or “Marge,” depending on your familiarity) interjected.  “She’s always got her regular at this time.”
“Oh,” Sadie rolled her eyes, knowing who your regular was, “poor thing— those clothes must be filthy.”
You dumped the contents of the hamper into a running sink, grimacing slightly as an immediate cloud of dirt and dust filled the water.
“Good Lord,” Sadie winced, “you’re sure that Dolarhyde boy isn’t a pig farmer?”
“No wonder he asked you to wash his clothes,” a newer girl called Belle, even though her real name was Phoebe, noticed.
“Oh, he didn’t ask me to,” you explained, “they just needed a wash after he made a mess in ‘em.”
A few of the girls in earshot giggled, and Marge scoffed.  “He seems the type,” she mumbled.
You snatched a bar of soap off of the counter and rubbed it between the clothes, dirty water turning a cloudy-white color from the suds and the scent of lavender filling the air.  “He won’t be mad when his clothes smell like flowers?” Belle wondered.
“Beats smelling like a fuckin’ stable,” you rolled your eyes.  
“Oh, sweetheart,” Marge cooed condescendingly at Belle, “you don’t know much about Percy yet.  He doesn’t get mad at her— doesn’t stay that way, at least.  She’s got him wrapped around her finger.”
“Really?” Belle smiled, wistful as if she aspired to have a client like yours someday.  You wished you could warn her— it’s all fun and games when a client has an affection for you, until you start getting affections of your own— but you kept washing silently and just listened.
“Mm, he’s comin’ by here more and more just to see her, won’t settle for anyone else,” Marge explained.  “Well, maybe for a pretty young thing like you…”
You hated the twist in your heart when Marge said that, even though you didn’t really believe her.  Percy wouldn’t go for a girl like Belle, he needed someone with your experience— yes, she was pretty, but you and Percy had built such a rapport and you knew just what he liked, he said so himself all the time.  That couldn’t be replaced with just anything.
“More than half her salary is coming out of his pocket,” Marge continued as she nodded in your direction.  “That’s the thing— Madam will tell you it’s all about getting as many customers as you can, but really, if you can get one or two real loyal regulars, you’re set.”
“Wow,” Belle sighed, taking in all of Marge’s sage advice; you started to wring out Percy’s clothes, relieved that the water was finally running clear.  “So,” the young woman turned her attention to you, “how do you do it?  How do you get a client to fall in love with you?”
“Woah there,” you stammered out, “he’s not in love with me.  He’s just… comfortable with me, doesn’t wanna have to teach somebody new what he likes.  He can be particular.”
“Is he the bossy type?” she asked.
The image of Percy just a few minutes ago, succumbing to the pleasure you forced upon him, begging for relief and release, flashed in your mind.  “Uh,” you choked, “usually.”
“So what do I do, just try to be charming?” she pressed.
“Well, I suppose,” you shrugged, “and maybe ask them a lot about their lives and such— be a good listener.  Pretend it’s all very interesting.”
“Anything else?”
Stroke his hair while he falls asleep in your lap.  Avoid his personal questions because no one’s ever asked about you before and you don’t know what to say.  Listen to him ramble about his dreams and fears and all the places he wants to take you.  Let him kiss you sometimes because he asks so sweetly and you just can’t help yourself, even though you’re not supposed to.
“Don’t let them kiss you,” you heard yourself say, “ever.  If you don’t follow the rules, they won’t either.”
“Good idea,” Belle agreed.
“Sadie, if you hang these out to dry for me, I’ll make your bed after your next session,” you offered as you held the wet clothes out to her.
“That’s a done deal,” she smirked as she took them from you and started to walk away.
“Somewhere nice and sunny, want ‘em dry by the time he’s done,” you explained, calling out after her.  She nodded at you and left through the door to the outside, letting in a bright orange stream of sunlight on her way out.
Not one to leave Percy waiting too long, you returned to the hallway and passed by each door until you found your own— you had it painted with flowers, to help it stand out from all the others.  You were already smiling as you turned the handle and stepped inside, seeing Percy in the tub across the room, who opened his eyes and gave you a relaxed smile.
“Hurry up,” he complained playfully, “I’m gettin’ lonely in here.”
You rolled your eyes a bit, but bent down anyways to lift your skirt and start rolling your stockings down your legs.  You heard him hum quietly and knew he was watching you, so you made sure to let your thin dress slide off your shoulders nice and slow.  Most of the customers here wanted to see the ladies in finer wear— maybe to know that their money was going to good use— but Percy always liked you in underwear, thin cotton slips and loose corsets, stuff that fit right in with the bathhouse aesthetic.  It was a little ironic, but dressing this way for him made everything feel more intimate; yes, it’s silly, because how much more intimate can it get when you’re having sex with someone?  But this was different.  It made you feel like… well, you didn’t like to admit it, but it made you feel like a wife.  It was a state of undress that only a husband would see his wife in, while she was getting ready or maybe after she’d come home on a hot day and just needed to breathe.  You’d be in your slip and he’d lay in bed beside you, and sometimes you thought about what it would be like if he didn’t just call you “sweetpea,” but also “darling” and “honey” and “dear wife.”  A man like Percy wasn’t looking for a wife, though, and you weren’t sure what use he would have for one… but every once in a while you let yourself play pretend in your head for a while.
“Don’t tease me,” he pleaded as you lowered your dress more and more, and finally you let it drop to the floor as he groaned a little.  Bare to him and his hungry stare, you scampered across the room to hop in the tub with him; he didn’t make much room for you, happy to force you to entangle yourself with him so you could sink into the water.  
“Lean back,” you cooed, watching him smile and lay his head back until the water soaked his hair just up to his face.  He relaxed while you combed your fingers through his dusty-blonde locks, finding some soap nearby to lather into it.
“Oh, your fingers are so good,” he purred when you started to massage his scalp.
“Yeah?  I get that a lot,” you joked.  “Let’s let that soak for a while and I’ll wash your body, okay?”
“Alright,” he smirked, “my shoulders are real sore— make sure you get real deep, sweetpea…”
He groaned as you massaged more soap into his skin, digging your fingers into the muscle; you took a bit of your frustration out on him with how hard you rubbed, but he seemed to enjoy it if anything.
“Yeah, just like that,” he sighed, relaxing further into your arms.  “You’re so good to me…”
You smiled a little to yourself, moving your soapy hands down to his chest to lather up some suds there.  “You like this?” you asked softly.
He simply hummed to himself, and breathed through his teeth as you started to massage his arms.  He was actually pretty muscular, lean and taut, tanned from the relentless frontier sun…
As your eyes trailed down his body, his toned abdomen and hips, they settled on his cock— still hard, which it tended to be for a while after he came, even if he was down for the count until his next session.  You weren’t sure why, but you kept having all these great ideas to tease him today, and you couldn’t resist.
“You look real good, Percy,” you said, and he smiled wider.
“Yeah?” 
That cocky look dropped right off of his face when your fingers slid down his body and wrapped around his cock— soapy and slick, he shuddered as your grip slid smoothly over his shaft and the ridge of his sensitive head.  He looked up at you with a conflicted sort of stare as you smiled coyly down at him.  “I’m good with my fingers, huh?” you recalled.
“B-baby, wait,” he whimpered.
“Wait for what?” you sighed, lifting yourself up and suddenly straddling him— he looked equal parts hopeful and terrified as he looked up at you.  “I’ve been waitin’ for you for days, Percy, I need ya so bad— didn’t you say you were gonna make me feel good?  Nobody’s as good as you, baby, you know that.”
He bit his lip at the praise, but even all those compliments couldn’t fully soothe his hesitation when you began to guide him to press right up to your opening.  "Oh, fuck— sweetpea, hold on," he groaned, "I'm not quite recovered yet—"
"You're hard as a rock, that's good enough for me," you winked, sliding down onto his length as he gripped the sides of the tub hard enough to make you worry he'd dent the copper.  You bit your lip, insides clenching involuntarily— he always filled you so well, but you tried not to show how much it affected you.
"Ah, shit!" he yelped, grabbing your hips as you started to bounce up and down, sloshing the water around you both.  "Baby, what are you tryin' to do, kill me?"
"I'm just giving you what you were begging for before, you can take it," you dismissed, struggling slightly to keep track of what you were saying as you adjusted to the stretch.  "You always act so proud, talk about how you can fuck me for hours… what happened to that?"
"What happened is you made me come in my pants," he hissed, "and hopped on my dick a few minutes later while I'm still sore!  Fuck, sweetpea, it hurts…"
"Yeah?  I think you like it though," you grinned, sighing as your own pleasure started to build.  "It's not too much for you, is it?"
"Yes it is!" he whined, but you felt him starting to move his hips with yours— poor Percy, he just couldn't help himself.  "Ahh, sweetie, you're gonna be the death of me, I swear…"
"Just tell me to stop, and I'll stop," you promised.  "Just tell me to stop, honey— you're payin' after all, I'll do whatever you like.  Do you want me to stop?"
He swallowed thickly, eyes trained on your tits as you rode him fast and recklessly— and finally, he shook his head.  "N-no, fuck, don't stop," he groaned.
You laughed proudly, rocking your hips faster as he groaned.  "Didn't think so," you cooed.  "You like it too much, huh?"
He nodded and you giggled proudly, leaning down to grab the edge of the tub behind his head as you rode him faster.
Of course, that put your tits right in front of his face and, gasping and whining a bit, he slid his wet hands up your stomach to grope your chest.  You moaned softly as he kneaded your flesh with calloused fingers, moving your hips slower and with more precision until he let his head fall back with a groan.
“S-sweetpea,” he choked, “fuck, I missed this…”
You smiled to yourself; it had been almost a week since his last session, and for him that was like a month without water.  He suddenly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down into him, rutting his hips up into you until you were forced to just go limp and take it.  After all that bitching about not being able to go again so soon, he sure had gotten over it quickly…
Moaning louder, you pressed your face up to the side of his to keep yourself from slipping down into the water, and he held you even tighter until you worried he’d leave bruises in the shape of his fingertips.  Just to make you whimper, he gave you one particularly rough thrust, as deep as he could go, before he turned to whisper in your ear.
“You better get your ass up and get in that damn bed, woman,” he growled— though you felt him smiling, too.
You sat up and carefully slid off of him, climbing out of the tub and starting to reach for a towel before he tutted disapprovingly and gave you a correctional slap on the bottom.
“Don’t you want me to dry you off first?” you said.
“You know what I want— get in that bed,” he insisted, but he didn’t give you a chance, grabbing you and pushing you down onto the mattress instantly; both of you were dripping wet still, and he purred as your bodies slid together while he got on top of you.
He smiled down at you, that proud glimmer in his eye, as he placed your legs up on his shoulders and leaned down over you; when he slipped inside again, the angle forced his cock so deep that your back had to arch and your mouth fell open into a low moan— he watched your face carefully as he pushed himself to the very end of you.
“That’s my girl,” he purred, “takin’ it so good— still tight as ever, sweetpea…”
Each rock of his hips made you moan louder than the last— all the other girls thought you put on a show for him, but right now, it was all real.  He knew how to hit your spot just right, and he loved watching you fall apart under him.
“Y’like that, huh?” he taunted, and you nodded with a gasp.  “Your favorite customer’s gonna make you come real hard, baby…”
Sure, he was mostly just being cocky, but he wasn’t wrong— about being your favorite customer or about making you come.  You were closer than you should’ve been by now, but watching him make a mess of himself had you all worked up and then he got so aggressive… it was all very overwhelming.  Thankfully, from the sound of his hissing breaths in through his teeth, he was pretty close, too.  And he had even less of an excuse than you, having just come so recently!  But then again, it had been almost a week since you’d last seen him… and neither of you had come since then.
He chuckled when he shifted his hips and you whimpered loudly.  “Oh, is that the way you need it?  C’mon and say so, then.”
“I— I need it,” you choked, “I need you to fuck me just like that.”
“Yeah?” he egged you on, your fists gripped the sheets beneath you as he moved faster and rougher.  The pressure building inside you was sharp and tingly, almost too much to take, but it felt better and better as you gave into it.
“M’so close,” you gasped, “please don’t stop— ah!”
"Tell me whose you are," he grunted.
"Yours, Percy, all yours," you whined, digging your nails into the sheets so hard now that they were at risk of tearing.
"One more time," he groaned, "I'm gonna finish inside— say it one more time, baby—"
"I'm yours," you sobbed, finally feeling him push his hips against you as deep as possible and start to come.  He tossed his head back with a whine, the flex of his cock against your walls in time with his heavy pant; as he reached the end of it (it seemed to go on for a while), he sighed and dropped his head down, wet hair hanging loosely around his face.  You were about to ask if he enjoyed himself, but he suddenly kissed you— intense, yet relaxed, as he was still catching his breath.  You hummed against his lips and kissed him back, lifting your hands to hold his face gently.
Feeling him smile, you laughed quietly when he pulled back and blinked down at you.  Something about the way his cheeks were flushed— maybe from just the hot water, maybe from a little more— made his green eyes look even brighter, and you bit your lip.
“You know somethin’, sweetpea?” he breathed.  “You look prettiest just after I filled you up.”
He pulled out of you and collapsed onto the bed beside you, staring up at the ceiling with that dazed, joyfully-exhausted look on his face.  “You’ve told me that before,” you remembered.
“Well, I was right,” he chuckled breathlessly.  “Damn, you wear me out… I didn’t think I could go again after you played footsie with my family jewels—”
You snorted at the euphemism, feeling him snuggle up to you and bury his face in the crook of your neck.
“Anybody else gonna see you today?" he asked in a mumble, smirking against your skin.  "You better wash all a'me out, or you're gonna have customers complaining about their favorite whore bein' all used up…"
It wasn’t until he said that that you realized you’d been in your little fantasy again, pretending you were Mrs. Dolarhyde and not another soiled dove with bills on the dresser.  You sighed and sat up on the edge of the bed, grabbing your robe from where it was draped over a lamp so you could slip it over your shoulders.
“Hey, my time’s not up yet, is it?” he pouted, reaching over to tickle your thigh with his fingertips.  “You don’t have to wash up until I leave, right?  Just lay here for a while, sweetpea—”
"Do you call me that to try to make me feel bad?" you interrupted, wishing instantly you could’ve just bit your tongue.  
“Call you what, ‘sweetpea’?”
“No,” you sighed, turning to face him again as he propped himself up on one elbow.  “You always say things like that after— call me a whore and all.  You shouldn't be judging me, I might be a whore but you're still quite the loyal fuckin' customer—"
"Woah, hey now," he soothed, raising his hands defensively.  "I'm not here to judge, I don't think bein' a whore is anything bad— I mean, shit, far as I see it you ladies are the heroes of the West.  Where would good-for-nothing bastards like me be without you?"
"Then what do you say it like that for?" you frowned.  "You get sweet on me, then you say something rude— and don't tell me you mean it as a compliment, because I can tell when you mean something as a compliment and when you're just trying to get me all confused…"
"Sweetpea," he breathed, reaching out and pulling you back down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around you.  "It's not to confuse you.  It's me that's confused.  Sometimes…"
He sighed and started over, looking away as you blinked up at him expectantly.
"Sometimes, I forget what this is," he admitted with a little shrug, still not looking back at you.
"What is this?" you asked him earnestly, softly.
"It's… a business transaction," he decided.  "It's a professional and her client.  It's your job."
He looked at you, resting a hand on your waist, and your eyes stared up into his— a strange feeling swirled in your chest, something you remembered distantly as hope.  "What else could it be?" you whispered.
He sighed heavily, lifting one hand to your face to brush your damp hair out of the way.  "Nothin'," he answered, stroking your cheek with his thumb lightly.  "You know that as good as I do.  It couldn't be nothin' else but the way you make your money, and the way I spend mine."
You looked down with a little sigh, nodding.  “Yeah,” you agreed, “I do know.”
He planted a kiss on your forehead, and you settled into his arms as he held you close.  “Can I stay longer today?  I think I might fall asleep if you just let me hold you.”
“I have another appointment,” you mumbled into his chest.
“I’ll pay double,” he promised— it wasn’t an offer, he was telling you that he would stay and pay double afterwards, you knew because he was already sighing deeply and sinking into the pillow, moments from drifting off.
“Sleep tight, Percy,” you whispered as you laid your face on his shoulder— you wouldn’t fall asleep, but you could rest your eyes for a while… yeah, that’d be alright.
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glitched-eyes · 3 months
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Something I keep on thinking about with The Boy and the Heron was the way the movie seems to mix Japanese and European designs.
Spoilers for the Film, btw
What I mean in particular is the house he moves to, the entrance is more traditionally Japanese.
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But then the part he sleeps in as well as the tower are more western in style
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Someone with far more knowledge is probably best speaking about this, but I found it an interesting choice.
It reminds me of a video essay I watched about how in Spirited Away, the bathhouse is in a traditional Japanese style, but Ubaba's quarters add her dress are western, and how it relates to colonial power.
It really makes me wonder what Miyazaki was trying to say with these design choices. If anyone has any ideas please let me know.
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