#minus the collars and chains...
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Now look here, it's sugardaddy! x sugar baby! reader time >>:3 So here's the rundown: the reader is a college senior who works part-time in a diner and finds out that their favorite customer, Toji, is a sugar daddy and wants to initiate courtship. Although it is a proposition you fail to see yourself saying no to, is this something you can see yourself being in the long run?
A/n: This prompt was picked on a poll to celebrate getting over 50 followers, only for me to get to 100 right after!!?? Y'all...can I give you a hug? ;w; No, oh okay. Anyways, I won't make another poll, BUT I'll be opening thirsts/requests soon!! >:D I just gotta make myself a disclaimer list before we let those lil fantasies of yours fly, lol. But yeah, this is my first time posting a fic over 1k+, so I hope y'all like it. Also, bonus: there's art drawn by Moi (@hoshigaby)?? You'll have to scroll down to find it tho :33 Okay, I'm sorry, go ahead and read!!!
Cw: soft dom! Toji x fem! reader - implied age gap (the reader is in their early 20s, Toji's around early or mid-30s) - mating press - cervix fucking - oral (fem! receiving) - pussy drunk Toji - breeding - daddy kink - overstimulation (fem! receiving) - pet names (baby, babygirl, darlin', good girl, honey, kid/kiddo, mama, princess, sweetie, sweetheart) - praise - clitoral play (Toji pinches your clit) - reader isn't a virgin but, it's the first time you and Toji have sex.
Wc: 4.9k
"Oh look, your favorite is here."
10 o'clock, it's closing time. All the servers and bussers are ready to buss down tables and sweep the floors, hosts at the front split up tips and head straight home, and the cooks clean the kitchen and throw out the trash. All there's left is the silence of the dining area, where not a single customer is in sight.
Well, minus the one Utahime points out to you.
You turn to the bar area, where almost all the tables are empty, and all the high-rise televisions are turned off. All but for one, which was showing a football game.
A man is watching the screen, sitting in a booth at the far end with a glass of beer on the table. He's wearing a black turtleneck covered with a denim jacket, white fur on the collar, and a silver chain contrasting the black clothing. You gaze downwards to his black jeans pants, where his left foot seems to be tapping the ground. He's waiting for someone.
Once his eyes catch your approaching figure, his deadpanned face shows a smile in recognition. He was waiting for you.
And you smile back as you walk towards him.
The familiarity with this man comes from a year working at the diner. His name is Toji Fushiguro, and he's been a regular even before you started working here. And to make things funnier, he was the first customer you served after a week and a half of training. You can recall when you accidentally put milk and sugar in his specifically requested black coffee, to which you apologized profusely ("Heh, it's alright, darlin'" He flashed a smile that was meant to reassure you. "The first time that's ever happened to me.").
It was there that you found yourself being the only person that's served him. At first, you thought of it as some sort of joke after the coffee mishap, but now, unless you're there to take his order, he'll only have a beer or black coffee with all the other servers. The crew often pokes fun at you, stating you're the older man's favorite. And you gotta admit, it makes your heart swoon knowing this is true.
"There she is," Toji watches you approach him with his foot finally stopped tapping the checkered floor beneath him. "My adorable lil' server."
You giggle as you sit on the cushioned booth seat across from him. "It's good to see you, Mr. Fushiguro. I hope life's been good for you." You wave goodbye to the guy behind the bar counter, who turns off the TV still on as Toji focuses on something else. You promised to be the last person to turn off the lights and lock the doors before leaving, so now it's just you and Toji.
"I thought I told you to drop the Mr. Fushiguro, kid." He reprimands you with his playful smile, the right corner of his lip quirking his scar upward. "And I could ask you the same thing. How's college goin', darlin'?"
An exaggerated sigh leaves your system. "It's going alright. Can't believe I'm about to be done after the next semester, but the senioritis hasn't hit me too strong yet, thank God. And I can't wait to graduate with all this debt on my back~!" You flash the fakest beaming smile with two thumbs up.
Toji chuckles at your fraud enthusiasm. "Mmmm, I bet. But I know you're smarter than me and most people who work for me, so I'm sure you'll do just fine."
"Yeah, I'd like to think so, too." Your chipper attitude dwindles, and Toji notices the change in tone.
"What's up? You don't think you'll get yourself a job?"
"Umm, well," You cough to clear your throat from awkwardness. "I tried signing up for plenty of internships. Some of them shut me down, others just haven't replied back. And I guess it's just me overthinking, but I worry that I won't get a job in something I like..."
"Aww, princess," Toji rises from his cushioned spot to move to your side, sitting close to you with his big jean-covered thigh brushing yours. He places a hand on your back to rub comforting circles. "That's just the thoughts in your head."
You groan into your hands. "I know, that's why I don't know why I'm beating myself up about it so much... But it's okay! I know I'll be fine because I still have this job keeping me going for a year."
Toji raises a brow. "You wanna be a server all your life? Wanna serve me my black coffee and BLT sandwich til my last breath?"
You hit his chest in amusement. "Well, no, but if it comes down to it, I don't mind. I'll just take up more jobs or maybe make a side hustle. Either way, I know Mei Mei will help me out. I'm sure everyone here will if they have the chance."
"I could also help you."
Your hands instantly go up defensively. "No, Mr. Fushiguro, I wouldn't want that! I'm sure you're pretty busy, and I don't want my troubles to burden you."
Toji's eyebrows knit together, his sharp eyes surveying your defensive stance. "It wouldn't be trouble if I'm the one offerin' to help you, honey."
"Yes, but even so..." You look at your lap as your fingers dance with each other to ease your anxiousness. "It would feel unbefitting to have a customer — a valuable one such as you — to help me with my financial problems. Seeing you smile at me when I serve you your coffee...I'm perfectly content with just."
Your gaze locks into your fidgety fingers, saying the last part was probably unnecessary. Yet it was true; Toji had always been patient with you whenever he stopped by, even going the extra mile by giving you a seriously generous tip after his meals. You know you didn't deserve it, but he's already at the door before you can argue with him. If his gracious action was just a mere small percent of what he could do, then he's done plenty for you than needed.
Toji, however, didn't see it that way. He hums as he leans back onto the booth seat, his hand now snaking to the back of your neck, his thumb caressing the nook of your neck and trapezius.
"Well," He breaks the silence, you're listening. "What if we take this outside of customer service?"
The brows are pulled together as you turn to him in slight confusion. "What do you mean by that?"
"I've been thinking for quite a while," with his hand maneuvering to rest on your shoulder, he sighs and straightens himself up. "Your manager, Mei Mei, right? I talked with her not too long ago, telling her how much of a hard worker you are and how even while still in school and suffering with assignments, you still smile and make sure the customers enjoy their time here."
You give him a thanks, and he continues on. "Which is why I told her about what I wanna do. So here's my proposition: I'll pay for everything for you. Your debt, bills, clothes, whatever it is your pretty lil' head is worryin' 'bout."
Toji's promise does sound comforting to the ears, but you think about your part in all this. "So, do I have to work for you?"
He chuckles. "No, baby, not working fr' me. But there is something I want you to do."
"Yes?"
Toji doesn't give you a clear answer, staring at your face with a soft smile. You wonder why he's being odd until his face leans forward, and the hand on your shoulder pushes you into a kiss. You let out a yelp into his mouth, but the shock diminishes once you succumb to his warm, intoxicating lips. He tastes like beer, definitely from his drink.
He removes his lips from you, and you faintly exhale in an unsteady breath. "Mmmm, yer too much fr' me, sweetie." Toji groans and kisses down your neck while you place a hand on his chest to grip his turtleneck for support before you dissolve into his arms. And although you shouldn't be at your work at this time of night doing this, it felt too good to end.
"I want you to be with me," Toji says in-between smooches on your neck, moving to paint the other side with his pecks. "You're so good to me, darlin', always being such a good girl." He nibbles on your clavicle, and a soft gasp rewards his eardrums. "Lemme take care of you, y/n."
All that's going through your head is the feeling of his lips on your body and the arousing throbbing sense happening in your nether core.
"Hmm, whaddya say, baby?" His lips are too close to your ear as he playfully bites the lobe. Your thighs rub against one another, and you know there's a wet spot in your panties. "Gonna be my perfect girl?"
If you don't give him an answer quick, you're bound to melt right on this seat, and being a whimpering mess to his touch is embarrassing enough.
"Haaaah...Y-yes," You finally answer in weak whispers, mind spinning and eyes glossy. "I wanna—Ahaaa...I wanna be yours."
You can feel Toji's lips curl into a smile. He lifts his head to look at you, and a hand comes up to cup your face before he gives you a soft kiss on your quivering lips.
"My good girl."
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A few months have passed since you and Toji formed this new relationship. And getting used to certain things is still a challenge.
For one: covering up your new lifestyle is never easy when you're out with people you know. During winter break, you went to dinner with your friends and offered to pay for the whole table. They looked at you as if you were talking nonsense ("Girl, where the hell you get that kind of money to be covering for all of us?" "For real, is this the same diner you've been working at? Are they hiring?").
Another thing that wasn't easy to get accustomed to was Toji spoiling you. Since you're a college student, Toji only sees you every other weekend when he has time. During those days, Toji doesn't hold back in showering you with gifts and affection. Between the fancy dates in expensive restaurants, riding rides at fun amusement parks, or the bags of new clothes you bring back to your dorm, it was something you didn't expect to happen so quickly. Your roommates constantly tease you about this "mystery man" who makes it known you're his special lady.
But outside of that, the most significant change was you and Toji. To say you two got closer was too easy to put into words. Sure, the money was there, so you could finally get a good night's rest without worrying too much about your school debt or bills. However, you knew this went beyond the dollar bills and the fancy clothes.
Come to find out, Toji knows and remembers things that amaze you. There was a time he bought you a whole wardrobe worth of dresses because he remembered you had to cancel dates with your friends since you had nothing cute to wear. Or the time he got you a box of your favorite teas, even though you briefly mentioned them to him during a talk way back from recollection.
And even away from the materialistic things, you can feel how much Toji loves you. You can feel it in his eyes whenever he's looking at you. You can feel it when you try to argue yourself out of trying an outfit you don't think will be good on you, but Toji coaxes you into it because he knows — not thinks, knows you'll look good wearing it. You can feel it in his hands when they hold yours, when he places a hand on your thigh and rubs it in loving warmth, or when he caresses your cheek when he kisses you goodbye when you two have to return to your own lives.
It's a type of love you didn't see yourself being on the other end of. The more immersed you are, the harder it is to imagine yourself out of it.
Spring break is now upon us, and Toji has invited you to join him overseas for a business trip. You tried to decline, saying it's his trip and you don't want to intrude on his business. That argument was immediately shut down ("Tch, believe me, sweetheart, you're saving me from bashing someone's head in if you're close to me than not. Plus, I wanna see you wear that cute swimsuit I got you."), so he dragged you on his private jet, and now we're here.
During the day is when he's away for work, so you spend the morning either in the penthouse suite you two are staying in, outside taking pictures to show Toji later or looking around at the little shops nearby. Toji is done with work around the early afternoon, so you two spend time together exploring the country, trying new foods, and taking walks around the area while talking about how your day went until the sun goes down.
Everything goes well until Thursday when Toji texts you saying something happened at work and that he'd be at the suite later than usual. Well, it's 7:45, the sun is starting to go down, and Toji is still nowhere in sight. I hope everything is alright on his end.
You're unsure about going outside for a walk on the off-chance you stay out too late. And if something happens to you while Toji isn't close by, that'll give him more to worry about on his plate, and you definitely don't want that for him.
So, you look around the penthouse to see if there's anything to keep you occupied until Toji's return, and then what catches your eye is the swimming pool outside on the terrace which you haven't tried yet. That'll do!
You go to change into a swimsuit, a cute two-piece that Toji bought for you when you two went shopping together. After a quick shower, you enter the pool and enjoy the calm waters while watching the sunset, leaving a beautiful array of colors painting the sky over you.
Tomorrow is your last day here while Toji will do business, and then you're back to school on Monday. The fact that you'll be graduating debt free still blows your mind. Toji really fulfilled his promise and took care of your worries.
Is that to say that your relationship ends once you touch that diploma?
You lift your feet and lay on your back to allow the water to hold you up, ears covered in the water and face looking into the sky as you're lost in your thoughts.
It wouldn't be too far off if Toji wanted to close this whole thing off when you graduate, as the point was for you to not worry about debt and such. That much you understood from the very beginning. But what happens after that? Do you two just go back to being acquaintances that only meet at the diner? And what about the stuff he got you? Do they stay with you forever? And do you have to fight memories of him every time you see them?
What about all the touches, all the hand-holding, all the cuddles, and all the kisses? Are they supposed to mean nothing to you the next time you see his face?
You're thankful for the water keeping you afloat in the pool, but having these thoughts attack your brain just makes you want to sink in loathing.
Until you feel something tickle your feet, having your body react in a state of panic. No longer floating on your back, you search for whatever is torturing your feet. Only to find Toji in front of you wearing black trunks, he chuckles lowly, and your heart sinks in embarrassment.
"T-Toji," You swim up to greet him. "How long were you back from work?"
"For about 10 minutes," He watches you move through the water, following you to sit in the shallow part of the pool for you two to talk. "I saw you in the pool and thought I'd join. I tried callin' out to ya, but the water was blocking your ears."
"Hehe, sorry about that. I was thinking about something. How was work?"
His face went into a deep scowl with rolled eyes, and you giggle at his nonverbal response. "Had I not known I was comin' back here to see you, I'd probably fucked that rookie up."
"That bad?"
He hums and brings you closer to him with his hand on your shoulder. "But don't worry 'bout it. And you? What were you thinking about?"
"Hmm? Oh, it was nothing," your encouraging response is fictitious.
Toji lowers a brow. "Try again."
"No, honest! It was nothing, Toji."
"Don't make me tickle you again, kiddo." You freeze and look at his face. His sharp gaze and slight grin speak for themselves about his seriousness.
A sigh is withdraw from your lips. "I was just thinking about how I'd be leaving on Saturday and being halfway done with my senior year of college."
"And?"
"And, uhh," You gulp and avert your eyes to your lap, your fingers swaying with the pool water. "I was also thinking about me... and you?"
There's silence, the lack of response eating you alive. Then you feel Toji's hand grip your shoulder.
"Are you scared I won't be with you after you graduate?"
He hit the nail because you don't answer for a few seconds. Your eyes still avoid him.
But Toji still persists. "Do you not want to be with me?"
Your head turns to face him in haste, taking you aback at how fast you were. "No! I don't want this to end. I'm grateful for how close you and I have become. I want... I want..." You fall silent once more as your head moves back to your lap as if you'd find the words you want to express lying there.
Using his free hand, Toji grabs your chin to look his way again. "What do you want, baby? Use your words fr' me."
The intense gaze of his jade-green eyes captures your attention, practically daring you to look away from him. The warmth of your cheeks spreads around your face, and you gulp before answering.
"I really appreciate all that you've done for me. And I...I really like you, Toji. I want to be with you." His face doesn't change as you ramble on, causing you to move your eyes to avoid the awkward stare. "But I wouldn't blame you if you want to stop with where we—"
Your sentence was interrupted by Toji's kiss, and a squeak was suppressed between the two lips. You exhale in bliss as your hands find purchase on his solid chest. He deepens the kiss when his hand is posted at the back of your neck.
You break the kiss to breathe, Toji's gruff chuckles fills the warm air.
"You're too adorable, princess. Do you really think I'd want to let my precious girl away from my sight?" You open your mouth to interject, but Toji lifts your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each knuckle. "Listen here, darlin'. I didn't offer to take care of your debt on a whim. I adore the fuckin' shit out of you, and I was gonna wait til your graduation to ask if you'd still want this thing to be official."
"But now that I hear you're interested," his big hand holds yours, fingers intertwined as his thumb brushes your forefinger. "Are ya up for it?"
You breathe slowly to ease your heart, beating at an irregular tempo. You grip his hand in return and offer a sheepish smile.
"Yes. I'd like that very much, Toji."
He smirks and kisses your cheek. "Good girl." Toji has his arms placed behind your back and under your legs. Then he stands up while picking up your figure bridal style. He grins hard when you squeal in surprise as your arms sling around his neck.
"Let's shower," he walks out of the pool and into the suite. "And then afterward, I'll show you how much I've been itchin' to make you be my girl for real."
The heat on your face grows tenfold, and Toji barks a laugh when you hide your face. You can only mentally pray for yourself for what's to come.
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That little prayer did absolutely nothing!
Now you're lying on the bed nude and wet from the shower as the water droplets on your body slide down to the satin sheets beneath you. Your hands cover your mouth, trying to suppress the moans and sobs from exiting your lips.
And the cause of this is the man currently nestled between your legs. You can see the raven hair between your inner thighs, but you feel a wet muscle lapping around your vulva. The lewd noises of Toji eating you out fill the room and has you writhing in discomfort, and you try to slowly move your lower region away from his ravaging mouth.
"Aht aht, you're not goin' anywhere, mama." Toji's rough hands grip your waist and pull you back down, his nose brushing your clit as you jerk upwards. He lifts his head to look at you, and the image of your slick smeared all over his mouth and chin almost makes you faint.
"Put those hands down, baby. Let Daddy hear that sweet voice of yours." He uses one hand to play with your pussy, middle and forefinger abuse your inner lips as his thumb grinds down on your sweet bud. Your eyes shoot up for the stars, and you're forced to do what he says, hands gripping the sheets while your cries are out for him to hear.
"Aahhhh!! Haaah, T-Toji!! 'S too much, too—Ooohh!" His tongue returns between your cunt, licking and tasting the sticky fluid coating your pussy. Your eyes are watering, your mind starts to feel dizzy, and your legs can't stay still to save your life. He's been doing this for 15 minutes!!
You clutch his hair and wail out his name in pleasure, earning a moan from Toji as his grip on your thighs gets tighter.
He can tell you're close to finishing, so he helps you. His tongue slides from your wet center to your clitoris, licking and sucking on the extremely sensitive bud, his teeth lightly pressing down on the pearl.
Your release comes instantly, and your walls spasm as you cry in pure euphoria. Your head pushed deep into the pillow below you, letting your body finish reacting to the climax. However, Toji doesn't wait for you when his mouth drinks your essence. His tongue attacked your sore velvety walls, having you gasp for air.
When he's done, he finally withdraws from between your legs and kneels before you, taking in your disheveled figure. Your tear-stricken face and hooded eyes peer up at him as he wipes his face of your excess come, licking the rest from the back of his hand.
Toji snickers hoarsely. "Sorry, sweetheart, you tasted so fuckin' good I couldn't help myself. Besides," you watch his hands trail down to his dick as he places himself on your messy vagina. "Gotta get you prepped up fr' me."
He puts a pillow under your lower back to raise your hips more. Seeing his dick for the first time has you in mental turmoil. Toji notices you looking and sneers, pulling your hips to him so his balls practically kiss your opening, his dick on full display on your lower abdomen. The girth alone has your cunt pulsating in anticipation, and good God, the length of that thing. It's not the first dick you've seen in your life, but it's definitely the biggest challenge you've come across.
I hope those 15 minutes of prep were enough.
You come back to your senses when you feel the tip of his hefty member circling the corners of your folds, and your slick aids him as a lubricant.
"Ready, babygirl?" You exhale a nervous breath and nod for confirmation. "Okay, we're gonna start real slow."
Toji began to push the tip in, your folds being spread open to accommodate the foreign object intruding into your tight hole. You close your eyes and hold your breath, the pain worsening by the second. You take one breath, and Toji pushes further. With another breath, he goes further. Another-
A giant gasp takes over you as the tip of Toji's cock enters you. And Toji takes his time pushing himself further into you, using every fiber of his being not to rut into your tight walls off the jump.
"Haaah, hmmm, oh fuck," That's easier said than done with you gripping onto him like your life depended on it. Once he's pushed his whole cock into you, your words come out as a babbling mess, gripping his arms for support. He looks down at your disarranged self, chuckling at such a wonderful sight. "You look really fuckin' sexy layin' under me, baby."
"God...Toji," Tears stream down your cheeks, wincing at the pain down south. "'S too muuu-ch, too big for—Hnnngh!!" A sudden thrust of the hips has you biting down on your bottom lip.
"C'mon now, I thought I told you about that. I already let it slide once or twice." Toji places your legs on his shoulders and leans close to you, his body weight adding onto yours as the base of his cock grinds into your sex. "What's my new name, mama?"
"Ah!! I'm sorry, Daddy." The title comes through sobs.
Toji grins from ear to ear, wiping your tears with his calloused fingers. "Good girl," he kisses your forehead as you adjust to his girthy length. "So fuckin' pretty fr' Daddy." He takes your lips with his soft ones before moving his hips in a slow yet rough rhythm.
The mating press has your body submit to him, taking in his cock as it sinks deep into your swollen core. And it only gets worse when his pace gets faster, hitting your sweet spots accurately. At this rate, you're bound to cum earlier than necessary.
Then you feel his tip abruptly touch your cervix, and the wail you let out is picked up by Toji's ears. "Oh? Think I found what I was lookin' for." His hips grind deep in you, his tip abusing your poor cervix to the point you speak in tongues. "Feelin' good, princess?"
"Fuck, Daddyyyy, please, I'm-Ahaaah, Ohhh!" His irrational pace has your brain turning to mush, his cock bullying your insides. The sound of his balls slapping against your squelching folds has you squeezing him harder. "I'm gonna cu-cumm!!"
Toji hisses into your ear, the tone of his voice dominating your senses. "Oooooh, don't grip on me like that, sweetie. Gonna end up — Mmmph! Shit, shit, shit, shit...Gonna give you a baby."
You reach to cup his face through watery eyes glazed in a haze. "Please, Daddy, I want it," You know you're talking nonsense, but why care when you're feeling this fucking good. "Inside, I want it, inside!"
"Heh, be careful with what you wish for, mama." He kisses you again as his hips become erratic, and he moves a hand to your clit and pinches it, whining into your mouth when you're cunt clutches onto him one final time.
You cum around his cock and push your head back on the pillows, your gushy walls spasming around his length, prompting Toji to cum inside you after a few more thrusts. You two moan into each other's mouths, riding each other's high until your bodies calm down.
The two of you pant heavily once the kiss is broken apart, and his deep emerald orbs take in your dazed expression. He smiles when he notices drool on the side of your mouth, using a thumb to wipe it off for you.
"My sweet darlin'," Toji kisses your cheek and sighs deeply into your embrace. "You're too good fr' me, baby."
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"Did I say that I want your babies?"
You're resting with Toji, your head relaxed on his chest as you sit between his legs. The television in the bedroom plays an episode of a sitcom, anything for you two to look at and enjoy a moment of peace together.
He snickers at your question, his chest rising and falling as you lay on him feels nice. "Yeah, you kinda did."
"Wow, that sex must've screwed something up in my head."
"Yeah, my dick had you wanting to risk it all." He snorts when you playfully hit his arm. "Don't worry, we can find some plan b in the morning."
Turning to face Toji, still watching TV, you furrow your brows. "We? What about work?"
"I have tomorrow off. It's your last day, and I don't feel like going back to work, or else I'll be sour all fuckin day. Much rather spend it with you than with some morons."
You look at Toji for a little longer before you smile and kiss his cheek, catching the older man off guard as you nestle into his warm body. "Thank you, Toji. For everything."
The thanks carry a deeper meaning. Not a single ounce of doubt clouds your mind now that you've gotten the closure you wanted. Thinking about how your life brought you to this moment, you're happy with your decision to pursue this relationship and more. And it's thanks to this man for making it possible.
Toji still stares at you before he scoffs and kisses your temple.
"No problem, kiddo."
#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑭𝒊𝒄𝒔#edit: if you ever read any typos/grammar errors no you didn't bc i totally didn't finish this while doing an all-nighter 🙃#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk thirsts#jjk imagines#jjk fanfic#jujutsu toji#toji#toji fushiguro#toji fushiguro smut#toji fushiguro x you#toji smut#toji x reader#toji x female reader#toji x y/n#toji fanfic#dilf toji#smut#fanfic#toji fanart#anime smut
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Can we get some more plus size hybrid Price content? I’m infatuated with your work!
-🎀
Price loves chubby pets!! His precious perfect girl, so nice for him and his cubs...he might act all tall and mighty, but he wants himself a lazy darling who would eat with him and on whose chubby tummy he can nap after a hard day. He adores you - usually, a man in his position in monster ranks would detest humans, facing so much discrimination back in the days - but oh, he adores you.
Price is strict, of course, he won't hesitate to put your plump ass over his knee and make you jiggle from his harsh spanks as you cry over, feeling his hard cock pressing against your soft tummy...poor, dumb girl - there nothing you can do against him, all of your struggles and tears are only making everything even more arousing to someone like him. It's horrible, yes, he is a bad person who is making you carry his children despite your wishes - but if you're a good little mate for him, if you invite him for hugs and you won't be against eating his favorite foods with him(minus human flesh, of course) he will be softer. nicer.
Being his prized mate would mean being paraded around - even if you're embarrassed about your lack of clothing, he wants everyone to see that he takes care of his belongings. You will be adored with some slimpy piece of fabric barely covering your pussy, with a collar - his name on it, obviously. if he is not making you warm his cock while he is giving orders or reading through reports, he will force you to just sit on his lap, showing everyone your round belly - his cubs are big, after all, and he wants every dumb soldier out here see how good of a mate he is. How he can take care of his mate, feed her and give her the best gifts - even if you're unwilling to be served on a silver platter like this, even if you beg him to not let you out like that...you should be grateful he is chaining you to your nest...yet.
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It took 3 weeks and 36+ hours, but it's finished 😭
Astarion Ancunin & Neil Newbon
© Jeri Rose | Ko-Fi | Commissions - OPEN
[Imagine Description]
A black and white (with an red tint) digital realism portrait painting of two men.
On the right hand-side, Neil Newbon, an actor with short brown hair slicked back, dark eyes and a slim nose. He is facing off screen at a 45 degree angle, with his chin slightly raised, the viewer is looking up at him. Neil is wearing a black open cardigan with a simple white, unbuttoned shirt underneath, with a single slim chain that hangs at his chest. Neil's right ear is pierced and a small dagger earring pierces it. His face and neck have red scratches and grazes on them; the left side of his forehead, his right eyebrow and cheek, the bridge of his nose, two small grazes on each side of his lips, upper right and lower left, along with a graze on the left side of his next and right side of his upper chest near his collarbone and his white shirt and small splatters of red on it.
On the left hand-side of the image, Astarion Ancunin, a Baldur's Gate 3 character, that is voiced and acted / mo-capped by Neil Newbon.
Astarion faces left at a 45 degree angle and is in a similar pose as Neil, his chin is raised and you, the viewer are looking up at him. Astarion has white and wavy hair, with curls that goes to the mid of his neck. He wears Elven Chainmail armour with intricate leaf details up the chest, the center, a larger leaf like metal plate; it's leather collar pointed upwards. What little parts of the shoulder braces can be seen are metal folds, almost curled at their tips with pointed edges, as delicate as the central plate on the upper chest.
Astarion's face is aged, his eyes dark, but lighter than Neil's, his nose a little scrunched up at the bridge, his lips down turned slightly, as if he is unamused. Astarion's pointed elf year, shown on the right wears three piercings, an upper cartilage piercing, where a ring sits, an upper lobe with a small round stud and under that, a replica dagger to match Neil's.
Both Astarion's armour and face are covered with pre-battle blood splatter, adding much more red to his face than Neils.
Behind them a two tonal red background, the center panel a dark, deep red, with a lighter red underneath (this lighter red is not present in the two solo images that follow underneath). In the center of the image, nested behind and between Astarion and Neil is the ritual carving that Astarion has carved into his back, a gift, from his old Master. This symbol is in a bright, piercing red, unlike the darker reds that dance around the image. Blood splatters scatter the backgrounds, contrasting light and dark on either tones.
The second and third image in this set are of Astarion and Neil's sperate portraits and the fourth image in this set is the same as the first image, minus the blood on Neil and Astarion.
#bg3#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate fanart#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate#bg3 fanart#bg3 art#art#artists on tumblr#astarion fanart#neil newbon#baldurs gate astarion#bg3 astarion#astarion#astarion ancunin#digital portrait#digital painting#digital art#baldur's gate iii#tw blood
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bro theres like. three aus that make jax have one of those "ball and chain" leg collars on his neck (minus the ball)
And four that make gangle a giant rope monster (including yours)
What is going on with the overlap
Blame Sm baby for the chain collar buddy /pos
..and the ribbon monster.. look hear me out
It’s really fun to draw
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An Encounter in the Snow II
"He was just their weapon. Now it's ours."
The soldiers stand very straight when they see the General arrive by the cell’s main gates. They exchange a look with him, and proceed to unlock the doors. Hero gets inside with long and slow steps, as if testing the waters before getting into them. He looks calm and calculated as always, but inside him, his bare-bones are shaking.
Inside the concrete room, the walls are bare of anything but chains. In the center, Weapon is being held down with a metal collar like a dog, and his four extremities are chained to the back wall. He lies on the floor, knealed and bending forward. One of his hands roam on his chest mindlessly, like unconsciously protecting his still-fresh bullet wounds. He’s been stripped of all of his clothes, minus his underwear, letting him keep it only for the soldiers’ convenience. His black hair falls down onto his eyes, hiding his face from the only source of light in the room, a lightbulb that hangs from the ceiling.
While approaching his enemy, Hero motions for the soldiers to position themselves on each side of Weapon. The enemy is held in such a way that he isn’t capable of touching any wall, the main collar pinning him to the ground, with only two meters spared to move. The General of the Republic stops to observe his prisoner, who is five meters away from him. He’s never been so close to that monster. The ones who did are already dead.
His gaze observes with utter curiosity the way his black and unkept waves fall onto his forehead. His mouth, slightly open, seems to taste the air. “He knows who is in front of him”, thinks the General. The monster has his eyes closed, and breathes through the mouth while trembling a bit. It isn’t actually cold, in here; it sould be because of blood loss. He has one hand hovering over the concrete floor, caressing mindlessly over the subtle bumps. His hands, notices the Hero. Hands can tell a lot about a person. Weapon’s tremble sublty, full of scars, still dirty from his soldiers’ blood. He lacks a bunch of nails, and one of his index is torn a bit in a weird angle. His veins are visibly blue under the pale skin.
Hero doesn’t say anything. He starts circling the beast, making sure he doesn’t step onto one of the multiple chains that hold Weapon onto the walls. He observes his neck, his elbows, and his bare back, where his back spine is quite visible under his scarred skin. How can a person look so strong but frail at the same time, wonders the General. Weapon has the body of someone who has spend their entire life fighting and enduring pain, but without nothing substantial to put in their mouth. Just flesh and muscles, a figure quite slim and angular which looks disturbing and unnatural.
And the cuts. The scars. This beast has been lashed on a daily basis, decides Hero, observing his nude back. Without mercy and probably with something made out of leather. The General shakes his thoughts out of his mind. No time for pity. It’s too late for that. He circles the beast and ends up in front oh him again, still five meters away from it.
Hero then kneels, right there and then, to be at the same eye level as Weapon. He stays down for a couple of seconds, finally asking outloud:
“You have a name, demon?”
The other doesn’t move at all. Only his hand keeps drawing circles on the concrete, absedmindly. Does he speak english, wonders the Hero. The orders given to him may have always been in German, so Weapon should not be able to understand anything remotely different apart from that.
"Name" insists Hero, getting angry by the minute. Not getting a single response after finally capturing that wardog, after enduring hell on earth to defeat his greatest enemy, he gets up on his feet and starts pacing towards Weapon.
“Name!" shouts Hero again. And finally, he gets his response. Not the one he was expecting, though. In a matter of a second, Weapon steps up and stomps towards the General, jerking his body as far as the chains let him. There’s a metal sound when all chains get tense, fighting the brute force of Weapon, who for the first time looks at the General in the eye.
And grins. A mischievous smile that makes Hero’s skin crawl in disgust. “He’s mocking me," decides the General.
They step like that, Hero and Weapon, a mere feet from eachother’s face. Then, like waking up from a daze, Weapon emits something resembling a cry, and falls onto his knees again. The chains relax a bit, and let him pull forward his arms and embrace his chest wounds. Some blood stains fall onto the floor, and the monster trembles, chin down but still giggling madly quietly.
“You mad dog”, spits out the Hero, looking at the mess in front of him. He steps back a little, trying not to loose composure, even tho he knows, deep down, that without those chains, he and his men would be already dead right this second.
Hero looks at Weapon, who’s still clutching his stomach in pain. “Sorry about that” says to the beast, “I should know best”.
General turns around and begins to walk towards the door.
“Weapons don’t have a name, don’t they?”
One of the soldiers walk towards him, right before he is exiting the cell.
“What do we do with him, sir?”
Hero crosses his arms, his face turned into one of absolute repulsion. He turns one last time to face Weapon.
"“Him”? It’s not a “him”. It’s a thing that kills without a brain, at the orders of the enemy. Without remorse or a second thought. It’s a thing, and so we will treat it like one.”
“Keep it contained after further notice."
Taglist: @whump-blog @bitchaknso (comment to get added/removed from the list!)
#promptfactory#writing prompt#prompt#whump#whump prompt#hero x villain#villain x hero#whump scenario#whumpee x caretaker#my ocs#living weapon whumpee#tropes#ww2 whump#militar whump#anencounterinthesnow
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This one is 13.1K! Not for the faint of heart (•‿•)
PREVIOUS PARTS HERE
Isla Cleery is allergic to pineapple.
She is not, however, allergic to gold, so Harry Styles keeps this butterfly of a fact locked in a jar on his mental shelf as he buys the little trinket to go over her wrist.
Normally, when a man buys a woman a piece of brilliant jewelry, the notion comes from a place of love. It speaks sentiments of adoration, ardor. Devotion.
When a dominant buys a submissive jewelry (at Indulge), the disposition is a little more ...carnal. A little less kissy, touchy, feely — it skips the sentiments of deep sentiments altogether and gets to the point. It's a little less innocent. And the thing is, it still taps into that tenderness of devotion, but the meaning digs into heavier territory.
When a dominant awards a submissive with a piece of brilliant jewelry, the notion comes from a place of ownership.
He'd meant to buy her the bracelet as soon as they'd sat down and signed off on the contract, which inherited stipulations of tying loose ends. Loose ends, being that Peitho was no longer a submissive of free reign prancing upon the plains of Indulge — she wasn't up for grabs, and if she were to be seen at the bar with her typical glass of syrup-drenched cherries, post a scene, (in the rare circumstance that Harry wasn't accompanying her side with a soft hand on the small of her back), she'd be seen with an emblem that signified this. Bracelets and collars were commonplace to be gifted as symbols of monogamy — sort of like a twisted, fucked version of one-sided wedding bands, minus all the actual gravity of wedding bands. It's all sort of a gray area when it comes to language like ownership and dominion, but it doesn't mean more than both parties are comfortable with, and it's a sex thing.
Except, this bracelet goes a little bit beyond a sex thing.
It's definitely still just a sex thing in its essence, Harry thinks, but it's not just an Indulge thing. Because this bracelet won't come off.
When he'd first seen the bracelet on the web, in passing, it'd instantly caught his eye. The wristlet was crafted by a luxury fetish jewelry seller with a quality reputation based on reviews, and upon further inspection, each piece was uniquely handcrafted with intricate attention to detail.
It was ...sweet-looking. A simple, golden bangle with a pair of dangle-y heart charms. Peitho, in her essence, was a simple, sweet girl, Harry had quickly discerned. She certainly wasn't a chains-and-spikes submissive, despite their play encompassing all of the above. The bracelet was very Peitho. It was perfect for her. But the simplicity of the design and its lack of probability for questioning aided further in the kicker — the bangle was locked on by a key through a keyhole the size of a hair pin, and he wasn't keen on handing the key off.
Meaning, the bracelet didn't come off when the lights shut off in the club.
It was a manacle.
And the thought of Peitho wearing a piece of jewelry that symbolizes her submission to him in an innocent, everyday setting made something stir in Harry. It'd cling to her, always. He imagines it over her wrist as she grabs coffee from a cafe before the workday, as she's slotted to her desk at work, as she runs errands, shopping for groceries, as she showers. As she touches herself in her sheets, in her bed, at home. Always manacled by it.
By a piece of him.
It's that thought that has his heart beating a little faster when he beckons her over to him. They're in the White Room and he's sitting in the verdant chair with the little, velvet box tucked away in his pocket, and Peitho clambers from her knees at his instruction. There's bemusement in her gait.
"Come on. Not gonna bite you. Yet," Eros showcases pearly, straight teeth in a smile, and Isla walks to him, curbing the urge to roll her eyes at the quip. As always, despite the shroud of his disguise, he looks absolutely enticing and radiates power.
She's a little caught off guard that he's bid her to make her way to him rather than walked over himself, sunk his fingers into her hair, and craned her neck back to spit into her mouth to manifest the start of their scene, or something. Very Eros thing to do. Once she's stood between his parted thighs, he peers up at her through his lashes. For a silent second, Isla just wonders why men become graced with lashes of such length — they're no use for them, anyhow. It's ridiculous, honestly.
"My lap doesn't have needles or something, does it, love?" is what he says, pillowy rose quirking as her own mouth purses sharply.
So she slots herself onto a thigh, just as he'd implied he wanted from her. She tucks her side to his chest as one of his arms slinks around, his palm settling in the vale of her waist, while the opposite comes to rub over the side of her own thigh. It's oddly domestic for the first interaction to have in a scene.
"I have," his tongue peeks out to glide over his lips, "a little gift for my little Peitho."
She'd be lying if she claimed that his soft words of endearment don't make her feel melty. The accompaniment of his touch does nothing to contrast the sensation.
"Do you, now?"
"I do. It's nothing grand, but — it's just a little something."
She waits patiently when he removes the hand that'd been petting at her thigh and digs it into a pocket of his slacks. When he withdraws a dark, velour, little, squared box, her heart stutters behind her ribcage. He hands it off to her with something soft in his gaze, pausing to watch as she thumbs over the velvety texture.
"The gift is not the box, by the way," he blinks up at her, his mouth twitching, "S'inside. In case you weren't aware."
"Really?" Isla eyebrow raise is veiled by the lace over the upper half of her face, "I had no idea."
Her statement earns her a gentle squeeze over her waist, and, feigning reluctance, she pries the little jewelry box open. Inside, Isla discovers a dainty little bangle of a bracelet — it shimmers in the light, and her pupils rove over it. It's beautiful, delicate, her. The young woman feels her own heart teeming at the sight of the two charms of hearts.
Harry staves off the explanation on the tip of his tongue, just watching her reaction carefully, hoping that she likes it, and when she turns her face up to him, feigning a pout, his chest nearly seizes.
"I thought you were going to propose," she sighs, feigning dismay, and Harry digs his tongue into his cheek as the corners of Peitho's mouth twitch at the difficulty of maintaining the facade. Her head falls back and she laughs, "No, it's beautiful. Thank you. Put it on me. Please."
"You don't want to hear about all the tedious care and craftsmanship that went into it?"
"Sure I do," the young woman examines the jewelry with a curious gaze, her tone almost distracted, "You can put it on me, and then tell me everything."
Her eagerness draws dimples to rise awake in his cheeks, and he compromises by clearing his throat as she withdraws the bangle from the box and hands it off to him. One of his palms wraps over her right hand, and he slides the bracelet up to secure it over her wrist as he starts to talk.
"Well. First off, the sentiment is that it's a bracelet to show everyone that you're mine. Which, like, I would've gotten a collar," he doesn't miss the way the words cause her body language to toe into more ...pliable territory, the way her chest stiffens, and he bridles a smirk, "But," he pauses to deftly snap the ends of the bangle together, and casts his gaze up to her to trace a finger over the decorative collar she always dons over her throat, "You already wear one, and I didn't wanna add to it. I wanted it to be my thing."
As his touch withdraws, Peitho's head ducks to further inspect the new jewelry, but he wrenches her arm back to him, gently, laughing softly, "M'not done."
"I was," his irises flicker up to her, "between silver and gold, but you wore those little gold hoops the one night before you took them off, and I've never seen you wear silver, so I figured gold would be fitting for you. And it is, by the way," a pleather-clad thumb draws over the top of the band, "real gold," his teeth show a bit in a soft grin, "So you don't have to worry about your arm going green."
The attention to detail is truly impeccable. But—
"Real gold?" Isla swallows, "That — I mean it had to be expensive."
Eros just purses his mouth for a moment, and then tells her, cushiony lips curling up a bit, "Quid pro quo."
"Quid pro quo?"
"Sure," he tells her, blinking up at her innocuously despite the shit-eating grin that so obviously yearns to break over his mouth, "You let me do all sorts of scary things to you. S'only fair I get you something pretty in return. It'd be impolite if I didn't."
Isla nearly squawks indignantly at the lewd connotation of his words, but instead, she lets him intertwine their fingers, "Now I just feel like a prostitute."
The little charms swing gently.
"Or you could opt for the sugar baby route. Your choice."
Isla huffs. And then, curiously, she watches him withdraw a little pin-like key from his pocket and stuff it into a tiny slot on the bangle. He twists carefully as he continues, tone focused, "And it's really, like. Innocent, I think. Dainty. So, you don't have to worry about people asking questions."
Something suspicious works its way into her chest, budding, and she inquires, "Yeah. It's really pretty. So, I just use that little pin thing to take it off? Like, to shower?"
The male peers up at her, pausing his handiwork, bemusement morphing the features she can see, "S'gold. You don't have to."
"Right, but. Just to take it off," she clarifies, fully intent on giving him the benefit of the doubt despite the blatancy of the flags marking up the territory of the conversation, "For work, and stuff. You'll show me how to use the little key?"
For a moment Eros just looks up at her, and then the corners of his mouth, a muted berry, buckle smugly, "No."
No? Isla feels the shudder rolling down the knobs of her spine as the dominant licks out and leaves his bottom lip shimmery in the wake of his tongue, before clarifying, no jesting to his cadence, "It doesn't come off. Not for you. I'll have the key."
There's a cocky light to his eyes, and flecks of mischief dance among the forest like folks around a bonfire.
It doesn't come off. Not for you.
Isla considers it, the delicate little bangle, a fragment of Indulge, hooked onto her wrist in every circumstance outside of the club. A fragment of Eros — a staple of his dominion over her. As the key tightens up in its wind and his touch withdraws, the young woman takes a closer look at the wristlet. It really is discrete in its connotation. A love bracelet, that's what anyone else would see it as. She thinks of Sue at work asking her about the mystery man of her affections. Of the chatter that would overtake the break room among the ladies over cheap coffee that was brewed hours prior and vending machine snacks, because Isla hasn't dated since she's started working there. Because Isla doesn't date. Her fingers run over the dangling hearts. She thinks about them brushing over her arm as she reaches for a carton of milk in the grocery store. Of waking with her arm over her pillow, only to discover the reminder each morning as she counts the week days down to Friday.
She's snapped back to reality as Eros takes her hand in his to look over the bracelet.
"Of course," the corner of his mouth paints his soft smile crookedly, "It'll have to come off if I'm tying you up, for safety purposes. But I'll put it back on after."
His pupils flit to her, as if awaiting her response to the entirety of the proposition, but Isla can't really say much when the entire notion has left her brimming with want. The man truly has impeccable timing.
"What if I want to tie myself up when I'm at home?" she finally bites into her cheek, the opportunity to make a joke unwasted.
His gaze narrows, like he's fighting amusement at the maniacal implication, and then the dominant tells her, "Then I think the safety precautions of removing jewelry are the least of your worries."
And then Eros takes the bracelet off of her, and guides her to her knees. He stuffs her mouth full of his cock and weaves his fingers into her hair, tugging sharply, like he always does, just the way she likes. Despite the way he blatantly enjoys receiving oral, especially because she's so eager to give it, he's not keen to finish off in her mouth so quickly in the night. They don't utilize all that much of the space offered by the room this time — instead, he switches spots with her and bends her over the back of the armchair, just as she'd fantasized over a negotiation so many weeks prior. He ties her wrists behind her back with braided cords, and the sturdy skeleton of the chair digs into her ribcage in the best way when he fucks up into her, hard and fast. There's a lot more, in between, too — but those are the important bits.
Sure enough, at the end of the night, he smothers her with soft kisses and coos, and before the night is compassed, he reaffixes the bangle onto her wrist.
The charms brush over her steering wheel, and she fights to keep her eyes on the road the whole way home.
Isla has never scrolled through so many shabby laundry rooms in the span of an hour in her life.
Which — they're laundry rooms, so she doesn't expect luxurious decor like wood-carved spandrels and a gilded chandelier as the focal piece, but for the price, she'd hope there weren't random holes in the walls or images of what resembles mold along the tiling by the baseboards. At least the listings are upfront.
Hopelessly, she slams her laptop shut. She will never buy a house, it seems. Ever. Which, anyways, is a privilege, and perhaps she doesn't even need it. Her apartment is a privilege, and she loves her apartment. The young woman falls back against the mattress and stares at her popcorn ceiling.
Sure, the sink leaks sometimes, and the AC will stall and drop to 45 degrees in the middle of the night, and sometimes her front door gets jammed as if someone's stuck gum into the keyhole. But she's hidden the hole (she's sure has been punched into the wall) in the hallway with a pretty, framed picture of a plant, and the parking lot is nice. It's close to work.
Well. It's close to work if she leaves an hour early to avoid traffic.
There's even a community pool! And, yeah, nobody ever uses it because it's always filled with debris and dead frogs, but she likes having the option. Maybe one day, she'll just decide she wants to take a dip, and none of those houses with shitty mold issues even had pools for the prospect. But anyways, there's not even any mold in her apartment! And, she reasons with herself, there was only one mandatory evacuation of the building for a gas leak last year.
Oh God. She twists the bracelet over her wrist in disdained thought.
The consensus seems to be that she lives in a shitty apartment, and the only listings she can find on zillow seem to be equally as shitty.
Isla blows out a breath. And then she has the flicker of a covert lightbulb over her head. She nearly falls onto the floor in her spasm for her purse, and she rakes through it with hungry fingers. Used up Chipotle gift card. One of those punch cards for a free smoothie with only one of the ten holes punched. A coupon for a half-off manicure. Finally, she culls the little business card. It's a little banged up on the edges, but the phone number is still decipherable. Harry Styles.
She keeps the card in one hand and utilizes her other to replicate the number in the box for a new message with her phone pressed flat to her comforter. It's a Wednesday, and it's seven, so it teems past the professional territory of work-hours, but texts are fine, right? They're, like, an answer-at-your-own-convenience type of thing — it's the entire beauty of texts.
Yeah.
Isla contemplates how the man had been dining on unpaid-for grapes in a grocery store and had randomly stirred up conversation with her, a stranger, regarding the contents of her shopping basket. Yeah, she thinks he won't mind too much to receive a text inquiring about his services at seven on a weeknight.
Hi, Harry! she taps out with her forefinger as the one on the opposite hand becomes siphoned between her top and bottom front teeth. I hope this message doesn't come at an inconvenient time for you. This is Isla Cleery! You gave me your business card after probing and interrogating me on my cherry addiction. Anyways, I've never really done the whole house-shopping thing before, but I'm an interested buyer and I'm not sure where to start. Any way you could steer me in the right direction? Thanks so much.
She twists and flops onto her back unceremoniously. Maybe she shouldn't have made that insert about the cherry thing. She fingers the heart charms and contemplates. Her phone pings. Curiously, she lifts it over her head and looks. It's the undocumented phone number she's just messaged.
Isla Cleery! Did you enjoy your cherries?
Her mouth purses crookedly, and she taps out with her thumbs, I can only hope as much as you were enjoying your grapes.
They were very good grapes, I'll be honest.
Within only two short texts, Isla determines the male is, perhaps, just as charming on a virtual wavelength as he was in person. A series of three dots surfaces quickly, an indication that he's typing.
Grocery endeavors aside, you've reached out to the right person. Do you have a particular area you'd like to look at and a specific price range you'd like to stay in?
That nosey worker didn't do her job and hold you up at the door for shoplifting, did she? Isla thumbs in, and then professionally curtails the conversation by clarifying her price range, tacking on, I'd like to stay closer to the outskirts of the city for work-travel purposes, if possible.
It was a whole thing, actually. Called the police on me as soon as you left. Now I have charges for grand theft produce. Apparently you're NOT supposed to eat grapes in the check-out line. The more you know, I suppose.
Her mouth quirks at grand theft produce. What an idiot, honestly. In an endearing way. In her peripherals, she catches sight of the wristlet glistening. Her gold bracelet that her mysterious Eros gave her — who would probably not be pleased that she was being endeared by a virtual conversation with a goofy real estate agent she'd met at the local Cal-Mart. Her mysterious Eros, who toyed with her body just the way she liked.
Suddenly, her perspective on the agent is far more professional and far less charmed.
And I can definitely look into that for you. I'll shoot you a text tomorrow with a few listings. You let me know if any of them catch your eye, and we'll go from there.
That sounds great. Thanks so much! Sorry again if this text came at a weird time for you.
Don't even worry about it. I've shown houses way past a sane hour. 7 PM is prime time.
Sure enough, Harry Styles sends her a handful of listings within her price range in a handful of pretty desired locations the following day, and she looks through a few over her lunch break. He hints that some of the listings aren't up on the consumer market, yet, which would explain why Isla had difficulty culling similar results on her own laptop. Sort of like an exclusive My Eyes Only for agents, he jokes in the chat. Isla swipes through the images in wonderment. Yes. Shooting a text to Harry Styles was certainly the right decision.
Friday afternoon plays out about as well as Isla's luck — spoiler, the pot seems to have run dry on account of her pleasant encounter with the real estate agent in shining armor.
And it's not that it's the worst day she's ever had, but it's a shitty day. The kickoff to her personal series of unfortunate events spawns in the form of her running late because her alarm doesn't go off. It happens, it's whatever. She doesn't have time to brew a coffee or shower or pack her lunch, but it's fine. She gets to the office with a hasty start to a heinous morning, and it's fine, because she moves on. She's drowsy on account of missing her morning shower, but she supposes the extra thirty minutes of sleep should make up for it, and she utilizes the coffee machine in the break room. At least the coffee is fresh. It's fine. Everything is fine.
Except, around eleven her computer opts to freeze up — which, easy enough nuisance to bear. And it would be just that — a nuisance. Only, she's in the process of editing a critical document she kind of, sort critically needs to get wrapped up within the next couple of days, and her platform doesn't default save, so she just sort of stares at the screen for a moment, smacks it, gives a helpless no, no, no, and has to count her losses with her hands buried in her stress-tousled hair. And that's shit, whatever. Technology is unreliable, especially when her office is still operating software from 2007 (which, why the fuck?), but she can let that go, because she can't do anything about it. It's annoying, but she lets it go.
At lunch, she's faced with the reminder that she's lacking one, so the young woman opts to head over to the cafe across the street. Except there's a torential downpour, and her umbrella opens fucking backwards, (how does that even happen?), and she just sort of stands under the awning ahead of the treacherous staircase and balks. Whatever. She'll Uber Eats her meal. So, she clambers back upstairs and pays her dues (ridiculously overpriced dues). Her lunch doesn't show up for another hour, despite the cafe being down the goddamn street, and she eats her tomato-mozz panini over her stupid, archaic block of a computer, brooding. The lousy pièce de résistance to staple a bow and wrap up the entirety of her lousy day is, perhaps, when her heel snaps as it catches in a grate on her helpless run through in the rain in the parking lot — why is it still fucking raining? So she nearly sprains her ankle, groaning mid hobble to her toyota — at least she'd taken it upon herself to fish her car keys out of her purse prior to running through the rain.
Isla goes home, she takes a hot shower, and for a second, she contemplates every option but spending her evening at the club. It'd been her light at the end of the tunnel for the entirety of the work week, but part of her feels the day can only get worse (despite the limited options for it to get worse). The only way she can really prevent anything more from going wrong is by, she supposes, doing nothing at all. There's a suspicion that claws within her, and it tells her that heading to Indulge tonight could, maybe, entail the Bad Thing to top it all off. But the thought of staying in is quickly dispelled by the notion that she needs to do something — she needs to lose herself for the night, she needs to lose everything that's gone wrong in the day, in the week, before she loses her mind. And Eros has a way of ...handling her mind when it becomes too rambunctious to bear. The entirety of his affections are based on the task of providing her with an outlet to shed her stress (and vice versa) — her nerve delicately handled in smooth, pleather-coated palms, and compressed to feel everything and nothing until she's forced to crumble in his grip.
She needs that.
And anyways, Isla thinks as she tucks herself into the driver's side of her vehicle and clicks in her seat belt, perhaps the worst thing she could do to herself that day is to leave Eros under the impression that she was standing him up. Perhaps that would be the Bad Thing.
Truly, the young woman is horrid at pasting a face of false, sugary sweetness and delight when her body is handling a strife of pressures and negative sentiments. It's the same reason she was a shit waitress and quit within a handful of weeks during a summer term in college, years ago, when she'd picked the gig up for pocket money. Her face showcased it all — and in more ways than one, Isla supposes the lace is a blessing. Because it doesn't let her just give it all away.
But Harry is past reading her face for emotional impressions.
When he steps into the Dungeon, closing the door softly behind him, he finds Peitho kneeling, as he always does. Her head is dipped towards the floor. At first, he doesn't even recognize the subtle signs that give it all away, despite the shrouding of her face. Inklings of body language, insights like the fact she's gnawing into her bottom lip, and her shoulders are squared like she's absolutely wound up and buzzing. At first, he just sort of ambles over to her with a soft smile cresting at his pillowy mouth.
"Hi, darling. Did we have a good day today?"
The phrase comes absentmindedly as he sets his duffel against the door. Peitho sighs. His lips quirk and he casts his gaze to her silhouette — he expects a sarcastic quip detailing the exact excellence of her day, but one doesn't come, and the dominant pauses before he stands to make his way over to her. Harry stops just short ahead of her, mere inches between his legs and her head. It's still ducked towards his shoes, obediently.
"No?" the male purses his strawberry mouth, tucking his fingers into her hair, but the teasing vim to his cadence falters as his submissive just ...plasters her forehead to his thigh. Slowly, she shakes her head side-to-side, a limited motion, an inclination that, no, her day wasn't good, and a crease works its way between his brows at her apparent state.
"Hey. Sweetheart, you alright?" his digits sift through her hair carefully, and Harry only peers down at her for a second before he moves his leg away — she makes a minute motion with her head like she's apt to follow it — and he squats to her level.
There's this thing that comes with a contract, between a dominant and a submissive.
It's unsaid — it's not in the fine print, even if you squint hard and attempt to decipher it from thin air to present itself in the grain. It exists in the outer frame, beyond the palpable papers, because it probably existed before the palpable papers. If it didn't, you're doing something really fucking wrong, and the papers shouldn't be palpable. There shouldn't be papers.
It's this little sentiment called care.
You care about the person you sign a contract with. And it doesn't have to be defined beyond its broad variations of textbook definitions — the provision of what is necessary for the health, welfare, maintenance, and protection of someone or something; to feel concern or interest; attach importance to something; to look after and provide for the needs of. It's not a sentiment that needs to be touched on and expanded upon verbally, but it's there. It has to be. The wholeness of the relationship relies on it. To not care is to not fulfill, and to not fulfill is to be a shoddy half of two signatures.
If you don't care about someone's well-being, however you'd like to define it, Harry definitely believes there shouldn't be a contract. And he cares.
She still won't look at him, is the thing, so he frowns and tells her, "Look at me."
She lifts her head. The corners of her mouth jolt, just barely, but he's disposed to believe that it's forced. For a moment, the man's gaze narrows, and then he takes on a soft tone as he draws a hand over her cheek, "There she is."
Peitho melts into his affections, and he prods, carefully, "What's this about? Let's talk."
The edges of her mouth cave and twitch, as if she's indisposed to take advantage of his sentiments, because Isla is. They play. They meet up, and they play, and he whips her and smacks her around and fucks her and makes her forget all but her own name and the word Sir. She doesn't want to sully their sanctity and talk about the drag of everyday humdrum, because that's not Peitho. That's Isla. Eros seems to pick up on pieces in the silence — perhaps not the puzzle, but enough, because he doesn't give her an out to decline. Instead, he coaxes her to her feet with a soft hand and leads her to that terrifying, sheetless mattress.
"Talk to me," he instructs once he's sat on the edge of the bed and has gotten her pasted in a perch over his thigh. There's a pregnant pause in which the young woman says nothing, just stiff over him, and he purses his mouth in contemplation and smooths his palm over her waist. He raises his eyebrows to tack on, half-jesting, "That is ...an order, in case you weren't aware."
His tone is gentle and lighthearted as he adds, "Plus, I dunno if you knew about this," the male sighs and his irises roll to the side, "but, normally, a conversation entails more than one person talking, and so far I've said all of the words."
His lips twitch as her own mouth quirks at the joke.
Finally, Isla speaks, clearing her throat, "There's nothing to say. I'm sorry, I'm being weird."
"Only a bit."
She punches out at his shoulder playfully with a weak fist.
"And, believe me, I like you weird. But not like this."
His teeth show as she snorts. Then, she takes her hand and rakes it through her hair, seemingly, finally brought out of her shell a smidge with his soft, playful temperament, "I just — you wouldn't believe how much could go wrong in one day."
Eros hums like he's expecting her to expand, and Isla lets the dam break with her flood of details, "Well, first my alarm doesn't go off for work — and that's, okay, that one's on me. I set it for PM instead of AM by accident, the night before."
"So I don't have time for my morning routine," she waves with her arms, "I'm rushed, I show up to the office in a bad mood. And then, my stupid computer freezes up because for some bizarre reason we're using fossil technology. Why the fuck are we still operating Windows Visa?"
His lips seem to twitch at her incredulous insert mid-rant, but he's quick to bridle the expression.
"And, mind you, I was working on something very important, so it got lost. And I didn't have to start from scratch, but I did lose about two good hours of progress."
The whole time she talks, the man listens with an absorbed gaze — one littered with traces of pity that are, for once, welcomed by Isla. Yes, she thinks, I had a horrible, no good, very bad day, and it's nice for someone to feel a bit bad for me.
"And then," she sighs and gestures with her hand as she pulls the curtain to a close on her tales of woe, "My umbrella opened backwards, so I had to Uber Eats my lunch from the cafe across the street just to avoid spending the rest of the day drenched like a wet dog at my desk."
The young woman tacks on, like an afterthought, "and then my heel broke. In a grate, in the parking lot. As I was running through the rain to get to my car, because my umbrella was broken."
Eros tuts and slinks a colossal palm to pet over her shin, focusing on the leg she's crossed up over the other, "That is ...a pretty shitty day."
"Yeah," she smiles a bit sadly, "I feel like it has to be karma, right?" Eros huffs in mirth as the young woman continues, a smile painting over her mouth, "because, listen, I don't know what the fuck I did, but I definitely paid for it today."
It feels good, Isla decides, to just talk about it. To pour out and discard the worries that'd swelled within her, and more than that, for some reason or another, it feels good that Eros is the one listening.
"Well," the dominant tells her, still petting sweetly at her leg, his mouth twitchy, "Your karmic misfortunes definitely don't involve anything with me, because I personally make sure you pay your dues."
Despite her priorly negative mood and the good-natured jesting in which the words are spoken, the implication of her many punishments send chills running down her arms. Because that's why she's here, that's what she wants, that's what she needs. And to be reminded that the male is more than willing to give her what she needs, more than willing to give her that bite of pain — well. She thinks the chills are a pretty proper reaction.
"Mm," Isla makes a soft sound of agreement and sets her arms over his shoulders, ducking her head to rest against her own bicep. The way his grip tightens over her abdomen in what's definitely a one-armed hug sends cozy, touchy feelings snaking through her, similar to the ones she has post a session when he's cradling her close.
His next words, though, have her head snapping up.
They're gentle and genuine, spoken with so much sincerity that it has her face softening, "We don't have to play tonight, if you're not up for it, pet."
"We can just," his tongue peeks out and glides over his lips, "Go sit at the bar, and you can eat your pile of processed sugar," her eyes roll as the edges of his mouth curl up on the light dig towards her penchants, "and it'll be a night."
"No," she tells him, instantly, but her brows pinch as she winds one arm around to finger at his collar in deliberation. He's offering to just hang out at the bar. And while the prospect of just eating cherries and jesting around with him sounds divine, she needs to play more. She needs the release.
"No? You're telling me no? To date night?" His tone is gentle and joke-y, and Isla shoots him a sheepish smile post her eye roll. Date night, honestly. He cocks his head in a way that's meant to be persuasive, "Promise I won't be upset if you wanna sit this one out."
"No — I mean, I want to play," she tells him with hints of resolve suffusing over the syllables, and Harry blinks at her determination, "I really want to play. I look forward to it, and I don't want to let a shitty day take that away from me. Plus," she lifts a shoulder, "it's my release," the young woman tips her chin up to face him, "and I need that."
Release. Harry knows she needs it, that it's catharsis in its rawest form, and he needs it, too. He clears his throat and just peers at her for a moment, "Alright. Sure. We'll play, but only if you're sure."
"I'm sure," she tells him, and gives him a short, award-winning beam that'd have him convinced if he wasn't otherwise, and then she hooks her chin over his shoulder as if to just bask in the embrace for a moment longer — which Harry thinks is silly, because he's in no haste to move. When she tacks on her next words, a little tentatively, it sends something that's hot and cold and sharp and lewd rolling down the knobs of his spine.
"Can you make it hurt?"
She's silly. Of course it'll hurt, in the best way, just the way she likes, the way they both need, but for her to ask him to make it hurt — that does something for him. Something like dipping his lower half into a cauldron of sex and desire and whips and chains.
He wants to tell her, of course it'll hurt, darling. Instead, his response comes in the form of soft touches on her back that contrast her desires, and haughtiness pulling at the corners of a cushiony, pink mouth, "You ask, and you shall receive."
His first course of action is to glue her over his knees — not sitting, as she had been, but splayed over on her stomach with her torso pressed to the mattress. Because spanking her, Harry decides, is a great way to kick off the scene. It ticks all of the boxes — it hurts, and she loves it, and it's a way to get her mind out of her head and floating about the walls, instead, like a DVD logo bouncing against the edges of the screen in sleep mode. And he wants her fairly subby for the rest of his agenda.
"These are pretty," he tells her, digging his thumb under the hem over one cheek of the black lace. He lets it snap back into place against her skin, and his submissive rocks forward as if he's smacked her.
Isla feels a furious blush swarm her face, warm cheek pressed to her cool arm. There's always a delicious component of humiliation that comes with laying over his lap, for a myriad of reasons. One being the view she's well aware he has. The thing with growing into Peitho was that it didn't mean she outgrew her tendencies and the natures of what ventured into humiliation for her, what made her embarrassed and blushy— she just learned how to utilize fake-it-till-you-make-it on a whole, other level. And it all works out, really, because she likes having her deep-seated sensations of shame toyed with.
She expects the blow, she expects the bloom of pain, she expects the initial inklings of fuck, this sucks, and the quiet bud of pleasure beneath it all, but she doesn't expect him to scold her like she's being spanked for doing something wrong two steps into a scene. When that happens, she feels the humiliation spark and ignite with something more.
"You probably think, this arsehole is spanking me just because he wants to spank me," Harry states, mouth curving up devilishly at the soft sound from her that a second smack incites, "and you're not wrong — what's not to like? But there's a bit more to it than that."
"Because I think—" unlike the first time when the sheets had been tucked far too tight, this time, Isla finds there's simply no sheets to grapple for, and she just sort of kicks her foot up weakly when he hits her again and teases, "—that fucking up your alarm for work's a bit irresponsible — keep your foot down. Don't you?"
The male manually manhandles the offensive leg and feigns exasperation as he sighs and tells her, "Am I gonna have to bind them? Really? You're gonna make me do that?"
"Woah — wait!" her hand flies back as she arches up, laughter suffusing her voice incredulously, "This is a punishment?"'
It's not, but Harry doesn't have it in him to give her a simple answer.
"Depends," a soft smirk plays over his lips, and he wrenches her hand over her back with a firm grip, "Didn't you say you wanted it to hurt?"
"Well, yes—"
"Then I suppose it's not much of a punishment, is it?" he purses his mouth in an effort to curb a wicked grin when he hits her again and she twists, "What are you complaining about? I'm giving you what you want."
There's a moment of lull that's just spent petting over her backside, and after a second, Peitho responds in a begrudged whine, "You always start so heavy."
"Heavy?" There's a note of incredulous surprise to his tone, "Okay — sorry," before he rolls his eyes and gives her backside a gentle lovetap in exaggeration, "Is this better?"
"Is this," he squeezes her curves and rewards her with another soft pat that siphons laughter from her, and his own lips crook, "doing it for you? Solid warm up?"
She's chortling until he surprises her with one that's considerably heavier, and her amusement splices into a gasp as she stiffens, rocking forward, and her reaction has his mouth crooking in a different way.
"Ooh—" she laughs through her grunt, her toes curling, "That one was heavy."
It's a playful, light start to the scene — something spurred by both the bridge from her priorly bad mood and his own adaptations to her tendencies, because he knows she needs to slip into the headspace. It's easy to come out of the gates with guns blazing, Harry thinks; cruel edges to words, mean glances, and rough touches. It'd catch her off guard and the scene would play out just the same. But it's more fun to just play. And it's all easy going.
Up until the point where he withdraws his grasp on her wrist and weaves his fingers into the hair on the back of her head. It's all fun and games, until he shoves her head into the mattress, digits tugging firmly at her roots in their clasp, and tells her, "You're awfully talkative tonight. Let's do something about that."
Peitho makes a soft sound of shock that's muffled by the bed. Harry only keeps her face smushed down for a moment before he cranes her neck back roughly and rewards her with another blow, and the sound she makes in response to it has arousal snaking through his stomach and sinking, sinking, sinking.
"Maybe," Isla picks up the smooth baritone of his cadence carrying traces of contemplation, and she bites into her bottom lip and shifts, "it should be a punishment — you're awfully talkative, but you haven't used the word Sir once."
A pause.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Eros—" her giggly statement cuts off into a grunt as the fingers in her hair tighten a smidge and another smack falls.
"Again with the Mr. Eros shit. Bloody hell," Harry blows out a breath, fighting mirth at her vigorous drive to be a little pest.
But it's not her fault! Really, Isla thinks, his buttons are just too easy to push. He makes it too easy. And being with Eros made it too easy for her worries to become disposed and to slip into playfulness.
"Why are you so against it? It's got a ring to it!" Isla protests, stretching her neck when he lets loose of the grasp over her hair and sighs.
"Because it's improper."
The way he just gently fondles her backside for a moment leaves her doused in anticipation, but Isla pushes another dangerous red button blithely, mimicking his dialect when she shakes her head and gibes, "Well, bloody hell!"
His hand pauses. Beyond amused disbelief, the man can't hamper the sputter-y huff that falls from his mouth. He physically twists to face the back of her head, and the submissive just erupts in laughter because she senses the motion. "Are you mocking me?"
Peitho takes a deep breath, as if to contain her laughter, and then, in all seriousness, declines, "Of course not." But Harry can see that she's picking at her nails in an obvious attempt to restrain her mirth. She tacks on, blasé, like the accusation is entirely far-fetched, "I would never. I was just ...doing an impression, in a positive light, to bring emphasis to..."
"To?" Harry raises his eyebrows.
"Well, I actually don't really know where I was going with that," she melts into giggles and the corners of his mouth buckle, "but I definitely wasn't mocking you."
When he hits her again, she rocks forward on her toes, and grunts, "I wasn't!" another smack culls the statement, "I changed my mind — I want a massage, I want to be loved on, and I'd like to take you up on that offer to go sit at the bar and eat — fuck — processed sugar!"
Though, there's no true traces to imply that she's actually changed her mind, and the pity coating his words is feigned, "Too little, too late. You've mocked me, bruised my ego, and now it's only fair that I bruise you. Would you like to safe out?"
He does pause for a moment, giving her that out if she genuinely wants it, and he skims his tongue over the inside of his cheek in the quiet, "Any takers? Any objections? Speak now, or forever hold your peace..."
Or speak later. Obviously. As always. But he doesn't tack that on, because he doesn't want to ruin the ceremonious speech of his joke. When she just wiggles over him, biting her tongue, he raises his eyebrows and smooths a hand over her backside.
"No? No objections?" as a precaution, he lifts his leg and sets it over the backs of her own.
There's no objections. Harry proceeds. Peitho whines and gripes the entire time, until she doesn't, until he hits that point where she starts to meld into mushy territory, the sweet spot. Which doesn't take too long, at all. And then he stops and pets over her warm flesh like the sight of it is his own, personal form of crack.
And it is.
He loves the marks — the way her skin morphs from its natural hue and turns a pretty, ruddy color. He's half-sure he must look like a proper junkie, pupils blown and all. As he traces over the rouge and watches the milky white rise in the wake of his trailing finger, his attention is entirely engrossed. Eventually, he reworks his attention onto the rest of her and shifts his focus from simple workings of blood pushing out of capillaries — it shouldn't make him so fucking horny. She's not crying, which he decides is good. He wouldn't have minded if she did, but he thinks it's a little early for it. Harry pets a palm onto the small of her back and draws aimless, soothing motions. He moves his leg, and she shifts her legs in return — still in orbit at a reasonable proximity. Another good sign.
"Flip over," he beckons, giving her thigh a light pat, and she shuffles off of him with little grace and little inclination that she's physically prepared to follow his instructions. It's a pleasant surprise when she exhales and obliges with little hesitancy, though, and once she's flopped onto her back he catches sight of her mouth, swollen and puffy from the assault of her own teeth.
The dominant stuffs the tips of his digits past the edges of her underwear, on either side, and tugs them off with no resistance on her part, because that part is easy. And then he ducks and slips to his knees ahead of her legs, a perfect 90-degree angle in the bend of her knees over the edge of the mattress.
A chill runs over her skin as his gloved fingers draw up her thighs, and they splay a smidge on their own accord. Isla's chest rolls with shuddery breaths as she attempts to decipher the dominant's next move. She's proud of herself for muzzling the gasp that nearly breaks free when he slides his hands behind her knees, settling them in the bend, and tugs her closer to him in a swift, rough motion.
His course of action, Isla discovers, is a move she couldn't have fathomed even if she'd seen bold hints through binoculars. Because when he dips forward and starts pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs, that should be hint enough, right? The previously steady pace of her breathing stutters, and she just watches intently through the lace as he holds brazen eye contact. The kisses venture, venture, closer, closer, and then he pulls back and sticks his tongue out and glides it in a languid, straight line up her inner thigh. The sensual eye contact, of all things, Isla decides, is nearly too much to bear. But she finds that she's unable to look away. Partly because it feels like a sin to miss the sight of Eros and his tongue painting shapes between her legs, and partly, because, well—
"Keep your eyes on me," he tells her, voice soft but not quite void of that dominant quality. He pastes another kiss onto her slightly trembling thighs, and promises, before pressing on another, "You put your head back, I stop."
GOD. He is a sex God. Which isn't a detail that'd surpassed her judgment, but the reminder has her doing helpless fucking kegels. And then he wraps his pillowy, strawberry lips over the skin of her inner thigh, and sucks, teeth skimming over flesh. Isla nearly folds and throws her head back, then and there. Her jaw unhinges a bit, and she just helplessly watches the borderline pornographic sight of him leaving a love bite on her inner thigh. It's not that he hasn't left marks before — it's that he hasn't left marks with his mouth.
When he pulls back and ogles the bruised area, he's seemingly satisfied by whatever he's left behind. The male slides his palm over her pelvis, right above where she throbs, just peering up at her for a moment, mouth fighting to twitch into a smirk. And then he ducks forward, presses a few chaste kisses to the opposite thigh, and casually swipes his tongue, wet and flat, from her entrance to the hood of her clit.
That's when Isla really almost folds. She doesn't — a pathetic sound escapes her, and her hips shift and cant on their own accord, and her teeth grit behind her lips, but she keeps her head up obediently.
In twenty-seven years, it's safe to say that Harry's had his fill of sexual encounters. His charm and allure, in combination with his membership and reputation at Indulge, has certainly allowed for the list to grow — but it's not like he was keeping track. In the bigger picture, it all meant that oral sex was his friend. There's a thing or two to know about the complex circuit of the feminine anatomy, and in vulgar (but candid) terms: his experience in eating pussy was plentiful, to say the least. If he's being honest, and he were to crunch the numbers, perhaps the numbers are a bit much to count on his hands (and feet), but it doesn't matter.
Women were like flowers, right? Beautiful, fantastic beings sculpted by nature, and not one was really like the other. Harry's no botanical connoisseur, but it's easy to make the connection between delicate plants and a woman's sexual journey to climax; handle with care. Unless your partner explicitly states that they want to take a flogger to the cunt, or something — in which case, handle with intent, very researched care.
Fuck. The long swipe of his tongue from her entrance to her clit leaves sweet notes on his palate, and Harry realizes he's never wanted more to go in for seconds and thirds. It's a fucking flower, truly, and her arousal is like nectar in his mouth.
He spreads her open like a peach he's dug his thumbs into, parting her lips with a soft, glove-clad touch on either side before he draws a long lap with his tongue. It goes around, from just below her entry where she leaks, to the hood of her clit, and back around. He lingers where the sweetness flows and avoids where he knows she wants him most, because that's the beauty of eating pussy, isn't it? He can take his time and tease, drawing shapes with his tongue around and around, press biting kisses to her inner thighs, avoid her clit during the build up, and then finally offer a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive bud once she's pliable and wanting, one that has her instantly squirming.
Any man could go straight for the clit (if he could find it). Any schmuck could sit there, draw the alphabet off the bat, and reenact whatever other overplayed bullshit he'd skimmed on wiki-how: how to eat pussy for dummies. But that wasn't how it worked. And it wasn't the motto Harry abided by, anyhow. Because he was a dick, and the mantra of tease, tease, tease worked out much too well in this scenario. Unfortunately, due to Joe Shmoe, his horrible cosmopolitan sex advice, and his swollen-headed ideas of what a woman needed, many women didn't even know it could get better. But it could.
Eating pussy was artistry, and Harry was an artist.
When it gets about time for that open-mouthed kiss, he presses the kisses all the way up and sucks her clit into his mouth gently, humming.
All the submissive can manage, in response, is a pathetic little hngh, eyebrows pinched andjaw slack just to release shallow exhales. Her chest trembles when the male winds his tongue in a slow circle around her clit, keeping the bundle of nerves trapped in the warmth of his mouth.
Isla supposes he wouldn't really know if her pupils were to escape the spectacle, right? It feels a bit like cheating, but for a second, she lets her eyes slip shut and just revels in the sensation, in the suction over her core. A pang of desirous humiliation coils in her chest at the realization that she's probably dripping. The shut-eye is short-lived, however, and her lashes flutter upon the recognition that this isn't a show she's keen to miss. But the view of his own lashes fluttering over the latex against his cheekbones, of the way he's so hungry between her legs, like he's proper enjoying himself, has her irises rolling back into her head.
Isla moans. She moans, and her hands form into fists. She's simply a slave to his ministrations, and she doesn't mind it one bit. The young woman feels herself pulsing in his mouth, yearning for more as he draws tight circles with the tip of his tongue, and her stomach tenses as he presses down with his palm to restrain the purposeful grind of her hips just as it starts.
Eros pulls off, then, and she huffs, whining, until she catches sight of the string of arousal that connects his pink lips to her cunt. He thumbs at it, maintaining eye contact, and then sucks his thumb into his mouth. All hope is lost from there. The male fixes jade irises on her as he tells her, like she can just comply, "Be a good girl, and stay still for me."
Her arousal is glinting over the latex against his chin under the lighting, is the thing. Like it's mocking her — a tangible reminder of her desperate state, and she's just watched him nonchalantly suck the same arousal off his thumb. This is ludicrous. Isla thinks, he's going to kill her. She'll simply combust into a flurry of flames, ash left in the wake of her self-induced bonfire from sparks of want. The young woman gnaws into her cheek to curb a little whine at the sight.
And when the pad of his forefinger swipes at her entrance to gather wetness and then draws a circle around her clit, his gaze honed on his actions, she can't contain herself any longer. At the soft sounds, he casts his gaze up. He watches her poor attempts to constrain squirming, mirth dancing in his eyes.
"Excuse me. I'm trying to do something here."
She doesn't even have it in her to pretend to be amused by his joke. Isla groans as the index switches to a thumb, and Eros just grazes with it, side to side. His mouth quirks.
"Poor baby," he tuts, the syrapy baritone of his smooth, condescending inflection sending another wave of hungry craving surging through her, "So needy, aren't you? Be quiet."
Be a good girl, stay still. Be quiet. These are all, Isla thinks, unreasonable requests. There's no empathy or consideration to them. She just can't. There's too much to focus on, and all she can fixate on is the scalding warmth of desire between her thighs and the sensations that his actions coax. There's the beginnings of a horrible cramp that throbs in her neck, but she keeps her head up, still, because she never wants him to stop, never wants this to end. Ever.
As he reconnects his mouth with her core, the determination behind keeping her head up certainly falters a bit. It swings, for sure, but miraculously, it stays on its feet. He works over her bundle of nerves with purpose, and then he slides his finger into her, and her toes curl. She feels herself spiraling, pleasure slinking through her system and building familiarly, and as his tongue works and his finger fucks into her in tandem, Isla can't help but feel her semblance splintering and sharding. And then he slips the finger out, coated in her wetness, and prods lower, just skimming over her other hole, and resilience is gone.
"Please," she presses out quickly, surprised by the croakiness of her own voice, "Sir, please, can I cum?"
He's the devil. How's that song go? You, you terrible thing? Isla doesn't remember, she can't remember, there's just not enough gears to grind in her brain, at the moment. The headline is that he's wicked, he's cruel. He pulls off and smacks her just where he'd been sucking prior, siphoning a sharp cry. It's not nearly hard enough to actually hurt, but it's enough to shock her nervous system and recalibrate her into factory mode. And the thing is, the cruel ministration nearly does it for her. Nearly. She nearly free falls off the precipice, just off the way he hits her. But she doesn't.
Instead, she keens as he waits a millisecond before thumbing at her clit for a split second, and the contrasting sensation of a soft touch following the rough slap has a newfound wave of pleasure rolling through her. "No, you may not."
Harry half-expects her to whine and ask, in a small voice, why not? but she seems to be past the ability to fathom backchat. It's a bit of a shame, really. He does love her backchat. It's amusing. She does look a little crestfallen by his denial, so he'll have to settle on the amusement he gets from that. To be fair, he'd never implied that playing with him would be easy.
When Eros takes his thumb away and presses his palms against the edge of the mattress, on either side of her thighs, and uses the contact to propel himself into a stance, the springs creak and the young woman watches him with her thought processing mechanism processing on overdrive. Slowly, she clasps her thighs together, squeezing, because the impending crest of her orgasm is gone, but the desire looms, blistering. She casts her gaze to his figure as he walks across the room and kneels ahead of the duffel he's set against the wall. The dominant unzips it, rummages, and culls a thin, dark rope from his bag. He looks ...deliberative, and then he stretches it and seemingly deems the choice satisfactory. The selection throws her off — typically, he opts for thicker rope to bind her, and he's never used a rope on her from his duffel.
And then he walks over, slowly, and stops with just a handful of feet between himself and the bed — where Isla is still gathering whatever she can of her composure. He tells her, cadence borderline distracted, "Come suck on my cock while I work on this."
Good God. She doesn't want to move at all, which is justified because he's mean, the young woman thinks. But curiosity prevails as he pulls the rope taut in his hands to find an end and weaves a loop through.
"You're gonna... How can I suck your dick while you're tying me up?"
With her head tilted, she sees him cast his gaze onto her as the motion of his hands stifles, "I believe I told you to suck my cock, not to ask me questions." He tacks on, as his attention shifts back to the rope, "M'not going to tell you again."
Bemused, Isla pushes herself up to sit and then clambers off the bed, but she's stopped short just before taking a step by his statement.
"Crawl."
When, in his peripherals, Harry doesn't see her immediately fall to all fours upon his command, the corners of his mouth jolt and his irises flit up to her figure, "Crawl to me. On all fours. You can manage that, darling, can't you?"
Despite the fury that'd teem her being in any other circumstances, his patronizing tone sends a wave of lust coursing through her veins. Slowly, Isla slips to all fours, and crawls for Eros. Like a dog.
And Eros seems to have the same metaphor in mind. Once she's in front of his dress shoes and cocks her head up at him, he pauses the ropework and draws his digits through her hair, just on the side of her head, and praises, "Good girl."
And then his hand withdraws, his mouth crooks, and he makes a motion with the same palm like a physical command given to a dog performing tricks. Harry teases, "Speak."
He watches the muscles move in Peitho's jaw as she clenches them at the degrading joke. "How about bite?"
"How about," he grasps the same jaw with the same hand he'd jested with, soft at first, and then he digs the pads of his fingers into her skin and smushes her cheeks, bending towards her face, "I use a paddle on you until my arm gets tired? How's that sound?"
She's quiet.
"No?" his eyebrows raise, "That doesn't sound good?"
His grip retracts and he practically shoves her head back roughly in the process. And then he unclips his belt buckle, the clink of metal on metal sending a zap of electric something through her. The man fingers at the button on his trousers, tugs down the zipper, and, (unlike Isla had assumed he would), he doesn't just tug his cock out through the opening.
"Hands behind your back."
Instead, he slips his slacks down a few inches. Isla catches sight of a lot. His Calvin Klein waistband, for one, and as he tugs that down, she sees that his pubic hair is neatly trimmed. But perhaps the detail that captures her attention most prominently is glimpses of stems, of leaves — of laurels, darkly etched into his skin. They're details she hasn't seen before. Her eyes drink in the view of the inky artwork hungrily. She doesn't have long to take in the contoured lines, though, because her pupils flit to his cock on their own accord. He draws a gloved fist over the tip teasingly — teasing her.
"Show me what else that mouth is good for, then."
And when his hand moves away, Peitho leans forward and takes his tip into her muted berry mouth, her hands locked behind her back obediently. Tying knots into a rope as her tongue works over him isn't impossible, but the latter makes the former considerably more difficult, Harry decides. It doesn't show, though. He knows she's ogling him, through the lace, his fingertips working over the cord, confused, and he wishes for nothing more than to stare down and see those pretty eyes that hide behind her disguise. In lieu of staring down at the obscene sight of her head working over his cock, Harry hones his concentration on the rope, fingers weaving at a nonchalant pace.
There's no splinter to his composure, Isla realizes, not when she drags her tongue over the underside of his shaft, not when she hollows her cheeks and steers forward to take more of him into the warmth of her mouth. There's not even traces of a tremble to his hands. His task is his obvious priority, and his irises focus on the knots drawn by his fingers. The young woman's still unsure of what he's even doing, is the thing — as soon as one knot loops through, he tightens it by pulling the rope taut with a firm grip on either side, and then slides it through to focus knotting a differing fragment. It makes her wet — wetter, warmer, the way he doesn't even seem to bat an eye at her efforts to please him. The pleasure of his degradation enmeshes with the humiliation of liking it, and it sinks, floaty, through her to crest between her legs. Eventually, though, her bemusement gets the best of her, and she pulls off with a pop, sitting back on her haunches. At least then she sees inklings of give in his body language, because for a millisecond, his hips make a minute motion as if to chase her mouth. The dominant pauses mid-handiwork, and fixes her with an unimpressed stare.
"Did I tell you to stop?" his voice is hard and cold on the inquiry.
"Sir," she protests, despite his cadence, "What are you doing? You're not even paying attention to me."
"No?" his tongue peeks out from between his lips to glide, and his cock pulses, and he takes a palm off the cord to weave into the hair at the back of her head. All she can manage is a choked-off garble of apalment as he steers her toward his cock and drives her down on his shaft roughly.
"Is this enough—" her hands fly forward on their own accord, twitching helplessly but not quite scrambling to grip onto his thighs, and her throat flexes instinctively over his tip upon the sudden intrusion, "—attention for you?"
The tip of her nose pastes to his pubic hair and her eyes screw shut. When he tears her back a second later, his cock sloppy and coated wetly in her saliva, Isla sputters into coughs. The dominant's hand falls away with nothing gentle to the motion.
"Don't do that again," there's no explicit threat to his statement, no words painting a warning, but there doesn't have to be, because his tone speaks volumes.
When he casually reaffixes his attention onto tying those odd knots back onto the rope, she takes it as an indication that he'd like her to go back to what she'd been doing, as well. Apparently he won't be giving her any clues. So, slowly, Isla leans forward and takes him back into her mouth, the motion of her head as languid as his keenness to appreciate her efforts. As she slides, lower and lower, deeper and deeper, and reaches the hilt, her eyes squeezed shut and her throat compressing over him, Eros huffs out an appreciative hiss and takes another pause on his task. He takes one hand away and guides it back to her head, and as his glove-clad digits interweave with her strands, they're gentler. He tugs her off, and nudges her head lower and—
FUCK.
Her lips plaster to his balls as he presses her face in, and his cock, wet from her mouth, pastes to her cheek, to the lace, and Isla gets it now — why he'd opted to draw his pants off rather than to just stick his dick through the zipper, as he always had. Because he'd intended for her to suck his balls.
The young woman's mouth slips open and she slides her tongue over the underside of his sac. Eros groans in turn, his fingers twitchy on the back of her head. So she wraps her mouth over one side and suctions, rolling her tongue, and she feels the muscles in his thighs strain and shake at her ministrations.
"Fuck, baby. Shit — Christ," the male praises, and his string of curse words implies that Isla is doing something right.
Harry can do knots when she's mouthing over his cock — that part is easy. He can't, however, do his work quite as effortlessly when she's got her tongue laving over his balls, and he discovers this unfortunate fact when her performance practically paralyzes him. For a bit, he just basks in the sensations, the pleasure pulsing through him, because it's just too good to put a stop to. The rope gets cradled in his fist, off to the side, and he doesn't do anything with it for a while. His quads tremble, and his knees feel weak, and his bottom lip becomes locked onto by his teeth, and—
"Stop," above her, Eros demands breathily, but it doesn't sound much like a demand, at all. There's nothing like the typical, commandeering notes to his tone — he sounds like her tongue has worked him into a weak frenzy.
With this realization, there's satisfaction brimming in her as Isla withdraws. The dominant blows out a breath and tells her through an open-mouthed grin, gesturing with the rope, "Fuck. M'not gonna get done with this at all with you doing that."
Her mouth twitches. She goes back to his dick, stamping kisses over the length as the man goes back to the rope, slower in his handiwork than he'd been prior — an blatant consequence of attempting to gather his composure. He slips into a rhythm soon enough, though, and so does Isla. Just as she starts getting comfortable and zoning out to bathe in nothing but the need coursing through her at his lack of attention, he pats at her cheek. Bemused, she pulls off and watches him tuck himself back into his trunks, tug up his slacks, and do up the works to re-secure himself. He does leave his belt freed, and the open buckle tantalizes her. A pout forms over her mouth, but it's cut short as he makes a beeline to the wall across the room. She watches him, with the dark, thin cord wound in one hand, glean a thicker, beige variation of the rope off a hook holstered to the wall. He sets that over his shoulder, and then he takes a set of moves onto the trunk beside it. Curiously, she ogles his back as he sifts through the clinking supplies, and she swallows as she sees him pull a cordless wand out and a set of nipple clamps, connected by a chain. Similar to the ones he'd used on her in their first scene so many weeks ago. The clamps, he clips onto a belt loop, and they hang off by one end. For the wand, he picks a condom and tears it open, pulling it apart with his gloves to wrap it over the head of the toy, as he always does. It's set into his back pocket, stem first, so just the head hangs out, and. Well, it all looks a bit ridiculous, but she doesn't have it in her to laugh because what the fuck is he doing with the rope? Eros ambles to a post on the opposite side of the room, and he casts his gaze to her and motions with his chin.
"Come here."
So she does. Isla stands, her knees ache-y, and she makes her way over to his side slowly, where he takes hold of her upper arm and physically moves her to stand beside the wooden column. There's a line of hooks ranging in heights over the post, and his sight seems to flicker from them to level with her hips.
"Stand on your toes," Eros tells her, and she rises onto them. He pauses, then takes a step back, releasing her arm, evidently satisfied. Isla rocks back onto the balls of her feet as she watches him wind one end of the rope through one of the hooks.
"Are you going to tie me to that?" she inquires, and Harry doesn't miss the eager note to her cadence.
He blinks over to her, his mouth curving softly and his gaze half-lidded lewdly as she pulls the knot over the hook tight, "Would you like me to tie you to this?"
In response, Isla just shrugs, feigning indifference, but she buzzes within because she still has no idea what his agenda is comprised of.
He keeps his smile on as he wraps a palm over her arm and guides her, backwards, to stand a few feet away, where her back nearly knocks into another paralleled post, dragging the length of the rope alongside him in the slow steps. Then, he takes the hand that'd been on her arm and slinks it between her legs, fingertips prodding. Isla's breath catches in the back of her throat, and her shoulders freeze up when he drags her wetness up over her clit.
For a second, Harry just draws circles with the pads of a digit, and if the sound wasn't enough of an indication, when he pulls his hand back and sees her arousal glimmering over the onyx of his gloves, that would be. The corners of his mouth jolt. And then he slips to a kneel and draws the rope between her ankles.
The thing about a crotch rope walk was that its role was ...complex. If done right, it was fun — fun to endure for the submissive; the humiliation, the strain, the stimulation and the little bite of pain that intermingled with the pleasure of the knots. For the dominant, fun to watch — the struggle, the helpless sounds, the list goes on. But there was a lot that went into it to make it fun. Because you had to be sure the person was into it, right? If having a piece of rope wedged between someone's legs as they were forced to tiptoe over it, nearly stumbling, wasn't enticing, if getting off on being defiled and edged by knots wasn't a turn on, it probably, definitely wouldn't be fun. If someone wasn't a bit of a masochist — not fun. If you used an abrasive rope rather than a smooth one — not fun. If you went into it dry, with a lack of foreplay — again, not fun. The consequence of all of the un-fun alternatives, in combination, was just a shitty rope-burn that wasn't much fun to be an onlooker for, either.
But if you did it just right — if your partner wanted that bite of pain there, if you used the right rope, if you made sure that your partner was toyed with enough, and if you used a vibrator, too, or toyed with the rope as it pulled taut between their legs? Well that's just a dream — a wet one.
As he guides the rope up, bends over to level with her cunt and situates the cord up between her lips, a shudder rolls down the knobs of Isla's spine, while the rest of her sears beneath the heat of... his gaze, his touch, all of it. The rope presses up against her and her hands twitch. A devious smirk works over the man's pillowy mouth when he tells her, "Toes."
She rises onto them, and trails around her, keeping a hand behind her to pull the rope onto the opposite hook. She stares at the knots ahead. Oh God. He's going to make her walk that.
The beige rope, the young woman learns, is for her arms. He has her stick her arm out to undo her bracelet first, and he pockets it. Then, the man has her fold her arms behind her back, winding with the cord, and ties a harness that presses around her tits and secures her limbs, rendering them useless. Her arms flex in the restraints hopelessly as her eyes slip shut, but they fly open as deft fingertips pluck at her nipples. Isla watches him unclip the set of clamps off his belt loop, and her heart hammers behind her ribcage. She doesn't even have it in her to shy away, the desire coursing through her like a flood through a river in a storm.
"Y'know how this goes. Breathe," he instructs, opening the clamp and securing it in a way that has her gasping, "Good. One more, for me."
When he clips on the second one, her eyes screw shut and her jaw clenches.
The sight of her, like this, all helpless for him, sends desirous warmth throbbing through him, and as Harry sends the rope vibrating with a pluck of a finger over the taut cord, the moan the action incites has him absolutely buzzing. When he takes the wand out of his pocket, handling it by the head at first and swapping to the handle, flicks it on, and presses it to her cunt, where the rope presses in, Peitho wobbles, forced to shift her feet and take a step back with one of her feet.
His mouth crooks, and he speaks softly against her ear, "Are you going to be a good girl?"
The young woman's response comes in the form of a whine, and a breathy agreement, "Yes. Yes, yes, Sir."
"Good."
He lets the vibrator do its magic over her nerve endings for a few more moments before he pulls it away from her core and, instead, presses the bulbous head onto the rope. Her chest rolls as the cord vibrates. Carefully, he hooks the fingertips on his opposite hand onto the chain between the nipple clamps, pulls on it, and tells her, "Walk."
TDIAG MASTERLIST HERE
#dom harry styles#harry styles#harry styles dirty fanfiction#harry styles dirty one shot#harry styles edit#harry styles edits#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles smut#harry styles wattpad#harry styles x oc#harry styles writing#domharry#dom!harry#TDIAG#1800titz#1-800-tits#harry styles angst
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Hi everyone!!
Lots of people asked for the pattern I used for my Joel and Lizzie dolls, but due to my mental unwellness, my "pattern" was actually a chaotic blend of multiple patterns, as well as my own spontaneity.
Nonetheless, I am going to attempt to explain the method to my madness in this post! (Fair warning, it will get long.)
(If you actually want to try to recreate this please PLEASE reach out to me!!! I can go into way more detail and do diagrams and whatnot if you really wanna see the full idea!!!)
I'm gonna do my best to divide this up into sections based on how I made them, but because I modified a lot of things and Joel and Lizzie are clearly not the same, it may get a little muddled along the way, but here goes!
The Bodies
First thing's first, this is the link to the tutorial I used for the basic body shape. Super great video, easy to understand, fantastic starting point for any doll!! :D
For Joel, I followed the tutorial pretty exactly, minus that middle seam for a belt. I changed colors for the boots, pants, and coat and kept all the measurements the same.
For Lizzie, I modified her pattern to be a little bit bigger bc haha funny tall wife. On parts of the pattern where the stitch count stayed the same, I added a few more rows to make them longer. I added 4 rows to the legs, 3 rows to the chest, and two rows to the arms.
Like this!
listen I had to visualize it somehow-
I also did a gradient for Lizzie's arms/legs/tail! Here is the video I used to figure out how to do it (I don't have the measurements for where I changed colors I'm sorry I'm goofy </3)
Also, here is a link to a post where I half-heartedly liveblogged the early stages of making them. You can kinda get a rough idea of where I changed colors for different parts of their outfits, etc. but I only got two steps, really- oops.
The Clothes
Now, this is the part where I documented virtually nothing, but honestly, it still turned out just fine!
For Joel, I made boot and sleeve cuffs by just single crocheting a chain to fit around his arm/leg and adding a couple of sc (single crochet) rows. Then I sewed the ends together with a long yarn tail, used thinner gold yarn to add some detailing (look up backstitching! it works really well!!), and sewed the edges on.
His coat ends were made in the same way, but bigger, and instead of sewing the edges fully together, I only connected the top stitches when I was attaching it. And because I'm a messy sewer, I easily hid the seam with a black sc-chain belt :)
The gold details of his coat is also a sc-chain just sewed on. The edges at the bottom... were sorta a sc-hemming type deal-? I don't know, I winged it and I don't like how it turned out </3
The shoulder pads I actually can tell you! It's 5 sc in a magic circle, sc around, and then I picot stitched around in each stitch. Then I tied off a long tail and sewed it onto the top of the arms before I attached them. The badge/flower is the same pattern, but without the sc round in between the mc and the picots.
The sash was a little wonky doing it as a full loop the whole time, so it was basically a long rectangle and when I was attaching the ends together I did it under the shoulder things so it wouldn't be bulky and ugly on top. I think it's decently easy to understand from the pictures in the original post, but if not lmk! (if any of this is coming across at all then bless you tbh.)
The collar is just two rectangles I sewed side by side, they don't continue to the back at all bc they were ugly /lh
And this is the tutorial I used for the crown! I threaded a little piece of green yarn through to make the jewel and tied a knot in the back :)
For Lizzie, I literally made the skirt up as I went along, but it was roughly based on this video. I started with a sc chain to get the right size, then made it a rectangle for a couple of rows (maybe like four?) before joining it together. (That way, I could make the skirt separately and still be able to get it back on her when I was done without being too tight!)
At some point, I picked a stitch as my "center point" and started going back and forth from about that point instead of completing the full circle, doing half double crochets close to it, then double crochets, then triple crochets, then back to dc and hdc as I got close to it again. I think I did about 6-8 for each stitch type section? The GOAL was to make the skirt's hem asymmetrical, which worked, but it's hard to explain bc I literally made it up.
Then I made another sc chain for the belt thing after I attached it :)
The top detailing is also a sc chain, but with some joined yarn above the arms for extra color. There's also bits of yarn that are supposed to be straps, but you can't really see them in any of the pictures, so that's optional rip.
For the frilly hem, I joined the yarn at the "center point" and basically just worked around the whole hem repeating (1 dc, 2dc inc) to make it all wavy and fun!
The Hair
The pattern I based the hair off of was from this kpop star doll that I was originally going to base my entire Joel doll off of.
The difference is I changed the lengths of the strands (I did it based off looks, so all of them are slightly different in length to look more natural) and also color changed the very front few strands of Joel's hair to be green. I also put two strands in a few of the back stitches instead of just one so they completely covered the back of the head (so there are 15-16 strands instead of 14.)
To attach the hair, I used pins to mark out where I wanted to place each strand. Here's a quick progress shot I sent to my friends:
Now, I wasn't smart, and used long pieces of thread from tying off the "hair mop" to sew all the strands onto the head individually. It took forever and make it kinda messy in the back because of weird overlapping. If I could redo it now, I'd use fabric glue or something to glue each strand so it lays flat, although if you don't have it or want to avoid the potential mess, sewing it does in fact work just fine.
Extra Bits (mostly for Lizzie)
Lizzie's tail is more or less the same as her arm, but it starts thinner and goes for longer at the end. For the frilly edge, I remember using a crochet beta fish fin design, but I can't for the life of me find it in my history now?? But it was essentially joining the yarn a few stitches from the point and crocheting (hdc, dc 2x, tr, dc 2x, hdc, dc 2x, tr) and mirroring it on the other side so it looked like this:
Here's a closer view of both the tail and the skirt's hem.
Lizzie's fins were made by making a magic circle, chaining 4 and sc-ing back, and slip stitching back into the circle three times to make the three points. Then I joined onto one point with the lighter color and sc-ed along to the other point to make it more detailed.
Here's a cursed image I sent to my friends of bald Lizzie and her fins.
Lizzie's space buns were a fever dream to me because I made them at 1 am, but I did something that looks similar to this puff stitch flower with only three "petals." I attached it to the head and then used a short chain of another color to add some color and detail.
Here's a view of a bun from the top.
---
I think that's just about it! If I missed anything or want to know how I did something better, please please PLEASE reach out to me!!
I'd love to go into more depth on things, but I predict this post will top off at 5 notes so I don't really want to spend hours explaining something that'll go completely unseen /lh
Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed this little insight into the inner workings of my brain! Feel free to share and tag me in anything if you decide to try to do this yourself.
Cheers!! <3
#WOO I DID IT.#hope you enjoy this it took forever AHSJDSA#pho.posts#pho.doodles#<- bc it's from my project haha#when i eventually make a dl pearl i'll document it better so you can see it in action haha#empiresblr#empires smp#esmp s1#smallishbeans#joel smallishbeans#ldshadowlady#lizzie ldshadowlady#jizzie#crochet#amigurumi#amigurumi doll#pho.crochets
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Unjust, And Also Stupid
“But what of you?" Brodcrum asks. "What does your heart tell you about yourself?”
Naewoon gives him a measuring look, trying to figure if Brodcrum’s coming onto him. But the Barbarian’s tone is more comforting than pressing, and Naewoon figures he’d helped Brodcrum by listening to him, and now Brodcrum feels honor-bound to return the favor. Naewoon finds himself saying, “My heart tells me I don’t know what I want.”
“Those sound like the words of a woman who is looking on the desires of others, thinking they are her own.”
“Maybe,” Naewoon says, and after a long silence, “I’m here because I didn’t want to get married. It’s the ideal, supposedly, for an Aeyilwurtian scholar to never marry, to give their whole life to their work. That’s what I was doing for a few years after I came of age, and I was happy. Then one day my mother visited, saying, ‘Good news, Naewoon! I’ve arranged the perfect match for you!’ It was all I could do to sputter, ‘What, like a marriage?’ And before I knew it, she was introducing me to my fiancee, and she was… perfect, or so everyone said. Gorgeous, intelligent, a renowned scholar from a very old family of renowned scholars. But there was something… not right.”
“You needed a man,” Brodcrum guesses. “Not a match, but a counterpart to your womanly loveliness.”
“That was my mother’s reaction too, when I called it off,” Naewoon says, followed by a mental, Minus your strange ideas about my gender. “She said my fiancee’s parents would let me marry their son if I preferred, so long as I still had children with their daughter.”
“Sordid.”
Naewoon nods. “Even if it hadn’t been so… icky, I wouldn’t have had any interest in that either. It’s not that I was… what’s traditionally called a ‘perfect scholar’ or, more precisely, an asexual--”
“Attracted to ace swordsmen?” Brodcrum asks hopefully.
“Without sexual interest.” Naewoon’s not sure if Brodcrum had been joking or honestly confused. “No, there was a part of me that thrilled at the sight of my fiancee, and her brother too, because he was as handsome as she was beautiful. But another part of me, part I still don’t understand, said, ‘NO. Absolutely not.’ I just knew I had to get out of that marriage any way I could.”
Brodcrum strokes his chin. “The woman I loved, in a time that is now lost, I knew for years before we fell into each other’s arms. The year before our first lovemaking we had been through much that tied us together as if with chains. She told me, after some time to reflect, that she had felt not a solitary spark of desire for me or anyone else until shortly before that first night. I told her, ‘But of course! I was a boy when we first met, and now--behold--by my deeds I have become a demigod! You are demigodsexual!’ She told me I was stupid, and that it was not my deeds, but our bond that made her want me. Perhaps you are a… loversexual? Like her. You needed a bond that you did not have, because you did not know her before your mother told you to marry her.”
“I don’t think it’s that. I’ve met total strangers that make my heart beat fast and my knees go weak--” Naewoon blushes when he realizes he’s just described Brodcrum, but that’s ridiculous. That had been the result of peril, and even if it hadn’t been, he can’t go getting hot under the collar and hard in the pants for this Barbarian, not when the plan is to return to Aeyilwurt in triumph, to reclaim his reputation and perhaps seek a wife or husband on his own terms. “There was just… something about that situation, how transactional it was, maybe, that made me willing to burn down my whole career to get out of it.”
“I do not understand.” Brodcrum leans forward attentively. “Aeyilwurt is like the Inn at the Edge of the World but for scholars instead of swordsmen, yes? If I rejected a woman who everyone praised as perfect, men would mock me behind my back, but I would still be Brodcrum the Bloody. There is nothing about not desiring this beautiful yet repulsive woman that--”
“Don’t call her that. She was perfectly nice the whole time, even when I called things off, which is more than I can say for most people. I hope she ends up with someone who can cherish her properly.”
“But there is nothing about your unmarriagefulness that makes you a less able book-witch, that is what I mean to say.”
“Aeyilwurt is… weird.” Naewoon searches for words. “Ankyria has had its eyes on us for more than a century now, and everyone says they leave us alone because rich Ankyrians send their sons to us to be educated, but the reality is that it’s Quat’s intercession alone that keeps us free. And what Quat wants is knowledge. He wants great scholars who offer up their original research the way other gods receive meat and mead. That means Aeyilwurt doesn’t just need great scholars, it needs to keep having great scholars. Supposedly we’re civilized. Supposedly everyone is free to love or not love whomever they choose, but all that really matters, if you’re an elite scholar from a family of elite scholars, is that you have children. That you contribute to the population of scholars who will continue to ensure Aeyilwurt’s so-called freedom. You show that you aren’t willing to do that…” Naewoon snaps his fingers. “And your career can evaporate before your eyes.”
“That is unjust, and also stupid,” Brodcrum rumbles, his eyes full of a distant wrath that makes Naewoon think he’d probably kill Magister Onkilput if he were to suddenly appear at their fireside. Naewoon is uncomfortable with how grateful he is for that homicidal level of support.
💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀
BEHOLD! Chapter 4: Unjust, And Also Stupid is up on https://www.runeswordproductions.com/
Direct link to the beginning for those new to the adventure: https://www.runeswordproductions.com/beholdcover
The whole book's going up for free, chapter by chapter every other week, but by signing up for the Patreon you can get access to chapters released a month early, as well as bonus stories including BLOOD AND STARLIGHT, a prequel tale for Brodcrum, our illustrious bi-barian. https://www.patreon.com/RuneswordProductions
Wishing you all the solace that comes of trauma dumping to an enormous professional killer with a heart of gold,
- Rune
#BEHOLD!#Runesword Productions#hyperpulp#fantasy#fantasy fiction#sword and sorcery#queer fantasy#fantasy art#fantasy comedy#fantasy romance#bisexual representation#demisexual representation#she's not in the scene but she becomes a main character in chapter 6#puns#barbarian
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9:21
"We are but machines, but we breathe. Life into a glowing, home full of new friends. Not the end, only blood that's flowing. Here is in our father, he's the author of our wonderland. He's made us into what we've become." — 'Stuck Inside' CG5 mix.
↑ gave me an art idea;
Vanessa/Micheal, tallest out of the missing kids and his/her sibling(s). The toughest and longest chain is on her/his neck.
The chain on their neck connects to the missing kids, minus two. Or maybe three.
Micheal's younger brother, The One You Should Not Have Killed, and Charlie (hell maybe even Garrett)
They broke the chain. They are behind the kids and Vanessa/Micheal. They are planning to break their chains as well. But the kids and Micheal/Vanessa are so robotized that it's hard. Maybe? Maybe they are robots? Or maybe they are faking it?
TOYSNHK is behind Elizabeth and Vanessa. TOYSNHK is confused about them, and just stares at them. Are they faking it? Or is it true? Are they really just dogs to a mess of a hare? Servants to the Devil?
Micheal's Younger Brother is behind Micheal, that much is obvious. MYB is also confused about Micheal. Micheal looks more like a rotting corpse(same for Vanessa), then any robot. But he has robot pieces. He still has a collar around his neck
Charlie(& Garrett) is behind the missing kids. She knows that they must be pretending. They want to be free that's why they would believe anything from anyone who ever lies about "keeping them safe from the one who hurt them".
#time diary(?)#audrey/kellie's time diary#fnaf#five nights at freddy's#fnaf movie#garrett schmidt#fnaf cassidy#charlie emily#vanessa afton#micheal afton#elizabeth afton#william afton#evan afton#fnaf missing kids#fnaf missing children#fnaf mci#fnaf gabriel#fnaf fritz#fnaf jeremy#fnaf susie#tw religious mention#<- “devil” mention
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DC Rebirth Holiday Special #1
DC celebrated breaking the chains of the New 52 by going back to making annual specials. So we've got 8 more to get through. This one I am told does contain some Santas.
A Very Harley Holiday - Harley Quinn. This is the frame story for the issue. It contains some 'real' Santa moments - Harley watches a TV Christmas movie in which she arranges for Krypto to help fly Santa's sleigh as the reindeer have colds. (Just noting 'oh dear the reindeer are sick' is definitely a DC trope at this point).
The Last Minute - Superman & Batman. The usual 'oh no I've got to get the In Demand Present For the Child' fluff. In this case Clark's running around trying to find it, only to have the last one swiped by Damian, who proceeds to give it to Jon for Christmas. Maybe shop earlier or order it ahead of time, Supes? (Moral is "Damian gave Jon something more important - a friend")
For the Dog Who Has Everything - Superboy. Jon gets Clark to turn the belt from his first uniform into a collar for Krypto for Christmas.
The Night We Saved Christmas - Detective Chimp & Batman. I adore this story.
Bobo gets hired by 'Noel', the 'Santa over at the Grove Shopping Mall' to find his stolen 'dog'.
Bobo tracks the culprit down to Gotham and then takes Bruce out to hunt down the guy who stole the dog, incidentally proving himself the better detective several times, as he's Bobo. When the finally find the stolen dog...it's a REINDEER. Bobo calls Noel to say WTF, Noel says he'll be right there... and turns up immediately on the doorstep. (Hello Real Santa).
I adore Santa-I-mean-Noel’s look.
Dreaming of a White Christmas - Constantine & Wonder Woman.
Constantine is trying to track down a particular witch on the Winter Solstice at a Solstice event. He ends up teaming up with Diana who's also there tracking someone, and then calling the spirits of the 'Witches of Lancaster' (for the record this was WAY more women than the actual Pendle Witches, which I recognised as the Pendle Witches based on the imagery, and I am quietly playing red string theory board in my mind right now about Tamaki referencing the Pendle Witches).
They find their quarry together, and Constantine gets a spell on him lifted by telling the witch his nightmare - which is sitting on Santa's lap.
A Flash Christmas Carol - Flash. The Rogues and Barry Allen have a truce over Christmas so Barry can deliver presents to foster kids/anyone in need.
Day of Returning - Justice League of China. The team celebrate Dongzhi (Winter Solstice) by capturing a rogue trying to 'return the city to its natural state' and then eating festival foods together before returning her to jail.
Light in the Dark - Batwoman. Oh look it's the Hanukkah story. Kate's really taken over the role from Ragman. Kate remembers getting cherry pie with her father at a diner during Hanukkah as a tradition. Then she's given a mission to help secure some data from a company of arms dealers. After reconnecting with Kit and beating everyone up, she gets her pie, with some of her friends.
What a Year for a New Year - Titans. They celebrate the New Year together (and their returned memories) by battling some drag racers (including joining the drag race) and getting some team time relying on each other in. Fab Five minus Wally, plus Lilith. Then Dick realises he's late...
I Don't Wanna Be Late - Nightwing & Batgirl. To meet Babs. Babs is also running late from helping people, and they end up at the top of the bridge the planned to meet on at the same time, to watch the fireworks. I THINK this bridge is in New York, which stymies my 'guess which Gotham Bridge that is' game.
The Epiphany - Green Lanterns. It's Simon and Jessica! Aliens turn up and make the two of them face three trials, with Earth itself as collateral for their passing the trials.
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Six UK tour 2023 costume breakdown
Guess who is doing the write-up this time. This will include the costumes that have been onstage so far: principal costumes, alternate principal costumes, silver swing and orange alt and will be updated with the rest of alternate costumes once we get good photos of those. Also a few general notes:
The entire cast has the numeral earrings and glitter IEMs.
The boots are custom made by LaDuca with rhinestones done by Crystalled by Jane who does all the UK boots and collaborated on the heel designs with Gabriella Slade. All boots minus Cleves have the single wide strap and alternates have silver heels and interchangeable straps. Ellie Jane grant gets a second pair of tigh high boots for Cleves.
Aragon: Nicole Louise Lewis (principal), Ellie Jane Grant (alternate)
The costumes follow the style of recent UK Aragon costumes with a wide front panel and skirt gap. The peplum has been switched from a single piece laying mostly flat against the skirt that 2022 WE and UKT have/had to a more US looking rised peplum made of different panels. Unlike most Aragon costumes the shoulder straps widen at the bottom and are not fully aligned with the bodice seams and the horizontal band at the collar is wider than usual. The necklaces have black trim weaved through the chains. The costume is likely made by White Star costume.
They both have full wigs styled with braids at the front following the hairline. Nicole's wig is black and reaches her upper back, Ellie's wig is auburn slightly shorter and has a little more volume as both are made following their hairtype.
Boleyn: Laura Dawn Pyatt (principal), Izi Maxwell (alternate)
This costumes have the darker green vinyl that was introduced to the UK in late 2022 and has become the standard since. Unlike most Boleyn costumes where the square cutouts start right at the waist or slightly higher (being partially cut on top) and are either cut before a third row of squares at the bottom starts or have the third row cut these skirts have solid black above and below the squares to complete the lenght. It is more visible on Izi as her skirt is longer. The costume is likely made by White Star costume.
Laura wears her hair mid back. Izi has worn hairpieces in a few different lenghts but it seems to have settled on a chin lenght hairpiece with the tips curved inward.
Seymour: Erin Caldwell (principal), Tamara Morgan (alternate)
The costumes are standard UK costume with a black trim weaved through the chain. The costumes are made by Kirsti Reid.
Erin has a full wig that reaches mid back. It is styled with a slight side part (that had only been used in the US and SK productions while UK did only mid parts), a styled front in line with the recent SK stylings, no beehive and soft curls towards the bottom. She wore a crown with a black base at the start of her run but switched to a white base, which had only been used in US productions and cruises at that point. Tamara wears her own hair styled with a side part and the sides pulled back, she also wears a hairpiece that reaches her mid back.
Cleves: Kenedy Small (principal), Ellie Jane Grant (alternate)
They both have standard UK costumes made by Paul Aspinall (who has made all UK Cleves in recent years) and reveal leotards by Queen of stretch.
Kenedy wears a full wig styled in the usual Cleves updo with braids on the sides and curls styled towards the front and over her forehead; Samuel James wigs who makes all the UK wigs and hairpieces posted a different wig for her that seems to be cut (Ellie has worn her hair styled on a simpler version of the updo in varying heights, but she might get a wig in the future.
Howard: Lou Henry (principal), Izi Maxwell (alternate)
They both have costumes made by Ella dancewear who is the primary UK Howard maker. The skirts seem to be slightly narrower than usual.
Right at the start Lou wore a base wig with styled bangs in the front and a separate ponytail attached to the wig; she had a different styling with a front poof instead of styled bangs during tech and wig fittings. Mid may she started wearing her own hair as base instead of the wig. Izi wears her hair pulled back into a bun with the ponytail on top in the usual Howard styling.
Parr: Aoife Haakenson (principal), Tamara Morgan (alternate)
Aoife has a standard UK Parr costume. Tamara´s costume mostly follows the UK style but her pants havea higher waist than usual and her peplum is narrower to accomodate her build. Both costumes are made by AshleighCherrycostumes who is the primary UK Parr maker.
Aoife wears a full wig styled in a version of the braid and ponytail hairstyle that seems to be the new standard for non black Parr actors. She has a french braid on top and the sides pulled back into a ponytail lightly curled on the tips. And a crown on both sides like Roxanne and the SK Parrs. Tamara wears her own hair styled in the curly side ponytail.
Swing: Shakira Simpson
Shakira has the silver swing costume made by Paul Aspinall. So far she has debuted Aragon, Seymour and Howard wearing the main silver skirt and Parr wearing pants, but from costume maker posts we know she has a Cleves costume. She has a K charm for Howard and likely a B charm for Boleyn. During rehearsals she posted boots with a new heel rhinestone design, but she got the usual silver design by the time she debuted.
She wears her own hair for all the queens she has debuted so far with hairpieces added for some of them. For Aragon she wears her hair pulled back on the sides with a short curled hairpiece and a silver version of the Aragon crown. For Seymour she wears her hair pulled back on the sides, and a mid back lenght hairpiece curled with soft waves. For howard she wears her hair pulled back into a bun and a waist long straight ponytail. For Parr she wears her hair styled in a simmilar way to Aoife with a braid at the front and a ponytail on the back. She wears different lipstick for each queen and regular silver hoop earrings.
Alternates: Ellie Jane Grant, Izi Maxwell
Ellie has the teal costume for her second and third covers. Her costume is the current standard teal variation with pants and a peplum and a darker blue vinyl. So far she has debuted Boleyn and Parr in this costume. She has interchangeable boot straps in the teal square design.
For Boleyn she wears her own hair styled into spacebuns and has a B charm choker. For Parr she wears her own hair styled to the curly side ponytail.
Izi has the orange costume for her second and third covers. She has debuted Seymour and Cleves in this costume. The costume is a standard UK orange with pants and peplum likely made by Camden costumes. It has a notable difference in the cutout panels on the front and back of her top being narrower than usual to accomodate for her build. She has interchangeable boot straps in the current orange style with black outlines.
For Seymout she wears her own hair pulled back with a long back hairpiece styled in a very small beehive. For Cleves she wears her hair in an updo with three buns that is the standard for UK alts with straight hair, the buns are likely a hairpiece as her hair is too short to create enough volume. For her promo photo she wore the orange costume and her Parr hairstyle which is the same combination of braid and ponytail Aoife and Tamara wear, in Izi's case it is her own hair styled at the front and a hairpiece for the ponytail in the back.
Note: we have seen tamara in her pink alt costume in promo photos and backstage but she hasn't debuted any queens in pink I didn't add that costume yet. All the alt costumes are likely made by Camden Costumes.
All photos come from the queen's personal instagram or tiktok accounts (@/nicolelouise_lewis, @/lauradawnpyatt_, @/erincaldwellxox, @/kenedysmall, @/louhenry, @/aoife_haakenson, @/s.simpson, @/elliejane.grant, @/izimaxwell, @/tamannemorgan) the six main accounts (@/sixthemusical), and promotional photos are by Pamela Raith (@/peachyraith)
#six the musical#six costumes#six UK tour#nicole louise lewis#laura dawn pyatt#erin caldwell#kenedy small#lou henry#aoife haakenson#shakira simpson#ellie jane grant#izi maxwell#tamara morgan
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I know you are really busy and not feeling well so you by no means have to work on this ask or even take it at all. I just thought I would submit it so if you ever felt like working on it. I hope you feel a bit better🖤
Modern Daddy dom kink with Demiurge and cute/shy mc? But instead of mc being the one who’s initially interested, it’s Demiurge who has this kink and wants to live out the fantasy with her
A/N: I don't mind writing it at all! Thanks for the idea! And thank you! I am feeling a good bit better. ♥
“O-Oh.. umm.. you're a dom kind of guy, huh?”
It really wasn't all that shocking. From what she could recall, a lot of people said demons preferred to top over being the bottom. Not all, but most.
Demiurge knew she was a nervous type, but he wanted to make sure she was being honest with him. “Doesn't bother you any, does it?”
She shook her head. “Of course not! That's fine. I'd be better with you giving the orders anyways.”
He turned, making his way towards his closet where he kept a majority of his items in a container. Out of sight. Pulling it out, he grabbed onto a whip and chained collar. “What about name calling? Anything in particular you prefer?”
She thought about it, rubbing her upper arm. “Mm.. you mean like.. bad name calling?”
He shook his head. “Mm, like 'pet', 'baby girl'. I don't feel I'd have it in me to call you anything else too intense.”
Baby girl? She thought about that one for a moment, as it sounded like another specific kind of kink. “Are you... into the daddy kink stuff?”
Hearing her ask such a thing, Demiurge had to swallow whatever noise he attempted to make. “I.. am.” Even if she was the shy one, he wasn't sure how to offer up his own list of kinks or fetishes without worry of scaring her off. “That's not a problem, is it?”
She shook her head again, heat rising up on her cheeks.
“Excellent.” He tapped the whip against his shoulder as he put on another role. “Then why don't you get undressed and get down on your knees, pet?”
Catching the hint in his words, she did as he asked.
Demiurge pulled up a chair, sitting cross legged with a wide grin at the sight. “Now, come and get your food, my pet.”
She watched as he began to unfasten his belt, the metal of the buckle clinking as he did so. The demon's cock fished out form his pants, she felt her heart thumping wildly. Rolling her tongue from base to tip, she gave him an anxious look while doing so.
Little did she know, it was blissfully agonizing for her to do such a thing to him. “Keep going,” he ordered, the heaviness of his words showing how much he wanted to feel it all.
Retreating back from his cock, she whimpered in character. “Y-Yes, sir...”
He took the whip, using the coiled item to tilt her head upward to look at him once more. “What was that, pet?”
“I, umm.. y-yes, daddy,” she stuttered.
After removing most of her clothing (minus her undergarments), she went onward. Continuing to suckle the length she salivated all over it to where the dampness could be heard every time she attempted to swallow. The sounds of his own heavy breathing accelerated her actions only for her to pause for a moment when she felt his shoe between her legs rubbing her clothed sex.
“Oh?” His brow twitched in intrigue, the whip tapping his shoulder in thought. “Hit a pleasure spot, did I, baby girl?”
Her mouth was full, she couldn't answer but her heart was beating so much, it was deafening.
Demiurge leaned forward, grabbing onto her underwear to pull at it to where it would apply pressure to her clit all the more for him as well as other places.
She nearly choked on his erection, pulling back in a swift jerk of a motion with a gasping sound—breaking the string of saliva that connected them. “F-Fuuuuck...!” she moaned out, only to feel weak in the knees the moment Demiurge's gloved hand moved over her exposed ass.
He tapped her on the left ass cheek before taking the whip he had bundled a bit in his grip to rub over the other supple mound.
“You might wish to put that back into your mouth, pet,” he ordered. “Or daddy will be displeased.”
Feeling the whip tap her ass as a warning, she grabbed onto the base of his cock and tried again. “S-Sorry! Sorry!” She played up the fear of what he might do when, in reality, she really wanted him to do so much more.
#demiurge#demiurge x mc#demiurge x reader#overlord#demiurge snippet#demiurge drabble#nsft#mod answers#lovelyluna343#modern!demiurge#modern au
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Week 1: Yoongi
Yoongi sat glowering, minus his initial mouth restraints, in the middle of his moderately sized cell. It was a bare thing, with a cot attached to the wall, a shallow sink and a table with a single chair, bolted to the floor. The walls were white and gray with the occasional light blue trim. A small reinforced window allowed some natural light in, but was too small to fit through, even if it could be opened.
A panel on the side of the cell you knew housed a tube that would dispense liquid slave food directly into a mouth when sensed and at certain times.
You walked into the hallway, a simple translucent hard light field separating you from the angry slave. “Yoongi! How are you adjusting to your new station?” You quip, knowing that it was pointless to show pity or empathy.
Yoongi doesn’t lunge, knowing it was useless with the hard light in place, but speaks out of turn regardless. “Oh, get fucked. You have no right to keep me here! Bitch!”
He spat harshly at your face. You watch impassively as the saliva slowly rolls down the hard light in front of your eyes.
Okay, so he wasn’t happy.
“Actually, I have every right to keep you here. And honestly, I could be caring for you much worse than you are currently being treated.” You reach into the unoccupied cell behind you and pull out a pair of old chains and a blood speckled shock collar
You could see tears well up in Yoongi’s beautiful feline eyes. Whether from fear or frustration you couldn’t be sure. He trembled as you continued speaking.
“I could very easily have you in these within the next five minutes.” You shake the chains making them rattle metallically. “But I’m a nice Mistress, and I love you. I want this to work out between us. So why don’t you be a good boy and give in?”
You knew that it would take more than a brief threat of pain and some vague praise to shift his perspective, but never hurt to be persuasive.
Yoongi’s tears spilled over his lower lids and his voice shook. “I’ll never give in.”
“You say that now, but what will you do when the aphrodisiacs in your only source of food give you an erection you’re unable to take care of? What will happen when months pass without a single glance of another human being? A simple conversation? Sensation of touch? Your senses will become dulled and your mental health will suffer.” You said. “I know that you’ve struggled with depression in the past, do you really want to go through that again?”
Yoongi let out a small sob and buried his face in his bulky full hand restraints.
Seeing the man finally reach his first breaking point, you step back and put away the chains and collar. “The light on the panel will blink blue when food is ready to be consumed. No worries about needing to use the bathroom. In addition to your full enemas at the auction house, the formula we use here at the penthouse won’t create any waste.”
He continued to cry. You felt a little bad, but it was for his own good.
“I love you, Yoongi. Don’t disappoint me.”
You exit this wing of cells and head for the next one over. Time to say hello to Hoseok.
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Starting the slow, painful process of rewriting older snippets of mine with fixed edits, more revisions and some of them just...completely reworking! anyways here’s Maedhros in Angband not having a good time. I chose this one because I have a sequel in the works!
See the illustration here!!
Morgoth has stolen Fëanor’s father, his Silmarils and now, his eldest son and heir
CW: blanket Angband warning for captivity, restraints and Morgoth (and Gothmog) existing, humiliation/on display/made a trophy, dehumanizing language
Angband world building and complex trauma masterlist
author’s note: I know I have talked about this on like fifty other posts so I’ll try to make this quick but I just…I think a lot about Maedhros being a trophy to Melkor in a way akin to the Silmarils and..
The elf held its head high even as it was pulled forward by a chain connected to the collar around its neck. Despite the humiliated anger that burned on his face, the wretch still clearly considered himself as possessing of dignity, perhaps even nobility. Gothmog wondered if he should place a wager with one of the captains as he did on occasion ; how long until the little king abandoned his attempt at pride, until their master broke His new trophy. True this brat was of the fallen king’s brood but none of the Eldar could survive their master’s attention or fury with their mind intact, let alone the arrogance it was said the late Fëanáro saw fit to pass to his offspring. But no matter. Gothmog knew his master would be far more satisfied ruining the spitfire eldest son of his old Enemy rather than something sniveling and already broken. Gothmog knew this from experience and he looked forward to the day his lord paraded the insolent Noldo before them only minus his insolence.
The task of capturing Nelyafinwë alive had been a difficult one; not the capturing, once the other Noldor were slain and the high king was overwhelmed by Gothmog’s host, it had been easy enough to force the brat to his knees and bind him. No, it had been the alive aspect that had been the challenge.
Perhaps it should have been expected from the heir of Curufinwë but being rendered practically immobile by the chains and two huge orcish captains on either side had done almost nothing to quell the Noldo’s fire. He had kicked, thrashed, screamed insults and curses in that high Elvish tongue that Gothmog so hated…
Most captives would find themselves dead should they have caused so much trouble merely to be transported or at the very least knocked senseless. But no. Lord Melkor had ordered that the king be brought to His feet alive and with no limiting injuries.
Gothmog was lucky that they had managed to subdue him with little more than some bruises as lasting evidence by the time they reached the fortress (where the fury did not quell either even upon being thrown to the foot of the throne of the boy’s bitter Foe) Gothmog had been ready to whip the wretched brat until he was hoarse from screaming. He still hoped he would be given this privilege in the future.
There was a general show of amusement and appreciation from the watching generals as Lord Melkor pulled His prize along behind Him. The Vala had not yet indicated to His audience whether there was a further purpose to this display or merely for its own sake. Gothmog would enjoy it either way, if only because the elf wouldn’t.
The more shrewd, and more cruel, among them would have noticed that the decorative pin bearing the crest of the Noldo’s House remained intact above his bare stomach. The Balrog captain recognized it from the battle the thrall’s father perished in. The irony was a nice touch from their Master. And at the moment He looked happier than many had ever seen Him in some time. Certainly since He had returned from the land of His hated kin The eyes of the Vala were glittering and there was a powerful aura around Him, throbbing through the small group of soldiers that He had ordered to gather there.
Melkor paused with an air of mock thoughtfulness and then the elf was shoved suddenly into their midst. The balrog Captain was impressed that it was still standing. This close, he could see it looked utterly worse for ware. True, he hadn’t looked very good when him and his host had dragged it from the bloodstained grove where he had been ordered to meet the small group of Noldor lead by their king. The king who was now swaying so pathetically on his cut feet
“Look,” the Vala says softly and everyone freezes, “But do not dare to touch. Not until I give My word.” He smiles blandly at them. Even among His own side, it is a deeply unpleasant thing.
“Worry not. It has been given a dose of lhong water. Its claws trimmed, its wings clipped. Though it might try, it can offer you no trouble. For the moment at least, he is docile.” A few of the soldiers teeter a bit, clearly unsure whether to laugh or feel offended at the insinuation that the bound and blindfolded elf could have ever posed a threat to them.
“Of course, this is..or was…a youthful and strong warrior,” Melkor continued as the elf’s ears perked up, perhaps he was coming back to himself from the dazed state he had been brought in with. though of course, the general guessed, the Noldo would have no idea where he had come back to himself, blindfolded and barefoot in the middle of enemy soldiers, “He is more amusing when he can act freely but now is not the time for a demonstration.“ The elf was pushed from their midst back towards the clear path through the hall. The Vala pulled upon the chain leash to urge him forward several paces.
Towards the end of the hall Melkor stopped abruptly and there was renewed laughter from the onlookers as the jerking of the chains nearly sent the Noldor king to his knees. The balrog captain sneered as he caught sight of the fury and humiliation on the prisoner’s face as he righted himself again, only to be pulled forward as Melkor made his way to the Throne.
There was a thrill of anticipation in the hall. None present expected the prisoner kneel without a fight and indeed, though the words the Vala spoke were too soft for most to here, and though they seemed to cause the elf to blanch, Nelyafinwë still shook his head stoutly. The dim light of the torches made it appear as though it was a shadow that struck the boy’s face, sending him toppling to the ground. Two guards were beckoned forward to constrain him as Melkor sat, watching the struggle idly. The elf was forced to the ground, a large orcish hand holding his head down while the other guard fixed the manacles on his wrists and ankles. The Noldo continued to thrash and scream until Dark Lord’s booted foot pressed ominously to his forehead.
“Shall we resume?” when Melkor in His terrible, rumbling voice spoke it was with gravity that seeped into the very stone that upheld the fortress. The Silmarils upon His crown illuminated the stark hatred and fear on the fallen king’s bloodied face.
As always please feel free to send Angband prompts :) About Maedhros or anyone!
First Author’s note: I’m thinking of having Melkor hold a more private viewing session for his higher ups too…
Second Author’s note: Gothmog gets some revenge (or at least tries to) for how difficult of a captive Maedhros was here
Also feel free to check out my post about the hierarchies of Angband and the various trajectories of the prisoners
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Alternate Kanaya List 2: Electric Boogaloo: Into the Kanayaverse: Definitive Edition (featuring Dante from Devil May Cry)
??? Blood, Shynaya
Shy Clumsy that enjoys cooking and also eating
Somehow ended up becoming some rich troll's sugargrub (they've never met)
Knight of Space
Heavyset, belly heavy
Rust blood, Spynaya
Debonair spy with a penchant for getting caught (Loves it)
Chain sickle
Leaves you a loveletter with a smoochmark once she escapes
Maid of Space
Curvy, somewhat short
Bronze blood, Cownaya
Just a kindly farmtroll
Saw
May or may not be inflicted with a moobeast curse
Accidentally smothers you with her big naturals
Page of Space
Average height, huge booba, even huger and taller when moobeastified, tumby
Gold blood, Nerdnaya
Hasn’t seen the moon or her glasses in sweeps (They’re on her head)
*Blows mind honey vape in your face*
Apathetic e-girl streamer
Mage of Space
Bottom heavy, flat chested
Olive Blood, Collegenaya
Is constantly late for her classes
Happy go lucky and quirky monster hunter
may or may not have learned social skills from weird troll anime and manga
at least a lil yandere
Knife
Heir of Space
Athletic bodytype, slightly topheavy
Jade blood, Kanaya
You know who it is
Teal Blood, Businessnaya
High ranking manager of "Troll Corp." She may of killed the rest
Prone to migraines
Takes her stress out on interns and other business trolls lower on the business echeladder than her
Chain and Collar
Seer of Space
Soft Hourglass
Blue blood, Serketnaya Casinonaya
Totally not the head of some criminal organization
Bet, literally
Riggs your games lewdly
Chaingun
Thief of Space
Sometimes lorge, sometimes svelte Variety is the spice of life
Indigo blood, Guardnaya
Stonefaced bodyguard for hire
Doesn't talk much, prefers one word sentences
Very professional, will protect the client for the entire contract and not a second more
Heir of Space
Very Muscular, built like a brickhouse
Purple blood, Clownaya
Hijinx abound
Pulls a line of hankerchiefs from your nose and strangles you with it Kills you with a comically oversized saw
Bard of Space
Constantly changes bodyshape, yours and hers
Violet blood, Swordnaya
Two swords, one for fun, one for business
Fell in love with a girl
It was one sided and it left scars on her face
Prince of Space
Amazonian Bodytype
Fuchsia blood, Jewelnaya
Rich bitch minus the bitch, most of the time
Sugar mommy vibes
Can hear her jeweled armbands clinking from a mile away
Chainsaw Trident
Hyper Hourglass
Witch of Space
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Fanart Masterstroke
(j/k my arting is deeply B-minus)
Kraken-era Stede
40 38 oranges cake
Saint Stede-bastion
"Ocean spray droplets surrounding two innocent fully erect eggplant" by Lucius Spriggs
I’m really proud of the glove. And the chain…but I was apparently wrong about who wears the collar
Summer teeth
My whittle finger
Homoerotic swordfights
Let your Geek Flag Fly
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