#Wooden Partition Wall

[woodnlite]

Transform Your Office with Wooden Partition Walls

Designing an office space is more than just choosing furniture and lighting. It's about creating a functional, productive, and aesthetically pleasing environment. One of the most impactful yet underrated elements in office space interior design is the wooden partition wall. At WOODnLITE, we understand the balance between privacy and collaboration in modern workspaces, and our wooden partitions are designed to enhance both.

In this blog, we’ll explore why wooden partition walls are an excellent choice for office interiors and how they can completely transform your workplace into a more stylish, efficient, and comfortable environment.

What is a Wooden Partition Wall?

A wooden partition wall is a non-load-bearing wall structure made primarily from wood or engineered wood materials. These partitions serve as flexible dividers that help segment open spaces without the need for permanent construction. Unlike concrete or metal partitions, wooden ones provide warmth, texture, and a natural finish that elevates the ambiance of any space.

They can be designed in various styles—solid, slatted, open-frame, or even hybrid models that combine wood with glass or metal. This flexibility makes them ideal for various office space interior themes, from modern minimalism to classic luxury.

Benefits of Wooden Partition Walls in Office Interiors

1. Improved Space Utilization

Wooden partitions are a smart solution to divide large open office spaces into more manageable zones—such as workstations, meeting areas, or break lounges. They help you get the most out of your square footage without making the space feel cramped.

2. Aesthetic Appeal

Wood adds a touch of elegance and sophistication. Its natural grain patterns and warm tones bring life and character to what could otherwise be a dull, corporate environment. If your brand values style and professionalism, a wooden partition wall speaks volumes.

3. Customizable Designs

WOODnLITE offers fully customizable partitions that can be tailored in terms of height, width, color, wood type, and design features. Whether you want open shelving, slats for airflow, or solid panels for privacy, we can create it to match your office design.

4. Cost-Effective

Unlike permanent walls, wooden partitions are much more affordable and easier to install. They can also be removed or relocated with minimal effort, making them a cost-effective option for growing or dynamic companies that may need to reconfigure office layouts regularly.

5. Enhanced Acoustics

Wood is naturally sound-absorbent, which means a well-designed wooden partition can help reduce noise in open-plan offices. This can improve concentration and create a more peaceful work environment.

Why Wooden Partitions Work for Modern Office Interiors

Today’s work culture is all about collaboration, flexibility, and comfort. Traditional cubicles have given way to open offices, but these open layouts often come with challenges like noise and lack of privacy. Wooden partitions offer a middle ground by providing semi-private workspaces without the isolation of closed rooms.

They are perfect for creating breakout areas, hot-desking zones, or collaborative spaces within a larger open-plan design. Whether you're managing a co-working space, a creative agency, or a corporate office, wooden partitions offer both style and practicality.

Popular Types of Wooden Partition Walls by WOODnLITE

Slatted Wooden Partitions These partitions feature evenly spaced wooden slats that allow light and air to pass through, offering visual separation without complete isolation. Ideal for collaborative zones or reception areas.

Solid Wooden Panels For maximum privacy, especially in executive cabins or private meeting rooms, solid wooden walls are best. They create a quiet, enclosed space while maintaining a premium look.

Wood and Glass Combination Combine wood with frosted or clear glass for a modern, open feel that still offers boundaries. Perfect for boardrooms or manager cabins.

Moveable Wooden Screens These are portable partition options that can be easily moved or folded when not in use. Great for dynamic spaces that need frequent layout changes.

How to Integrate Wooden Partitions in Your Office Design

Step 1: Define Your Office Layout

Start by identifying which areas need separation—work zones, meeting rooms, lounges, etc. Use wooden partitions to section off these spaces while maintaining a flow.

Step 2: Choose the Right Wood and Finish

WOODnLITE offers a range of materials from teak and oak to engineered wood with various laminate and veneer finishes. Select a tone that complements your existing interior palette.

Step 3: Incorporate Functional Elements

You can integrate shelves, planters, or even whiteboards into your wooden partitions. This makes them not just dividers, but also functional pieces of furniture.

Step 4: Think About Lighting

Make sure your partitions do not block natural or artificial lighting. Slatted designs or glass combinations can help maintain a bright and open atmosphere.

Sustainability Matters

At WOODnLITE, we prioritize eco-friendly practices. All our wooden partitions are made from sustainably sourced materials and are manufactured with minimal environmental impact. Choosing wooden elements for your office space interior doesn’t just benefit your team—it’s a step toward a greener planet.

Maintenance and Durability

One of the biggest advantages of wooden partition walls is their long-term durability. With proper care, they can last for years without losing their charm. Regular dusting and occasional polishing are usually all that’s needed. At WOODnLITE, we apply protective coatings to enhance water resistance and reduce wear and tear.

Why Choose WOODnLITE?

Tailored Designs: We don’t offer one-size-fits-all solutions. Every wooden partition is designed to suit your specific office layout and brand aesthetic.

High-Quality Materials: From natural wood to engineered options, we use only the best.

Expert Craftsmanship: Our team of designers and craftsmen ensure precision and elegance in every product.

On-Time Delivery: Quick turnaround times to meet your renovation or construction deadlines.

Post-Sales Support: We offer installation, maintenance, and replacement services if required.

Final Thoughts

The office is more than just a place to work—it's a reflection of your brand, culture, and values. Investing in high-quality wooden partition wall systems is a smart way to improve functionality, aesthetics, and employee satisfaction. Whether you’re redesigning a small studio or a large corporate space, WOODnLITE offers the perfect partition solutions tailored to your needs.

Start transforming your office space interior with the elegance and versatility of wood. Get in touch with WOODnLITE today to explore a wide range of partition wall designs that blend beauty with performance.

[pvcflooringuaeonline]

Wall-to-wall carpeting is a popular choice for homeowners looking to add comfort, warmth, and style to their living spaces. In Dubai, where interior design trends are constantly evolving, high-quality carpets can make a significant impact on the overall look and feel of your home. This article explores the importance of wall-to-wall carpeting, highlights top providers in Dubai, and offers valuable insights on selecting the perfect carpet to suit your needs.

Contact Information Address: 39 3B St - Al Quoz Dubai - United Arab Emirates Phone: +971 56 584 7696 Email: carpetscurtains@gmail.com Website: https://pvcflooringuae.com/

[viridescentelf]

Yandere elf x reader - Bath time :)

Character and Art belongs to @meo-eiru! Please check out her blog ✨ Another BIG thanks for creating him!

This is a follow-up to my last fic: if you want to read that one, click here. I'm not sure if I'll do another one, a bit out of ideas lol.

Warning: 18+ content, drugging, general nsfw, explicit

—————

The water stung your damaged knee. Silas was preparing something in a wooden pail, humming some tune, while you sunk deeper into the hot spring. The water brushed your chin, as you glared at the back of the stupid elf’s head, bobbing back and forth as he dunked colorful fluids from flasks into the bucket. His long, luscious hair was levitating on the water's clear surface, covering his butt.

You were so close to freedom. He told you he’s enchanted the area now, stopping you from leaving entirely. No idea how that worked, but he showed you by pushing you gently against an invisible barrier. Your cheek had squished against the unseen partition, like when a human tests their cat’s intelligence against walls in those videos. “To protect you”, he explained in his sing-song trill.

If you hadn’t been injured, you would’ve made it. Away from this maniac.

“Look what Mama made!”

Silas held the bucket under your nose, smiling serenely. The liquid was a mix of pinkish goop and specks of sparkles. Your eyes lingered on the strange soup, then turned up to meet his excited face.

“What the fuck is this”, you mumbled crossly.

“No swearing, darling!” He patted your head. He didn’t know what the word “fuck” meant, but he read that it is bad for children to use. “It’s my healing salt! Doesn’t it smell amazing?”

Silas kept holding it under your nose. It did smell good, damn it.

“It will heal your poor leg. Plus, it makes everything feel a bit tingly. Healthy for cleaning up down there.” He gestured to his crotch.

Fuck.

Without warning, he dunked the solution into the bath. The mixture oozed slowly into the clear spring. The effect of it was almost instantaneous. You felt the biting pain ebb from your limb and you sighed in relief. Elf magic was so fascinating. If only Silas wasn’t such a freaking psycho. You would love to learn more about it. And then go back home and sleep in a bed without tits in your face.

He was right about the prickly sensation. You felt a warmth pulsate down there, as you absentmindedly sunk deeper into the water. Your gaze blurred and you felt the comfort of the heat engulf you.

Silas pulled you to him and placed you in his lap. His towering upper body remained out of the pool, the breezy touch of his skin a great juxtaposition to the searing heat of the water. To be fully engulfed, he would have had to spread himself across the whole spring, leaving no room for you.

You felt him grow below you. The effects of the water seemed to work on his form as well. His cheeks blushed.

“Be good, darling.” He breathed into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Let’s heal you completely.”

Your leg was fine. You didn’t need any more healing.

Silas’ lips brushed yours, his tongue slinking quickly and entangling in yours. The potion and his saliva were making you go crazy, your lap roaring with want. It was impossible to bottle up.

The potion made movement slow. You were attempting to push away with the last of your wits, but it came across as you gently pressing his chest together. He misunderstood and held your face up to his breasts.

“Drink up…”, he trebled, leading your mouth to his hard teat. It was hopeless.

Your wet lips traced around it and you felt the elf jitter under you with excitement. His hands were softly trailing down your back and took hold of your bottom, squeezing the soft tissue. The water delayed his movement, but you felt him lift you slightly, hovering dangerously above his throbbing shaft.

You could feel him against your entrance, nudging slightly. The heat consumed you, thrumming in the area, wanting. You released your lips from his chest, gazing dozily into his red face. If he was blushing more, you could not tell. He looked so enthralled; the big, dumb eyes full of devotion to you.

Silas crashed into your lips again, kissing desperately, lapping up every part of your mouth. The more saliva you exchanged, the more you felt yourself pulsate. The waves within you crashed, begging for relief. You tried to use your arms to push him off of you, but they felt so limp.

You hated this effect he had on you. You couldn’t stop yourself. This surge and needing the release - it drove you insane.

Floating above him in the spring, you felt him twitch there in unfair expectation. He was far too massive for you.

Silas wrapped one arm around your waist, pushing you closer into his body. Your breasts compressed against his and he moaned shakily at the sensation.

“Mama will heal you, dear…”, he huffed after releasing himself from your lips, with bits of drivel escaping his mouth. “I lov-“

You couldn’t take it anymore. You sat down on him, letting the beginning of him enter you with a strong jerk. He filled you up, with just so little of him inside. Your entire body shook from the flash.

Silas head knocked back; his eyes crossed as he let out the loudest yelp you had ever heard from him. He had never felt you like this before. He only dared milking himself in your sweet mouth, for fear of tearing you apart. But this… the feeling of your tight, velvety walls, the little he could feel of it was enough to make his world spin.

He instinctively grabbed your hips with a jolt and lifted you up and down on him. He wanted more of that sensation, more. More. More!

You were bouncing on top of him and felt every sinew explode with electricity. He bucked his hips slightly when you bobbed back down, but not too much in fear of breaking you, slowly deepening each thrust.

Although you could hear his pitiful “Ah! Ah! Ah!”s, your entire environment seemed to muffle. All you could feel was the inconsolable penetration. The way every jab made your groin burst into flames. The water splashed vigorously around you, as he guided your body into his. He lifted you like you weighed nothing. His head was still jerked back with his eyes in the back of his head, it seemed he was unable to do anything other than plunge halfway into you.

You couldn’t help but release low moans yourself, the note of your bellows making him tense up more. His large hands were clasping your ass, the flesh spilling out between his long fingers. You whimpered and let him consume you, every thrust splitting your walls further. The loud clapping of your bodies and the vigorous splashing, you were intoxicated. The sounds. The sensation. It was diabolical.  

You let out a string of deep moans, as you came, the wetness around his shaft increasing as you tightened your grip around him. Silas couldn’t hold it any longer, either, as he erupted within you, squealing from the overwhelming pleasure.

He spilled out of you. A puddle of white foam bubbled around you. Silas heaved loudly, blinking excessively and tilted his head back forward, staring dumbfoundedly at you.

He looked like you beat him up. Tears were escaping his rippling eyes, as a tiny sob hiccupped out of him.

Fucking baby.

“D-Do you feel better now? Have I healed you?”, he squeaked, pulling you into his arm cages again.

You rolled your eyes and nodded out of sheer vanquish. There was no point explaining to him that this wasn’t how you heal humans. There was no point explaining to him that mothers don't do this.

Silas kissed your head and swirled his hand in the water, making his semen drift away from you. “Oh…all the precious milk. Gone…”

He grabbed a sponge from behind him and started cleaning you feebly, his hands still shaking from the massive release. You saw a tear fall from his cheek. Without thinking, you brushed another one off his cheek.

He gaped at you after the gesture, pausing his scrubbing.

“O-oh darling. You really love me, don’t you? That’s why it felt so good…”, he smiled widely, more tears splashing out of his googly eyes.

You didn’t answer. You didn't know why you just did that.

Silas hugged you so tightly, you let out a wheeze.

“I love you too, my sweet!!” he squeaked and squished you more. “It’s getting late. We still need to have dinner! And you need a proper portion of milk!”

You closed your eyes, sighing.

Another milking session...

[xxsycamore]

╰┈➤ When you discover a mysterious hole in a restroom inside the Crown castle, you're ready to catch the ill-doers of whatever forbidden exchange is taking place and take them straight to Victor. Little do you know, your curiosity would lead you to give more and more of yourself to that ridiculous cause, night after night. And you might just end up enjoying it.

— William, Harrison, Liam, Elbert, Alfons, Ellis, Jude, Roger, Victor x f!Reader

• rating: 🔞 E (MDNI) • tags: Glory Hole; Anonymous Sex; Corruption; Hand Jobs; Blow Jobs; Oral Sex; Come Eating; Come Swallowing; Deepthroating; Masturbation; Dirty Thoughts; Smoking; Objectification; Overstimulation; Penis Size; Multiple Orgasms; Ruined Orgasms; Vaginal Sex; Vaginal Fingering; Size Difference; Large Cock; Creampie; Breast Fucking; Dirty Talk; Squirting/Vaginal Ejaculation • wordcount:  5,836 • masterlist

a/n: I've had this idea for a while now and here it is, finally. One of the longest smuts I've written and definitely one that I'm proud of. Enjoy!

⏮ ⏯ ⏭ NIN - The Wretched

Visions of Temptation 2024/KINKTOBER DAY 2: Glory Holes

NINE NIGHTS. 

Among the many things you've been warned about when you first started living at the castle, you couldn't help but be curious the most about one thing. That infamous communal restroom located at the very end of the left wing's top-floor corridor. Remoted and basically isolated from the lively parts of the castle, if it weren't for the obscene rumor Alfons shared with you, you might not have discovered such a place exists at all. Actually, you're still not convinced if it truly exists. It's all too much like the hedonistic bastard to mess with your head like that.

That's why you're on a mission to do a little investigation on your own.

Arriving at the dimly lit location, your anticipation is flattened by the lack of anything obscure to be found. The restroom hardly differs from the ones you've seen around the place: well-maintained and designed accordingly to match the elegant style of the castle. One side is for the ladies, the other for the gentlemen; two different entrances, a wall separating them right in the middle.

You don't know why you even bother going as far as peeking an eye inside the stalls, but nothing appears to be amiss there as well.

Apart from one thing.

You nearly missed it in the sparse light, but the cut-out hole in the wooden wall inside the second stall stands starkly against the otherwise well-polished surface of it.

Suddenly it all clicks, and you remember Alfons' words.

"Rumor has it that around eleven in the evening, people go there to partake in rather... scandalous exchanges. Both parties are provided with anonymity and everything that takes place inside the restroom stays there. We might be a modest group of inhibitors here, little Robin, but everyone has their needs. We don't judge which part of the partition you choose to be on."

This has to be about drugs! As outrageous as it is, it perfectly explains the hole - large enough to serve for the purpose of one such "exchange", the wooden wall in-between separating provider and client.

You chose to linger around here just early enough to be able to leave without witnessing what does - or does not - happen in the established hour, and just close enough to it in case if, for some reason, you'd want to stay and find out for yourself. This means you can perfectly well remain waiting in the stall, catch the culprit red-handed, and take him straight to Victor. You're sure he knows nothing of this, it can't be otherwise.

1.

You don't have to dwell in your thoughts for much longer, because in the perfectly tranquil air around you, you're able to pick up the soft noise of the door opening on the other side. Readily, you prepare to grab hold of whatever is inserted through the hole and see if your hunch is correct.

Little do you know, the sight will make you reconsider at once. You blink your eyes several times when you look down.

It takes you everything not to scream, barely being fast enough to clasp a hand around your own mouth, as soon as you realize what you're looking at.

Whoever is on the other side of the restroom is currently giving access to a certain part of themselves, and by the way it stands erect and demanding attention, you can imagine just one possible scenario of what the person on your side of the partition is expected to do with it.

The breath hitches in your throat. Will you be found out if you were to exit right now? Even if you won't be seen, even if anyone else could have been here, in your place…

A very dangerous thought fills your head, and you know listening to it should be the last thing you do. Still, for the sake of getting to the bottom of this and not disrupting any of it just yet, you start to think it might not be that bad if you just…

Hesitantly, your hand reaches out until your fingertips can almost graze the very tip of the cock in front of you. Eyes falling closed for a second, nine different faces flash through your mind. Nine possibilities. It's as if this changes everything between you and the mysterious man on the other side, when in reality it changes nothing at all. You think back to your fellow Crownmates, as if trying to see if the thought of any of them pushes you away, but to no avail.

You might have lost your mind. Fingers slowly curling around the hot flesh in front of you, the initial contact is far easier than you thought. You start pumping the hardness in your fist right away, noting the way it slightly swells in your hand, despite already seeming quite aroused.

The slight tremble of your fingers is perhaps a welcomed side-effect of the adrenaline coursing through your system, as the cock in your hand is very receptive to your actions. You wonder to yourself if the person on the other side is used to this sort of thing. Or maybe it's his first time here too, his curiosity getting the better of him. Just like you, in a way. However, he's clearly being able to get off on that thrill. It must be contagious because you become bolder with your movements and your eyes are no longer shy to the sight in front of you. It's embarassing not to be able to take your eyes away, but you can't help it - there's something so fine about it; the size and shape of it, the saturated pink color of the glossy tip, the small bud of precum threatening to spill over with excitement on the next enthusiastic throb…

In just a couple more strokes, the object of your admiration closes the spectacle with a rather grandiose final act… The vigorous spurts of its culmination leave a milky-white trail down the crevices of your fingers as you marvel at the sheer amount he came.

Giving him one last base-to-top stoke, nice and slowly, you catch yourself being so captivated by the obscure display that you're almost disappointed when it all ends and you snap back to reality.

Time to splash some cold water on your face.

2.

The sound of a grandfather clock announcing eleven in the evening is coming from afar but you still hear it without mistake. You've found yourself in this cursed place again, albeit with hesitation. Going back to the events of last night leaves you with mixed feelings. For one, you swear you're being fooled with. Is this Alfons' sick idea of having fun? Luring you to some shady place, provoking you to commit unspeakable acts… You bet there are no other parties even involved in this to begin with. Who knows what the hole really is for, but to use it the way he did… it truly takes an unhinged imagination, you have to admit. Now you just have to find him back at the scene of the crime - God knows they always come back - and this time you won't be so generous. It's not exactly a plan that you have but you'll do something, anything.

Still, you can't help but notice there was something off about last night's mysterious visitor. He didn't quite strike you to be anything like Alfons. Not that you want to spend too much time thinking about what he's supposed to be like down there, or the specific mannerisms you can tell him by, or…

Suddenly there's movement and you hold your breath in anticipation as you prepare to look down.

This is…definitely not the same cock.

This can't be.

Without thinking much, you grab a hold of the sizeable appendage as if to explore it more. Maybe the limited light is playing tricks on you.

Your thumb grazes a slightly protruding vein on the side, something you might have missed yesterday, or you might have not. Though the visual difference is becoming less and less the more you overthink it, the feeling of it in your warm palm is notably different. You don't even know how you get on your knees, but you try to make the most of the new angle.

The stranger, whoever he might be, seems to enjoy the way you're fooling around, much to your own surprise. Almost as if he wants to encourage you to explore more, to do whatever you want. Soon enough it becomes awkward to just examine him like that when he's probably here to feel pleasure. Even in your stubbornness to recognize him as the man from last night, you start stroking and massaging the girth in your closed fist. Stimulating the sensitive skin on the head makes it pulse so tantalizingly, and running the fingertip of your other thumb down the protruding vein almost tips him over the edge…You don't mind this reaction. What's more, you pretty much want to finish what you started.

Unexpectedly, the length of the stranger's cock retracts almost completely back inside the hole with just its head sticking out. The sturdy repetitive motion indicates that the man is taking care of himself while still giving you access to the product of his upcoming climax.

What does he want you to do with his cum? Does he want to paint your open palms white, or maybe if he could say so, he would prefer to color your lips white with his come?

The moment he finishes with what seems to be a glorious orgasm, your sticky fingertip has almost made it to your mouth in a rush of curiosity. You have no idea what's the use of doing something like this when he won't even be able to see it.

During your haze, you think you see a painted glossy red fingernail as you watch the cock of the stranger disappear.

You must be imagining things.

3.

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

You guess that the third time is saved for the shameless.

This is exactly what you are, as you find yourself kneeling on the cool tiles on another late night. The initial shock of finding yet another unfamiliar piece of flesh left at your disposal is washed away by the growing sense of thrill that you're starting to get familiar with, more with each passing night. Combined with just a little bit of "since you're already here".

You wonder how fast can you make this one cum. All this time and you're yet to use your mouth, maybe now is a good chance to try it.

Thankfully the other side knows nothing of the fever rising up to your cheeks. Not feeling eyes on you helps you be bolder with your actions, and you feel like an absolute tease. Once you pop the well-formed head in your mouth, your tongue shows no mercy to the painfully erect cock.

A few agonizing slow licks across the length of it seem to be the last straw for the stranger. But not in the sense you're expecting.

In a flash, your mouth is left to hang open and empty; like a lollipop's been taken away from you. A cold shiver runs through you. Did you go too far? Was it not to his liking?

You're not yet fully seated back on your knees in confusion before he gives you a "second chance". Almost as if you're starved, you hurry to take him in again, saliva overflowing from the corner of your mouth and lubricating him for some earnest bobbing of your head. You're going to pleasure him properly this time.

Except, this leads to the same result.

The pause is shorter now, and you get the impression that he's toying with you. Does he want you to please him, or does he not? Which one is the truth?

You fall for his tricks time and time again, because you just can't help it. Awaiting for him to stick his cock back into the hole is rather humiliating but each time your mouth salivates more with the eagerness to welcome him deep inside. He only stills when he's noticeably on the verge of orgasm, and you take him as deep as he lets you. You're a bit tense at this point - should he snap his hips and thrust further in, you're likely to choke on him.

Drinking down on every last drop of his come, you don't know why you're so relieved that his last gesture was not a lie. You just know that you're left to yourself once again. And the whole ordeal has made you horny.

4.

Another day passes in your busy life as a fairytale keeper.

Most of the missions you're assigned are fast-paced enough to keep you fully occupied; senses being constantly put to the test, mind projecting gruesome pictures you've seen through the day and turning them into words at the end of it, once you sit in front of your typewriter.

Yet there are those little pockets of time when the world slows down for you and your fellow Crown members. Traveling from location to location; gathering in the foyer waiting for Victor… It's easy to zone out.

Your gaze moves from Liam's pretty lips curling in a small laughter as he conversates with Harrison, to Harrison stretching out while he listens; to Elbert's tall frame as he looks out the window next to them, to Alfons staring at him, putting one leg over the other as he stirs the steamy liquid in his cup. Which ones? Which ones of them have visited that place? You have very little to go off of. Someone's hand enters your field of vision. Delicate, long fingers drumming against a hard surface. You dart your gaze to another. Roughened palms. And another. Concealed by dark gloves.

Skin textures. Shoe sizes. Limbs stretching out.

It's not until someone asks you if you're alright - "You've been terribly quiet all this time!" - that you shake off your inappropriate thoughts and scold yourself for having them in the first place.

The next time you find yourself in the stall, you're almost glad to give head to someone who's clearly cutting to the chase. There's not much shuffling or repositioning from the other side of the partition, and you're able to focus on the weight in your mouth.

Tonight's stranger is no less well-endowed but you'd say he's a little more on the thicker side compared to your previous experiences. Accidentally grazing him with your teeth makes you hear an annoyed single stomp of a shoe against the floor tiles on the other side. This only motivates you to do better, and you truly do your best sucking him off.

Your ears pick up something different this time. This quick striking noise reminds you of a match being lit… Even with the task you're focused on, your senses remain sharp, and you swear you can smell cigarette smoke.

Here you are, sucking off some guy while he treats himself to a smoke. Things can't get any cruder from this point on.

But you don't mind it at all. This is of mutual interest for both parties, that's only fair. So you don't think much of it your hand makes its way down south, searching underneath layers of clothing until it finds aching hot flesh, begging to be pleasured.

Getting off to your scandalous adventures has been common practice for you the last few days, but it definitely feels better to claim your pleasure here, at the core moment of it.

The closer you get to your own orgasm, the faster your head moves back and forth. All it takes to send you over the edge is the feeling of hot cum being disposed in your welcoming mouth, and you join him by coming there on the floor, unknown to the stranger.

He loses no time removing his spent cock. You can hear the grinding of a heel as he stamps out his cigarette. And he's gone.

Now you're left to wonder why it feels so good to be used by someone on their smoke break.

5.

Tonight sees you crossing yet another boundary.

Things are going on in a less formulaic fashion, with no hurry at all, and it's not that you're not enjoying it- quite the opposite - but you can't help being curious about something. How bad would it be if you were to gain just a little bit of pleasure for yourself from all of this? Surely you won't be found out if you were to share another piece of yourself with the stranger on the other side different from your mouth and your hands. You're far from the thought that some of the female staff don't know about this place. So you don't hesitate positioning yourself upright and facing the wall, close enough that your body is pressed against it.

You don't ask for much, just to feel that delicious hardness against your swollen folds. The very first contact shoots sparks of pure ecstasy through you. The angry-red tip of the man's cock graces against your clit and you nearly mewl out in pleasure. So you do that again, until you're practically grinding yourself on it like a tool conveniently left for your pleasure.

You'd feel selfish and guilty about this if it weren't for the fact that your actions are getting the stranger off as well. You've already slicked him up with your saliva thoroughly, given him attention which has been enough for others to reach their peak. This one seems to have a rather high endurance, but interestingly no other method of play gets him going the same way as you pleasuring yourself on him. Is this what he wants? You're afraid you're not able to stop now, at least not until you cum. Which happens all too soon, with your legs shaking from overstimulation as the cock underneath you remains swollen and upright and poking your folds again and again while you try to catch your breath.

And then he cums. Just like that, without assistance from your side… Or maybe it's your pleasure that did it for him? This is a strange one, for sure… But you like him.

6.

The cock you're currently stoking with both hands is long and elegant, with a rather pale complexion, further emphasized by the blue-ish veins at the base. You can't help but be gracious with your ministrations as you pleasure it, and surely enough, it doesn't take enough to push the man it belongs to over the edge. He spills thickly in your hands and you kiss the tip of it, careful as not to overstimulate it too much… But when you expect an early end to tonight's rendezvous, it seems like it's far from it. Without any indication of him leaving, you realize he's still pretty much hard. So you resume your actions, albeit timidly at first.

It quickly turns into you full-on sucking him off, seeing that your hands won't be enough anymore. His ample length is a little too much for you to take, so you're relieved once he successfully fills your mouth of his cum, a lot less thicker this time. Except, it's still not over. Such a greedy bastard, exploiting you for greater and greater pleasures each time.

Taking in a large portion of breath and exhaling slowly while you contemplate something, you finally decide to take the next step. You can do what you did last night… but facing the other way around, and maybe, just maybe adding a little bit of penetration to the mix.

It takes little effort nesting him inside your tight core because of how wet you've gotten in the meantime, much to your own surprise. Fine, you can be greedy too. Leaning forward until your palms are flat against the opposite wall of the cramped room, you soon fall into a steady pace fucking yourself back and forth on the man's cock that's once again rock solid and pulsing deliciously inside you.

Despite the high libido of the man, he prefers remaining rather still while you move your hips on him, never breaking his reserved and elegant stance. Huffing out a weary emission of air as you're left to shoulder all of the work, you focus on your own pleasure instead, since you're on the verge of cumming.

Your orgasm is rudely interrupted by the other party's own orgasm as he slips out of you and sprays your aching folds with his emission. Already having taken what he was after, he soon exits your sight, leaving you to your own devices as you finger yourself to a rather unsatisfying orgasm on the floor.

7.

Still holding a grudge from the previous night, your storm in the restroom determined to be as ruthless as you need to be and claim your own pleasure first and foremost.

Little do you know, however, that tonight is going to be another test for you.

You're making yourself familiar with yet another stranger tonight - despite being ready to bet that it's high time you're met with a repeat - as you test the waters on this new shape presented before you. He's thicker than any of the previous men. Hell, he's thicker than anything you've ever seen. The massiveness of it in your hands and how he dwarfs them honestly intimidates you. But you remind yourself of your resolve and decide to remain firm as you slowly take things further with him.

Spending too much time on oral is not a part of the plan as you don't want him coming too soon, but you discover that it has nothing to do with your plans anyway. Fitting him inside your mouth proves to be a challenge, and the pathetic way you just soak him in saliva and withdraw every time you take a little more than his head in your mouth makes you feel embarrassed.

Slowly rising to your feet, you accept that you might have to spend a little more time in here tonight. You hope your legs can take it, as you take off your underwear and stretch yourself open for the big intrusion.

Piercing yourself on his tan cock knocks the air out of your lungs as you feel so, so full of him. Without any option but to take it slowly, you massage and grope at your forms as you try to relax your walls around him as much as you can.

Suddenly the thick knob on the wall which you've been using similarly to the previous two nights becomes rather animated as he withdraws until nearly slipping out of your tight entrance, only to quickly thrust back in. Perhaps he got bored with your excuse of a service so far. Clasping both hands around your mouth, you have no choice but to receive his thrusts, the pace quickly building up, as you have to do your best to remain on your feet. Opting for leaning on the opposite wall instead, you have to choose between balance and keeping your mouth shut, as both prove to be hard to achieve at the same time. The man thrusts in and out of you, without a care in the world, and you don't notice how your hands are sliding further and further down until you're practically bent over the tiny space.

This man is an absolute monster. Time goes by in a haze as you find yourself cumming and again around the thick cock inside you, drenching him in your juices until they begin to run down your legs and onto the tiled floor. His stamina is insane - the fact that he can keep going while you're a wrecked mess is scaring you, and you don't know how much more you can take.

When you can't move anymore to meet his thrusts, thankfully his own pace becomes broken in telltale signs of his upcoming orgasm. You need his cum inside you like a trophy. You worked hard for it.

His load is nothing short of pure virility, copious amounts flooding up your insides and joining the rest of the fluids on the floor in a display of utmost obscenity.

You barely make it to your room on your doe legs.

8.

The previous night left you with a pleasant soreness between your legs and the size you're working with today is too big for you to even think about repeating the same scenario. It's gifted in length; pinkish and with a lot of foreskin. Another new one, much to your surprise. And another absolute monster of a cock.

Since your wrecked pussy is off-limits, you begin to worry about pleasuring this one - especially when you think back to how utterly greedy the last two visitors were.

An idea pops into your head.

You start off with the usual, lubricating the shaft with the wetness of your tongue as you suck, massage and kiss every sensitive spot. And there seem to be plenty of them. It's been some time since you've had such a receptive cock in your hands. It's quite lively with its constant little twitches as you get distracted taking it further in your mouth, almost gagging on its generous length. But enough of that.

Using one hand, you unbutton your shirt while simultaneously stoking the cock in front of you, not wanting to ignore him for a second. Once your breasts are freed, keep your kneeling position but get closer to the wall, hotness rising to your cheeks. Carefully, you guide the large cock to the valley of your breasts.

Another enthusiastic twitch. It's like he falls inlove with your idea right off the bat.

You're happy to see that this works with him to say the least, trying to move your body up and down as you press your breasts together using both hands. The slickness you coated him with provides a nice slide, but for a good measure, you drool down some more of it, watching the erotic display of his cockhead peeking through the gap of your tits on every slide.

Oh, this one is more than enthusiastic. You can tell he won't last much, but you're ready to blame that on the method you use on him more than anything. Is he a boobs man? Would he be just as enthusiastic if you were to let him fuck the crux of your thighs?

"Ahhh! Nghh…"

You freeze for a split second as you swear you hear an audible moan from the other side. Everyone so far has shown so much self-control and was careful as to not let out a sound too loud, and yet this one seems to be unable to hold back.

Needless to say, it motivates you.

You don’t even have to keep going for much longer until the cock between your squeezed breasts erupts and paints your chest white. You lean your head down just a little bit more and you're able to give his angry-red tip a playful lick for goodbye. There's no urgency to satisfying your own need, as you're better off taking care of it in the plush covers of your bed back in your room, for a change. Somehow you're sure that your playmate for the night would have wanted that for you too if he could speak.

9.

With a little over a week's worth of sinful adventures behind your back, you feel the need to take a moment and question how you got here. As scandalous as it is to think that there have been eight different members of Crown visiting that shady place for the same dirty purpose, you strangely find peace in the fact that there's at least one of them you're yet to have come in contact to, in this way.

In this very moment, you're still able to face each one of them individually and not die out of shame, because he could be the one.

So you have to leave it at all. For the sake of your sanity, you have to refrain from going anywhere close to that restroom again.

The cackle of the typewriter dies down as you're ready with the evening's workload of documenting Crown's missions, and now the call of your bed is all too strong to resist. You throw yourself face-first into the soft duvet and realize how cool and nice it feels against your skin. Have you overworked yourself, or is this heat trying to tell you something else? A familiar urge builds up in your lower belly, and you open your eyes just to see the wall clock's hands marking exactly eleven o'clock.

With the material you've gathered from those past days, it should be easy enough for you to find relief on your own. So once your hands slip inside your panties, each finding a point of interest, already soaked in liquid desire, your mind drifts off to a familiar place.

But nothing seems to work. As exciting as everything that has happened to you has been, it's nothing compared to the real thing. Since when you've become like this? A thrill-chaser, being only after what feels good without a care in the world. Much like a certain someone that got you in this mess, to begin with. And now there's a dangerous thought creeping into your head.

It's more of a gamble, to be fair.

Nine nights. The chance of all nine men visiting the hole one after another without a single one of them repeating or skipping is significantly small. Small enough to bet your dignity on it, it seems. Fingers still glistening with juices, you make a bold decision, telling yourself that if anything, you can try and resist touching the final ninth man, should he turn out to be tonight's visitor. 

The hole in the wall is not occupied, and you admit to yourself that you feel disappointed. You're close to turning on your toes and going back to where you came from, but then you hear footsteps approaching, on the other side. Sleek dress shoes, if you're correct. He's taking his time.

Where you expect to find someone's aching hardness, you find an entirely different body part. You stare down in confusion as you see a gloved hand thrust out through the hole.

"I know you're in there. Why so hesitant?"

This is…Alfons' voice.

But why? It's taboo to break anonymity like this, and he's wrong if he thinks that you'd—

"You can remain silent if you wish, of course, given that you can hear me at all. Though I have this feeling that this might be no other than Miss Robin herself."

Your head gets dizzy. How does he...? No, you shouldn’t fall for it.

After a moment spent in silence, he chuckles.

"Of course you won't answer me. If you're wondering why I'm revealing myself, I'd simply tell you that not all of us are ashamed to admit they have needs, little Robin. Why, I'm sure the person supposed to be on your side of the wall must have far greater needs, no? That's why I decided to be generous tonight and offer nothing but pleasure to that lucky individual. Go ahead, I'm lending you a hand."

Clad in a shiny black glove, Alfons' hand makes a sultry come-hither motion at you, and you swear it looks lewder somehow than if he'd left you with something other than his hand instead. Your folds are still dripping, the heat in your lower belly prompting irritating tingles all over. It would be oh-so-easy to lift your skirts and descent right on his ready palm, your pussy already bare as you left your underwear all the way back in your room.

Hesitantly, you approach the wall and do just that, shivering a little at the unfamiliar texture. But unlike the solid slabs of flesh you've taken the previous nights, Alfons' fingers don’t behave. They don't wait to be ridden to completion while you get used to their shape in your insides. Right from the beginning, Alfons zaps and twists his fingers inside you, discrediting the generosity he so fondly talked about just a minute ago. It's exactly what you tried to achieve alone in your bed. But deeper. And so much more relentless. And exactly what you've been missing.

"That's a good girl. You're taking them in so greedily."

The naughty sounds of your juices muffle most of your whimpers as the flat of his palm repeatedly hits against your swollen lips. Even through the glove, he's scarily precise. He aims for your sweet spots and makes you see stars in no time, until you can no longer find meaning in the dirty things he says.

"Aww, are you squirting on me already? Here I was ready to bet you'd need far more than that. Have those gentlemen been neglecting you? Did you find them rather lacking?"

You hear the sound of water hitting the tiles but you pay little mind to it as Alfons keeps grinding his middle and ring fingers against your sweet spot, scratching something inside you that's been tormenting you for a week straight. You have no name for this feeling. You just know that he ruined you from the very beginning, by telling you about this place, by luring you in here.

The only thing you can think about as you succumb to a violent storm of an orgasm is how much better his cock would feel hitting that same place inside you. How long does he intend on keeping you here, if this is how you start out? The whole night? Would he want to make you do something perverse, fitting of his ways? You care little about that as pleasure spreads all over, making you feel so light.

You immediately get down on your hands and knees, a wicked idea on your mind already, as you're ready to deviously entice him by licking his digits clean. But they disappear before you get the chance to, making you almost whine at the loss. Your pussy still throbs, so well taken care of, yet so neglected at the same time.

"Now, wouldn't you like to finally see for yourself? If I'm one of them, I mean. The ones you've already seen here before."

Blinking your eyes, you feel the weight of his words coming down on you. You've completely forgotten about that at this point.

Even without being able to see him, just being able to pin a name to the person behind the wall makes you imagine everything so clearly. The facial expressions you've seen him do, how he reacts to certain things. The piercing stare of those dead fish eyes when he knows he's right.

"Too bad I'm not in the mood for that tonight. I guess that leaves you no choice but to come here again if you truly want to find out the answer to that question, no?"

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[justblades]

⋆｡˚ ♰・priest! sunday x afab! reader

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni. contains 2.2 spoilers, blasphemous themes, impregnation, clit stimulation, oral sex, controlling sunday, not proofread.

Even a mere mortal can sense the regret lingering in the atmosphere of the vicinity, a small space dedicated for confessions and atonement of sins committed by those who believe in the Harmony. Numerous pews stand in rows before a single one, each being occupied by two people at best, to which you draw closer to the confession box— one more person to go and it is time to purify your tainted soul.

It was just muffled murmurs of two people from the latter reverberating inside the hall's six walls, along with the sound of the ceiling fans whirring. Your mind starts to drift onto something else: although you have no idea what others hold with regards to their sins, you still could not help but think that yours is shameful.

You can see the person beside you exit the birch box with teary eyes and stuffed nose as she holds a handkerchief to her face. "Next please." a resolute voice echoes, signalling for you to step forward into the confessional. With a wobbly stature, you stand up and tread forward, proceeding to close the oak door behind you.

The golden lights from the hall seep through the confession booth's partition, gleaming upon your stature - creating a silhouette as to where only the advocate from the other side can peer through the woodworks. You attempt to clear your voice before speaking, a dry throat halting the words you intend to verbalize within.

"I humbly ask for your blessings and the forgiveness of Xipe . . ." You mutter as your eyes dart to nothing that catches your interest except for the parquetry etched on the wooden floorboards. Your head held down low, staring at its intricate designing.

"Please feel free to proceed. I have sought their presence within us." The priest answers. "I have committed a grave sin of succumbing to passing emotions. Primarily, I struggled with regulating the purity of one's mind and it was late that I realized I indulged in an extreme activity to quench the thirst for sexual pleasure." 

A reassuring hum resounds. "As a devout follower of the Harmony, I believe my actions do not align with the path I stride. Therefore, I ask for forgiveness and assistance on how I will repent for the sins I have committed." After forming the confession where in sentences you never thought have ever been uttered, it feels as though a heavy weight was lifted off your chest and the shackles on your feet disintegrated.

Glancing at the frosted, colored glass window in front of you, you noticed how the warm yellow lights in the background flicker repetitively in an instant, as well as the birch surroundings creaking. "By committing a grave sin, you've engaged in an activity with a partner you are not married with." The priest reiterates as if the faulty lights are a common occurrence.

You hum in response. "And by committing an even graver sin, you took part in an activity with an objective aside from procreation. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

"Yes, esteemed advocate. Everything you said was indeed correct." Your heart starts racing, "Do you promise yourself you'll turn your back on this lascivious history to start anew?" He queries.

"Yes, Mister Sunday."

"Even if you were to encounter challenges to test your faith for the Harmony?"

Hesitation ruptures through your composure. Your resolution suddenly cracks, as if it was merely a façade with a longing for forgiveness to move on.

"Be honest." Like the advocate could read your mind as of the moment, you believe in the capabilities of Harmony, so there was no use in feigning cleanliness when you know it in yourself, you still struggle. "I wish to seek assistance from those with wisdom."

You receive another firm hum in response, "Very well. Please see me in the reconciliation room a short time after." Your mind spirals into confusion and bewilderment, the emotions painting your features like you were an open book to the audience.

Trekking off the confessional booth, you did not dare to spare a glance back at the priest and only made your way to the distinct, separate room - the reconciliation. It was small, enclosed, and only an oak table, two pairs of engraved chairs, a single ligneous partition and a kneeler reside within the space. Your vision anchors to the sculpted wooden cross sign hung on the beige walls, illuminated by a faint golden lamp on the table.

Patiently awaiting the presence of the priest, you stood still with a heavy heart, seeming like the relief you felt previously was only a glimpse of what you could've been if you didn't commit such grave sin. If only.

The door swings open, followed by the entrance of the figure you were anticipating. Faded sky blue hues of hair tumble upon the male's shoulders, along with the golden earrings he was donning. Feathered ears diluting into white ripple from his footsteps, and his distinct, golden halo stays afloat behind his head.

Being vis-à-vis with the highly esteemed figure of the Penacony like this tugs your heartstrings in unease. It felt bizarre, as you could recall from others' experiences that when you encounter priests or advocates of the Harmony, your heart rests. As for Sunday, it was the polar opposite. Chills run kilometers up and down your spine, your throat starts to become dry.

You trail your vision downwards, setting your sight upon his graceful features. His eyes were a radiant yellow tinged with an ocean blue, framed by his particularly long lower lashes. He purses his lips tightly, curving upwards, flashing a small smile. "Please take a seat." He motions for the chair in front of your figures, your eyes noticing the cross cut out gloves he's wearing.

Sitting down with guard held up high, Sunday follows suit as he opens the drawer from the oak table, retrieving something of a color white and frilly in texture, as you make of what you could from your peripheral vision. "This will certainly be of help to put your faith to test. If you would kindly turn around."

Your hands rest on your lap and as you hear the last phrase that came out of his mouth, you subconsciously gripped a handful of the fabric you're wearing in alertness. Not until your vision was impaired as Sunday blindfolds you with the latter material, it was soft and delicate to the touch - you could not see anything but faint shadows against the lighting. Everything was ivory white in stark contrast, and you could barely peer through the lace folds to see the priest.

"I will now be tuning your mind with the Harmony to which you will face repercussions if statements untrue to yourself are said." He pauses. Unsure where this will lead to, you had no choice but to nod in continuation. "Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore them to shed their light."

What used to be a blurry white in your vision now fringes into colored edges, the prominent colors being purple, white, red, orange, and yellow.

"This will serve as a gentle reminder that I am assisting you to a path where grave sins  are not succumbed to, and only ▅▅▅ exists alongside philosophy to instill moral duties to a functioning member of a society."

His words cut through the thick atmosphere, thawing the glacial tension growing with each passing second.

He lowers his stature to face you, gloved fingers trailing from the hem of the laced blindfold down to your cheeks, cupping your face lightly with a careful grip. "Does this send a shiver down to your spine?" Sunday inquires and you shake your head in disagreement. It seems like he has a whole plan on how this will play out, and you were merely a pawn in his chessboard to see what you would react under these circumstances he will put you in.

The touch ghosts a caress on your lower parts, specifically, the frame of your chest. His thumb twirls on the middle part with an unraveled goal of making your buds perk up underneath the confinements of your clothing - making you grit your teeth as a poor attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

A question arises amidst the confusing situation, a question that will surely be received in a poor taste as it will question his authority and legitimacy. You wanted to ask, is this really necessary?

However, the aura he exudes now was far different from what he displays when he's in front of the audience of the masses. He seems more strict now, judging from the tone lacing his voice from his query earlier. "Does this feel good?" He proceeds to unbutton your top, letting the fabric come undone and fall down to your lap. A singular  gloved hand of his snakes its way to your back, and with a single fidget, your bra was unclasped.

The priest takes his precious time in all these. He carefully observes the clothing that you wear, as he had come to adore the fact that you were wearing pearly white brassiere, one that was similar to the blindfold's texture and design, it was frilly in the edges and soft to the touch.

A light chuckle slips out, "Well? What's your answer?" Desire and temptation brews within your stomach, even spiking higher as he caresses your mounds with both of his hands. His touches feel light and blissful at the same time, like your body was basking in the warmth and enjoyment the priest had to offer. You struggle to keep your body still, knees trembling even though you were only sitting.

"N-No, Mr. Sunday."

A sharp throbbing ache courses through your head, granting him a wince of both surprise and pain. "It appears that you haven't put your mind and whole heart to this yet." He says as he walks away from your stature, leaving you dumbfounded. As silence encompasses the vicinity, you hear the male seat himself on the chair across from you. "Come to me." He simply orders.

"Just take steps forward and trust me."

With blind faith, you solemnly obey - approaching his figure with an extremely bleary vision. As your feet meet with an obstacle, seemingly the chair's legs, you stop in your tracks. "Now straddle my lap." Following suit, you feel a bulging sensation under your remaining clothing. Your breath becomes even more jagged than before, especially now that your clothed folds come in contact with his throbbing dick. It was clear cut enough that it was his erection continuously growing.

A brief moment passes and Sunday continues to envelop your hard buds within his lips, teeth grinding on your nipples in an attempt to inflict pain and pleasure all at the same time. "M— Mr. Sunday . . !" You yelp but he does not halt. He proceeds to twirl his warm, slick tongue all over your glazed areolas, your boob dancing in rhythm with his mouth in somewhat harmonic tunes played by your stifled mewls.

His other free hand pulls you tighter to his chest as he adjusts his position, bucking his hips upwards to create some sort of friction. The tip of his covered cock brushes against your already wet slit, granting him another lewd sound - this time, a soft moan. "I— I— I can't—" your hands clutch on the man's broad shoulders, feeling his long, muted blue and white locks tangle along your fingers. "You can. Yes you can. Only a little bit more you would be rewarded by proving your loyalty to the ▅▅▅."

Your sense of hearing downgrades as your mind drifts into pure bliss, lower limbs becoming numb as more pleasure courses through your veins. As if it's still not enough, Sunday simply lowers your remaining clothes to your feet, revealing your folds sopping wet with arousal already.

With haste and care in Sunday's every movement, he lays your back on the table in between the chairs, forcibly revealing everything down there to him — for him to revel in. The gelid wind traces shivers upon your sweat dewed skin, especially your folds now glimmering with muddy white liquids.

He raises your legs and stands up, resting your lower limbs upon his shoulders. The position is embarrassing enough as it is, but having the priest tower over you is another experience that feels even more intense than what unfolded previously. Not to mention that the throbbing pang in your head brought by your dishonesty upon the Harmony worsens minute by minute.

The male buries his face in your inner thighs first, flicking his tongue over your soft skin while his eyes are darted on your face, in high alert to which action of his you will react the most to. "Need I remind you to be honest this time around? Or is the headache that you're feeling not sufficient for you to stay true to your words?" He asks with a demanding tone, the margins of his lips drawing closer and closer to your slit.

"I have learned my lesson, Mr. Sunda—"

Gloved fingers begin to stimulate your clit, moving in motions you cannot fathom with your current state - your lower body jerking up in response to the stimulation. A sly smile creeps up on Sunday's face, his navy blue pupils fixating on each of your actions and expressions.

All you could think of was the fact that he didn't even let you finish, he went straight to pleasure you more, the sensation becoming more overwhelming as he starts to glide the tip of his tongue on your folds. "Do you feel good?" Although his voice was muffled from the proximity from his face and your pussy, you could comprehend and immediately answer, "Yes! I-I feel good . . !"

You rack your head back once Sunday buries his face further into your inner thighs, wallowing himself in your slit as he sucked on your sweet spot, sticking his tongue into your velvet walls while still toying with your clitoris. You bite back your moans, you cannot afford to lose the remaining dignity you had in you left - if there was any.

"Don't do that."

His voice sounds stern as ever, you were left with no choice yet again but to let mewls and moans come undone at this point in time. You were noisy, along with the sucking sounds accompanied by your hums of pleasure, continually bouncing off of the reconciliation room's four walls. "Very good. As for the last part, you must continue to be truthful, to stand by the ▅▅▅, and to ▅▅▅ to what I ought to be ▅▅▅ for you. Do you understand?"

Much to your relief, your vision was once again back to normal as he unties the lacey blindfold on your eyes. This time, you could see Sunday's disheveled hair, as well as the golden earrings dangling at every movement he makes. He swiftly unzips his slacks, therefore revealing his cock he had been concealing for so long before. It stands in its full glory, hues of purple and indigo veins threatening to pop - it was evident he's at his limit.

"Use your mouth. Make me feel good." He commands and peers at you with a somber expression. You muster enough strength on your body to stand up and kneel in front of him, positioning your head in a perfect angle to receive him. Slowly parting your lips open, he shoves his dick inside you, granting you a hoarse moan of satisfaction slipping past his lips.

You bob your head up and down and as if it felt natural to wrap your digits around the remaining length of his cock, you pump him in accordance to your pace, taking him inside with no hesitation, with only one goal in mind: to make him feel good. You could feel the crown of his dick kiss your throat every time you go deeper, making your eyes water as you try to keep yourself from gagging for the priest's satisfaction.

"That's enough, stand up." Your momentum was cut off as he hooks his arms on yours, making you stand from your previously kneeling position. It seems he has indulged enough in your submission and now it is time for him to try something new, something far more amusing in his perspective.

With both of your statures still standing up, he flips you around, making your back face him. He can examine every nook and cranny of your body in this way, and with a hum of approval, he bends you over slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist and reach for your tits. Your breath deepens, more beads of sweat proceed to trickle down your naked body. "M-Mr. Sunday, are we really going to do it?" you ask as he wraps his hand around himself, brushing his tip on your entrance.

He stops in his movements. "Do you have a problem with that?" A domineering tone laces that sole sentence, one that a person cannot delve deeper furthermore.

With one more stroke, he finally pushes himself inside your velvet walls, molding themselves around the shape of Sunday's dick - wallowing in the pleasure and warmth he emanates inside you. "So . . . warm . . ." He whispers, his breath ghosting a caress on the shell of your ear.

Sunday builds up his pace from a painfully slow one to picking it up, thrusting into you with additional force, pistoning your pussy as he's balls deep. Sounds of skin slapping add onto the lewd tune you two have been playing for the past hour, a whole sixty minutes of pleasure pooling your stomach and arousals seeping out of your holes.

Your legs start to quiver once more, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. But amidst this, Sunday kept you still with his force, hitting your sweet spots with the tip of his cock. If you could beg for mercy as of the moment, you certainly would take the chance. But to who, exactly? To whoever aeon is witnessing this lascivious act unfold in front of them, committed in such a religious place?

Or perhaps to Sunday, who you've knelt to before, received him inside your body in more ways than one. Perhaps. Perhaps it is he who shall show you mercy in the heat of the moment.

"M-Mr. Sunday, please forgive me!"

Interest sparks inside his mind, revelling in the way of being viewed as someone highly, someone sought out, someone in a legitimate authority. "You shall be forgiven." He states as he bites down on the blade of your shoulder, teeth leaving a bite mark and an aching sensation alongside it. You could do nothing but wince in pain, but waves of pleasure start to crush upon your conscious self.

Surely this is too much pleasure to handle for someone asking for forgiveness as they committed a grave sin for partaking in debauchery . . . but to be done this way by a priest is a little too exhilarating.

He picks up the pace, earning himself more moans of pleasure escape your lips, "I'll ▅▅▅ ▅▅▅ inside you." Sunday says as a fair warning, but a sentence you could only form at the present time was a lighthearted "Do as you please, Mr. Sunday."

With one single thrust, strings of satisfaction sprawl inside your womb. It feels warm yet again, but now, comforting in stark contrast to the nervousness welling up in your heart earlier.

"Well done. As you've shown resolution that you're on a path to atone for the sins you've committed in the past, you shall be forgiven."

[kissingmilfs]

📿 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞…| 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 📿

18+ minors and men please dni

a/n: this is a multi-part series. reader does present as a “woman.” first part is devoid of smut because i’m setting up the story. there will be two other parts and potentially headcanons here and there. smut in the consecutive parts <3

⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆

“…among such a holy-day.” one of the alter boys holds out a dated golden plate. a dainty teaspoon craved with details from the final station of the cross lays in the bowl. the dip of the spoon already holds a layer of salt.

reaching for the spoon, you carefully sprinkle the salt amongst the other bowl filled with purified water. more of the psalm stumbles from your lips.

“the lord hath said: salt is good, but if you have—“

a voice interrupts the blessing of the water. “father. someone is here for confession.”

averting your gaze from your watery reflection, you find the voice of your interruption. it’s another priest but he is new to the parish. and quite capable of taking confession.

“i am busy, father girard. is there a reason you’ve come to me?”

“she is a woman.” he puffs his chest out as if he’s below taken the confession of the opposite gender.

sighing, you find yourself longing for the days your fellow clergymen paid your gender no mind. as the older generation passed, so did their free thinking. now at the parish you’ve resided since orphanage your devotion is tested by nonsensical men. men who are somehow absolved from taken the confession of a woman. as if our devotion is not upon the holy mother herself.

“very well. please finish blessing the water then.”

father girard curtly bows his head and swiftly finds him replacing your position. you hear him begin the psalm all over again. irritation boils in your veins but your feet carry you down the aisle—away from the temptation of violence. two confession booths are tucked away in the back corner of the church. a soft yellow light illuminates the lattice partition of the left booth.

sliding open your respective side of the confessional booth, you can only make out a large shadow through the partition. one of your hands presses flatly over your slicked back ponytail. attempting to rid the nerves that were threatening to overtake. father girad’s misogynistic indignation settled under your skin far more than you anticipated. releasing a steady breath of air, you mime the sign of the cross.

“how long has it been since your last confession, child?”

the shadow morphs and if you were paying attention you’d see the person shifting towards the partition. “when did they allow women into the clergy?”

ah. the usual question. your eyes remain on the rosary decorating your fingers. “special circumstances. it’s your turn to answer my question, child.”

“what was the question again?” a sly smile spreads on the confessor’s face.

“last confession.”

she reclines back on the wooden bench. “i dunno…a month ago?”

you nod your head and continue mindlessly reciting the hail mary in your mind. “very well. your heavenly father never scorns or denies a lost lamb. what’s on your mind?”

“i wouldn’t necessarily call myself a lost lamb. can’t you just call me by my name?”

your fingers stutter over one bead. you lose track of the prayer. “alright then. what is your name?”

“sevika. and what shall i call you? father? mother?” you can hear the shit eating grin in her words.

“mother is reserved for the mother superior.” you attempt a neutral tone. “i’m content with father, sevika. or will my gender prevent you from such respect?”

sevika barks out a laugh. you’re convinced you can feel the vibrations rattling the faux wooden sheet walls. your confessor settles her laughter with slap on her knee. “i like you, father. before i bear my sins—is your gender a hinderance to hear my symphony of sins? they’re not the typical sins.”

your fingers clutch tightly at your beads. “do not underestimate my penchant for acceptance. i am certain your sins will not shock me. our heavenly father has heard and seen everything. i am merely a vessel.”

“uh-huh. you from piltover or zaun?”

“what does it matter, sevika?”

sevika chuckles and shrugs. “indulge me. it’ll make me more trust you more.”

rolling your eyes, you cast a brief glance at the divider. “the und—sorry, zaun. not many orphans in piltover is there?”

“hm.” sevika takes a moment. your correction of the people’s named preference for city raised a lot more questions. “i suppose i can begin my confession then.”

a strained smile cracks and you nod. “very well. what brings you to confession, sevika?”

sevika taps her fingers on the ledge dividing the booth. “many things. i’m thinking of betraying someone close to me.”

the words hang in the air. silence adding weights on both your shoulders. betrayal in zaun usually means life or death. “i see. thinking of betrayal isn’t a sin though. and neither is betrayal. not necessarily.”

“ha. that’s a load of crack shit.” there’s a pause from sevika, a notable lighter flick then an exhale. “i could potentially get the poor sucker killed. isn’t that a sin?”

your eyes tick back and forth processing sevika’s words and sounds. “are you…smoking in my booth?” you posture turns more upright as the familiar smell of tobacco overwhelms. “please put that out.”

sevika scoffs and blows smoke through the partition. “but i just light it.”

she states it so matter of fact—you actually pause and re-consider your command. “you are not allowed to smoke in the church. please put it out, sevika.”

“i like when you say my name, priest-y. okay, fine.” sevika inhales her last puff then intentionally presses the light end in the direct center of a cross carved into the door. “better?”

you allow yourself the moment to close your eyes and deeply inhale. your brain recites a scripture regarding patience. “please continue with your confession.”

“well i’ve been so up in arms about what i’m supposed to do…i’ve been drinking more. staying out later to gamble. any money i win, well…i end up staggering into that lovely establishment babette runs.”

“are you ridden with guilt then? knowing your decision may get a man killed?”

sevika shrugs. “yeah, maybe.”

you massage a bead between your finger. “i see. and your vices…the alcohol, the gambling, the sex…is any of it fulfilling? any of it assuage your guilt?”

“obviously not if i’m coming to confession. so what is it then? ten hail marys?” sevika twiddles with the lighter—flipping it open and close. a warm flame glowing on her brown skin.

“i think that’s far too easy, sevika. confession is about penance in the end. absolving your sins. while all sins are equal—forgive me—you know better. don’t you?”

sevika’s jaw twitches with a tick of anger. despite the reality of your words, she cannot believe a priest is holding judgement. through gritted teeth sevika spits out, “i suppose i do, yes.”

you nod. “good. absolving sins, to me, means more than prayer. are your confessions always so short?”

“short?”

“yes, short. you’ve spent more time antagonizing me than confessing. you use confession differently than most parishioners. i’ve had confessions run for close to an hour. my point is…i do not think you are benefiting from in and out confession.”

sevika grumbles incoherently. she outstretches her fingers, interlacing them, before cracking her joints. realistically sevika could walk away. but when has she ever backed away from a challenge? “you want to hear every detail about my sins? fine. i knew you priests were perverts anyway.”

“sevika. please refrain from making generalizations. i am only here to help. if you are uninterested you are always free to leave.” for the first time since entering the booth, you peek at the shadow of sevika through the lattice partition. holding your breath wondering if she will leave.

the silence hangs heavy in the air. you’re almost convinced it will materialize. but then you hear a long sigh. the sigh sits on your skin — not sure what the implications mean.

“you priests are always so high and mighty. you think you know what’s best. you’re supposed to listen to my sins and let me do penance.” sevika’s irritation is clear as day. “so what if i’m a quick in and out? so what if your other confessors are high and mighty and ready to grovel to their virgin mary. they’re idiots for thinking she remained a virgin her entire life.”

you are accustomed to the blasphemy people tend to indulge in during confession. heck, you’ve listened to your fair share of nuns and priests confess perverted thoughts and some perverted actions. where there is a god there are does willingly or unwillingly defiant to his will. it has never bothered you. the mother, herself, is privileged to the thoughts running amuck in your mind.

your nails calculatedly tap on the wooden ledge. sevika shuffles uncomfortably in the bench—listening to your silence. you hum thoughtfully. “i also do not believe mary remained a virgin her entire life.”

“what?”

“what, what? what, as in, you did not hear me or what, as in, you are taken aback by my agreement?”

sevika releases an audible breath of annoyance. “i heard you. you agree with me? why?”

you shrug. you could divulge in a long explanation. “i am a free thinker despite a member of the clergy, sevika. i do not let the church dictate all of my thoughts. it seems unreasonable a married woman remained a virgin her entire life. catholicism, while not a fairly new religion, did not come about instantaneously once mary birthed jesus. and realistically…even if it did…one can assume mary’s life did not revolve around a religion.”

“you’re so…strange.” sevika laughs along with your words and nods. unintentional or not—you’ve lightened the mood for sevika.

“am i?” the question slips out without hesitation. it’s one filled of curiosity and intrigue. a small smile cracks on your lips.

sevika laughs again. “yes, very strange. but not in a bad way…yet. you here everyday, priesty?”

“for confession? indeed.” you want to tell sevika you’re obligated and forced to take the confessions of women now. you are not practically jumping at the idea. there’s other places your talents are needed. if you’re stuck in the church awaiting for female confessors or even pulled away from duties…no, it’s okay. the church saved you when the streets of piltover refused to. even if you believe you’ve repaid your debts—God’s sense of humor means you’re tested everyday.

“ah, perfect. i got some shit to do but i’ll be around. don’t miss me too much, priesty.”

“will you bother to ask for my last name, sevika?”

your confessor cackles once again. “not yet, father. i’m not interested in it. only your first name.”

your eyebrows knit together and you turn towards the partition. “meaning?”

“mm…you’ll figure it out soon enough. until next time, father.”

sevika slips out of the booth and you rise on your feet. it’s not frowned upon to see your confessors face—most of them attend mass anyway. as you push the flimsy door aside—you only catch a glimpse of sevika leaving. her tall frame, her defined and prominent muscles, and the setting sun reflecting off the metal of her prosthetic arm. she walks with a noteable swagger as if she’s packing something massive in those tight fitted pants.

before you’re caught lusting ,watching, you walk the opposite direction. your heart pounds viciously in your chest. two temptations a mere 30 minutes apart. you mutter, “father…please give me the strength.”

taglist: @sevikaslatinawife , @ruelezz

[simdertalia]

🌴🌼 ACNH Bug Museum - Part 2 🌼🌴

Sims 4, base game compatible | 50 items | extra swatches added by me 💗

This part focuses on the objects that go in the large main area of the bug wing of the museum. Plants are in Part 1. The butterfly exhibit room is in Part 3.

I hope you enjoy! ☺️💗

*The large water tanks are sized to fit floor squares, so that it will line up perfectly with whichever type of bottom you'd like to put here (dirt, sand, tiles, etc)

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

Use the 0,9 keyboard feature to raise items or lower them

Use the scale up & down feature on your keyboard to make the items larger or smaller to your liking. If you have a non-US keyboard, it may be different keys depending on which alphabet it uses.

Download below, all in a zip file or pick & choose!

Set contains: Buy: -Back Doorway (entrance structure) | 7 swatches | 895 poly -Curb Pieces 1-12 (12 items for building the pathway) | 2 swatches each | 274, 610, 770, 210, 946, 754, 962, 578, 642, & 162 poly -Entrance Mat 1 & 2 (2 items, colorful mat and black mat) | 3 swatches for #1, 1 swatch for #2) | 698, & 1992 poly -Entrance Rug (long red rug) | 3 swatches | 48 poly each -Exhibit Tank Full & Wall Adjacent (2 items, one is for next to a wall, the other has 4 sides of glass) | 1 swatch each | 4035, & 3728 poly -Floor Vent | 1 swatch | 10 poly -Greenhouse (entrance way) | 7 swatches | 4126 poly -Large Planter | 3 swatches | 3156 poly -Large Planter for Oak | 3 swatches | 4792 poly -Metal Sign Plate /ground) Tall and Short (2 items) | 1 swatch each | 390 poly each -River Stick 1-4 (4 items) | 1 swatch each | 240, 182, 194, & 182 poly -Rope Partition 1-3 (3 items) | 2 swatches each | 1262 poly each -Wooden Side Barrier 1-5 (5 items) | 3 swatches each | 414, 316, 486, 356 & 226 poly -Wooden Sign | 1 swatch | 906 poly

Build: -Floor Dirt | 2 swatches | Misc, dirt & sand, & outdoor -Floor Grass 1 | 4 swatches | Misc, grass, & outdoor -Floor Grass 2 | 4 swatches | Misc, grass, & outdoor -Floor Plain Grass | 3 swatches | Misc, grass, & outdoor -Floor Stone Path | 1 swatch | Stone & Outdoor -Floor Tile | 4 swatches | Misc & outdoor -Floor Wood Deck for Bridge | 4 swatches | Wood -Terrain Paint Dirt 1 | 1 swatch -Terrain Paint Dirt 2 | 1 swatch -Terrain Paint Grass 1 | 1 swatch -Terrain Paint Grass 2 | 1 swatch -Terrain Paint Grass 3 | 1 swatch -Terrain Paint Stone Path | 1 swatch

Type “acnh bug museum part 2" into the search query in build mode to find  quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing  the title and it will appear.

As always, please let me know if you have any issues! Happy Simming! 💗

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

🌻 Download on Patreon

Will be public on March 6th, 2025 💗 Midnight CET

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my CC is early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me (all support helps me with managing my chronic pain/illness & things have been rough as of late):

★ Patreon  🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi  ☕️  ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz  @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters  @coffee-cc-finds  @itsjessicaccfinds  @gamommypeach  @stargazer-sims-finds  @khelga68  @suricringe  @vaporwavesims  @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet @fischottersims

[lilangelbuds]

Another faxucest/breeding idea :3 Big sister wanting to get knocked up by her little brother, so she arranges to anonymously invite him to a local gloryhole for a blowjob only to get him riled up, take off his condom and fuck him until he comes inside~ And for extra spice she could tell him what he did after a few months pass and she's clearly pregnant >:3

“You’re so hard for me, aren’t you?” her voice purred through the thin wooden partition, low and sultry, sending a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her, her breath warm against the tip of his cock as she teased him with her lips, her tongue flicking out to taste him before pulling away just enough to drive him wild.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands gripping the edge of the gloryhole booth, knuckles white. “Who are you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she took him deeper into her mouth, her lips wrapping around him in a tight, wet heat that made his hips buck forward instinctively. He could hear her muffled moan, the vibration of it sending electric jolts through his body. She was good at this, too good. Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath it, and he let out a strangled gasp.

“You like that?” she whispered, pulling back just enough to speak, her breath hot against his skin. “You like the way I suck your cock?”

“Yes,” he hissed, his voice strained. “God, yes.”

She chuckled softly, a sound that was both familiar and foreign, and then she was on him again, taking him deeper this time, her throat opening up to swallow him whole. He could feel the tightness of her, the way her muscles contracted around him, and he was lost in the sensation, his mind blank except for the overwhelming need to fuck her mouth.

But then she stopped. Pulled away. He heard the sound of her standing, the rustle of clothing, and then the door to the booth creaked open. His heart pounded in his chest as he turned, his cock still throbbing, desperate for release.

And there she was.

His sister.

It had started innocently enough, or as innocent as something like this could be. He’d been scrolling through his phone late one night, bored and restless, when he saw the ad. Anonymous fun. Discreet. No strings attached. The address was for a seedy little place on the edge of town, the kind of spot he’d never normally go to. But something about it had intrigued him. Maybe it was the thrill of the unknown, the idea of letting go of control for once. Whatever it was, he’d found himself walking through the door the next night, his heart racing as he stepped into the dimly lit room.

The booth was small, cramped, and smelled faintly of disinfectant. He’d hesitated for a moment, second-guessing himself, but then he’d seen the hole in the wall, and something primal had taken over. He’d unzipped his pants, his cock already half-hard with anticipation, and waited.

And then she’d appeared.

Now, standing in front of him, she looked different, dangerous. Her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen from sucking him off. She was wearing a tight black dress that clung to her curves, the fabric riding up her thighs as she stepped closer to him. He could smell her perfume, something sweet and intoxicating, and it made his head spin.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached out and wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, her touch firm and confident. He groaned, his hips thrusting forward into her grip, and she smiled, a wicked, knowing smile.

“I wanted to see you,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I wanted to feel you.”

“This is wrong,” he muttered, even as his body betrayed him, his cock twitching in her hand.

“Is it?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “Or is it just… inevitable?”

Before he could respond, she dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands sliding up his thighs as she leaned in to take him into her mouth again. This time, she didn’t hold back. She sucked him hard and fast, her lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to drive him to the edge. He could feel the pressure building in his groin, the heat spreading through his body as he got closer and closer to release.

But then she stopped again.

“Not yet,” she whispered, standing up and pushing him back against the wall. Her hands were on his chest now, sliding down to his waist as she pressed her body against his. He could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her dress, the way her hips moved against his as she ground herself against him.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice rough with need.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said, her eyes locking with his. “I want you to come inside me.”

He hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. But then she reached down and pulled her dress up, revealing that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The sight of her, bare and wet and ready for him, was too much to resist. He grabbed her hips and spun her around, pressing her against the wall as he positioned himself behind her.

She gasped as he entered her, her body tightening around him as he pushed himself deep inside. He could feel every inch of her, the way she clenched around him as he began to move, his hips slamming into hers with a rhythm that was almost frantic. She moaned loudly, her hands braced against the wall as she pushed back against him, meeting each thrust with one of her own.

“Yes,” she hissed, her voice trembling with pleasure. “Just like that. Fuck me harder, little bro.”

He obeyed, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he drove himself into her again and again. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the small booth, mingling with their moans and gasps as they lost themselves in the heat of the moment. He could feel her tightening around him, her body trembling as she got closer to the edge.

“I’m going to come,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their breathing.

“Me too,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he felt the pressure building inside him.

And then it happened, she cried out, her body convulsing around him as she came, and he followed her over the edge, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself deep inside her. They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies pressed together as they caught their breath, before she finally pulled away and turned to face him.

“You’re going to be a father,” she said softly, her hand resting on her stomach.

He stared at her, his mind reeling as the words sank in. “What?”

She smiled, a slow, satisfied smile, and leaned in to kiss him. “You heard me.”

[januaryembrs]

I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE | Marc Spector x reader

Request: @happyhauntt says - okay i am BEGGING for a fic based on the song 'forest fire' by brighton (be warned that shit HURTS) but i fully cannot decide between poe dameron, steven/marc or spencer reid so i am giving you full creative direction and i look forward to getting my heart ripped out!!

Description: Marc had always carried her with him, since they were small kids playing pirates in the yard, before things got messed up by grown up feelings and burdens. It's not until he sees her twenty years later, he realises he should have saved her.

length: 3.9k

Warnings: Heavy warnings for childhood / domestic abuse/neglect (both from Marc and also reader has a neglectful father) warnings for alcohol, the cave scene, drowning, death etc. you asked for angst, so I served!

authors note: sorry this took so damn long, today isn't even my day off and I have been too exhausted to even look at my computer, but I hope you like it!

Before Randall was too little to be part of his adventures, Marc used to play on his own in the yard. 

Usually that entailed kicking a football at the wooden fence that lined their garden, trying to knock it off his chest when it would come bouncing back the way he’d seen the professionals do it, even if it had led to three milk teeth coming loose already. 

But there weren’t kids on his street to play with, at least that’s what he thought until the one day he kicked his ball a little too high and watched it fly right over the top of the fence, bouncing into the neighbour's yard, a soft “ouch” meeting his ears. 

In minutes, a little head appeared over the wall, beady eyes frowning down at him, and he realised it was a girl around his age, maybe a little younger. 

“Did you lose this?” She held up his soccer ball he was worried he was going to have to kiss goodbye to forever, the small digits of her other hand holding onto the fence tightly. 

“Yeah! Sorry, I didn’t mean to kick it so high,” Marc said, and with no more explanation than that, she threw it over to his side of the partition, and her tiny head disappeared back below the fence line. 

He felt stunned. He knew there were moving boxes over that way a couple weeks ago, but as far as he could see there was only a man living there on his own, a scowl on his face most days. Marc had seen him shouting at the other kids on his block to stop riding their bikes in front of his house because it ‘upset the dog’, though Marc had yet to see for himself this canine friend he was speaking about. 

But there was a girl living there! A real life girl who spoke to him; granted he had lobbed a heavy soccer ball at her, from what her distaste told him, and he wondered if perhaps, despite the grumpy look on her face he realised mirrored the man he’d seen living there, that she might like to even make friends with her neighbour. 

“Wait!” He yelled, running up to the fence where she had slipped away from him, grabbing on to the top and pulling himself up to the point he was on his very tippy toes and he could only just about see her yard. 

The grass was unkempt, which was odd because Marc’s own dad cut the grass every fortnight, and there were planks of wood with nails sticking out of them strewn across the side of the shed she had used to pull herself up with. He fought the urge to cringe in disgust, because there, looking up at him from where she was making a daisy chain in the long, dry grass, alone in a pink plaid shorts and a white, dirt stained top, was the girl. 

“Do you want to play?” Marc asked, his foot nearly slipping under him where he was trying to rest it on the wood to take a closer look, “I have tennis, or swing ball we could play?” 

She looked interested at the mop of curly, black hair for a moment, before she looked back at the house that he had still yet to see any sign of a dog. 

“I’m not sure my dad would like it…” She said cautiously, almost whispering to him, picking the soil under her nails. 

“My mom could come around and get you, she could talk to him,” He offered, because this was when his mother was still mom and not Wendy. 

Before she had yet to flip his world entirely upside down with her cruel hands and vicious tongue. Before Steven. 

She seemed unsure, biting her bottom lip and stroking her arms like she was giving herself a cuddle. But she nodded, looking up at him, and he tried to hide just how excited he was to finally have someone to play with. 

“I’m Marc,” He said, grinning at her, his tongue poking between the space where his adult teeth were only just growing back in. 

She told him her name back, and it was the first time he understood what a crush was. 

–

“Marc, I’m not sure we should be doing this,” She said, grabbing his hand so tight he thought his heart might explode. 

“It’s okay, we come here all the time, don’t we, RoRo?” He reassured, looking back to where Randall, now a few years older and big enough to play with them, held onto the side of the cave, his own face nervous. 

“All the time!” The little boy echoed, because Marc knew he had a bit of a thing for her as well, because she was older and cool and smelled like a field of flowers and he hated seeming like he was scared, even though he was. 

He was just a kid. 

They were just kids. 

And being kids, they stumbled into danger without realising it, not even when the rain started coming down outside torrentially and they had to pause their game of pirates to run for cover. They hadn’t expected, in their childish excitement to continue the adventure, that the water would start pooling into the cave; that it would fill up like a basin, whether they were in there or not, and it wasn’t until the screaming started that they realised they were in the kind of danger that required an adult. 

Marc was the first one to get out, his hair soaked, his heart racing, and he used a grown up word he heard his dad use sometimes because he could have sworn they were both right behind him. 

And if that had been true, then where were they? 

He called her name, debated going back in there himself to see where they had gone, then he yelled for RoRo, because she didn’t seem to be answering. 

And there was only silence, except a clap of thunder overhead that said the rain was going to get worse; was not going to stop for hours. 

Which was when he ran to get his dad. 

By the time Elias got there, his glasses wet and steamed, his thick thatch of curls too similar to Marc’s soaked through, all he could see was a head of hair peeking out of the mouth of the cave, and his heart sank. 

He dragged her out of the dark water, arms under her shoulders as he rolled her on her front and started patting her back, trying to get her to spit some of the water out, because her face was ice and her skin was soaked and her playsuit was ripped from where she’d snagged it on the rocks. 

Marc remembered crying into his hands, gaze flicking back to the cave to see if RoRo was right behind her, if he was just waiting to be pulled out as she had been. 

But there was nothing. Nothing but rain water and moss and those damn rocks he’d been gripping onto not an hour earlier. 

His heart leapt when she spluttered finally, after his dad had thrown her over his knee and taken to giving her a one handed heimlich right between her shoulder blades. She spat the water out, her body shivering immediately, eyes bleary as they looked around as if she expected to still be in that dark hole in the wall, and Elias set her down on the grass to go look for his youngest son. 

“Stay with her, Marc,” He barked, uncharacteristically sharp for him though Marc guessed it was fear, and took off towards the cave again. Marc pulled her into his arms, and it was only then they started wailing together. 

They sat there for an hour when the rescue team finally arrived, a medical team with warm hands and even warmer blankets ushering them to the safety of the back of an ambulance, and the last thing Marc remembered for that horrible day was sitting on the stretcher with her pressed against his side, trembling under the reflective wrap they’d been tucked in that made them look like baked potatoes, wishing he had never suggested they go in that damn cave. 

–

“You’re leaving?” She said, her lip quivering, her eyes lined with tears. They sat on his bed, his duffel bag already packed, his acceptance letter burning daggers into his head from his nightstand, “Military? Marc, just think about this for a minute-”

“I have thought about it. I’m not some dumb kid making rash decisions, I want this,” Except he didn’t, not really. What he meant to say was he wanted to leave, to run away and never come back, but the idea of never seeing her again was too difficult to think about. 

She thought about it for a moment, and he held her hand when he saw her face really start to crumble then. “If you go, I’ll have no one left. You’re all I have,”

He didn’t hide the fact he saw how nervous she was when Marc would pick her up from her house and her father would see her out the door, a nasty, inebriated glare in his eyes at the Specter boy. He saw all the times she would tiptoe around the floorboards, the way he knew too well, as if she was scared of what would happen if she took up too much space, made too much noise. Or when his mother had been kind, way back before any of this had happened, and had fussed over her pretty hair, had piled food on her plate because Wendy said she needed the goodness, she had locked up entirely and looked at his mother as if she was an alien. 

Even now, when they were both seventeen, nearly adults in the grand scheme of things, he knew her father was cruel. 

“I’m sorry,” He said honestly, and he felt his own throat clogging up with real emotion he only ever let himself show when he was with her, “When I get a place of my own, I’ll come back here, and we can pack your bags together, and we can live far away from all of this,” 

And it sounded like he was spinning her a fantasy; which he was. She felt like an idiot for believing him, for flashing him a small smile and leaning her forehead to his which was the closest they ever got to admitting how they really felt about each other. 

He wanted to kiss her then, before he left to start his new life, one where they could be happy together, and he made a promise to himself that when he came back for her that would be the first thing he would do. 

He could see it now; he would be in some kind of flashy car with the top rolled down, a man grown from the regime and fitness they would teach him in the army and she would come running to him like an angel parting the clouds, like a dream that was finally within reach, and he would kiss her then, so hard it would make up for the time they had lost, the time they had grieved together, it might even make up for that day she nearly died because of him. 

So he left her, that fantasy of coming back to her keeping him going in the months of training, during roll call and exams and the small, clinical portions they would serve him in the military. 

But that day never came. Somewhere between losing himself to the alter that had formed and led a full life separately to his, between hiding Steven from the ugly truth and becoming a mercenary after dropping from the army, he tucked the dream away as a what if, and he didn’t return back to that house where his mother had caused so much hell. 

Not until the second day of her shiva, that was. 

-

“Marc?” He forgot how sweet his name sounded from her lips, and he hated to admit it in the middle of his drunken state, but he’d wished he’d never heard it again in his entire life. 

Because the second his front door opened, and a woman in a long black dress, heels and lace gloves stared back at him with a face that looked similar to a girl he once knew, only a notch between her brows that said she had done nothing but frown for twenty years, he wished he had never seen her again. 

She was beautiful, more beautiful than he ever gave her credit for, yet she looked tired. Sunken. Like she had wept and screamed alongside all the frowning. 

“Marc,” She said it more determined this time, pacing down the stairs to his home, her footsteps rushed and worried, “Are you okay?,” 

He knew he must look like a mess. He hadn’t stopped crying for three days since he got the first phone call from his father in almost two decades, since he’d learned his mother had passed, and he was already a bottle of whiskey deep by the time he’d stepped out the cab onto the street he grew up on. 

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought she would be there. He guessed she would be far away from this place, just like he had been, in a mansion with a 401k and a dog and a neurosurgeon for a husband. She had always deserved it. 

But here she was, grabbing the bottle out of his hand gently, rubbing a hand over his shoulder like not a day had gone by that they hadn’t seen one another, and it didn’t take him much convincing at all to pull her into a hug he had needed since the day he left. 

“My mum’s dead,” Marc said, sounding like a little boy again when he wept into her neck, squeezing her body to his, and he felt her rubbing his back soothingly. 

“I know, Marc, I’m so sorry,” She hummed, and she smelled like a fancy floral perfume he couldn’t afford to give her before, “I know you must be feeling complicated,”

He nodded, because he couldn’t have put it better himself. He felt complicated. 

“I missed you,” She said, like it was a confession, and he cried harder, his face burying into the crook of her shoulder. 

“I missed you too,” 

“How’s Steven? Is he still around?” She asked, pulling him away to root through her pocket for the pack of tissues she’d kept handy for the day. He took a deep breath, rubbing his sleeved arm over his face to dry it even the slightest. He could feel his cheeks sopping wet from where he had sobbed in the back of the cab like a madman all the way here. 

But she was still fussing over him, and she looked just as pretty as he had remembered her, sitting on his bed that day, if not only a little more tired under her eyes.

Ofcourse she had known about Steven. How else was he supposed to explain the times they would be playing boyfriend-girlfriend together and he would become a different person. 

Sometimes Steven would remember her too, because it didn’t matter to her who he was, she was his best friend either way. He remembered a girl who smelled like summer, sitting on the swings and eating ice lollies together, taking it in turns to push each other, blue tongued and happy. 

“Yeah, sometimes,” He replied quietly, as she handed him the tissues, “He misses you, too,” 

She smiled at him with her lips pressed tightly.

“I take it you’re not coming in?” She said in a careful tone, and he shook his head quickly. 

“No- I just can’t,” He said, tears welling up in his eyes in seconds, and she wrapped him in another hug immediately, soothing his hurt as fast as it had bubbled back up.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to,” She hummed, stroking down his back gently, and he hugged her tightly as if she was the only thing keeping him together. 

He opened his mouth to speak when his front door opened again, and he worried for a second that it was Elias. 

Instead, he saw a girl no older than five emerge in a cute, poofy dress that met her knees, her hair tucked into a neat braid, lace gloves matching her own as she lingered at the doorway. 

And perhaps the thing that struck him the quickest; she was the damn near double of the girl he’d hit in the head with his soccer ball in that very yard. 

“Mommy,” The girl said in a gentle coo, her eyes empathetic as she met his gaze, more empathetic than he knew children could feel. But, he supposed, if she was her daughter then it didn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

His best friend turned, her face smoothing out into something peaceful when she saw her little girl, and he knew then she was born to be a mother. Nothing like his own, nothing like Wendy, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. 

She was a mother. 

“Yes, baby?” She said, half stepping towards her child as the girl stumbled down the first step towards them, and she was quick to swoop her into her grasp and onto her hip. 

“I need to use the bathroom,” The girl said shyly, peeking a glance at him over her mum’s shoulder, and she waved at him with tiny fingers. 

He waved back, even if the sight of her had dumped a bucket of cold water all over his body. 

“Alright, baby. Just wait in the foyer, I’ll come take you in just a second, I’m just speaking to my friend right now,” She said, stroking over the back of the girl’s hair softly, and kissing her chubby cheek. “Is that okay?”

She nodded, and her mum kissed her once more, plopping her back on the top step to direct her back into the house. And they were alone again. 

She looked at him guiltily, stepping back towards him as she fiddled with her sleeves nervously, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get childcare and I don’t really know anyone in state anymore-”

“No, it-it’s fine,” He stammered, feeling her watching him for his reaction carefully, “What’s her name?” 

“Dalilah,” She replied, rubbing hands up her arms to calm herself. 

“Where’s her dad?” Marc asked, hoping he didn’t sound bitter, but the whiskey made it sound like a bite. 

She shrugged, “He wanted the cars and the house when we split; I wanted her,” She said calmly, like it wasn’t one bomb after another to be dropped on him. 

He knew nothing about her life. He had tried to run away from that promise he’d made her for twenty years, because he knew he would never be good enough for her; that he could never give her the happiness she deserved, even before he had become the Moon Knight. 

At his core, he would rot her, ruin her. He would destroy her.

And yet hearing it was just the two of them alone, he felt like he could take out the piece of shit who ran out on them barehanded and go home to sleep next to her soundly.  

He felt like perhaps, as much grief and anguish as returning back to that house had caused him, perhaps this was his second chance. His chance to be what she needed, to be something good.

He would be so good to them. He would give them everything if she asked. 

“I’m not really in town much, especially with my dad still around,” She said, gesturing to where her yard still stood, full of junk and a dog that had supposedly been kicking strong for two decades, “But I would love to see you again. Lila has school most days so you’re free to come over any day of the week if you want it to be just us; I work at home,” She scribbled an address about two hours away down on a piece of paper, along with her phone number, handing it to his distraught face with a sad smile, somewhat hopeful he would take the olive branch she was shaking his way. 

He took it with a nod, his bottom lip still trembling before he bit it hard enough to force it to stop. He would love to see her, if he would even allow himself something good. If he would just let go of the resentment for everything that reminded him of that time, he could see the two of them healing one another slowly, but surely. 

She could fix him. And he could fix her. The way it had always been with them. 

“Yeah, I’d love that,” Marc said softly, allowing her to grab him tightly one more time, “I really did miss you,” 

She laughed, not properly more like a sad breath out, squeezing him to her, “I loved you so much. I never let you go, you know that?” 

He tried not to sob, almost holding her so maddeningly hard she couldn’t ever leave. 

But he had to let go eventually, and he watched her walk back up the stairs to where his family mourned, her face glinting with something hopeful, holding a flashlight out to him where he was walking around in the dark blindly.

He tried to smile back, though he knew it wouldn’t be the same, wouldn't be truly untouched by the grief he wallowed in. 

And by the time he got back to his hotel room, alone, even more drunk, Khonshu had another job for him that would whisk him away for two weeks. But he kept her number, the piece of paper gripped in his hand tight, like he was determined to keep his promise this time around.

He dialled her number exactly fifteen days later, his body aching, his nose bloodied, but something lighter in his chest at the prospect of seeing her again. The light in his dark, the girl on the swings he’d once pretended to marry during their game of house (the rings had been tiny daisy chains she’d woven together just that morning, their officiant was Randall who could barely ride a bike let alone remember the vows he was supposed to say.) 

Only when the phone got put through, a different woman answered, and the light flickered back out into something cold and dark and vengeful. 

“Oh, oh god, you haven’t heard?” He swallowed thickly, “She was hit by a drunk driver last week picking Lila up from school,” The woman, her cousin, explained, her voice teary and solemn, and he didn’t doubt she’d had to make a thousand of these calls the past few days, “They said it was quick, and Lila went fast so she wasn’t in any pain- and she was only in the ambulance for ten minutes before her heart stopped so she wasn’t hurting long either-” 

But he put the phone down, his eyes wide, his body numb, his chest empty and lonely. 

Because the very last bit of good in him was gone; because everything he touched was cursed and tainted from the offset. 

It took what felt like twenty cups of whiskey for him to black out that night, he knew sleep would evade him, he knew not to even bother trying. And Jake Lockely woke up for him, something mean and hateful in the black of his eyes. 

He didn’t care who, but someone was going to pay for his cielo being taken from them. 

[fuctacles]

Good demons eat their flowers

@stmonstercalendar banshee @steddie-spooktober fog 704 | E for Eddie's thoughts | Steddie | Demon Eddie, Witch Stevie, transfem Steve, Stevie goes around, friends with benefits | witch hunt au, now with a tag

Eddie's at her door for once, aiming to be a proper gentleman, when they open without his knocking. It's not Eve who's on the other side, though.

Well, at least this explains the fog that settled around the valley.

He blinks in surprise as a tall, unsettling creature passes him by, barely sparing him a glance. It's surprising enough, but as he enters the hut without a proper invitation, more surprises follow. The woman of the house emerges from behind the partition that serves as her bedroom wall, her hair wilder than usual and the aura around her different that usual. Eddie's seen it on her before.

She looks thoroughly fucked. 

"A banshee?" he points at the door, which reminds him its still open so he slams it shut. "Really?" 

Eve looks at him unimpressed and unsurprised by his presence. She's naked, as usual, but with a flick of her wrist, a shawl wraps around her waist to create a long skirt. Her breast are left hidden only by her long hair, supported by the same spell Eddie has seen other witches use. 

Usually, she doesn't bother covering up so he wonders what she might be hiding under the makeshift skirt. What state has her lover left her pussy in. Are the lips red and puffy from hours of fucking? Or her mound and thighs bruised and bloody from violent love bites? Or her clit sucked out of it--

"My tits are up here."

Eddie's eyes snap up to her amused face. 

"Sorry," he says. Adds a smirk to it as a reminder that he's a demon and he's not really sorry for having lustful thoughts. He leans against the wall with all the nonchalance he can muster. "So, you're fucking low level ghouls now?" he asks, crossing his arms. 

Evie shrugs.

"None of your business who I'm fucking," she says. "Did you want something?"

He opens his mouth to protest that it is his business but thinks better of it and shuts his yap with a click. 

"Just came over to see how my favorite witch is doing," he lands on instead, smiling like the picture of innocence that he's not. 

"Well, your favorite witch is busy--"

"Yeah, I've noticed."

"--so you can make yourself useful," she finishes with a glare, putting a huge wicker basket full of dandelions on the table. A huge cauldron follows, put directly over the fire pit. "I need to separate the flowers from the stem," Eve explains shortly, ripping the head of one of the flowers and throwing it into the cauldron. The stem goes into a separate bucket. She starts working without waiting for his reaction, and he observes her for a moment before pushing away from the wall with a sigh. His hooves click on the wooden floor as he approaches the able and stands next to her, reaching for the flowers. 

"You eat even one and I kick you out," she warns.

"I wasn't going to!" he protests, but he totally was. Pointedly, he raises the flower that was aiming to his mouth, up to his nose and makes a pointed, deep inhale. 

Eve ignores him, and keeps working. The flower smells only faintly of pollen and warm sun.

"So, what kind of evil potion are we making?" he asks conversationally. 

"Cough syrup."

"Cough syrup?!" Eddie looks at the flowers in his hands, ripping them apart in distaste. "Are you a witch or a hippie?" He scrunches his nose.

"I don't know what a hippie is," she reminds him. "What's wrong with helping people out?"

"Uh, nothing, but it's not magic. Isn't it beneath you?"

Eve hums.

"A lot of things are beneath me," she says with a twitch of her lips that tells him he is supposed to read it in the filthy way that he does. "But not making my skills useful. It's what I got burned for."

Eddie grumbles, his nose twitching.

"Right."

They work quietly for some time, until he speaks up again.

"You know, there's another flower I'd love to eat," he says, tone conversational. 

She looks up, hands still working as she considers him. 

"After this basket, if you're good."

Eddie grins.

"For you, I'll make an exception."

tags: @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @wheneverfeasible

[poppyseed-cheesecake]

The way your hair stuck to your face, wet from sweat and flattened by the very helmet you'd just taken of wouldn't leave his mind for days.

Your eyes wide with excitement, cheeks red from exhaustion and a smile so dazzling it made the sun seem dull. That was you, after winning first place in yet another tournament.

Briefly, you scanned the crowd, and when your gaze found his, you pressed two gloved fingers to your lips before extending them to him, high up on his podium.

He could see his favour, wrapped around the steel wrist of your gauntlet, from all the way up here. You won for him. For your prince. His knight.

But his admiration of his most prized subject was rudely interrupted, when a nobleman patted him on the back.

"Highness, you must not let this knight compete anymore! None of ours stand a chance!"

The mans belly laugh drowned out the crowds cheering, and Xavier was forced to give this man the attention you deserved.

By the time he's finally gotten the man to leave, you and the other knights had already gone back to your lodgings.

Begrudgingly Xavier kept up the princely facade until he too, could finally excuse himself.

As the crown princes personal knight and undefeated champion, you were one of the few ones with your own room.

With renewed vigor he all but ran towards it, only slowing down whenever someone crossed his path to exchange dignified but quick greetings.

After checking his hair in a hand mirror he knocked, only to be met with silence. Two more knocks told him all he needed to know and he entered.

As expected, your steel plate was strewn about, clearly taken off without much care. No sign of you in sight. Ah, and there was your gauntlet, his favour still attached. A frown flashed over his face.

He gingerly removed his glove and caressed the inside of your chest plate. It was still slightly warm and a bit damp. You'd spend the night wiping it down and oiling it, no doubt.

There was no shame in it, when Xavier lifted his bare fingers towards his lips. Salt, oil and leather.

He moved further through the humble room, letting his fingers glide over surfaces as he passed by them.

The rough wooden bedframe, the simple beige sheets. Your nightstand, a wooden crate you'd perched a bowl with water on.

The cloth partition behind wich you'd stored a small wooden tub and a few scentless soaps. Notably, neither your gambeson, nor your spear and sword were to be found.

So you were at the training grounds. After all that, you still worked hard.

Xavier smiled. Of course you did. You always did. And it was all in his name.

Still, it was a shame, he would've liked to find you alone, to offer you a reward in private. If he did it infront of the other knights and soldiers you'd have to keep up a certain...image.

He could wait for you here, of course. You'd eventually return and he could have a word with you just like this. But he wanted to see you now.

And his legs moved before he could even consider anything else.

The training grounds weren't far off, he could hear them before he saw them. Grunts, cheers and the clashing of steel.

The closer he got the more he walked to the side, eventually hugging the wall. He wanted to watch a bit before the crown princes appearance inevitably made everyone tense.

It didn't take long for him to find you.

Your light blue gambeson was stained now, from dirt, sweat and a bit of blood. Despite its thickness, hiding your muscles no doubt rippling with every powerfull move, he could make out a faint dark patch on your back. The summer heat and your hours of fighting had made you sweat through all your layers.

You were in the midst of a duel, a young man, handsome, but not as handsome as Xavier, tried his best to hold his own against you.

Behind your sweat slick hair he could see you smile, you were having fun as you dodged a too wide swing of the lads sword, not even bothering to parry. Instead you stepped in and rammed four fingers into his unarmoured armpit. The lad dropped his sword, and a punch to the gut would've surely dropped the guy, had he too not been wearing his gambeson. Still, his knees buckled and the duel was over. Some spectators cheered, patting your shoulders with enthusiasm. You however, kindly stretched out a hand to the man, smiling, saying words of encouragement and putting another hand on his shoulder and -

Enough. Xavier couldn't take it anymore and he stepped out of the shadows, clapping, plastering his best princely smile onto his no doubt much prettier face.

"Bravo! As expected of my knight!"

The mood immediately changed. Knights and soldiers who'd been lounging about, enjoying the sun, having rowdy fights and undignified little wrestling matches, now scrambled to get up and make themselves presentable.

You, too, turned to him, hand still on that man. Your face however lit up when you saw your prince. With ease that would've made Xaviers knees buckle had he not been standing infront of a crowd, you oulled the guy to his feet. Using only one arm.

And then you turned to Xavier fully.

"Your highness! What a surprise."

While others bowed, you naturally stepped closer to him, ungloved your hand, wiped it quickly on your pants and gently took his.

In a practiced, comfortable motion you leaned down, your lips ghosting over his knuckles.

He wished you'd just kiss them.

But you didn't, when he tapped your chin with one finger, you straghtened back up.

Before you could take your hand back fully he slides a finger underneath your sleeve. It was bothering him. Why didn't you wear his favour.

From this close he could see the flush on your face better, your dilated pupils, your breath, still a bit heavier than normal.

You were beautiful. Would you allow it, he'd get on his knees right here, right now and -

No, everyone was waiting for him to speak.

"What's so surprising about it? My knight won yet again, and instead of in her room, resting, I find her here. Are you not exhausted yet?"

You smile, so so pretty. You are so so pretty. The others shouldn't be allowed to see this smile.

"I apologize. But you must know, your highness, this much cannot exhaust me."

He made a "Hmh." sound.

Xavier wanted to speak to you alone now, but you clearly still wanted to fight. But he didn't want any more of these people to have fun with you.

It was an impulsive decision.

"Then how about a duel with me."

A whisper went through the crowd, and he could see hesitation on your face. You knew he could fight, and you knew he was almost a match for you. But he was a member of the royal family and you were a low ranking noble.

Another finger teased the hem of your sleeve before sliding in, and another pressed into your palm.

Did he make this uncomfortable for you? Should he not have asked?

No, if he hadn't asked you'd have kept tousling wkth who knows how many men, he was confident he could satisfy your desire for a challenge.

It was time to make the decision for you.

Now fully taking your hand, he tilted his head to the side, mustering his most innocent expression.

"Ah, should I not have asked? I suppose you knights would feel uncomfortable with me here..."

Of course, your head shot up.

"No! Not at all! I just...please wear a helmet."

The smile on his face was genuine.

"As you wish."

////////

Your posture was straighter now than when you'd fought the other man. You were taking him seriously. Xavier couldn't help but feel good about that.

The training ground had become quiet, everyone had gathered to watch the prince and his knight duel.

You held your longsword low in fools guard, no doubt hoping for him to take the bait and attack your wide open head and neck. If he did, you would go for his swordarm. Many a duel of yours had ended just like that. But Xavier had been watching you fight for years, so he knew not to do that.

Instead, he went up into wrath, taking slow steps to circle him. You followed, letting this dance begin.

Your eyes scanned him, his posture, his movement. It was thrilling in a way, being so closely scrutinized by you. Having your full, undivided attention infront of all these people.

After a few moments you realized he wouldn't take the bait and changed stances into wrath as well. This was a first hit duel afterall.

You couldn't afford to truly injure the prince, so this would have to do.

A lesser man wouldn't have noticed the way your smile changed. The way your foot shifted slightly and the muscles in your thighs tensed.

But Xavier knew you. And he knew that, if he wanted this to last, he had to act.

It happened in the blink of an eye. Had he not known your sword would've hit his shoulder. Now it slid down his own blade with an ugly screech. He could hear you chuckle and stepped towards your side just in time to dodge your knee.

Distance. Quick he needed distance.

This was how you fought, if your blade didn't hit your punches and kicks would. There was not a second of rest once you'd decided to attack. And now he was reduced to helplessly blocking and dodging blow after blow after blow.

You were relentless and clearly enjoying yourself.

If he weren't the prince you'd try to get him on the ground to grapple, but given his status you'd spare him that. Not that he wouldn't appreciate rolling on the ground with you. Tangled limbs, bodies pressed together -

Ah! He couldn't afford to daydream. You'd been steadily driving him backwards, when suddenly - dull pain in his side. At some point you'd loosened one hand from your sword, and now your knuckles dug into the soft flesh beneath his ribs.

Your face was close, and he realized - this was it.

His helmet hit your jaw, and the brief moment you were off balance was enough for him to kick against your leg.

Immediately you dropped your sword and gripped his shoulders as you fell, dragging him down with you.

It was a reflex, for sure, but you managed to roll on top of him. Your thighs straddling his hips. In the heat of the moment his hands dug into your sides and he cursed the thick gambeson from truly letting him feel you. Only moments before your fist hit his face did you catch yourself.

"Your highness!"

You scrambled to your feet, pulling him up quickly. He mourned the loss of your weight on him, but cheered internally when you frantically dusted down his once pristine white cot.

"I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?"

You fussed over him, removing his helmet to examine his face. Your rough, calloused hands turning his head side to side, lifting his chin and Xavier enjoyed every second of it. There was a red spot forming on your own chin, where his helmet had hit you.

As much as it pained him, he grabbed your wrists and removed your hands from his face.

"Please. It's my own fault for challenging you. I hope I wasn't too pathetic?"

"No! Not at all! Your highness, you've lasted much longer than even seasoned soldiers usually do!"

The earnesty you said that with made him chuckle.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Xavier looked around, the knights and soldiers had been watching with baited breath, and a strange silence had befallen them still.

"Now, may I steal you away? I did intend to reward you for todays victory."

//////

Your shirt was almost translucent from the water. You hadn't dried yourself very well after your bath.

Xavier sat on your bed and watched you toss the gambeson over a crate.

He could see the linen stick to your skin, your muscles rippling with every motion, the subtle peaks of your breasts -

You were entirely too comfortable with this. How you

could you hold casual conversation while you put on more and more articles of clothing. You'd asked for a meal, such a measly little reward, and insisted on washing up before.

Did you always act like this? Did your fellow soldiers and knights get to see this?

You plopped down next to him, talking about the man he'd seen you duel, how he was a new apprentice, eager to learn...all while lacing your shoes.

Why did you smile so much talking about him?

What did it matter if he had potential and why why where you so comfortable when he could literally see everything and -

Before he could stop himself, he'd pushed you down.

His arms caging your torso.

You looked up at him, wide eyed, questioning. No doubt, he had the same surprised expression.

"Your highness...?"

"I..."

Xavier could still go back, say he lost his balance, say this was an accident, apologize and -

And then what? Go back to how things were? Watch you tousle with countless men and women?

"I - I want to touch you."

Curses, that sounded stupid. Wrong.

"...Okay."

"...Huh?"

"Okay. You can touch me. Your highness."

"..."

Xavier swallowed. Hard. This was something he'd dreamed of for over a decade and now he just...got it? Could this be real?

Slowly, as if afraid to scare you away, his hand moved up, cupoing your cheek, stroking the soft, suntanned skin. You closed your eyes, nuzzling into his touch and the arm holding him up buckled.

He all but fell onto you, barely catching himself on his elbow, his face pressed into the crook of your neck.

Xavier lay still, waiting with baited breath for you to push him away. But you didn't. Instead he felt your throat vibrate when you spoke.

"May I touch you as well?"

A choked groan escaped his lips and he managed to raise his head, dragging himself up far enough to press his forehead against yours.

"I would be delighted if you did."

[pvcflooringuaeonline]

In a dynamic and ever-evolving city like Dubai, the need for flexible and efficient space utilization is paramount. Wall partitions are a versatile solution that can transform any space, offering privacy, aesthetics, and functionality. This article explores the benefits, types, and considerations for installing wall partitions in Dubai.

Contact Information Address: 39 3B St - Al Quoz Dubai - United Arab Emirates Phone: +971 56 584 7696 Email: carpetscurtains@gmail.com Website: https://pvcflooringuae.com/

[roseareeh]

Ink | Customer! Eddie Munson x Tattoo Artist! Reader

Notes: OOF this took me a while, but it's here! Enjoy!

Words: 3k

Warnings: Drinking

Eddie was your favourite customer for multiple reasons.

For one, the tattoos he wanted were exactly what he wanted. Two, he loved every idea you had, and also made his next appointments every time you finished a piece. Plus, he tips well, which is a nice bonus.

On the other hand, you had to shamefully realise that you developed a small crush on him. Which is funny, considering his tattoos were skulls, snakes and bats while you had a huge Sailor Moon sleeve on your right arm and nothing but flowers on the left one.

You were Eddie's favourite tattoo artist. With your chatty self, you always managed to distract him from the pain with stories from your life. Your artwork was nothing less than amazing, and always up his lane. He thought it was funny that you specialised in black and white for anything weird or creepy while he always walked into your pink and purple tattoo shop with a variety of Disney movies playing on the TV standing on a wooden shelf, mounted to the wall.

In addition, he had a crush on you. He's had crushes before, but not like this. This one was different than the others. Maybe it's because you always told him about what your Dachshund at home was up to, or when you told him your brother asked you to be your nieces godmother. It was just...special. His special time between you and him.

Today, he wanted a black and white cecropia moth over his shoulders and upper back. Eddie was so excited for this appointments the entire week, so much so that he was already grinning while walking in. "Who do we have here.", you said with an equally wide grin the second you spotted him. "Your favourite client, I assume.", he said while taking off his jacket. It was very clear that Eddie was your favourite customer, although you never said that out loud. "Considering we're all alone, you can assume correct.", you replied. As per usual, he made his way over to your station and waited for your okay to take his shirt off. "What ya' think?", you asked as you showed him the drawing of the moth. As per usual, it was perfect. "Alright, so you can take off your top for the stencil. Amy is coming in later today, so if you want the partition then just let me know."

This wasn't your first time seeing him shirtless, yet you couldn't help but look a bit from the corner of your eye. You hated yourself for this dumb crush, it was beyond unprofessional. On the other hand, Amy met her fiance at the studio as well. "I think I'll be fine without it, but thank you." He put his shirt underneath the chair, which was your que to get the stencil on his back.

"Alright, you ready?" He got comfortable on the chair, you put The Little Mermaid in the VHS player and started tattooing. "Same procedure as always, when the pain gets to much I'll tell you about Hot Dog." That was your Dachshund, who you also lovingly addressed as your son. "What have you been up to?" Eddie told you about his recent gigs, how band practice went and that Gareth proposed to his girlfriend at the last gig. Especially the last part made you happy. Gareth came in for a tattoo as well a few months ago, and he was such a kind person. He got quiet two hours in, which was your que to start talking. "Hot Dog is getting a sister. I found an elder dog at the shelter, and I'm taking her home next week." Eddie found the pain much more bearable when you talked to him. Your voice was like music to his ears. He even noticed how your voice changed whenever you talked about Hot Dog. "What's her name?", he asked in an attempt to forget about the pain. "Marly. She's an 11 year old german shepherd with maybe 4 teeth left." Eddie stiffled his laugh to not mess up the tattoo. "Hot Dog likes her a lot, that's why we picked her. Maybe I should bring both some time." Of course they couldn't stay in the studio, but you and your colleague Amy had a small staff room that they could stay in whole you worked on his tattoos. "Would be nice.", he said. His tone was an indicator that he needed a break. "Outline's done, I started on the shading, time for a break."

You put some paper towels on his back and fixated them with tape before letting him go outside for a smoke break. "All shirtless?", you teased him. He chuckled while looking for his cigarettes in his jacket. "It's just the backyard, nobody's gonna see me." You giggled a bit and watched him walk out the backdoor for his smoke break. In the meantime, you had a quick snack and tidied up your station. Eddie always had two cigarettes, you knew him that much already. Since the Cinderella movie was long over and already played twice, you also looked through your VHS collection to pick a new movie. He came back in while you were deciding between movies. "Got a good pick?", he asked while putting his cigarette away. "You mind if I switch it up and put in Sailor Moon instead of Disney?" How could he, when your grin was so adorable. "No Disney? How scandalous.", he joked. You laughed a bit while getting up to replace the VHS. "You can lay down again, I'll be there in a minute."

You kept talking him through the pain with silly stories. How your niece got into the cookie jar and his in the closet with it, that Hot Dog messed up your couch, that your brother had to help his daughter practice ballet in a tutu of his own. Eddie was laughing along until you told him about the terrible date you had last week. "So we went on a walk, and he asked me if our kids would be born with tattoos since I messed with my DNA." That was the only part that was mildly funny through his jealousy. "But I pretty much ran when he said he'd propose on the spot. Haven't called him since, and I don't want to." You noticed that he got oddly quiet after that. For what? For a few minutes, the room was filled with sounds from Sailor Moon playing on the TV.

Meanwhile, Eddie's jealousy was what kept him distracted from the pain. How could a guy get a date someone so perfect and mess it up so bad? He wouldn't treat you like that. "You okay there?", you asked him. He let out a low hum in response, music to your ears, and made up a quick excuse. "It's just really painful right now." That was no surprise, you were shading on his shoulderblades right now. It's reasonable enough to you. "Just watch Sailor Moon, I think you'll like it more than you think. And let me know if you need another break."

"Thanks, (Y/N).", he mumbled. Just as expected, he sat like a rock despite the painful tattoo placement and the odd quietness. Was it actually that bad?

Amy eventually came in to set up her station, and her client came in 30 minutes later. After another 3 hours, you told Eddie that it was time for another break. "I could finish it if you give me 2 more hours, give or take. You think you can handle that?" Finally, he seemed normal again. "I think so. I'm gonna take a longer break though, I need to eat something." You nodded in agreement and let him take his break while you also ate something and looked over at what Amy was tattooing. "I can put on Care Bears for you, if you'd like.", you suggested once you saw the Love-a-lot bear tattoo. Seeing the eyes of Amy's client light up was a dead giveaway. In a few minutes, you had the first season of Care Bears on the TV and it seemed to help her client a lot with the pain.

Eddie was done with his break after 20 minutes. He looked much more relaxed, which made you feel more relaxed also.

"Do you feel better?", you asked him in a hushed tone. "Yeah, we're just getting to the hard part right now.", he replied while laying back down. It was still odd, because even when he was in a lot of pain he didn't like complete silence. Wait...was he...

"Amy, can you take five and check something?", you asked your colleague. While she was a bit confused, Amy went to the staff room after checking with her client. You could hear some distinct chatter from Eddie and the other client through the door. "Did something happen with the orders?", she asked in a concerned tone.

"I think Eddie's jealous.", you simply stated. With a raised eyebrow and crossed arms, she asked "That's what I had to pause my session for?"

"I'm serious. I mentioned my awful date last week, and he's been off since then. He doesn't even talk or anything, he's a chatterbox!" Another eyeroll from her. "Give him the plus one ticket you have for the afterparty. You're awfully honest when you drink, and from what I heard he likes that too. And if it goes to shit, you'll loose a client. It's shit, but you wouldn't see him again." She was right, you knew that. "Right. Yeah, right." You scratched your head and went to the door again. "I'll do that, thank you." She still gave you a sympathetic smile as you two left the room. "It's gonna be fine. Promise."

He handed you the money he owed you for the tattoo, and you handed him the plus one ticket. "What's that?", he asked with knitted eyebrows. "There's a tattoo convention in a month, and the afterparty is on the second day. It would be lovely if you could come." Finally, he had a smile on his face again. "We also have a booth at the convention, so maybe you could come and say hello."

"I'll make sure to be there.", he said with a smirk while putting the ticket into the front pocket of his leather jacket. "I'll be seeing you before my next appointment then." Eddie left with a small wink. A wink?!

When the day of the afterparty came around, you put a lot of thought into your makeup, hair and outfit. When going shopping, you ended up picking a backless, white dress that was only held up by two spaghetti straps. It was so you could show off the pink and purple wings tattoo perfectly while also showing both your full-sleeves. Considering it was summer, it was also short so your legs tattoos would be shown off.

Of course the main intention was to show as much of the art on your skin as possible. A side intention was just in case Eddie would be there. He hasn't been at your booth the whole weekend. Why should he come now?

You put your hair into a ponytail and finished your makeup before leaving for the location. Since you planned on drinking, you called a cab, kissed your dogs goodbye and left.

It was loud. Really, really loud. Dre Day by Dr. Dre was being played while people on the floor were dancing together, in groups or alone.

"(Y/N)!", you heard someone yell excitedly. In hopes of it being Eddie you turned around, but it wasn't him. Still, it was a friend who lives four states over and always came to the convention. That was nice, too. "Steph!", you yelled back excitedly before the both of you hugged. "Come on, let's drink. What have you been up to?"

And drinking you did. Eventually, both of you and her girlfriend ended up on the dancefloor with Destiny's Child in the background. You sort of gave up on Eddie turning up, until you bumped into him.

"Shit, what are you doing here?", he asked while theatrically swinging his arm around your shoulders. "I'm a tattoo artist, Eddie!", you said with a giggle. The close proximity didn't even matter right now, that's how much you had to drink already. "What are you doing here, huh?" Steph saw you and him, smirked and continued dancing with her girlfriend.

"You invited me!", he yelled over the loud music that just turned up. Dr. Dre was a stable at this party, apparently. "Oh yeah!", you yelled back, followed by a hearty laugh. "Because you're hot and I wanna see you more!" Eddie just laughed and walked towards the bar with you, arm still around your shoulder. "I like the things you're saying.", he said eventually. Both of you hopped up on a barstool and ordered another drink. "I wanted to see you sooner, but I had to work!", he told you in a slurred tone. The only thing you did was giggle, and then both of you got your cocktails. "What's that?", he asked you while watching you take a sip. "Piña Colada. Wanna taste?" Eddie didn't expect you to stick your tongue out instead of handing you the glass, but he just laughed and kissed you instead of even bothering to think. He stood up from his barstool to stand between your legs while you two made out.

To the both of you, unbeknownst to the other, this felt like it was meant to be. Why did you hold back for so long?

His hands travelled from your thigh up to your waist and squeezed the flesh on it. You let out a small moan into the kiss, which made him break it for a short while. "I think I wanna take you home.", he rasped. A grin appeared on your face and your hand ran through his hair. "I think that's a great idea."

And to his home you went. That's where you woke up the next morning, naked in his bed. Eddie was still snorring next to you, also naked, with one arm lazily drapped around your waist. "Fuck.", you mumbled while trying to get up. There was a stinging pain in your head, and while still being naked you ran to the nearest bathroom to throw up. It was obvious where it was, considering Eddie labeled it with an old bar toilet sign.

After you were done throwing up and washed out your mouth, you spotted Eddie in the doorway in nothing but low-hanging, grey sweatpants. "Good morning.", he said in a low tone. His voice was still raspy from waking up. Your response was a grumble while you sat down on the edge of his bathtub. He saw you naked last night, it didn't matter anymore. "Here, put it on." Eddie handed you an oversized Metallica shirt and your underwear from yesterday. "Thanks.", you mumbled before slowly getting dressed. He turned around to give you some privacy, but there was undoubtedly tension between you two. "I'll make you breakfast, and I'm guessing we need to talk then.", he said, then walked off.

You heard the clinking of pans and plates while still trying to grasp what really happened. You had sex with your favourite client, no memory if you two even used protection, while drunk out of your mind. One part of your brain thought Finally, while the other part throught How?.

You removed your makeup as much as you could (although your lipstick was already off from last night), then walked into his kitchen.

Eddie had a studio apartment, so his living room, bedroom and kitchen were all combined in one big room. The only thing that separated his bedroom from everything else were some shelfs with DnD figurines and books in it. "You feel better?", Eddie asked you while you sat down on the high stool he had by his kitchen island. "A bit. Head still hurts." He slid you an aspirin with a glass of water. You gratefully took it and gulped it all down with lightning speed.

"So, about last night.", Eddie started while putting scrambled eggs and bacon with some toast on your plate. It smelled so good, you wished you had that every day. "Do you know if we used protection?" was the first question that left your mouth. The risk of having a baby with someone you weren't in a relationship with was terrifying.

"Honestly, I don't know. I didn't see any...packaging.", Eddie replied as he sat down next to you with his own plate in hand. Your head fell into your hands with a loud groan. "Fuck...", you mumbled after a while. "It's no offence to you, but I really don't want to have a child with someone I'm not dating."

"I mean, we could."

Your head shot up at his words. To him, you looked like a deer in headlights. "You're serious?" The stammer in your voice was clear, but Eddie didn't know how to interpret it. But now that you two have gone this far already, nothing he would say now could make it worse. "I've liked you for a while now. I really, really like you. And I wouldn't be opposed to being your boyfriend."

Those words were music to your ears. What a great day, despite the hangover. "As much as this goes against any client-artist ethics I have, I like you in that way as well.", you said with a big grin. It lit up the room, so much that your eyebags and residue makeup weren't remotely visible anymore. "How about you take me to get a plan B, get my dogs and find somewhere to eat for lunch?"

Eddie started grinning at your suggestion. "Getting plan b and meeting the dogs sounds like boyfriend-girlfriend activities.", he said. You got down from the high stool, stood between his legs and wrapped your arms around his neck. "You know me more than most of my friends. I think we can skip the awkward 'what are we' phase."

Both of you leaned into a kiss, a sober one this time.

"Eddie?", you yelled from your bathroom. Hot Dog and Marly came running in with your boyfriend, hearing the nervous undertone. "Everything okay?", he asked before turning the corner and seeing a pregnancy test in your hands.

"I...don't think the plan B, uhm...worked.", you stammered.

[mmgwritings]

FULLY CLOTHED, STARK NAKED

Characters: Kaz Brekker / Dreg!Reader

Prompts: When Kaz felt guilty and decided to handle his problems by shoving them into a dusty, forgotten corner so he doesn’t have to face them... until now.

Warnings: angst; smut; nsfw; canon divergence.

The cart rumbled down the narrow alleyway, laden with crates of drinks, tobacco, and spices from the distant lands of Shu Han — or so it seemed from the merchants' slurred accents. One of the oxen snorted as a wheel got stuck in a muddy puddle, momentarily halting the small caravan trailing behind.

The passengers of the caravan, weary from days on the road, decided to step out of the vehicle and surround the ox cart, slowly carrying their belongings to the main street. Their worn and thick clothes marked them as ordinary people from inland villages, seeking opportunities in Ketterdam now that Shu Han had opened its borders for small exports.

It was a new government measure, introduced after years of peace negotiations between Ravka, Kerch, and Shu Han following the fall of the Fold. The law, ostensibly about simplifying the import and export of goods, was a stroke of Ravkan ingenuity. While its simplicity aimed to facilitate trade, it inadvertently opened the door to cruelty. The same freedom extended to the movement of products was also interpreted and applied to humans, leading to a troubling rise in child abductions and the proliferation of exotic brothels. This grim reality didn't go unnoticed by Inej — and, consequently, by Kaz.

A letter from Inej reached Kaz's hands just a month ago. In the meantime, the crows, who had previously managed the taverns and tourists' finances, were now stationed at the city's entrances, keeping a vigilant eye out for potential slavers. It was a straightforward task: watch people through the cracks in the city patrol loft, handle the work that the corrupt officials neglected, and, if suspicions arose, track their movements.

After that, the grimy details fell to Kaz's officers. That was the part I preferred not to know about, but I was content just imagining it.

Today, it was my turn to guard the entrance to Shu Han, northwest of the city. I sat alone on a dusty crate, peering through a crack in the attic window to keep watch over the alley. Wylan typically joined me during the early hours of the night, but today he had been given special leave to celebrate Jesper's birthday.

With a groan and the gurgling of oxen and two men, the cart — now half-empty after the merchants had collected their belongings — finally got unstuck and trundled onward into the city. I looked beyond the city gates and saw nothing but two patrol officers lounging under a street lamp, smoking cigarettes and chatting idly. Beyond them, the road stretched out, dark and empty.

With a sigh, I stretched and stood up from the crate, my eyes burning from hours of distant observation. The Stadwatch loft, once housing for patrol rookies before they were relocated to a building in the Exchange, was a spacious, open area with no partitions. It was filled with neatly arranged beds and small dressers, two desks, and a stack of old paperwork in the corner. The small, dusty windows were perfect for monitoring the street but couldn’t be opened, leaving the room with a stale smell. On the plus side, the thick walls kept the sounds from travelling outside — Wylan even used to play music when he was bored.

Even with the street empty and no sign of new arrivals at the gates of Ketterdam, I had to stick to my watch schedule until the next guard relieved me in four hours. It was while sitting at one of the desks, feet propped up and munching on a sandwich, that Kaz found me.

Despite the cane, the boots, the wooden floor, and the guards outside, I didn't hear him coming. One moment the loft door was closed, and the next, there was Kaz, his dark coat gleaming in a patch of light from the night dew. His stoic expression scanned the room with interest, his lips pursed as he took in the musty smell.

“Good evening, boss” I said, shifting in the chair and setting the sandwich aside. “Come to check on the poor soul stuck here?”

“No, I’m just joining them,” he replied, lowering his voice as he walked over and sat on my abandoned crate. “Clive can’t make it today — caught a nasty cold and can’t stop sneezing. I’ll keep watch with you.”

“Then enjoy; it’s your turn to stare at the vast nothingness,” I murmured, returning to my sandwich with a smirk. Kaz, always busy and never idle, had come personally to take on a task that involved doing absolutely nothing. And above all, spend a considerable amount of time in my company. Someone he had been avoiding like the plague for the past few weeks.

That would be funny.

As anticipated, five minutes later, the complete silence was broken by his first sigh of boredom. Seven minutes after that, he began rummaging through some of the old paperwork.

When the dust started to rise, I decided it was time to stop. I didn’t want to end up competing with Clive and his sneezing.

“So, have you decided whether it really happened, or are you going to keep avoiding it?” I asked, my eyes fixed on him. Though he had his back to me, I saw him stiffen as he grasped the weight of my question. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, you even stationed me here at this end of the world, so far from everyone that Wylan felt sorry enough to keep me company.”

“I didn’t mean to put you here; it’s part of your job—”

“Don’t even start, Kaz. You know exactly what you’re doing. You felt guilty and decided to handle your problems—me—by shoving them into a dusty, forgotten corner so you don’t have to face them.”

Kaz, still with his back turned and hiding his emotions as he always does when cornered, remained silent. The weight of the truth settled in the attic, spreading through the shadows.

Over the past few weeks, as I spent hours watching the city, I replayed our past interactions in my mind and planned what I would say to Kaz when I finally saw him.

I fantasized about him offering a gentlemanly apology, imagining him walking through the door, confessing some naïve and heartfelt sentiments, and making promises. But once I accepted that it was all just a fantasy, my frustration grew. Clive, my watch partner, sometimes found me with angry tears streaming down my face. He’d ask what was wrong, but what could I tell him? That his boss was a smug asshole who was indifferent to other people’s feelings?

And that this same smug asshole was in front of me and still didn't say anything?

“It’s not my fault that you love Inej. It’s not my fault you’re hung up on someone who hasn’t been around for seven years. And it’s definitely not my fault that I love you more than you even like me,” I said, my voice cracking, the weight of my emotions evident as tears threatened to spill.

I stood up from my chair and grabbed my coat. “If you want to live like this, fine. But don’t pretend like nothing happened… because it did.”

Kaz sighed, slowly turning to face me. His expression was almost tortured, his eyes bright and warm.

I waited, but no words came from him. It wasn't necessary, not when in three quick steps he was in front of me, with his hands adorning my face, with his lips on mine, demanding a desolate kiss.

His tongue slid across my lips, which, with my surprise, parted in a breathless sigh, allowing him to greedily suck my tongue and massage it with his own. I was too stunned to react, surrendering any control over my body as I followed his lead. His hands moved persistently from my face to my waist, drawing me closer until our bodies pressed together.

Noticing my lack of reaction—or perhaps sensing my need to breathe—Kaz pulled his face slightly away from mine. He placed gentle kisses on my flushed cheeks and trailed them halfway down my chin. “You are the stupidest person in the world for not realizing that if there was a lack of words on my part, it was because I couldn't explain how much I want you”

“You’re the stupidest person in the world for not realizing that if I was at a loss for words, it was because I couldn’t find a way to express how much I want you,” he said, his eyes finally meeting mine. “If there was any ghost from the past, you’ve exorcised it. Any teenage feelings are nothing compared to what you make me feel. Don’t you understand? You didn't realize any of this when, that night, I was more yours than I ever was mine?”

His eyes were clear and filled with truth—the same eyes I gradually fell in love with over the years. One night, driven by youthful impulse and drink, I boldly declared my feelings to Kaz with a kiss. That kiss led to a messy night in his room, only for me to wake up alone and to live with his indifference. Or that's what I thought.

"That doesn't make any sense. Nina told me you're still-" my thoughts didn't align.

“And what does Nina know about my feelings? What does she know about all the times I think about you? I’m sorry; I didn’t know what to do that day. I was an asshole, irresponsible, a coward—any term you want to use. But I don’t deny that I do love you, and it’s much more than you love me.”

Kaz’s voice was assertive, as if he were stating an undeniable truth. He loved me. He’d made a mistake out of fear. I was scared too, but nothing compared to the fear that gripped me when he admitted, in so many words, that he loved me.

His lips found mine again, this time demanding much more. His hands moved to pull my body even closer, fingers reaching for the ties of my vest and moving up to my breasts, squeezing them as he guided me towards one of the beds.

My heart raced and my body was covered in goosebumps.

“Kaz, please,” I murmured, trying to pull him closer. I didn't even know what I was begging for, I just wanted more.

It felt so good to have him there, feeling the heat of his body, his weight pressing down on me, and his lips trailing kisses across my chest. Pulling my shirt aside, his lips find my nipple, pebbled by his fingers.

It was all so different from last time, that we were scared enough to take off our clothes, just finding pleasure through our hands.

Now, Kaz suddenly stopped. His eyes marveling at my bare breasts. And I marveled at him. With his swollen lips, heavy breathing, which made his chest rise and fall quickly. With his body pressed against mine, hips unconsciously rubbing against mine in search of relief.

Finding some independence, my hands pushed him until Kaz was kneeling over me. That way, I completely removed my blouse, and when I heard a sigh coming from him, I smiled. "Beautiful" he whispered.

My hands then went towards his vest, agilely undoing it and throwing it onto one of the dressers. The black, long-sleeved shirt remained on his body.

I knew enough about Kaz to see his limits. Clothes were his limit. But not mine.

Gathering up some courage, I hugged Kaz and in a kiss, pulled him on top of me again, and when we were lying down, I rolled on top of him.

"I want to try something." I whispered in his ear, my hand trailing down his body, caressing his abdomen and trailing down to his groin.

There, I found the bulge of his dick, and when I stroked it again I got a deep breath from him. "Yes, do whatever you want," Kaz replied, already too lost in his desires.

I got up quickly, Kaz was surprised and looked at me questioningly. Then he understood when I started pulling my pants down, removing my boots too. I laughed a little when I lost my balance while removing one of my shoes and fell with my face on Kaz's abdomen, too close to his crotch.

Taking advantage of the moment, I planted a playful kiss on Kaz's face and went down to the end of the bed to remove his boots.

He was in a good mood and trying to contain himself from laughing. His face was red, his hair was messy and he had an anxious expression.

"There, done. I hope you don't mind the socks" I said pointing to my mismatched socks with a smile on my face.

"I couldn't care less," he replied, hands resting on my waist as I straddled him. "But I care about one thing..." she spoke, her fingers lightly tugging at the hem of my panties.

"Worry about this little thing?" I asked, adjusting myself into a better, much more comfortable position, one that was on...

"I'm a petty man" He sighed, his eyebrows furrowing and betraying his pleasure. I moved a little, enough to make him abandon any kind of argument he was making.

His fingers found space between the hem of my panties, lightly caressing the crease between my leg. But not there, not where I wanted most, where I needed it. Just close.

Truly, a petty man.

Kaz's vibrant blue eyes were completely dilated as I began rubbing myself over his cock. Trying to find some pleasurable point, my panties were wet over the seam of his pants.

His other hand, not needed to guide me, moved up towards my nipple, squeezing it painfully, only to be tamed by his warm tongue. Now, the two of us sitting, me straddling him and Kaz sucking my tits, were like two teenagers in heat.

"I can't," I said, almost crying. My face hidden in his hair, my hands gripping his shoulders.

Then Kaz mercifully slid his fingers over my core. Not inside, where I wanted most, where my walls squeezed with emptiness. "Please, Kaz." I whispered in his ear, seeking his lips for a sloppy kiss.

As we kissed, as I sucked his tongue and kneaded his shirt, Kaz's hands went down to his pants, undoing the button and zipper, trying to pull them down. Realizing this, I helped him, putting my hand in his pants and freeing his dick.

It was wet with cum, it was big and it stood completely hard. It was as pink as Kaz's swollen lips, and all I could think about was how good it would taste in my mouth.

But I didn't have time for that. I felt like I was going to cum just from rubbing against Kaz. And he also felt the same way, as he quickly pulled my panties to the side and I guided the head of his cock towards my clitoris, rubbing it lightly, enough to make everything wet with my desire and his.

Kaz groaned throatily. Laying down on the bed and watching me as I slid down his cock, my folds wetting him all over and my white panties were almost transparent.

Unable to hold it any longer, I stood up and pushed his cock into my pussy. Feeling myself open up as he slid in, all the way to the base. Allowing myself to stand still for a moment, with goosebumps rising through my body, a painful moan escaped my lips in unison with Kaz's.

Me, stark naked and Kaz completely clothed. My hands found support on his chest as I slowly moved up and down his dick, finding a good rhythm for both of us. Kaz's eyes met mine, and that way, as he filled me and rolled his hips to meet my pussy mid-motion.

His mouth, swollen from all the kisses, was open, panting. His cheeks were pink, his forehead was sweaty and his hair stuck to it. Kaz was a beautiful sight.

With his eyes locked on mine, Kaz's hands went to my ass, helping me with the rhythm. Making me slide on it instead of going up and down. This way, my clitoris rubbed against the base of his dick, finding the perfect friction in the movement.

"Good?" he asked as I closed my eyes and groaned. "Perfect" I replied with a drunken smile.

"Open your mouth" I order Kaz, with a tone very similar to the one he used in meetings with the Dregs.

I opened it, my eyes still closed. I felt Kaz sit down, his chest against mine, my sensitive nipples against his shirt. Kaz, stuck a thumb in my mouth, gently touching my tongue and massaging it.

Instinctively I closed my mouth over his finger and sucked. Kaz put his face to mine and moaned. I thought I was going to keep that substitute for his cock in my mouth, but Kaz removed his finger and replaced it with his tongue.

His thumb, coated with saliva, trailed down to our junction. His dick filled me very well, but the need for more arose from the moment Kaz started massaging my pussy. I thought it couldn't get any better.

It was instinctive, as I had never experienced any of that rationally before. I moaned into his kiss and hugged him, trying to get closer, rubbing myself even more, trying to find relief from that sweet torment.

Kaz also felt the same, his dick moved inside me, trying to go deeper. I felt our sweaty bodies clinging to each other and Kaz's moans, not at all shy, made me shudder.

It was like we were boiling, feeling something tighten in my groin, feeling the need to have something faster, stronger, bigger, inside me. Until, when Kaz hugged me, his nails scratching my sweaty back, his other hand squeezing my ass and his hips pushing deeper into me, I felt like I was going to come apart.

Breaking our kiss for a gasp, I came, my face still placed on his, I felt tears running down his face. I felt, moments later, as my walls squeezed his cock and my body trembled, his hot cum filled me and then slowly slid out, even though he still had his cock stuck inside me.

Kaz then slowly lay down, taking me with him. Our chests rising and falling in search of air. Exhaustion taking over us and happiness bubbling up through our bodies.

We were still united, there was no need for us to separate now. So I adjusted myself to a more comfortable position, and looked at him. The tears were Kaz's, who was so overcome with pleasure that he didn't even notice he had cried. I kissed his face, chin and his lips.

Kaz's hands slowly caressed my body: my back, my arms, my hair, until finally he rested on my ass, playing with the hem of my panties.

We had nothing to talk about when, later, we separated enough to settle into a tired embrace and fall asleep. Kaz still in his clothes and without any criticism regarding my socks and panties.

[yoonkinii]

First date with Sukuna!

Warning(s): Minor cursing. Requests open (only for this AU) Masterlist (Check for more AU content!) Note: I apologize for any errors in my writing. I am the only one writing and editing so I may miss a few things that don't belong. Please let me know if you spot any. <3

“You’ve been staring at your phone for like 20 minutes, just text him already.”

Shoko remarked from your bed, flipping through a fashion magazine she found lying around. She had come over for a study session, but it quickly turned into you telling her about getting Sukuna’s number and having no idea how to proceed. 

“I can’t.” You whine, cheek pressed against the surface of your low living room table. 

Your studio apartment, though compact, was efficiently designed. The entryway doubled as storage, with hidden closets lining the walls and a discreet door on the left revealing the bathroom. The entry all opened into the main living area, where the lines between living room, bedroom, and dining area blurred. A small sofa sat against one wall, accompanied by a flower-shaped coffee table, with a TV hanging on the opposite wall, perfectly positioned for viewing from either the couch or bed. 

The right side of the apartment is occupied by your bed, creating a cozy sleeping nook, partially obscured by a tall bookshelf acting as a makeshift partition. The evening sun filtered through the window above the bed, casting gentle shadows on the floor. Sheer curtains adorned the window, more for decoration than privacy since you lived on the fourth floor.

The kitchen, tucked into one corner, was a masterpiece of compact efficiency. It contained the essentials: a stove, microwave, and small fridge. Wooden cabinets above the counter held a few cooking essentials and acted as a pantry.

“What do you even mean by that? You got his number, just text him,” Shoko counters, sitting up from her position on your bed and making her way over to you. She plops down beside and, with a practiced swipe, unlocked your phone.  

You hiss, raising your head from the table and narrowing your gaze at her. “I didn’t give you my phone password so you could just go through it whenever.”

“What else am I going to do with your phone?” She replied nonchalantly.

“You are insufferable.”

She hums, her thumb nail lightly grazing her teeth as she deftly types on your phone’s screen. You realize too late what she was doing and lunge for your phone, snatching it out of her grasp. 

You gasp, dread filling your insides. “Why did you do that?” you screech, practically flinging your phone back onto the table as if it had burned your hand. You stood up, running your hands through your hair as you pace around the limited space of your apartment. “You just basically screwed me over by sending that text.”

Shoko rolls her eyes, picking up your phone from where you discarded it. “I did not screw you over.” She insisted. “Look, he’s typing.”

Practically tripping over air, you were by Shoko’s side in an instant, staring at the typing bubbles on the screen. A moment later, your phone dinged with a new message- from Sukuna. Shoko grinned, glazing at you. “See? I helped you out.”

“Holy shit,” you muttered, grabbing the phone and staring at the few simple words on your screen.

Your stomach churned with anxiety. 

It had taken hours to get ready for this date, even with Shoko’s help. The fact that Sukuna had chosen a three-star Michelin restaurant didn’t ease your nerves- such a place was beyond your wildest dreams. Miraculously, you found something suitable for the occasion buried deep in your closet. 

You wore a sleek, off-the-shoulder black dress that hugged your figure perfectly. The sleeves flared slightly at the wrists, adding a touch of elegance without feeling too constricting. The dress’s hemline was on the shorter side, so you paired it with slightly sheer black tights. Completing the outfit were black pumps and a small purse slung over your shoulder, just big enough to hold your phone, wallet, apartment keys, and a few necessities. 

Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm your jittery stomach. The last thing you needed was a bout of nerves ruining your first date with the man of your dreams. Your inexperience with fancy places gnawed on you. What if there were specific forks you had to use? Or a certain way to speak?

Shaking off your nerves as best as you could, you finally stepped into the restaurant. The smooth sounds of jazz- saxophone and piano- immediately enveloped you, creating an atmosphere of refined elegance. The building was bathed in a dim glow, with soft light illuminating from bulbs hanging down from the veiling, reminiscent of a starlit sky. 

A hostess appeared before you, exuding an air of professionalism. Dressed in attire reminiscent of a butler’s uniform, complete with white gloves, she greeted you with a polite smile. When you gave her your name, her demeanor shifted slightly; her back tensed, and her eyes widened fractionally before she quickly regained her composure, making you wonder if you had even imagined it. 

As you followed the hostess, you took in the restaurant’s decor. White tablecloths covered the tables, each adorned with a lit candle and a bouquet of roses. Booths lined the walls, their half-circle seats echoing the elegance of the freestanding tables. In the center of the room, a dais hosted the musicians whose performance had captivated you to the point that you nearly collided with the hostess when she abruptly stopped.

Stepping back to create some distance, you meet her gaze. She smiles and tilts her head slightly, motioning for you to ascend the staircase you hadn’t noticed before. It was unusual for a restaurant to have a second story, so you didn’t bother paying much attention towards the ceiling. Now, you see a balcony-like area surrounding the walls of the building, offering a view of the first-floor patrons below. Tables similar to those on the ground floor were placed along the second-story banisters. 

Ascending the spiral stairs with the hostess following at a respectful distance, you reached the top and the hostess once again took the lead. She guided you past various tables to a secluded booth in a back corner, partially hidden by a sheer black curtain. The dark lighting made the booth hard to spot, adding an air of exclusivity and intimacy to it. 

Even in the dim light, you spotted him immediately, his pink hair unmistakable. His back was to you, giving you a few brief moments to take him in before you had to face him. He wore black slack, with the sleeves of his white button-up shirt rolled up to his forearms, revealing more of his intricate tattoos. Two bands of black ink encircled his wrists, their meaning being a mystery to you. You couldn’t dwell on his tattoos any longer as the hostess parted the curtain, gesturing for you to take a seat opposite of Sukuna. 

Your palms were sweaty; in fact, you felt a clammy discomfort all over. Biting your bottom lips, you slid into the booth, surprised by how deeply you sank into the cushion. 

A low chuckle from across the table snaps you out of your thoughts. Your head jerks up, and you find yourself staring at Sukuna. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone. Your mind goes blank as you take in the exposed skin of his collarbone and chest, revealing a peak of well sculpted muscles. 

“You should see the face you’re making right now,” he says, his voice tinged with amusement. He picks up a glass filled with amber liquid, taking a small sip and setting it back down. “I must say, I was quite surprised by how forward you were over text. No greeting or anything, just straight to business.”

Snapping out of your daze, you laugh nervously, your hands fiddling with the hem of your dress under the table. “Sorry about that.” You couldn’t help but apologize, worried that Shoko might have done more harm than good. You barely even knew Sukuna, having only encountered him twice and even those moments were brief. 

He hums, leaning back into his seat, his gaze fixed on you. You stare back, wide-eyed and unsure of what to do. His eyes roamed over your body, and he made no effort to hide what was doing. Your skin felt like it was on fire under his scrutiny. A smirk curled at the corner of his lips. 

“I never asked, but,” He pauses, his eyes locking onto  yours. “How old are you?”

“I’m 25.” 

“Oh?” He leans forward, forearms resting on the table. “That’s quite a big age gap between us.”

You couldn’t help the small pout that forms on your lips, your brows knitting together. “If a seven-year age gap is big for you, then I have a few questions. And I thought I made it clear I didn’t care.”

His eyes lit up with something akin to amusement. “So she does have some bite in her.” Sukuna raises a hand, and almost as if he had summoned them, a waiter appeared. Dressed similarly to the hostess, the waiter bowed slightly as Sukuna made a gesture at them. Without a word, a menu was placed before you. 

“Thank you,” you offered the waiter as you opened the menu. Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at the prices listed. Everything was outrageously expensive; even a simple salad cost a small fortune. Your heart sank along with your pride. 

Guess I’ll have to work overtime for a while, you thought to yourself, your heart breaking slightly at the mere thought of having to work extra hours. 

The waiter returned with a glass of water, taking your order after setting down your drink. You cast a curious glance at Sukuna as the waiter took your menu. He never received one and didn’t even look at yours. 

“Are you not ordering?” You questioned once the waiter was far enough, worry lacing your tone. 

“They already know what I want,” He replied flatly. 

Letting out a soft ‘Ah’ of acknowledgment, you settle back against the booth, taking in your surroundings. It’s not every day you find yourself in such an upscale establishment, so you might as well savor the experience. 

“I take it this is your first time at a place like this?” His voice draws your attention back to him. His eyes are fixed on you, a brow arched in curiosity. 

“God no,” you laugh softly. “I’m in college right now, so there’s no way I could afford places like this.” You admit sheepishly, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“What are you studying?”

“Biology.”

“You want to be a doctor?”

You visibly deflate, your hands cradling the chilled glass of water, fingers gently tapping against its surface. “I used to think so, but the deeper I got into my degree, the more I realized how difficult it is. I think I’ll just become a nurse and work for my friend.”

Shoko is determined to become a doctor, claiming she wants to be her own boss and not have to answer to, in her words, ‘stupid old people.’ You wouldn’t mind working under her as one of her nurses. She’s also said she wouldn’t mind it either, so that’s your current goal. 

Sukuna hums, nodding thoughtfully. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you study him, taking in his appearance. He arches a brow at your stare, almost daring you to say something. And you do. 

“Your piercing.” You begin, pointing to your own eyebrow to mirror his. “Did it hurt really bad?”

“No.” 

“No?” You echo, surprised by his response. Even with a high pain tolerance, it still must’ve hurt a little. 

“No,” He affirms. “I was shit face drunk when I got them.”

You blink at him. Once. Twice before a laugh you can’t hold back escapes you. Your hand covers your mouth, slightly surprised by your own reaction. Sukuna tuts his lips, a slight frown pulling on his lips. 

“Think that's funny, brat?”

You heave out a breath, sighing away to remnants of your laughter. “Hey, I don’t think that warrants being called a brat.” 

“Well you are laughing like an immature brat.” He snarls lowly, lips hovering against the rim of his glass as he takes another sip.

“I’m not sure that I'm the immature one. I wasn’t the one that got drunk and pierced their eyebrow.”

Sukunas eyes narrow on you, lips curling into a half-smile. “Cheeky,” He mumbles more to himself.

Talking to Sukuna felt surprisingly easy. Even when the food arrived, the conversation continued to flow smoothly, with you doing most of the talking. It was clear that Sukuna had a slight temper, evident in the way he grumbled to himself when the waiter made a mistake or how his brows knit together in frustration. Once, when the waiter accidentally brought over a drink neither of you ordered, Sukuna dismissed him with a curt “It’s fine,” but you noticed the way his eyes followed the waiter, as if trying to burn holes in his back. 

Despite his temper, his annoyance was never directed at you. He listened intently when you spoke, adding his own bits to the conversation. You learned that he got all his ear piercings at once, with the gauges being the most bothersome to take care of. His tattoos came a few years later, taking longer to complete because his tattoo artist wasn’t comfortable doing such a large project in one sitting.

Sukuna also shared that his “dumbass nephew” lived with him, usually bothering him and rarely ever shutting up. Despite Sukuna’s grimace while talking about his nephew, it was clear he cares deeply for him. He shows you photos of Yuji on his phone, from baby pictures to ones from elementary and middle school, grumbling about how Yuji sucked at math in middle school. You could tell that beneath his gruff exterior, Sukuna had a soft spot for his family. Why else would he have so many photos saved on his phone?

Time flew by in an instant, and before you knew it, the check landed on the table. Acting on impulse, you reached for your purse, intending to retrieve your wallet. But before you could even open your purse, the waiter swiftly whisked away the bill. 

“Wait-” You called after the retreating waiter, but he didn’t turn back. Sukuna observed you with a bored depression, his temples resting against his propped-up hand. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly close your purse. 

“We could’ve split the bill.” You suggested, eyeing Sukuna across the table. 

“Like you could afford it,” he retorted coolly

Your face flushed, lips pressed into a thin line at his comment. Though it rang true, you still felt a twinge of guilt. Who knew how much this dinner had cost, and whether Sukuna could even afford it without consequences. 

“When a man pays for your meal, you should really be thanking them more than complaining.” Sukuna remarked. 

You fix  Sukuna with a hard stare until he sighs at your stubbornness, relenting. “Fine. You can treat me next time.”

Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening slightly at the implication behind his words. A smile spreads across your face involuntarily. “Really?” you repeat, practically beaming with joy. Sukuna rolls his eyes but he couldn’t hide the half-smile beginning to form on his lips. “If I knew you were going to light up like the damn sun, I might have said otherwise.”

You clicked your tongue, letting out a faux laugh. “Ha ha, too late to take it back now.”

Chuckling softly, Sukuna leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with a hint of sincerity in his eyes.

“No, I guess I can’t.”

-

Tag List (open):@kalulakunundrum , @fushipurro

[skepwith]

More Parts of the Revenge for OFMD Fans

Part of a series: Revenge Master Post.

This post is about stuff in the body of the ship, going more or less from top to bottom. I’m saving the sails and rigging for my next post. If you want to know more basic terms like fore and aft and bow and stern, look for “Parts of the Revenge” in my master post.

Obviously, using these terms is entirely optional, since David Jenkins et al. are free and easy with the ol' historical accuracy. This list is for pedants like me and people who like historical and specialized language. Enjoy!

Main Deck

The low “walls” on the sides of the open decks were called the bulwarks—they were to keep people from falling overboard. On the Revenge, the bulwarks are topped by a rail (railing).

A gap in the bulwark, together with a set of rungs on the hull, was called an entry port. It allowed people to climb aboard from a dinghy.

The top edge of the bulwark was the gunwale, pronounced gunnel. The expression “loaded to the gunwales” is still used to mean very full. The top edges of a dinghy are also called gunwales.

An opening in the deck is called a hatchway. I wrote about hatches a while ago, but what I didn’t realize was that the hatch is the part that covers the hatchway. The wooden grid that lets light and air through is called the grating.

In the bow, the curving rail that goes from the figurehead to the hull is called the head rail, which would’ve been really helpful to know for my toilet post. Oh well.

Stede’s journal could at a stretch be called a logbook (or log). This was a book in which an officer noted details of the ship’s daily progress and journey. Probably a bit less fanciful than Stede’s version.

Weaponry

The Revenge has guns (the word used for cannons) on her main deck and her gun deck. Before a gun was fired, the barrel was cleared with the sponge, then loaded with gunpowder and shot and wads of cloth, all of which was tamped down with the rammer. There were different types of shot, or ammunition; cannonballs were called round shot.

To fire a gun, a lit fuse (usually a slow match) was brought in contact with the vent at the top of the gun—called the touchhole—to ignite the gunpowder. (The wick added in OFMD isn’t accurate. Shocking, I know.) The slow match was usually held with a staff called a linstock, tucked into a notch on the end. You didn’t want to be right next to the cannon when it went off, because there was a non-zero chance it would misfire and explode in your face.

Despite what you see in movies, cannons didn’t produce a lot of fire and smoke; the cannonball did damage by going unstoppably through hulls, masts, and people—often many at a time—like a deadly Energizer bunny.

The gunpowder was kept in kegs in a small room called the powder magazine. (A magazine is an ammunition storage area.) This room was in the hull of the ship, below the water line, to minimize the chances of a stray spark sending the whole ship up in flames. The shot was kept in the shot-locker, a small room in the hold (though this word wasn’t recorded till 1805). As we know, Stede calls this the ball room.

Besides the regular cannons, the Revenge also has swivel guns, small cannons mounted on swivels. These were too small to damage another ship; they were there to fire at boarders and approaching boats. Or, you know, to set off fireworks.

To take an enemy ship, sailors might use a grapnel (or grappling hook). These were attached to a rope and thrown at enemy bulwarks or rigging so the ships could be pulled together for boarding.

The Gun Deck

Everything on a ship had to have a special name: stairs were always called ladders; the floor was called the deck; and a wall or partition inside the hull was called a bulkhead.

Some of you may know that a ship’s kitchen is called a galley. However, this usage wasn’t recorded until 1750; the earlier word was cook-room.

Likewise, the mess is where you eat on a ship, but this sense wasn’t recorded until the late 1800s. In OFMD’s time, mess meant “a group of people who eat together,” like officers of the same rank or sailors on the same watch.

You might know a berth as a shelf or box to sleep on, like Stede’s (and Ed’s) bed, but this usage wasn’t recorded until the 1790s. The earlier meaning, used from at least 1706, is “a room where a particular group (such as officers or midshipmen) eats and sleeps.” So you might call Jim’s room a berth—except that it changes hands, and its name has been firmly established as the Room.

A berth is also a place in a port or harbour where you can moor (park) a vessel, and thirdly, the safety margin around another vessel or object, which gives us the phrase “to give [it] a wide berth.”

Finally, the area where the animals (remember them?) were kept was a small triangular area in the bow called the manger. This seems to be where the Revenge’s en suite is, at least as far as I can figure, but if you want to include the animals for whatever reason, they’d probably live somewhere around there.

Storage

Some of the stuff on board was stored in casks, a.k.a. barrels. These could be any size, but a large cask was also called a butt. A scuttlebutt was a butt full of water attached to the deck for sailors to drink from. Unfortunately, the word wasn’t recorded before 1800, and the “gossip” meaning not till a century after that. But it’s a great word and you should use it anyway.

A keg was a small cask, usually less than ten gallons, used for things like gunpowder or rum.

A sea chest was a wooden box used to store an officer’s personal effects—or to confine a nosy hombrecito.

The Ship’s Bottom

(As it were.)

In several of my posts and diagrams I said the lower decks of the Revenge were the gun deck, the orlop, and the hold. But my friends, I made a grievous error: the Revenge has no orlop. I know!

In season 2, for the first time we get to see what’s below the gun deck. When Frenchie opens the secret passage in the kitchen, he reveals a set of stairs—sorry, a ladder—down to a grim, damp space. The kitchen is on the gun deck, so this is the deck immediately below it, and while on most ships that would’ve been the orlop, in this case it’s the hold.

The hold was the lowest compartment of the ship, used for storage and cargo. It also sometimes held the ballast—heavy stuff (e.g., pig iron, gravel, stones, lead) put there to improve the ship’s balance. The lowest part of the hold itself was called the bilge or bilges—the area where bilgewater collected and had to be pumped out.

Episode 3 shows the water on the floor—sorry, deck—making it pretty clear we’re in the bilges of the hold. On top of that, an Instagram post by crewmember Will Giles (shared on Tumblr by @ourflagmeansbts) mentioned repurposing the “bilge set.”

Which all proves that the Revenge’s hold is immediately below the gun deck, with no orlop in between.

The keel is the structural piece that runs lengthwise along the middle of the hull’s bottom. Keel-hauling was to drag someone along the outside of the keel, underwater, as a punishment—very nasty, often fatal.

Also underwater, at the stern, is the rudder, whose movement makes the ship turn. On a dinghy you steer by moving the tiller, a horizontal bar attached to the rudder post. On a ship like the Revenge, you turn the ship’s wheel, which is attached to the tiller via cables, and that moves the rudder.

That’s all for now! Coming next: sails and rigging, in port, and more sailing lingo.

Sources: Wikipedia, historicnavalfiction [dot] com, Oxford English Dictionary