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ghoststyles · 6 months

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Meet Me In Augusta

A quick little check-in for Fairway to Heaven ❤️ inspired by my beefy hunky man at the Masters 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

SMUT. FLUFF. That’s all.

———————————————————————————

When Briar and Harry first got together, she thought she’d won the lottery. A doting, strong boyfriend who puts her needs above his own. He cares for her dog as much as she does, gets along with her family members, and donates to charity regularly. It’s like the heavens handmade him. And yes, the reverse is true on Harry’s part. She’s his dream girl, and the bloody best thing to ever happen to him. But, where he’d truly won the lottery differs slightly:

He won tickets to the Masters.

It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity to attend one of the four major golf tournaments, and when Harry entered his name in the lottery system the year before, he never thought he’d see the day where his bucket list item would be checked off.

Briar is lounging on Harry’s couch, watching old episodes of Real Housewives (NY, obviously) with Gus at her feet and a bowl of popcorn and M&Ms beside her when she hears a completely manly and dignified shriek from Harry’s office. Sitting up in alarm, she opens her mouth to yell back to him, to make sure he’s okay, just as the heavy oak double doors swing open. Shirtless and in his Calvin Klein boxer briefs and socks, Harry sprints down the hall, phone in hand as he leaps over the back of the sofa to stand beside her.

“What on Earth! Harry, you’re scaring me! Is there a mouse? Where are your clothes?” Briar screams, jumping up to crouch on the sofa and cocooning herself in her blanket in case there’s a spider clinging to him.

Harry is laughing maniacally, and every so often an oh my god leaving his mouth. He nods to whomever he’s talking to on the phone as if they can see him before thanking them and hanging up.

He drops the phone, eyes wide and meeting hers. Grabbing her shoulders, he all but tackles her back to the sofa, signaling Gus to bark at him for hurting his mom. They’re on the settee part of the sofa, Harry’s arms wrapped around her, preventing her from moving, even if she wanted to.

“Harry! Tell me what’s going on right now!” Briar’s shrill voice finally brings him back to Earth.

He peppers kisses on her neck before shouting in her ear, “I’M GOING TO THE MASTERS!”

She doesn’t respond, not because she’s not supportive of his enthusiasm, but because she has no idea what that is. Feigning a smile, she replies, “wow, baby, that’s great!”

Craning his neck, his brows furrow when he meets her gaze, a clear indicator she’s confused.

“Birdie, do you know what the Masters is?”

“Mmmm, is it like MasterChef?”

Harry squawks out a laugh, shaking his head, “No, my love. The Masters is one of the big four golf tournaments for the PGA. When you win, you earn a green jacket and become a member of Augusta National in Georgia. And then you get to plan a celebration dinner. Plus, you win like, $3,000,000.”

“Ohhhh, okay, yes. Uncle Patrick has gone to that, I think. He didn’t win, though.”

Harry’s brows furrow even more, a bewildered look gracing his features, “We’ll come back to that later. I have a lot of questions. But, you enter a lottery to win tickets and I won! Otherwise, tickets are almost a million dollars.”

“A million dollars!? The course better be made of solid gold. I can’t even believe the stuff people spend their money on sometimes.”

“Tiger Woods will be there. He hasn’t played in a few years because of injuries. Baby, I could be near Tiger!” he smacks her ass, eliciting a yelp.

He hops up from his spot on the sofa as he looks outside with the biggest smile on his face, running his hands through his not-so-there curls on his head. He’d shaved it a few months ago impulsively; that was a crisis Briar never thought she’d see the other side of. But his peach fuzzy head grew on her.

“When is it?”

“Second weekend in April. Are you doing anything?”

“Me? Why wouldn’t you take Niall?”

“He and Lydia already have a wedding that weekend back in Ireland. I already asked him.”

“So, I’m your second choice!?” Briar smacks the sofa cushion beside her, faking offense.

Harry rolls his eyes, “You didn’t even know what it was five minutes ago, brat.”

She parrots his eye rolling, leaning down to snuggle Gus. They’re quiet for a moment, letting Harry soak in the news.

“Wait, why don’t you have clothes on?”

“Oh, I stripped them off as they were telling me I got the tickets. I was just too excited,” he responds casually, as if the answer is obvious.

———————————————————————————

So the pair is in Augusta, Georgia, watching Harry’s childhood dream come true. The problem? No phones allowed.

To maintain their traditional values, Augusta National banned the use of cellphones. Briar’s lovely boyfriend failed to remind her of this fact until they were in the back of an Uber heading to the course.

“No phones!? I wanted to document this whole experience for you!” She whines, gently squeezing his wrist.

“Thanks for wanting to do that, Birdie, but it’s okay. My generation isn’t addicted to their phones. We like to live in the moment.”

“Oh my god,” she snorts, punching him lightly. If anyone is on their phone too much, it’s Harry. His entire day is determined by solving the New York Times Connections puzzle. What do you MEAN the theme was ice cream flavors without the last letter?

“What if we get separated? How will I find you?”

“Did you pack your leash?” Harry smirks, waiting for her to smack him again.

“H! Quiet,” she snarls, trying not to look if the driver is listening. “Fine. Do they collect the phones or do they just kick you out if they see it?”

“I think they kick you out and you’re not allowed back, ever. There’s also no running. It’s hilarious. When everyone is trying to follow around the big names, it turns into a speed walking competition to try and beat them to the hole.”

She hums, looking out the window at the gorgeous scenery. She hasn’t spent much time down south, but this trip has changed her opinion of this part of the country. They’ve had beautiful dinners at night on patios and taken walks on historic grounds.

“Good news is, the food and drinks are super cheap, and I think you have some French 75’s calling your name.”

“Yesss!”

The Uber turns, the beautiful gates to the course opening as they pull in. The white building before them is gorgeous and neatly kept, embodying the prestige of the entire event. For a moment, she thinks Harry is tearing up. Harry snaps a photo of the two of them in front of the building to send to Niall and Patrick.

He grabs her hand and squeezes gently as he flashes their credentials to the security guard.

“Lead the way, baby,” Briar whispers, linking her arm with his as they stand outside the car, taking it all in.

Like a kid in a candy store, Harry drags her by the wrist, slaloming through the crowds of people as they all try to make it to the entrance.

Harry looks fucking good today. He’s donning a navy blue sweater on top of a cobalt blue golf shirt. His taupe pinstripe pants are pressed perfectly. His fingers are decked out in rings of all different finishes, and his Prada sunglasses fit his scruffy face perfectly.

The finishing touch, his shoes, are what has Briar giggling to herself. His black Hoka sneakers are throwing off the whole vibe. She tried to change his mind as they packed, but we’ll be walking a lot, and I don’t want my plantar fasciitis to come back!

To make the occasion even more special, Briar let Harry pick out her outfits. She knew he’d pick out her lavender sports dress, a classic piece she whips out when they play on weekends so he’s frustrated and thrown off his game. She’s 3 for 4 on this strategy.

Harry loves the way it cuts at Briar’s strong thighs, and shows a little bit of her back. To elevate the look, she tied a white Hermes scarf around her neck just like Daphne! Her shoes are white Vince Camuto sneakers with no support. She knows she can’t whine later if her feet hurt, in fear of hearing a relentless, I told you so!

Before examining his choices in her suitcase, she zeros in on the lack of underwear and bras. She knows he also picked her floor length, black bodycon dress. He’s really pushing the limits of voyeurism with these picks.

They finally make it past security, thankful they didn’t confiscate her purse, a gift from Harry that is just a smidgen too large for their rules. He leads them to the main clubhouse to grab their first drinks of the day, and maybe even a breakfast sandwich.

They start off with mimosas to ease into the day drinking, because Harry is too fucking old for daydrinking and Briar is a menace when she drinks when the sun is up. By their third round, Harry is full on fangirling as all the players buzz around him. He’s allowed to fangirl all he wants, but when she wants to gush about One Direction for a minute, he covers his ears. Eyeroll.

Briar snaps out of her brattiness, deciding she needs some food in her stomach. As they’re gathered on the 8th hole, she starts to “koala” him, as he so lovingly calls it. She wraps her arms around him from behind, laying her chin on his bicep.

“What’s wrong, Birdie? Hungry?”

Briar lightly bites his arm, looking up to meet his sideways gaze. Part of her hates how well he knows her. She slides her hands in his front pockets, making him wiggle uncomfortably.

“Be good,” he says lowly so only they can hear.

“Okay, Daddy,” she says sweetly, smiling up at him. “But yes, I’m hungry.”

Briar can feel him hesitate, clearly conflicted in what to do next.

“Okay, baby, but,” he pauses. “Tiger is at this hole next, and I’d really like to see it.”

Briar slumps, making a slight hmmph sound. She knows better, and knows how important this is to him, so she shakes it off.

“It’s alright, I can go back to the clubhouse by myself. Will you stay here so I don’t lose you?”

“Of course,” he leans down to gently peck her lips, before his head whips around as Tiger arrives at the tee box just a few feet from them, sending the crowd into a chaotic roar. She reluctantly lets go of his waist, crossing her arms over herself as she walks away.

The crowd has only increased as they arrived, and she’s honestly overwhelmed. A staff member nearby can sense her unsettled demeanor, so he asks if she’d like a ride back to the building.

She smiles at him, “Yes, that’d be lovely! Thank you so much.”

Trey, the worker, doesn't say much, but Briar isn’t one for awkward silences. She tells him about Harry, Wynnewood, and how this is a lifelong dream for him to be here. He nods along, visibly recoiling after finding out Briar isn’t single. She hops off the cart as they approach the doors, and waves a friendly goodbye.

Perusing the snack bar, her eyes are bigger than her stomach. She grabs grapes, potato chips, a turkey sandwich, and even a pudding cup. A nice man helps her condense her items into a cardboard box for carrying. She grabs a fresh squeezed lemonade to finish off her deliciously simple lunch.

Slightly tipsy and overly giddy, she finds a bench to start eating. It’s amazing the different walks of life at this event; the die-hards who don’t care about the glamor of it all, and the ones that are here only as a status symbol. It’s honestly nice not having her phone; she’s a little more in touch with her surroundings.

Taking small bites of her sandwich, she’s startled when another man approaches her on the bench.

“Pardon me, miss. Are you Miss Barlowe?”

Taken back, she nods as she swallows her bite, “Yes, can I help you?”

“Mr. Styles is on the line over there,” he points to the hilariously old fashioned phone stand, where 3 mossy green phones hang on the wooden stand. “He just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

Briar smiles, patting her mouth with her napkin and rising to her feet, “Thank you so much. Do I have to do anything to connect to the call?”

“Just press # and it should connect. I’ll be right over there if you have trouble.”

She laughs to herself as she approaches and presses the ‘#’ just as he said, “Hello?”

“What are you wearing right now?”

“Who is this?” She plays along.

“Your handsome, charming boyfriend,” he muses.

“I have a few of those, so you’re going to have to narrow it down,” she fakes a sultry tone.

“Briar – come on, you know I don’t like those jokes,” he mutters.

She laughs, twirling the curly phone cord around in her hand, “I feel like Carrie Bradshaw with this phone, talking to one of my boyfriends.”

“Are you insinuating I’m Mr. Big? I’m Aidan at the very least. The good guy.”

“Of course you’re Aidan. But instead, we get married.”

“Yeah, y’wanna marry me?” Harry can’t contain his grin as he looks around to see if anyone can hear him. “I won’t say yes until you come back here and get down on one knee, Briar.”

“In your dreams, Styles. Why’d ya call anyway? I’m just sitting here eating my sandwich.”

“Just missed you. Tiger got a birdie on this hole, so it made me think of you.”

“Aw, you’re cute. You’re the first place boyfriend today. You were in third yesterday, for reference.”

“Glad to hear that. Finish up your lunch and come find me. I’m gonna go to the 17th hole to try and catch Justin Rose. He’s an old friend from home.”

“Okay, I’ll come find you. Love.”

“Love.”

Briar hangs up the phone, the butterflies in her stomach buzzing. Since returning home from California, she’s never felt so secure in their relationship. He’s balancing fatherhood, work and their everyday life with ease.

Readjusting her skirt, she walks back over to the bench, mouthing a thank you to the worker who let her know Harry was calling. She sips on her lemonade, the ice rattling as she finishes the cup. Tossing the remnants of her meal in the trash, she spots the beverage cart girl. Briar smiles as she approaches her, requesting another French 75 and a Casamigos on the rocks for her lover.

The 17th hole is a hell of a lot closer to the clubhouse, but swarmed with people. It’s going to be a needle in a haystack to find him. Briar scrunches her brows, scanning all the kinda old white men with brown hair. Where is her old man?

Panic sets in for a moment, until she feels two hands on her waist, lifting her off the ground slightly and kissing her neck where it meets her shoulder.. She squeals, reaching for her skirt to make sure nothing is showing. He didn’t pack her any underwear, after all!

“There y’are, Birdie. Wish I brought your leash to drag my cute puppy around. Make everyone jealous.”

“They’d think you need to be sent to jail, actually. Were you able to focus in my absence?”

“Yeah, but I missed your hundred questions and commentary. Is that for me?” he asks, pointing to his drink.

“Yes, but you made me spill it on my shirt,” she frowns, her gaze traveling down to the beads of liquid wicking off the fabric on her chest.

Without a second thought, Harry leans down, pressing his mouth to just over Briar’s nipple to suck up the dribbled liquid. Her eyes widened, in disbelief he just did that. She grips the back of his hair, pulling him out of her bosom.

“H! What the hell are you doing? We’re in public!”

“Mm, I know. I’m so hard right now. And thirsty. Saw an opportunity,” he smirks, his grip now around the back of her neck. “Wanna take you to the clubhouse and fuck you dumb.”

“Harryyy,” Briar whines again. Little does he know all he has to do is slip her skort to the side to reveal her soaking wet pussy. She does her best to drag her six foot tall boyfriend to the treeline, hiding themselves from prying eyes.

“Let’s go. We’ll find somewhere safe. Daddy needs you to do a favor for him,” he says low in her ear, his tongue touching her earlobe. “Did I tell you how happy I am that you came with me?”

“I’m happy you invited me,” she places a gentle kiss on his lips. “Love seeing you happy.”

———————————————————————————

The lovey dovey talk is how Briar got HOODWINKED into sucking her boyfriend’s cock in an administrator’s office at Augusta National Golf Course at the biggest event of the year. The door locked, thankfully, but the amount of foot traffic outside the door has Briar’s head spinning, even more than when his tip touches the back of her throat.

Harry lets out a guttural moan, “Oh my – fuck! Such a good fucking girl.”

Briar is pulling out her signature moves; cupping his balls with one hand, tweaking his shaft with the other when her mouth doesn’t cover it, and swirling her tongue along the ridge of his bright red, plump cockhead.

Briar bats her eyelashes and pulls off just as he gives his sign of completion; his left thigh muscle twitching. Harry’s eyes shoot open as he grips the desk to prevent himself from falling over. He was so, so close.

Before he can speak, Briar stands, pushing him to half lie on the desktop, opening his belt and pants wider. She climbs on the desk to straddle him, staring down at him deviously.

“Wanna ride you, Daddy,” she whispers in his ear. She sits back up, pulling her skort to the side to show him her pussy, spasming and begging to be touched. He reaches out to touch her, but she bats his hand away, instead placing her hand around his neck firmly. “Nope. No touching.”

Harry snorts, knowing anytime she’s tried to be in charge, she fails miserably. He knows she’ll be howling for his help in a few minutes. His smug look is wiped clean as she grips his cock again to line him up with her dripping hole. They moan in unison when he pushes through the tight opening as she squeezes him for good measure.

Briar bounces lightly, the skin of their thighs slapping together. She could listen to the sounds their bodies make for the rest of her life. He bottoms out a few times, puffs of air escaping his nose as he struggles to not cum immediately.

She starts to rub at her clit, her free hand coming up to tweak her nipple. His eyes are closed again, so she takes her middle and ring finger that are rubbing and sticks them past his lips. He moans, lapping up the wetness from her fingertips and choking on them a bit. She smiles before bringing the fingers back to her center and continuing to rub.

“Oh my god, baby. You taste so good,” Harry whines. “Want you to come. Then I’ll come in your little pussy. Don’t know how you’ll hold it all in there.”

Briar cries out, seconds away from tumbling over the edge. She leans forward, gripping the desk above his head. They’re making extreme eye contact now, the tension between them palpable.

“I’m cumming, Daddy. I’m cumming. Your cock feels so big in my pussy,” she cries out as Harry feels a tiniest bit of wetness expelled from where their bodies meet. She twitches, barely able to hold herself up. He sits up on the desk to support her and begins thrusting up into her with his hands wrapped delicately around her body, fingertips digging into the plushy skin of her ass and waist. He captures her lips in a deep kiss, her breath stuttering when he rams himself back into her.

The two remain intertwined, reality hitting them when Briar utters words he never thought he’d hear from her.

“Fuck me, Daddy. Fill me up. Make me yours. Wanna have your babies,” she fires off things he can’t even comprehend. “Want you to make me a mommy. Fuck – want it so bad. Fill me up, please!”

Harry’s breath is knocked out of him as he throttles upward, his tip colliding with her cervix every time. As he topples over the edge, he buries himself in her pussy – his eternal resting place, he’s decided he’ll request in his will – and releases his full load into her. He drops backwards, beginning her down to lie on top of him, his pants now hanging around his ankles.

“Oh my fucking GOD, baby. So fucking good for me,” he says into her ear, a shiver running down his spine.

“Love you, Daddy,” she says quietly, her ear pressed to his chest so she can hear his heartbeat racing.

“Love you so fucking much, Birdie,” Harry sighs, petting her back.

Harry smiles to himself. The diamond ring he has in his bag at the hotel is going to make an appearance even sooner than expected.

He’s sure of it.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles imagine #Harry styles smut #dom!harry #daddy!harry #agegapfic #Harry Styles golf #golfrry #one direction imagine #daddy!h #fth h #fairway to heaven #harry styles x oc

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eardefenders · 8 months

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Sherlock & Co - Mailbag Episode 2 Transcript

00:00-00:30 Intro Music

00:27-00:34 *Sounds of a violin playing fade in*

00:34 Sherlock: You see? You see what I mean?

00:37 John: I…don’t.

00:39 Sherlock: Listen! *scoffs* Listen, closely this time. Shh. *resumes playing the bit from the fade in*

00:43 John: Argh. *pause* For God’s sake.

*Sherlock keeps playing*

00:46 John: Sherlock, please mate. We’ve got questions to get through here.

*Sherlock keeps playing*

00:52 John: Maaaate. Matey, mate mate mate mate.

00:55 Sherlock: Did you hear it this time?

00:57 John: Yeah. Sure. Uhh, right. So let’s dive into the discord chat. The brand spanking new discord for Sherlock and Co members. Brimming with Stamfords, Irregulars, and Diogene-sohmy God. There’s thousands of messages. Um, right. Should probably been keeping tabs on those questions. All right I’m going to scroll up and pick one f-from um the sssixteenth of January. Here we go! Come on down…IdleVice! Uh, your question is, “If you could make a Spotify playlist for each other of your own favorite songs, what would some of the highlights be and would you be willing to share the playlists with us. Ooh hoohoho. Uuuhhm. I don’t know if I’d ever get around to actually, y’know, putting the playlist together, as, as such, but what I-I would get Sherlock to listen to. Ummm mmmm probably Elbow? Elbow are a band from the north of England. Uh, Salford I think. But they have, uh, a few strings sort of. I-I don’t know what it’s called-but, elements that involve violins. Um, and all that jazz. Heh. Uh well not jazz! Uh, literally, not jazz. Uh, yeah, Sherlock, what about me?

02:07 Sherlock: Hm?

02:08 John: If you could make a playlist of songs for me what would it be?

02:12 Sherlock: I probably would never do that, Watson.

02:16 John: Okay. Uh, could you expand on that?

02:19 Sherlock: It’s a task that I wouldn’t find that fulfil-Vivaldi.

02:23 John: Uhh, right. Vivaldi. Yep. Anything else pop into mind?

02:29 Sherlock: Pop.

02:31 John: Pop? Is that-what’s that?

02:33 Sherlock: It’s a genre of music.

02:35 John: Uh, right, you’d make a pop playlist for me?

02:38 Sherlock: I’d probably enlist Mrs. Hudson to do that.

02:41 John: Fair enough. And why pop?

02:43 Sherlock: Because it’s an abbreviation for ‘popular music’.

02:45 John: No, I know that.

02:47 Sherlock: You like popular culture, therefore pop music could very well be your cup of green tea.

02:54 John: It’s, it’s just cup of tea. Bu-uh-uh, well, okay, uh, thank you for that. Uh, back to the discord dudes and dudettes. Um, not that I was implying any kind of masculine energy to the use of the word dudes. Dudes will remain, uh, um, an-an-an-androgynous here. My…dudes. Bit like the word mate! I do throw it around. Ummm. Some people just think it’s for blokes. Don’t know why. Uh, anyway. Here we go. Leaf-onk, layff, layfonk? I hope I’m saying that right. Uh, Leif-Leif*onk* asks, ‘Has Sherlock ever hit a vape?”

03:28 Sherlock: Yes.

03:29 John: Lovely. They’d also like to know the flavor.

03:31 Sherlock: Menthol.

03:32 John: D-do you want to expand?

03:35 Sherlock: Mm, not really.

03:37 John: Did you like it?

03:38 Sherlock: It was satisfactory, I suppose.

03:41 John: *sighs* Another thrilling q and a session with the master detective. Here we go! Number one archie fan-He-he-heeyyy! Archie! Found your number one fan mate. Heh. Think they also go by potpourri. Not sure. Don’t really know how discord works because I was born in 1989. Anyway! Number one Archie fan asks, do you have a favorite classical piece? Or a favorite composer, perhaps?

04:05 Sherlock: Mozart, generally. Can often be tied to my mood. What about Vivaldi? You said Vivaldi earlier?

04:12 Sherlock: That was a recommendation to you.

04:14 John: But not you?

04:14 Sherlock: Definitely not.

04:16 John: Great.

04:17 Sherlock: Uh, Mozart, Bach, Tchaikovsky. But I am often driven by whatever phase I feel I’m in.

04:23 John: And we’re in a Mozart phase now, are we?

04:26 Sherlock: We are indeed.

04:27 John: Fab. Right, uh, Reeonk asks-ohkay, ok, I see what you’re doing now. Cause of. Cause of Jonk. Okahaha. Let’s all laugh at Jonk-John, I mean.

04:40 Sherlock: *laughs*

04:41 John (affectionately): Oh, ge-Shut up, you big idiot.

04:44 Sherlock: *still laughing*

04:45 John (affectionately annoyed): Shut it. Ha. Uhhhh, we’ll cut that bit. I swear to God. Right! Reonk, who I think also goes by Perfo, if I click here. But yes, as I was saying, millennial at the wheel. Sorry. Reonk’s first question, “Hey John, if you were an animal, what animal would you be?” Uhhhum, *clicks tongue* look, I’ve got to be something airborne. Um, uh I’m sorry, but I have to. Y-y-you can’t have the chance to fly and turn it down, so, uh, I’m a bird.

05:09 Sherlock: Or a bug.

05:10 John: S-s-sorry?

05:11 Sherlock: Bugs. Insects. They’re airborne. Hm, as is some bacteria.

05:16 John: Great, yeah. Let me just decide between a gnat and a germ.

05:19 Sherlock: By all means. Take your time.

05:21 John: I’m being sarcastic. I’m not a bug and I’m not bloody…germs. I’m. *sighs* I mean it’s too much pressure being an eagle, isn’t it. Um, *clicks tongue three times* I don’t want to be something that’s crap at flying, like a swan or a goose or something. Shoutout to Heather, by the way. Ehhh, aw come on John, come on John. Um. Ooo! Tell you what. Now this is going to sound stupid, but if it was my brain in the animal-

05:47 Sherlock: Yes, this is going to sound stupid.

05:49 John: Shh-sh-shh. Yes, if it was me. In the animal. I’m going pigeon.

05:54 Sherlock: Pigeon?

05:55 John: Pigeon. Ehh? Right, listen, ok. I can still live in the city. I cou-I could even live in my room, really.

06:01 Sherlock: You absolutely cannot.

06:03 John: What? Why not?

06:04 Sherlock: I’m not flatsharing with a bloody pigeon, Watson.

06:06 John: It’s me.

06:07 Sherlock: Yes, in the body of a pigeon.

06:09 John: Listen, let me finish my point. I’m a pigeon. I’ve got my room. I can fly about London, y’know? See all the sites, dive bomb some tourists, do a little poo on the House of Commons. I could nick a bit of decent grub. Yeah, go on walks with Archie and Mariana in the park. And no one is the wiser. If I was an eagle or a, y’know, like an albatross, I couldn’t do that, could I? No? It’d be great flying across town, even take the tube. Saw a pigeon on the tube the other day.

06:39 Sherlock: Yes, you said. Twice.

06:41 John: I could look through people’s windows, you know go in their gardens, on their patios….That makes me sound creepy, doesn’t it? Ah, pigeon! *clears his throat* The answer is pigeon. Second question, “What kitchen appliance would you be?” *clicks tongue twice and sucks air in thorough his teeth* Hm. Not being a microwave. No way, don’t get cleaned enough and, uh, having curries and bloody pizzas blowing up inside me, geezus. Uh, fridge. Maybe. Mmm, but I’d see a lot of rotting food, wouldn’t I? Especially if people are away for a while. Probably go with something fun, y’know something where I come out of the pantry or the, y’know, the cupboard or whatever, and all the family go ‘yaayyy, heyhey here he is!’-Wafflemaker, I’d be a wafflemaker. Everyone loves waffles. No one’s getting board of me. I’m getting cleaned. Perfect. Pigeon and a wafflemaker. Ha! That’s not a bad name for our band, eh Sherlock?

07:32 Sherlock: We’re not making a band.

07:33 John: Yeahhh, it was a joke. Right! It’s biscuit time! Saren says ‘Question for Sherlock: What kind of biscuits are, in your opinion, the best?

07:42: *sound of someone walking away*

07:43 John: Uhh, what’re you doing?

07:44 Sherlock: Answering the question.

07:44 John: Well, that would involve sitting down and talking into the mic.

07:48 Sherlock *sound of papers*: Here.

07:49 John: This…is an essay….on biscuits.

07:52 Sherlock: Yes.

07:54 John: By you.

07:55 Sherlock: Yes.

07:56 John: Okay.

07:58 Sherlock: Well, read it. My findings are in there.

08:01 John: Whaaa…it’s thirty-nine pages long.

08:03 Sherlock: Indeed.

08:04 John: Thi-this is supposed to be a snappy question and answer segment. Y’know it’s supposed to be a patreon reward, not a bloody punishment. *sarcastically* ‘Aww thanks for giving six quid everybody, here’s an eleven hour lecture on biscuits.’

08:15 Sherlock: They asked the question.

08:16 John: Right, ok. So, uh, he was eating a lot of custard creams the other day. Um, for those of you who aren’t British, uh, a custard cream is, uh, a sort of sandwich structured biscuit, wouldn’t’cha say?

08:26 Sherlock: Correct. Yes. A sandwich in structure. Two light shortbread pieces acting as the bread. Often stamped with a Victorian inspired Baroque design. And the filling was once a buttercream, but now is a custard flavored cream based on vanilla custard. Not egg custard.

08:43 John: Right, yeah. It’s, it’s that. Um, they’re nice. They are nice. Very moreish. Um, Ellionk, or Ellie, I think, when they’re not ‘Onk’ified, want’s to know ‘Favorite Supermarket: Tesco or Sainsbury’s?’ Um, well, both have gone downhill in recent years, I have to say. So, I’m going to go for neither and say co-op. Yeah, cause every now and again you find a really really good one. But if I’m in fantasy land, it’s M&S Foods or Waitrose. *clicks tongue* Yeah. Uh, there’s a chemistry question here from Ranger Pip which I don’t even begin to understand, so I’m going to move on. Sorry, Ranger Pip.

09:18 John (cont.): Right, last one! ‘Question for possibly John or Sherlock, not sure, lol. What is the story behind the theme tune. Just have to say whoever composed it, the musicians need an award and a shoutout on the podcast.’ Uh, yeah, well it’s a great theme tune, isn’t it? It really is. It’s called ‘Mad Prodigy’. *clears his throat pointedly*

09:39 Sherlock: Why are you making that noise?

09:41 John: Ah well, just saying mate.

09:43 Sherlock: I’m not mad. Or a prodigy.

09:46 John: Hey, uh, I-I’m not saying anything. Um, yeah, it’s it’s by a guy called Jody Jenkins. Uhhh, the reason why I don’t release it like some people asked me to is because it’s owned by a royalty free site. Um, *clicks tongue* the reason why Jody Jenkins doesn’t release it, is the same reason. I-it’s owned by a royalty free site. Uh, that’s generally how they work. I-I pay a fee. Well. Goalhanger pay a fee, use the track, and it belongs too…yeah. Audio Network. Um, I think he’s fab, yeah. But as far as crediting him out loud on the podcast, um, some artists don’t want royalty free work assigned to them. Um, they just do it for a paycheck. Some do. I don’t know him obviously and of course, I-I could piss off the company that actually owns the audio if I just mention him and uh, not-

10:34: *phone vibrates*

10:36 John: Message from Mariana. ‘You’re waffling. These people are paying us their hard earned money.’ Right! Soundproofing in these old houses aren’t what they used to be, are they? Um, *clicks tongue* yeah that’s the reason songwise. Nothing for or against Jody Jenkins. I’m just playing it safe cause these things s-scare me. *chuckles* Corporations and blech, yeah. Uh, horrible stuff.

10:54: *phone vibrates*

10:55 John: Um, message from Mariana. Right, yeah, I’m gonna wrap this up. Uh, thanks for your questions my lovely friends, we’ll be back soon. And, now to play us out, the one and only, Sherlock Holmes.

11:08 Sherlock: What?

11:08 John: Play! Play a song!

11:10 Sherlock *pleased*: Oh. Excellent! Uh, okay. Here we go!

11:14: *violin playing starts up*

11:17 John: Bye bye guys!

11:32: *sherlock’s violin playing cuts into Mad Prodigy

11:32-12:02 *Mad Prodigy carries us out to the end*

#sherlock & co #sherlock and co #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #transcripts #transcript #mine #mailbag 2 #sorry for the delay on this #month ends are always a bit busy for me #also once I figure out what sherlock is playing at the end I'll fix this to reflect it

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starlightsuffered · 3 months

Text

Prey

Info - dom fem, cnc, dub con, a little knife play, kidnapping, hunting a human, blood licking, possessive dom, hard dom, pet play, pegging (rough), making someone addicted to you, leash and chains, stepping on someone’s crotch, some sweetness, sub male, mistress kink, prey sub

“Let me go!” Spat Duke Paul Atreides at my throne. I giggled almost sadistically. He’d been kidnapped days ago and he still had just as much anger and fight in him. He had to realise that he was no longer on Arakis. He was no Duke here.

The power of the voice did not work on me. My elite species had long ago mastered a way to become immune the Bene Gesserits powers.

“You really think you could just take over the world and only one group would oppose you? Little do you know we have been plotting for centuries as well. You have been worried about the Lions Duke, but also beware the sneaking, slithering viper.”

“Fancy speeches are for mindless masses,” Paul snarled.

“Really? I hear your voice holds quite the power,” I purred.

“Let me go!” Paul tried to use his powers once again. Nothing happened at all.

“Nice try,” I said in a sing song tone. Paul was glaring at me with emerald shards. I waved to my guards. They clamped the metal collar around Paul’s neck. I was handed the chain.

I began to pull with a grin. Paul was yanked forward. He was pulled towards me. I loved the way he crawled. He was utterly under my control. Finally, he was where I needed him to be; kneeling before me.

“Beg to be let go,” I whispered. “Say I am the true superior in this universe.”

“Never,” Paul snarled.

“Oh little puppy,” I simpered. I put my finger under his chin to lift his gaze to me.

“Mmmm.”

Both our eyes widened at the sound seemed to echo through the room. I think only Paul and I had actually heard it but it had been deafening to us. Paul had whimpered.

“Oh precious boy,” I cooed now. He looked scared, but I’d wager he was scared of how he would react and not the things I was doing.

“Does everyone expect you to be a big strong leader? All those people follow you around like you’re a God; you don’t want to be a God do you? No, you like this power being stolen from you. You like to follow. Isn’t that tight little one.”

“Mistress,” he gulped. It was the first time he’d called me by what my subjects did. Up until now it had all been “scum”, “dirt”, or “worm”. I was breaking him.

“Kiss my boot,” I whispered in his ear.

“N-No,” his voice trembled.

“Oh Paul,” I tutted. I let my tongue slither out. I licked a slow stripe from his chin to his ear. He let out a shaky breath.

“Come on, don’t you want to worship me instead?” I asked him.

“I-I, I have a duty,” he gritted out.

“Can’t even leaders have little pleasures?” I asked as I stood up. I placed my booted foot over his crotch and pressed down.

His eyes inadvertently rolled back into his head. He let out a low groan. I felt his cock grow hard and throb.

“That’s it, submit to me,” I coaxed.

“N-no, I c-can’t,” He said, easing his head proudly. He tried to sit up straighter but this only pressed his aching cock more harshly against my boot.

“Ohhh,” he sucked in a breath.

“Oh fine Paul,” I sighed. I removed my foot and I saw his eyes go soft with need. I smirked and turned away from him. I picked up my knife gracefully.

“Guards, take him to the escape gate,” I ordered.

I heard the chains and the murmers od confusion. The gates were opened. Paul was held at the opening like a hunting fox who hadn’t been given the signal.

“What is happening?” Paul asked.

“I’ll give you a five minute head start,” I said in a sickly sweet voice.

“Wait what?” Paul demanded.

“Guards, unchain the emperor.”

“Holy fuck,” Paul rasped.

“Three, two, one….. go!”

I turned slightly to see the slight of a man pounding off into the distance. I flipped my glass and sand timer. I watched the graduals slip downwards.

“Mistress,” questioned a guard.

“Silence,” I boomed.

“Yes Mistress.”

“Here I come,” I grinned as the last speck of sand dropped down.

I raced out of the room. My hyper sensitive senses could hear his breathing and smell his sweat. I loved hunting prey, especially prey that was so pretty.

Sending him off with a boner was smart of me. He was dazed and his blood was confused. I could tell he was still a bit turned on by this whole scenario, as was I.

“Oh Paul,” I taunted.

He screeched to a halt. He turned this way and that. The poor boy had been told he was special for too long. He’d relied too much on his god status and here he was nothing.

“Where are you?” He called. He was trying to figure out which way to go.

“Everywhere,” I giggled.

“Bitch,” he said under his breath, but I couldn’t hear it. He didn’t seem to know just how much of a predator I was.

He began to run again. I threw a stick that way. He went sprawling on the floor of the forest. He was cursing and groaning. He turned over and tried to assess his surroundings again.

“What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?” He cried out.

“I call it…. Playing with my food,” I said slowly.

“Fuck.”

I pounced. I tackled Paul to the ground and pinned him under me. He was panting as he looked up at me. I did what he probably least expected. I crashed my lips to his.

He made a muffled sound, but he was kissing back. Our mouths moved together but mine dominated his. I ran my teeth over his bottom lip. He whined, and I smiled smugly.

“Such an innocent little Duke,” I purred.

“M’not innocent,” he gasped. I just laughed as I made quick work of his pants.

“I’ve done things you could never dream of,” he tried again. All his bravado faded away as I blew some air on his now exposed hole.

“Mistress!” He squirmed.

“That’s it boy, just submit. You were made to be prey after all. Let me reduce you to pieces,” I told him as I now worked on my pants.

“I can’t, what would my father say? What would my mother say? What would- oh!”

I’d ran the tip of my strap over his hole all while massaging his hip bones. I smiled as his eyes struggled to stay open at the euphoric feeling.

“Come on bunny, let the wolf have a taste yeah?” I crooned.

“I can’t, I-I.”

I was pushing the head in. I slowly plunged the length into him. While I did this I raised his legs. He was accepting it even if his fingers clawed at the dirt. His small noises told me it felt good, better than anything he’d been exposed to. Finally, I had him in a mating press.

He looked weak and submissive as his knees were pressed against his chest. My strap was nearly all the way inside him. One of my hands was working on spreading his ass cheeks, the other was gripping his rock hard cock.

“Mistress, it’s touching something. It feels good,” he whispered.

“That’s your prostate little lamb,” I snickered. “So knowledgable about everything except how to make this tight little body feel good.”

I started with one thrust and he moaned. I felt the special piece touch my clit. I began to pump in and out wildly.

“Oh, oh, oh, s’too much, oh mistress,” he whined and squirmed. He was such a pretty sight.

I held my knife to his neck. I smirked as I bit his skin. He was panting as I kept bucking into him.

“Don’t struggle my little trapped lamb, I just want a taste,” I demanded of him. I sliced a small part of his neck. I attached myself to his throat and completely owned him. He was mine. I had his blood in my mouth, my strap in his ass. I had cornered, captured, and defeated him. My prey was completely mine, and now he was fully giving into pleasure.

I pulled out and he whined in protest. I turned him over and bit one of his cute cheeks. I watched as a dribble of precum left his cock. He was so bad at hiding his arousal.

“Please, take me again,” he said in a small voice.

“That’s it, I’ll get you addicted to me,” I laughed as I slammed home. He squealed like a small animal. I chuckled again. I held his hips and began to thrust again.

“Oh yes, oh baby, what a tight ass you have,” I praised. To my surprise he pushed his ass up higher. I stuffed myself deeper.

“Oh fuck, ohhh fuck,” he gasped. His fingers were again grasping at nothing.

“Look at you, dripping everywhere,” I hummed as I smacked his leaking member. “Messy dog.”

“I can’t help it,” he panted. “I-I think I’m going to cum!”

“Slut,” I cooed. I yanked on his cock now, milking it for all I was worth. I completely let go to my pleasure. I let my dominance encompass me. I was jerking his dick, slamming into his ass, and making animalistic noises.

“Oh fuck yes!” I growled possessively. I felt my orgasm begin. I was just rocking and pumping inside him as stars sparkled before my eyes. Bliss was flaming in my veins. He was whining and squirming and crying out as I felt him shoot his seed. He was trying to push against my hand and back onto my strap at the same time.

“Alight,” I said in a satisfied breath. I slapped his spent ass as I pulled out. He collapsed on the ground. He was a mess of cum and sweat.

“You’re free to go Duke Atreides,” I allowed.

“Go?” He asked in a submissive voice.

“Yes, go,” I nodded. I stood up and stretched. His eyes were on my breasts and my large strap.

“What if I don’t wanna go yet,” he said, looking down as his shrinking but still sticky cock.

“You don’t wanna go baby?” I asked in a sweet voice.

“Mm no,” he shook his head.

“Okay Little Duke, come with me,” I said. I clicked a collar around his neck. He obediently walked back with me on all fours, looking up at me with admiration. The bunny entered the wolf’s den willingly.

#reader insert #timothee chalamet #timothee chamalet #timothee fanfic #timothee imagine #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee x you #timothée chalamet #x reader #paul atredies smut #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides smut #paul atreides #prey kink #prey

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divinelolita · 1 year

Note

🤨🤨🤨

ngl i jus thought of some cute ass mf shi

bro

full band(separately cuz i can never choose) who got a bf who copies them like picks up there habits bro☹🤞🏾

yk how tom waddles? yea bro does that shi and prolly started twirling things between his fingers or smth

STOP AND WAT IF BILLS BF IS A SINGER AND STARTED DOIN BILLS LEG LIFT THINGIES AND SMALL LIL DANCES BRO😭

and i swear if reader prolly isn't german or has a different accent they jus picked it up on accident(mfs lookin at bro weird like u dont talk like that🤨)

bro prolly pronounced his r's jus fine till he met tom🧍🏾💀

BAND X 'COPYCAT' READER

kjhwexvxejhvjkhvjvjvhvhbje

BILL:

・He thinks it's quite cute!

・Actually flustered and happy you're acting like him, like i dunno he feels important 🤷🏻

・OH MY GOD THE FUCKING LIL LEG LIFTSSSSAKSDXBJHXEQWJBHDXJHBE

・Giggles whenever he sees you do it on stage, later calling you out.

"You're such a copycat, M/N."

"Mmm...you still love me though."

・mmmm true that, true that.

・If you copy his edgar walk he'd start cackling dear LORDDD

・he thinks that shit is so fuckin funnyyy

TOM:

・Bro's smug about it 💀

"You wanna be me so badly, huh?"

・nahh he's jus playing he loves this shit

・Feels so special when he sees you do things he would originally do omggg

・But if you start waddling like a penguin he thinks your mocking him in a bad way 😭

"M/N why the fuck are you walking like that-"

"....walkin' like what?"

・his habit of making loud noises/squeals when he's excited or happy is picked up by you

・He can't help but smile whenever he sees you do this 🙏

GEORG:

・He doesn’t really notice it until somebody else brings it up

・Like maybe Tom would bring up a habit you would copy, and then it would click to Georg.

・Thinks it's cute and kinda cool, but he if you pick up on his accent

"M/N why are you talking like that..."

"wha'chu mean?"

"M/N."

・Like he thinks you sound so cute but babes you do NOT talk like thatttt 🙅🏻🙅🏻🙅🏻🙅🏻

・if you copy his lil smirk AHHHH

・He'd start to absentmindedly pick up on some of your habits too

GUSTAV:

・HEROJDJHBRKHBE HE'S SO HAPPYYYY

・Like if you picked up his habit of two long something between your fingers (whether it be a pen, drumstick, etc)

・IFFF you didn't master it he'd kinda help 😇

"You're doing it wrong."

"..what-"

"Here, lemme help."

・Due to him having to keep the correct beat on the drums, he'd most likely have a habit of tapping his heel against the ground

・If you copy it he'd go in sync with you without noticing AHHHHERBJH

・He may not say it, but he loves it so much.

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fayes-fics · 2 years

Text

Lessons Applied

Lessons Series Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: it’s time the Viscount learned a lesson…

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, threesome, d/s relationships - sub!Anthony dom!Benedict switch!reader, dirty talk, light bondage, pussy spanking, hair pulling, handjobs, edging, nipple clamps, fingering. cockwarming, anal sex, vaginal sex, double penetration. Watch out, there are also some emotions in this one.

Word count: 10.0k (I'm so sorry...)

Author's Note: Please read the warnings, and if you are looking for something romantic and vanilla, please look elsewhere. If you don’t mind DP filth, step up. Thank you to @colettebronte for her invaluable advice when knocking this into shape. I'm still not sure I like this, but I can't mess with it forever. So my apologies go to @iboopedyournose, who gave me a brief for this installment where Anthony has the tables turned on him and is submissive. Enjoy <3

You are on the balcony observing Anthony Bridgerton as he effortlessly makes his social rounds at the latest soirée. Your bottom is still smarting a little from the riding crop he used on you last night.

There is movement behind you, and you know who it is by cologne alone. You can’t school the smile tugging at your lips.

“Can’t sit down yet?”

“Not comfortably. He was particularly harsh,” you reply dryly.

“Mmm, yes, I thought it a little excessive,” Benedict opines softly, drawing up next to you. “You should turn the tables; give him a taste of his own medicine,” he chuckles.

“Hah!” you laugh, glancing sideways to catch his handsome profile as he scans the crowd. “You are very droll.”

“I mean it. For the right person, he would be willing to cede control,” Benedict says quietly, not wanting your inappropriately intimate conversation to be heard by others milling in the vicinity.

“Really?” you feel sceptical about it. In all of your time with Anthony, he has been a classic dominant even before Benedict became part of your dynamic. But Benedict knows his brother much better than you.

Below, the master of ceremonies announces for everyone to gather in the gardens, and the balcony starts to thin out as people move towards the staircases.

“He’d only do it for someone he truly trusts. And I think that might be you,” Benedict’s tone is affectionate as you both track Anthony’s movements out of sight.

“Hmm, I’ll try it, on one condition,” your mouth ticks into an amused pout as you twist to face him.

He turns to face you as well, smirking in a bemused fashion. “Name it.”

“You help me,” you cross your arms and raise an eyebrow in challenge.

It is just the two of you left now on the balcony as the crowd files out of the French doors beneath.

He chuckles and then leans close, his lips near your cheekbone, and his hands settle on your waist. “Do I have to submit to you too?” His voice is a teasing murmur.

“Do you want to?” you whisper back, touching his forearms.

“Hmm, maybe someday,” he offers thoughtfully, his fingers squeezing you gently. “But I think I’d prefer the privilege he had that first time we met. He got to do whatever he wanted to you, but I had rules. I want him to be the one under rules, and I get to do whatever I want.” He runs a thumb slowly down the front of your dress. “And I want him to watch as I destroy you, darling girl.”

You are panting at the thought of Anthony under your control as Benedict unleashes his full potential.

“God, yes,” you breathe, swaying close to his face, hungry to kiss him.

“Mmmm, not here, not now,” he intuits your desire, his breath hot on your face. “Save it for our session. Anticipation makes it so much sweeter, I find,” his voice almost an octave lower, his hand hovering over the junction of your thighs through your dress. “But if you need a little something to tide you over…” he adds, eyes glittering with menace.

You nod enthusiastically.

Double-checking that the entire room is empty now, he yanks your dress up and sneaks a hand under the hem. Somehow he expertly locates your clit and pinches it between his thumb and pointer finger. Hard. Almost painfully. You gasp and stutter.

“This is mine, do you hear me?” his tone utterly authoritative.

“Yes, sir,” you quiver.

“You do not have permission to touch it until our next session, understood?” he intones.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he rumbles, and the fingers are gone before you can even register your thoughts.

He sucks them into his mouth, staring you down, watching your pupils dilate and your mouth open a fraction—he loves to tease you.

“I will know,” he warns, “just one look at you, and I will know if you disobeyed me.”

“What will you do if I disobey?” you whisper fervently.

“I would probably tie you down, worse than you will to Anthony, tease you until you screamed the damn walls down. Just keep taking you so close to the edge of bliss but not letting you over,” his deep voice a warning bell to behave.

“And If I’m a good, obedient girl?” you query, already breathless.

“I will make you come so many times you pass out,” his devastating crooked grin in full effect.

“Sir, you are dangerous,” you smile in response.

“Says the woman willing to punish my brother,” he lobbies back playfully.

“Only if you help me,” you remind.

“Nothing will give me greater pleasure, my girl,” he assures lightheartedly, offering his arm to walk you outside to the festivities.

—

“My lord,” you bow and signal Anthony to sit in the wingback chair in Benedict’s bachelor lodgings.

At the end of the soirée, Benedict had suggested you all go back to his for a nightcap; as he did so, he had sent you a conspiratorial wink.

Anthony frowns, bemused by your theatrics, but takes the proffered seat.

“How is your bottom, darling girl?” he smirks, pulling you down to straddle his lap, pushing your dress above your knees so you can do so.

“Not great,” you pout, placing your hands on his shoulders as he huffs a laugh.

“Then do not be such a naughty one,” he replies, hands running heavily over your body.

“Well, that is just the thing. I do not think I was that naughty,” you counter, heart fluttering a little as you unbutton Anthony’s waistcoat; Benedict moves to stand behind the chair, catching your eye with a quick smile.

“Is that so?” Anthony's smirk grows bigger, his eyes sparkling, loving when you are a little mischievous and wilful with him.

“No, in fact,” you roughly tug the waistcoat down his arms so they are trapped in place, “I do not think you were fair at all,” your voice lively but with a hard edge.

“Does my girl have a problem with her lord?” his ask laced with intrigue, chasing your lips with his own.

“Maybe your girl wants her lord to behave himself for once,” you whisper as seductively as you can, teasing with your lips but never letting him meet them.

“Oh, does she?” his tone is low and mirth-filled. “What does she want him to do, hmm? Submit to her will?” He doesn’t seem to be objecting; in fact, he seems rather engaged with the tease of it all.

“Yes,” you say boldly, holding his arms firmly trapped, finally allowing his lips to land on yours. You kiss him deeply, setting the rhythm, and a thrill runs through you when he lets you, your lips and tongue chasing him for a change.

“Maybe he just might,” is his quiet whisper, and the euphoric buzz in your veins is electric.

Benedict was right. You don’t look at him, but you allow one hand to slide out of Anthony’s hair and reach for him over the back of the chair as you move to kiss Anthony deeply again. Instead of just perhaps holding it as you might expect, Benedict takes your hand up to his mouth and sucks your fingers obscenely, lathing his warm tongue over and between them. It makes you push deeper into Anthony’s lap as you kiss, plundering his mouth and rocking your core over his growing bulge, loving the power you have over him pinned under you.

“Oh darling girl,” Anthony sighs, sounding under a spell as you release his lips, and Benedict lets go of your hand, “you are doing so very well at this,” he flatters. “What are you planning to do?”

“Well, my lord,” you manoeuvre him out of the waistcoat, toss it aside, then grab his braces and twine them around your fingers. “Maybe I tie you down a little? Maybe I punish you just a little.” As you whisper, you watch his pupils rapidly dilate and feel his breath go ragged, his chest heaving slightly under you.

“My wonderful filthy girl,” he pants, “I have taught you so well.”

“Mmmm, I am a keen observer, and tonight you do not call me girl,” you trace a thumb over his lips, “you call me lady.”

“Yes, certainly, my lady,” he answers with a smile.

“Oh yes, that’s it,” you gasp and delve in for another bruising kiss, pushing down his braces around his hips, basking in how compliant he has become under your touch. You grasp his hair near the scalp, and he hisses onto your lips. “Now I have rules for you tonight, my handsome boy.”

His eyes flash at the new title you have bestowed on him. “I’m all ears, my lady,” Anthony says sotto voce, complying as you pull up and remove his shirt.

“You don’t get to touch me unless I say you can. You don’t get to touch yourself unless I say you can. But I can touch you whenever and wherever I want. Understood?” you bark as your eyes roam his toned torso.

“Understood, my lady,” he confirms with an almost blissful smile. “What about my brother? Is he to submit to you too?”

Benedict rounds the chair swiftly and grabs your hair, pulling your head backwards, so you look up at the sharp underside of his jawline.

“Oh no, brother,” Benedict responds with a bemused lilt, “she’s mine. You get to watch.”

Anthony groans, “I love watching you be fucked hard, my gi… my lady,” he amends quickly.

You smile at his correction and recall how Anthony’s eyes had burned into you, stroking his cock fervently as his brother fucked you for the first time a few weeks ago at Aubrey Hall.

Benedict releases his grip as you stand up from Anthony’s lap and place your left foot lightly on his knee.

“Remove my shoe,” you order softly.

He smiles at you and delicately grabs your ankle. His hand is warm through your stocking as he pulls the shoe off your heel, then slides it off your toes, placing it gently on the floor.

“Well done, my darling boy,” you smirk and watch him take a hitching breath as you push your dress up slightly and grab the ribbon holding your stocking above your knee, unfurling it slowly.

You know from where he sits that he can see up your chemise to your bare cunt. You watch his eyes track up your inner thigh.

“Do you like what you see?” you tease lightly as the ribbon falls away, and you push the stocking slowly down your leg until it pools on his thigh.

“Yes, my lady,” he answers keenly, licking his lip.

You see a wash of disappointment on his face as you lower your leg, but it’s only temporary, as you kneel and wind your stocking around his wrist and the arm of the chair—tying it in a neat bow after a few loops. The look on his face is now priceless, and Benedict chuckles from where he is leaning a few feet away.

You put your right leg up on Anthony’s other knee expectantly, and he knows instantly to remove the shoe, which proves a little trickier now one-handed. As it clatters to the floor from his hand, you inhale sharply as Benedict suddenly crowds into your back as you undo the ribbon on your stocking.

“Did you touch yourself since I warned you not to, my girl?” his tone sinful, a large hand wrapped loosely around your throat, his lips trace the shell of your ear, and you freeze your motions.

This is all for show. Benedict only warned you three hours ago; you’ve had no time alone since then to touch yourself, and he knows it. You push your body into his solid frame, clit throbbing as you feel his rigid cock slide across your tailbone.

“No, I promise, sir, I’ve been good,” you murmur.

His free hand tugs at your dress, pulling your hem all the way up around your hips, so your lack of underwear is apparent. Anthony is already breathing unsteadily; his trousers painfully tented. The hand at your throat releases and smears down your breastbone, the fingers spidering inside your dress and pinching your nipple, Benedict’s teeth grazing the cord of your neck.

“Undo my ribbon,” you call to Anthony, and his free hand shoots forward to unfurl the ribbon on your thigh.

Anthony’s fingers trace seductively down your leg, taking your stocking with him as Benedict teases your breast, flexing his fingers expertly, making you squirm into him. You know he is enjoying the liberty to play with your body as his brother watches on, powerless to participate.

“I love how you writhe when I squeeze your nipples,” Benedict drawls right in your ear, “I could do this for hours, just tease you, but I suppose I should let you tie him down properly,” withdrawing his hand from inside your neckline and giving you an insouciant bite on the neck.

You bend over provocatively, pushing your bottom right into Benedict’s crotch as you take the other stocking from Anthony and secure his right hand onto the chair. He is now tied down at your mercy, and the sight causes a hot wave of want to gallop through your chest. He could fight out of the stockings easily, it's a symbolic hold as much as anything, but he doesn't. He sits there docile, looking up at you through heavy lashes and a soft pout, cock straining against his trousers, the chest hair across his pectoral muscles rising and falling with his rapid breaths. You want to climb on and ride him so hard he cries your name.

“Kiss me right now, my lovely boy,” you command.

He smiles so happily and leans forward joyfully, meeting your lips again as Benedict surges his cock onto your bottom and maps your body with his hands. He starts to pluck open the buttons at your shoulder blades, each relenting with a small rock into Anthony's kiss. His hands round your shoulders, roughly tug your dress, and chemise down together, sliding until they hit the floor. You are naked now except for your stays, which feel too hot and tight over your breasts as you inhale deep at the sensation of Anthony's tongue and Benedict's greedy hands.

“Darling girl, you still have marks,” Benedict says quietly, his touch a gentle glide over the globes of your bottom.

Anthony breaks the kiss, his face contrite. “I am so sorry, my lady,” he whispers, ashamed.

“It is all right, my boy,” you assure, running your knuckles along his jawline. “But you will learn not to be so harsh again.” Your tone takes on an undercurrent of steely determination that makes his face morph into one of both admiration and trepidation.

“As much as I wish to spank this beautiful bottom, I think it needs a little longer to recover,” Benedict sighs and leans down to kiss your back, making your breath catch with the tender action. That he can make you feel so cared for causes a slight bloom in your chest, which feels too dangerously close to devotion. All you want is for the sentimental ache to be replaced with an erotic zing, a thrill of some kind that feels less emotionally vulnerable. You twist to look at him over your shoulder challengingly.

“Then fuck me right now instead,” you goad, knowing that being wilful with him always brings out his need to dominate.

He snarls and pulls you upright, backwards a few steps from Anthony, then spins you around, trapping you with his body, a hand snaking between your legs.

“I will,” his voice dripping with menace, a finger teasing your clit. The power dynamics at play are so beguiling as you switch between the domination of Anthony and submission to Benedict. You want to shock them both. Say or do something that makes them both crazed, feral—poking the proverbial bears under your thrall.

“Call me something derogatory,” you plead, almost ashamed of your request.

Benedict’s middle finger presses higher, pushing your clit against your public bone. You inhale sharply, and when he doesn’t move, you hold his gaze and slowly rock on his finger, loving the sensation of your clit being so trapped.

“You wanton little whore,” he growls.

That word on his sinful tongue causes a shiver down your spine and makes you flood over his hand.

“Only for you, sir,” you whisper back, sliding back and forth a little more, so you rub yourself from his fingertip to the base where his finger meets his hand, undulating your hips. “And for him,” you add, looking over your shoulder at Anthony, who is watching you with hooded eyes, longing to palm his obvious erection. The fact that he is so turned on watching you makes you moan, and your cunt clenches around nothing.

“I felt that,” Benedict purrs, surging his cock forcibly into your hip, moving his fingers back and sliding two easily along your slit. “Only we can touch you here,” he warns, and you are staring into his hazy blue eyes as two fingers suddenly spank your folds, making you squeal in surprise.

He spins you around to face Anthony, and you see his almost crazed wild look just as Benedict’s fingers spank you again. This is practically theatrical; he is putting on a show, aroused by the power dynamics and finally having free reign over you. Anthony’s gaze is licentious at the apex of your thighs. He watches you honeying over his brother’s questing hand as you gasp loudly, another spank there, wrapping both of your hands around Benedict's forearm.

“Please, sir,” you appeal for clemency.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t loving this,” he blazes, “you are drenching my hand.”

The sound of the wetness pooling there seems to echo around the room as he slides his fingers through your folds, teasing your clit with each pass. Anthony's responding moan is savage, gaze locked on you as you writhe hard. Benedict's eyes cut over to his brother.

“Isn’t she just beautiful like this, brother?” he taunts, “You should feel this; it’s exquisite.” Suddenly his hand is gone from between your legs, and he is sucking the fingers into his mouth with an appreciative noise. “And the taste is so delicious,” he adds.

Benedict’s large hand lands on your shoulder, and you feel the dampness of your arousal paint your skin as he presses down there until you kneel, still facing away from him. His other hand slides into your hair and pulls roughly.

“You always look so fucking good on your knees,” Benedict's voice is gravelly. “I have half a mind to use your mouth right now. Doesn't she look amazing, brother?”

“You are a goddess, my lady,” Anthony asserts, eyes glittering as his hands flex in their bindings, almost as if they want to dive forward and drag you to him.

“And don't you forget it,” you murmur, even as Benedict pulls your hair as if you were his puppet, forcing you to look up and back at him.

“Tease him, my girl,” Benedict recommends as he gazes down at you imperiously, “do what he made you do to me in my library.” The memories come flooding back—Anthony ordering you to fondle Benedict's cock repeatedly but never allowing him to release until he came down your throat, shaking with need. “You remember, don't you?” Benedict continues, “make him desperate and writhing, feeling the exquisite pain of being so close to ecstasy but denied it. Over and over again, until it bleeds into something so heady, your whole body wants to burst.”

The words fall out of him from experience, This feels like payback, and you look up to see the disquiet in Anthony's eyes—the karmic moment of realising that harsh lessons have a way of coming back to haunt one. And you want to do it. Edge Anthony until he is craving and needy, a panting wanton mess just for you. You remember the teeming desperation of Benedict’s kiss as you denied him over and over as Anthony ordered you to keep going. This will be the exact reverse.

Benedict releases your hair, and you fall forward onto your hands. Your gaze holds Anthony’s as you slowly place one hand before the other, prowling cat-like over the hard polished wood floors towards him. You watch his whole frame move with each inhale and exhale, like the act of breathing is laborious but also somehow pleasurable. You run your hands over his legs, loving the feel of his muscles tensing as he squirms, tied down in the chair.

“Hello, my pretty boy,” you tease with a smirk, “do you know what I'm going to do?”

“Yes,“ his whisper is ardent, and you can't help but hold his fiery gaze, surging up to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

“Please, my lady,” he pleads as your hand falls to his crotch, the heat seeping through the material as his cock strains against it.

He makes a noise that is all animal as you squeeze him and start to pull open the buttons at his hip roughly. As you suspected, he's not wearing underwear, and his familiar cock springs out, already leaking so very eagerly. You take him in hand, and he growls. The chair squeaks under his thrust into your loose grip.

“Nuh uh uh,” you tut, the pointer fingernail of your other hand catching deliciously on his pursed lip. “You sit still like a good boy, and maybe I’ll take you in my mouth too.”

“Please…” his broken groan is lewd; you can see him fighting every cell in his body to stay still for you.

You begin a languid rhythm with your fist, and he closes his eyes, bites his lip and whimpers just a touch. His cock is so red and leaking so profusely that you genuinely wonder how long he will last. With your other hand, you tug his trousers further, and he pushes up his hips to allow you to slide them under his bum, and you have to temporarily release his cock to pull them down his legs and off. Now he is fully naked and looks glorious. He whines loudly as you re-grasp his shaft and start to pump again.

“You look so stunning naked, my darling boy,” you murmur, your other hand swirling a pattern in the hair on his chest, and his whole being seems to swell with pride.

“Thank you, my lady,” he responds humbly, and something about him being so meek makes you want him so much you just want to fuck him right now, ride him regardless of the consequences.

You keep hold of his cock and push up to kneeling. Anthony senses you want to talk to him and moves forward in the chair as much as possible while tied down.

“I want to ride you right now,” you whisper hotly but so quiet; it’s just for his ears.

The hitch in his breath is like poetry. “I want that more than air, my lady,” his voice a broken breeze over your face.

“I’ve never seen your cock so red and wanting; it looks delicious, my wonderful boy,” you flatter.

“Please, please take me into your beautiful mouth,” he is wrecked. So desperate for you; you can feel it in your bones. His body is calling to you, his lips pleading.

“Remove your hand,” the commanding voice from a few paces away interrupts your thoughts, and you obey without question, so conditioned to be the perfect submissive yourself. Anthony whines loudly at the loss of contact. “Sit back on your haunches and stop whispering to him,” Benedict orders, and you can hear the jealousy woven into words. He doesn't like that you are sharing an emotional moment with Anthony, and it makes you want to laugh at the irony—that is precisely what you shared with him when he was in Anthony’s shoes. He probably doesn't even see his own hypocrisy and certainly wouldn't appreciate you pointing it out.

Benedict moves behind you, long fingers plucking at the strings of your stays, loosening the criss-cross laces holding your last piece of clothing. It's somehow fitting that you and Anthony are both going to be naked before Benedict has so much as removed a stitch of clothing save his jacket. And again, a mirror image of that moment in Benedict's library, just next door, all those weeks ago, when you and he were naked as Anthony barely removed a stitch to fuck you. Suddenly you realise why he wanted to return here tonight, to redress the balance in the same building.

“You may touch him again,” Benedict chimes and instantly, your hand is back on Anthony, who whimpers with relief, leaking over your knuckle, his wrists flexing under their bindings.

Once again, you feel the weight of Anthony’s stare, and your eyes cut away from his cock to meet his—a ring of burnt umber iris around his dilated pupils. He seems to be silently begging you to let him release, but you both know it won't happen. There is something so beguiling about his desperation, though.

“Do not let him come,” Benedict warns cooly, and you slow your hand.

Your stays loosen to the point they fall down your arms, and Benedict stops your ministrations to pull your hands off his brother entirely and remove your last scrap of material.

“Look how sensitive her nipples can be, brother,” he riles his sibling as he snags them both almost painfully between the tips of his pointer and thumb. You inhale tremulously and grip Anthony’s knees hard, instinctively leaning back into Benedict, even as your eyes still hold his brother’s. His chin rests on your shoulder as he keeps teasing you until they are stiff peaks, you writhing slightly under his touch as the buzz of pleasure-pain grows. He is not gentle, and it's precisely what you need.

“I may have been in France lately,” he adds conversationally, addressing you both. “Tell me, my girl, have you read Justine?”

Your breath catches in your throat. The scandalous book by the Marquis de Sade was your sexual awakening.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mmm, good,” he rumbles as he continues to pull on your nipples to the point you gasp. “Grab him again. I shall be back.”

Even though Benedict leaves the room and is out of sight, you grab Anthony's cock as you were told and stroke him again.

“My lady, please let me come,” his eyes so large, his long lashes blinking so appealingly as his toned chest heaves.

“No,” you retort quietly as your nipples throb and miss Benedict's fingers, “I have more plans for you.”

“What plans?” he almost stutters, ragged.

“I cannot go tonight without this sublime cock being inside me,” you admit as Benedict reenters the room with a little box, a small bowl of water and a bottle of clove oil. You recognise the product - it is used to make anal penetration comfortable, and your heart leaps into your throat. You have not crossed that line with either of them yet.

“Release him,” he commands, and you do so.

Anthony almost howls, a vein in his temple throbbing, all the tendons in his neck tensing. Part of your heart goes out to him; part of you wants to keep him like this all day. Teeming with need and so wildly ravishing when so on edge.

“Turn to face me. Stay on your knees.” You do as bidden; Benedict feels so tall as you kneel submissively before him, keeping your head bowed. “Look at me,” and you lift your sights to him, not missing the straining bulge at your natural eye line.

He snaps open what looks like a jewellery box and holds out a small metal item, almost resembling an earring but with a small round loop and a teardrop blue jewel hanging from two prongs.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, holding it closer to your face.

“No sir,” you admit honestly.

“I remembered how much you enjoyed it when I slipped your hairpins over your nipples some weeks ago,” he smiles, and you blush at the memory. “So I purchased you a special gift in Paris recently. It is designed to clamp onto your delightful nipples,” he explains as you feel your body tingle at the idea. “They can be adjusted to make your pleasure more… acute,” he smirks.

“Oh, thank you so much, sir. They are splendid. Please put them on me,” you beseech, and a tart-tasting thumb hooks into the corner of your mouth.

“You are such a good obedient little thing, aren’t you?” his tone impressed, and you blossom under his praise.

You would do anything to please him. You shuffle forward on your knees and nuzzle your face onto his straining cock, as it almost threatens to tear the seams of the wool.

“Not yet,” he clucks, “you get your treat later,” he proclaims, pulling you away as you attempt to suckle him through the material. “Shoulders back,” he taps your skin, and you do so, presenting your breasts to him. “Good girl.”

Those two words are always catnip to you; you want to do everything he says when they roll decadently over his tongue. He could parade you naked in public on all fours, like a little pet, and you would do it.

“What delightful thoughts are running through that sharp mind of yours,” he asks with a knowing smile, stroking your cheek fondly.

“Just how much I enjoy pleasing you, sir,” you reply truthfully without giving specifics.

Suddenly he grabs a nipple and slips the clamp over it. The pinch and pressure he selects takes you by surprise.

“You’ll have to give me more detail than that, or I slide this tighter,” he cautions.

“How I would do anything for you, sir,” you amend, your voice going a little reedy as your nipple starts to tingle and throb lightly with your pulse.

Before you know it, the other nipple is trapped with the same force. You gasp as both start pulsing. It makes your clit throb, too, in sympathy almost.

“How I would let you parade me naked in public,” rushes out of your lips with a hiss before you can stop it.

“My darling girl,” his voice suddenly rough. “I want that; everyone should know you belong to me.” Behind you, Anthony growls. “To us,” Benedict amends quickly with a nod.

That Anthony thinks he has a right to claim you when he is tied up submissively makes you want to laugh.

“Sir, may I have your permission to deal with my defiant boy?” you request drolly.

Benedict barks a laugh. “Granted, my love.” It’s the first time he’s used such a term of endearment, and your eyes dart to his. You see a sliver of panic slicing the usual calm of his demeanour, the dominant mask he wears slipping a fraction. You don’t want to say anything to jeopardise the moment, but something feels tender and taut like an invisible cord could snap if you react wrong, unravelling the wonderful scene you have built together. You opt to ignore or treat it as if it means nothing.

“Thank you, sir,” you respond brightly, and he seems to exhale a relieved breath.

Your nipple throb as you swing around on your knees and address Anthony.

“What makes you think you may lay claim to me, pretty boy?” your voice steely. “I think you may be forgetting who is in charge of you here tonight,” your eyebrow almost at your hairline, so excited to see how he will react.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he bows his head. “I am so used to thinking of you as mine. I am, of course, yours,” he assures, not daring to meet your gaze.

His long-abandoned cock throbs in his lap. He has sat patiently without reward as Benedict clamped your nipples. But you want to punish him some more before you reward him with your body.

“Sir, do you have any clean paintbrushes?” you ask over your shoulder to a bemused Benedict.

“Of course,” and he walks to his easel returning with a medium bristle brush, handing it to you.

“Thank you, sir” you smile up at him, and he pets your hair affectionately.

“More importantly, what are you planning to do with it?” his tone amused.

“I’m going to make my boy here a moaning ticklish mess,” you reply with a wicked grin.

Anthony groans as you immediately run the bristles lightly up his inner thigh, the muscle quivering.

“Maybe this gentle torture will teach him that sometimes the harshest punishments of them all are the softest,” you say pointedly to no one in particular. Still, the ironic laugh from Benedict suggests he appreciates it. You swirl the brush over the head of Anthony’s cock, and he groans gutturally, heavy puffs out of his nose. “And you don’t need to leave heavy marks on someone to teach them a lesson.”

“Oh dear brother, there are most definitely some lessons being applied here,” Benedict says with a wry smirk, perhaps a touch uncharitably, revelling in his freedom as his brother is teased so thoroughly.

Anthony leaks again over the bristles of the brush, and you paint his precum down his shaft as he pants and squirms harder.

“Please, my lady,” he implores on a jagged exhale, “please do not tease me more. I promise I have learned my lesson not to treat your body so harshly.”

“And do you promise that if you ever leave such harsh marks on my body again, I have every right to do the same to you?” It's a daring proposition you make, knowing he’s hardly in a position to negotiate as you slowly drag the bristles over his balls.

He snuffles, and you can see him warring with the idea, his eyes a maelstrom. “Yes, my lady,” he agrees through clenched teeth.

“Good boy,” you compliment and push up to kiss him hotly, invading his mouth with a predatory kiss.

“Well, I think he has earned a show,” Benedict opines rhetorically, “And it’s high time this lovely girl had an orgasm,” he adds, taking the brush from your fingers.

He walks away and drags another wingback chair right in front of the one Anthony is tied to. Then he sits in it while you are still kneeling between them.

“Climb into my lap, darling girl,” he coos invitingly, and you obey instantly, curling into his lap almost catlike. He kisses you hard and heavy, a hand holding your jaw. “Face him,” Benedict nudges your nose as your part. You twist and face Anthony as you perch in his lap. “Now open those legs wide and show him your pretty cunt, do it,” the words are murmured warmly in your ear, and you obey. Bringing your feet onto Benedict's knees and splaying your thighs out wide. “Good girl,” he flatters, and you moan as his fingers slide over your pubic hair and into your folds.

You know this is to rile Anthony even more. He cannot even touch himself as you are being pleasured.

“Be nice and vocal now; show him how good this is,” Benedict lectures, his fingers instantly making you flex your toes around his kneecaps, and you savour the heat of his cock branding your lower back as he circles your clit with just the perfect amount of pressure.

‘It feels so good, sir,” you raise your arms and wrap your hands back around his neck without prompting, which he greatly approves of, the jewels of your clamps catching the light and sparkling brilliantly as you flex with each touch.

“Good girl, cling to me; look how pretty your nipples look. All swollen and sparkling with my jewels,” he compliments, staring down the plain of your body. “Now tell me what you want.”

“I want your fingers inside me, sir,” you respond, ensuring you hold Anthony’s gaze, jealousy and covetousness written all over his features.

Benedict does as you ask, sliding two long elegant fingers down your labia, hooking them into your pussy. His thumb pushes gently on your clit, moving his whole arm as he teases you with expert strokes. He knows exactly what you need and wastes no time taking you right where you want to go.

“Is that what you need?” his voice like rich honey.

“Oh god, yes, sir,” you nod and bite your lip for Anthony’s benefit, playing up just for your captive audience.

“Talk to me, pretty boy,” you call to Anthony.

“You look angelic, my lady,” he responds instantly.

“Tell me what you would do to me if you were free,” you goad, wanting him to talk explicit detail as Benedict expertly plays your body like an instrument.

“I would like to be on my knees between your legs, my lady. I want to bury my face into your beautiful flower, enrapture myself in your aroma, drink your nectar, caress your petals with my tongue,” he offers, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yesss,” you hiss, your mind conjuring the image of him knelt before you deferentially, his wrists bound together behind his back with your silks as his mouth brings you untold pleasures. You move one hand from around Benedict’s neck down and push it between your bodies, grabbing his rigid cock through the wool of his trousers, needing to feel steely power under your fingers. As you do so, you stare at Anthony’s cock, almost pulsing in time with your moans.

Benedict growls as you palm him, and his hand inside you speeds up. The room fills with the sound of his movement in your wet channel and the scent of your arousal. Your moans getting louder and more urgent. Anthony’s knuckles turn white where he grips the arms of his chair, his eyes trained between your legs.

“I bet your boy wishes this was him,” Benedict baits, “his fingers inside your gorgeous cunt, you grabbing his cock….”

You giggle and blow Anthony a kiss, knowing the jibes are winding him up even further.

“So close, are you not?” Benedict mutters richly in your ear, somewhat superfluous; he knows your body so well now that he can sense all the signs of your impending orgasm.

You nod, panting loudly, climbing that invisible ladder where your skin feels flushed and your lips tingle. Benedict's other hand suddenly spans across your chest, and he is able to flick both clamped throbbing nipples at once. The jolt is like fire—the catalyst that hurtles you breakneck fast, screaming almost instantly.

“Make a good show for him.”

It’s the last thing you hear before the rush of blood in your ears, and you convulse hard, throwing your head back and shuddering full-bodied on his lap. You writhe, trying to evade the intensity, but he holds you open with his body strength, drawing it out into something that makes you scream again, leaking onto his fingers as he spouts encouragements.

Spent, you slump back onto his chest, gulping deep breaths and pleading for him to stop. He stills his motions and withdraws his fingers, taking them to his mouth and licking them clean obscenely, staring down his brother, who is breathing raggedly. After a few moments, when you return to normal, Benedict senses your need for something else.

“What is it, my girl? What do you want?”

“I want to fuck my pretty boy,” you stumble as he caresses your face, your speech still drowsy from your orgasm.

Both men make a noise that exhilarates every ounce of your being.

“I will allow it,” Benedict concedes, “with one condition…. I get to fuck you too.”

Your brow knits. “Of course, you will, sir,” your voice portrays how facile you think his request is.

Benedict grabs your jaw to the side to ensure you look at him, into his eyes. “Oh no, you don’t understand,” he chuckles darkly. “At the same time,” he specifies, and your stomach feels as if it has taken flight.

“Sir…?” your disbelief a broken whisper, staring at him, mouth agape.

“You heard me. You will take both of us at once. And I get to choose which place I want.”

“But sir….” You begin to protest, nerves flaring.

“Give me your colour,” he demands, cutting right to the point.

“Green,” you mumble your truth.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I thought,” he smirks.

You climb off Benedict’s lap and go to Anthony’s, like a safe harbour in a storm. Even though his hands are tied down, he strains his fingers to touch you, and you lace them with yours, taking comfort in him.

“I am nervous,” you confess quietly, sitting on his knees.

“Do not be my lady,” his tone pitched to reassure. “You know your sir would never hurt you,” he reminds.

“I know that; it's the intensity,” you answer. “You are both blessed with, how should I say, a familial trait of impressive size. I fear my body may be unable to accommodate you both at once.”

Benedict is suddenly close behind you. “Is your word closer to yellow or even red, my girl?” his commanding voice replaced with a gentler tone of concern.

“No sir,” you state clearly, “I just…. I have never experienced penetration into my other place beyond fingers.”

Benedict looks at his brother. “You have never…?” he asks quietly.

Anthony shakes his head.

“My apologies, darling girl,” Benedict mutters, “I made an error in my assumption. We do not need to do this…” he places a tender kiss on your shoulder.

“NO!!” you exclaim rather more forcefully than planned, taking them both by surprise. “I want to do this,” you clarify, “more than anything. I will just need for it to be slow.”

The brothers share a look you have long since realised is their silent communication. Somehow they know how to care for you without breaking the scene. It is why you cannot resist playing with them—the wonderful way they can both intuit your needs and work together to take you places you have never dreamed of. It's why you are so desperate to take them both at once; you trust them implicitly to make it unforgettable for you.

“You are a wonder, my lady,” Anthony murmurs, his eyes shining with reverence, squeezing his fingers around yours.

“Truly special, my girl,” Benedict adds, rubbing a soothing pattern over your spine. “I have a suggestion for how we can do this.”

“Tell us, brother,” Anthony breathes, his status as the elder statesman of the family somehow seeping out into the way he says it.

You realise it must be a strange dynamic that, as firstborn, he is willing to submit to the will of his younger brother for you through you. Your admiration of him ratchets higher as your gaze falls again to his hands and how he has continued to respect the hold you have placed him in; a few easy moves, and he could be free.

Unsure how to process the feeling, you surge forward and capture Antony’s lips in a searing kiss that takes him by surprise, as he does not respond for a split second. Then he is opening under your assault, and its fire in your lungs, burning bright. With the hand not holding Anthony’s, you reach blindly back for Benedict, and sweetly he brings your hand to his jaw and holds it there, leaning his face into your touch. Your tongue spars with Anthony’s, and it takes every fibre not to climb onto his cock, but you want to hear what Benedict has to say about how this can be done. Breaking your kiss with Anthony but keeping your hand tight in his, you whip around and pull Benedict down into a similarly passionate kiss, your nipple clamps dragging delightfully through the ruffles of his shirt as you press your body into him, moulding around him, his hands hot on your skin.

“What do you suggest, sir?” you pant over his mouth, squeezing Anthony’s fingers.

Benedict's lips run over your cheek and land hot on the column of your neck. “My brother should be the one you explore new territory with; I think you should take him inside your bottom while I fuck you, darling girl.”

You love the idea. And so does Anthony, based on the noise he makes. You twist slightly to meet his gaze.

“My lady, I want that. So very, very much. Please.” He whispers, his eyes imploring.

“I want that too,” you concur as Benedict’s lips run down to your shoulder.

“I believe you may find this easier laying down,” Benedict counsels, “my chaise over there may be best,” signalling a piece of furniture reminiscent of the one you all used in his art studio at Aubrey Hall. “But you could not tie him to it, alas.” he ends drily.

“I believe he may have learned his lesson well enough to be untied now,” you state, moving to unwrap the silk stockings over Anthony’s wrists.

Anthony looks overjoyed as his hands are finally freed, and without asking your permission, he bands his arms tight around you and stands, wrapping your legs and arms around him like a vine.

“My darling lady,” he dotes as he walks you over to the chaise, nuzzling your face.

“My beautiful boy,” you smile, running your fingers over the contours of his face, something so profound at that moment.

This night seems so emotionally charged compared to others. As if this final hurdle of intimacy between the three of you represents a new chapter. You know these men will be so physically close doing this, with just you between them, that must represent a new level of understanding between them.

“I need you both so much,” you admit honestly as Anthony sits down on the chaise with you in his lap.

“We need you too,” Anthony responds, his voice a little tight, and his lips find yours again in a sweet kiss as if sealing a pact as he shuffles to lay down with you on top of him.

“We really do,” Benedict concurs as he draws up behind you. “Let me prep you, my wonderful girl,” Benedict says gently with a quick kiss on the slope of your shoulder.

You whisper your consent and widen your stance on top of Anthony. Benedict pulls your cheeks apart, and you jump slightly at the sensation of oil being poured there. You release a calming breath as Anthony whispers reassurances, your fingers entwined with his, your lips tracing his cheekbone, feeling a slight rasp of stubble there.

You groan as the sensation you have felt only once before, a swirling around your tight ring of muscle, then gradually fingertips applying pressure there that your body doesn't want to yield to.

“Relax, my girl,” Benedict’s voice is a soft tutor, “take a breath, let me in.” You do as asked and moan as a finger breeches inside you, fighting your body’s urge to push him out. “That's it,” he adds, and you relax into the invasive feeling, his finger moving deeper as another joins it.

You hum and close your eyes, rocking slightly back onto his hand, starting to enjoy the unusual sensation, the drag of his knuckles against your passage.

“Yes, darling girl, take me all in,” he says velvet dark, “you are doing so well.”

Anthony strokes your hair and peppers light kisses on your face as you gaze at him with no doubt blown pupils and wide eyes, getting used to being filled somewhere new. Benedict adds a third finger and starts to make a scissoring action inside, and you can’t help but groan at the stretch as he pours more oil around and into your body.

“Anthony…,” you murmur his name, not your titles, on reflex, feeling susceptible, and he smiles reassuringly.

“You do this so well; I cannot wait to try this new experience with you,” he offers honestly and kisses your lips delicately.

“I think you are ready, my girl,” Benedict states quietly, his fingers deep in you, spreading your muscles and coating you with more oil. “Rub some of this on his cock,” he coaches, placing the bottle in your hand and gradually withdrawing his fingers.

Anthony whimpers lightly as you lubricate his cock, ensuring it is glistening and shiny, looking somehow more appetising now than ever. Benedict cleanses his hands in the small bowl of water, then sweetly helps you to your feet to lay down backwards on top of Anthony. All you feel under your spine is the tickle of his chest hair and the play of muscles across his toned chest as you settle over him, glancing at the ceiling as if in a short prayer.

“Whenever you are ready,” Benedict whispers, “take him into your body, my darling.” Once again, it's a term of endearment without the girl moniker that you try to ignore.

You shuffle on top of Anthony, who just holds your waist loosely. Taking a deep breath, you line him up. They are quiet as you do, giving you the space and time to do this at your own pace. You place your other hand over Anthony’s as you feel an entirely new sensation of his cock sliding bluntly between your cheeks.

“You are doing wonderful, my girl,” he reassures, grasping your fingers between his, and you give a brief nod in acknowledgement.

You groan as he breaches your body and puff out air. It’s all heat and pressure. It feels so different, not unpleasant, just… odd. Anthony groans, too; his forehead rests on your shoulder as he seems to babble nonsense words. It must be intense for him too. So slowly, you sink down, taking time and deep relaxing breaths. Inch by inch, you sink lower, cataloguing each reaction your body has. After what seems like ages, you reach his root and let out a long low whimper—feeling so invaded and stretched.

‘Well done, darling girl. Benedict touches your face dotingly, and you beam up at him, the praise doing wonders for you. “Brother, you should hold her open,” Benedict advises, and Anthony moves his hands down to either side of your legs.

“I hope you like my hand imprints on your thighs, my lady,” he says softly into your neck. You don't have a chance to ask what he means before Benedict is giving orders again.

“Hook your legs up his onto his arms. My brother will hold you,” Benedict lectures, and you slowly move into position, moaning as you feel Anthony flex inside your bottom as you do so.

Anthony’s strong fingers wrap around your inner thigh, and then you gasp as he pulls his arms upwards and outwards. You feel a slight burn in the tendons of your pelvis, legs forced so obscenely wide open and exposed.

“Perfect,” Benedict opines and stares at you. “I wish I could paint this moment. Look at you, all open and leaking, desperate for another cock.”

You can't stop the noise you emit; it's apprehension, want and nerves all wrapped in one. He starts to strip, enjoying his captured audience of you staring at him, almost open-mouthed. Your mind is still turning over the idea of taking both of them at once. As he roughly unbuttons his trousers, you find your voice.

“Sir, I'm not sure I can do this,” you pant, nerves flaring as his sizeable cock stares you right in the face. You feel so very full, impaled as you are on Anthony.

“Yes, you can,” he answers gruffly. “You know your safety word,” he warns.

You clamp your lip between your teeth—that is the last thing you want to say. It’s like he senses you need a slight roughness of tone in this moment, a balance to the unspoken emotions bubbling away this evening.

“You know you can do it, my lady,” Anthony’s soft voice rings in your ear. “I’m right here, with you, inside you; you feel so wondrous.”

“You feel so good, too,” you whisper, surprised that is the case. The more you adjust to the feeling, the more you enjoy it.

Then Benedict is climbing over you, all warm skin and lithe muscles. He is careful not to put too much weight on your body, his lips finding yours in a kiss as you feel his cock nestled hot on the apex of your thighs.

“Alright, sir, I'm ready,” you murmur as your lips part, and he cups your jaw, the blueish ring of his eyes flaring as his pupils dilate.

“I will go slow, I promise,” he rumbles, his thumb swiping tenderly over your cheek, and you feel his speech vibrating your ribcage.

Your body feels so hot pressed between them, Anthony's chest hair tickling your back as Benedict's warm skin covers yours, dragging your jewelled clamps, your nipples still throbbing insistently. And then you feel him reaching down to guide himself into your body.

You groan loudly as his tip nudges into your cunt. You have never felt so stretched in that region before. A curse falls from your lips, and Benedict pauses, allowing you to get used to this small amount.

“Are you alright?” he checks, his voice filled with affectionate concern.

“Yes sir, it's just…. it's so much,” you reply truthfully.

Anthony’s hands holding your thighs up and open, caress your skin in a soothing pattern as Benedict starts to move again, sliding deeper inside you. You have no words to describe the feeling except utterly full. Anthony is making small panting sounds under you, and you know they must be able to feel each other; you can feel them pressing against each other through the wall of your body. You make a long, continuous whining noise as he pushes further until finally, Benedict rests entirely inside you.

“Well done, my wonderful girl,” Benedict gusts, sounding a little breathless already, “you feel so exquisitely tight.”

They both make sounds of pleasure as you move to kiss them both, swivelling to capture Anthony’s lips and then Benedict’s. You have never kissed them as much while you play as you do tonight. Something indeed so profound is happening between you.

“Im going to move now, slowly,” Benedict advises.

You find yourself incapable of words, so you just nod, one hand covering one of Anthony’s on your leg and the other resting on Benedict's shoulder.

You feel him withdraw slightly, then surge back in; your mouth falls slack, and your eyes roll back. Nothing could have prepared you for this. How it feels, how the motion and fullness pulls all your skin taut, your clit being pulled down towards his shaft so strong that you may not even need anyone to touch it to come.

You whine a curse as he repeats the motion, and you just know you won't last long like this, your body already so overwhelmed. Anthony behind you is already moaning gently too.

“Go faster, sir,” you goad, greedily chasing what you feel is headed for you.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” you answer with clenched teeth, “give it to me, sir, to us,” knowing the friction and tightness will probably be enough for Anthony without moving.

And that is the permission he needs.

Benedict starts to fuck you properly as he always does, and you cling on for dear life as he wrenches the most debauched noises and the most extreme sensations from your body. Every ounce of your being feels on fire, and you are hyper-aware of everything, the puff of their breaths on your damp skin, the noises each of them make, the pressure and intense pleasure you feel as Benedict ploughs into your cunt repeatedly while Anthony holds your ass open. And then Anthony begins to ripple under you, fractional surges into your body, and you lose all sense. You go limp and slackjawed, just letting them both take you somewhere that is so far away and yet so rooted in your body.

You know you are moaning and babbling nonsense, and you know they are wrenching the most filthy noises from your body, and you just don't care. All you want is for them never to stop. No words are spoken; in fact, you have temporarily lost the power of speech, so engrossed in just chasing all the feelings in your body, getting lost in the fog of both men moving inside and around you. All three of you are panting and moaning in unison as the rhythm you hit together adds another layer to the explosive dynamic. Over and over and over, you move as if one, some carnal dance that is astonishing and almost mystical. This is something so other, so uniquely shared and incredibly intimate, that you know things could never be the same between you again.

“Please…” you gasp, broken and panting, and they intuit precisely what you need. Benedict kisses you hard, all tongue and biting intensity, as one of Anthony’s hands snakes to your breast and pulls off one of your clamps.

The rush of blood to your nipple as it is released makes you yell out and convulse around them, and they both groan so deeply your whole body vibrates.

“Holy f….” Anthony’s curse is broken and wrecked. “Do that again, just please, please do that again.”

“Take off the other one,” you implore desperately, and Benedict's fingers find the other clamp and yank it off roughly, and you scream. The throbbing in your clit is almost painful and in sync with your nipples.

“Oh my god,” Benedict groans, his hand roughly cups your breast, his mouth falls to your nipple, he sucks hard and then bites down, as Anthony snakes a hand between bodies, and as soon as his thumb brushes your clit, that is it, you are gone.

The intensity of your orgasm is almost frightening. Your whole pelvis convulses, contracting and rippling around both of them to the point they howl more like beasts than men. Every cell in your body feels changed, altered, broken and rearranged in a new pattern, your skin hums like static after a storm, and your heart feels ready to burst out of your chest. All you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears. You know the boys are calling out, but they have stopped moving, the crush of you tightening like a vice around them, faltering their movements. Vaguely, you feel something warm bloom in your bottom, and Benedict withdraws from your body suddenly.

When you return to presence, they are both breathing so hard your body is being pushed with their chests heaving, and you feel sticky wetness all around your thighs as Anthony slips from inside your body, and you groan at the change of sensation there.

“I… I don’t have the words for that,” Benedict admits, his head slumped onto your breastbone, sounding so overwhelmed.

“Same brother, same,” Anthony chimes in over your shoulder, his voice so rough that he clears his throat.

You cannot even speak, rendered dumbfounded, earth-shaken, mind-altered. They seem to accept your muteness, and their soothing hands skim your body silently as you all absorb the intensity of the experience you just shared. Your insides ache, but in a way that you are desperate to feel again. Part of you wants to pipe up your usual witty remark about ‘same time again tomorrow, boys’, but another part of you stops short. The atmosphere feels too precious to be glib, too tender and profound to dismiss with humour.

And as they help you to your feet, they are extra loving, with lots of kisses and tender touches. Anthony goes to sanitise and relieve himself, and while he is gone, Benedict sees you stifle a yawn and convinces you to do something you never have before. To rest in his bedroom, Anthony joining you.

You argue that it will just be for an hour, and then you will leave, but you fall asleep almost instantly. Sometime later, you awaken in the middle of the night and are sandwiched between their warm bodies. Both look so angelic as they sleep soundly, their limbs wrapped around yours. And for the first time ever, you choose to stay—to spend the night. As you drift back to sleep, your only thought is how a large part of you wants this, just this, always.

Anthony & Benedict taglists: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @queenofmean14

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 1 year

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Number 13 for marilyn please, maybe r goes to the greenhouse to ask for some help on something and sees marilyn having fun while moaning r's name

Hey there, anon! Thank you for the request and your patience. I love the idea, and I had such fun writing this little fic for you!! Hope you Enjoy ♥️

Feeling your Body ~Mommy!Marilyn Thornhill xFem Teacher!Reader

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

#13. “Oh. Ohhhhh.” *intensely blushes*

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, semi-public smut, self-pleasure, fingering, teasing, pet names, mommy kink, praise kink, admittance of feelings, begging kink, degradation kink, implied future smut, implied voyeurism kink…?, implied exhibitionist kink…?, etc.

Enjoy (;

You hadn’t meant to see anything. You swear you hadn’t.

You hadn’t meant to see this new, unfiltered side of Marilyn. This dominating, slightly sadistic side of her… The side of the red head completely spread out on her chair, fingering herself and moaning your name—

You had come to the greenhouses to ask Marilyn’s advice on one of the students, Wednesday Addams. You had knocked at her door, but the woman hadn’t answered. You called out her name lightly. Nothing. You then decided to open the door, see if Marilyn was in the greenhouse at all.

But when you opened the door, you found another sight entirely…

“Oh Y/N…” the sultry voice moaned.

You gulped and stepped into the greenhouse even more. And there before you, sat Marilyn, playing with herself with your name on her tongue. But you had given away your hidden nature. The woman suddenly stopped and looked up at you, and you were completely frozen.

“Well hello Miss L/N…” Marilyn purred seductively, “How can I help you…?”

“Oh. Ohhhhh.” You stammered, intensely blushing, and finally coming back to your senses “I’m so sorry Marilyn, I-I’ll come back later…!”

“Stay, sweet girl…” the redhead purred, “Why don’t you come help me over here…?”

You gulped and nod, slowly making your way over to Marilyn. She was swift to pull you into her lap when you neared her vicinity. You yelped at the action, making the woman chuckle.

“Did you like listening to me moan your name, Y/N…? Marilyn husked teasingly, emphasizing your name.

Shivers went down your spine at her words and you blushed even harder.

“I… Y-yes…” you whispered, embarrassed and looking down to the floor.

Marilyn took you by the chin and directed your gaze back to hers. Her eyes twinkled with dark lust and she smirked with wicked intentions.

“Such a little slut…” the red head murmured, her eyes really taking the time to take up and down your body frame.

You felt her eyes wander, making you squeeze your thighs needily, which didn’t go unnoticed by the woman.

“Oh, do you need something, sweet slut…?” Marilyn taunted.

“I… N-need you… please…” you whimpered.

The redhead’s face flashed with satisfaction at your pleading. Her hand started to crawl down to your trousers, unbuttoning them, pulling them aside. Before you could plead any more, her digits ran teasingly through your folds. You bucked your hips forward in spastic pleasure.

“Oh God—!” You breathlessly groaned, “Again again please!” You begged the redhead for more contact.

“You look so pretty when you beg, sweet slut…” Marilyn purred wickedly, while quirking her head and drinking in the utter deliciousness that was you.

Her fingers ran through your folds once more, then going to circle your clit. The redhead only pulled more reactions from you, spurring her on even more. Pretty soon, Marilyn was three fingers knuckle deep inside your aching pussy, thrusting and curling away to your and her own pleasure.

“Mmmm need… wanna… cum please—!!” You desperately moaned, clinging onto the redhead for dear life as she mercilessly fucked you.

“Say my name.” Marilyn demandingly purred, “Say it and I’ll let you cum…”

“M-mar… Marilyn—!!!” You cried out.

She started going harder and deeper with her fingers, her curls becoming brutal strokes against your walls, making you see stars before you even hit your high.

“Try again…” She taunted with a smirk.

“M-m…Mommy…!!” You begged with another cry.

This answer seemed to delight the woman.

“Good slut…” Marilyn cooed, “Cum for me, Y/N…”

God, your name on her liess once more truly sent you over the edge. You collapsed in the redhead’s hold, your whole body giving up on you as Marilyn fucked you to high heaven, up, over, and down your climax. Desperate moans and cries left your lips, which you muffled by screaming into the woman’s shoulder.

Pretty soon, you were a panting mess in Marilyn’s lap. She pulled her digits out of you and licked them clean, moaning at your taste. She then met your gaze once more.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for the longest time…” Marilyn panted with the biggest smirk, and all you could do was nod in breathless agreement.

~~~

Marilyn Thornhill Masterlist

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rindragon-from-twewy · 1 month

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Mmmm forte swap au brain rot upon ye!

I've already completed designs for everyone at the NDA but I wanna space out the posts a bit cuz I don't think I'd be able to say all I'd want to in just one post!

Ramble about character info below; (+spoilers for all of mdarc)

Obviously this is based on my silly doodles for rain code ship week but I've actually started putting a lot of thought in to this now! (I've had waaaaaaay too much free time recently and I'm blessed with the ability to come up with lore/world building very quickly given enough motivation!)

So first off: Why Storm Cypher? Well cuz it's a protagonist swap! Desuhiko's now the amnesiac trainee being haunted by Shinigami so it made sense in my opinion to make this au's name reflectant of his last name, Thunderbolt. So that's where the 'Storm' comes from. 'Cypher' because it's a form of code and... well I just think it sounds nice basically! I do what I do for my own enjoyment, I don't always need to have a reason - no matter what my teachers say.

Also I decided to change some (Not all) character's last name's to better reflect their newly assigned fortes.

Anyway- It's character info dumping time!!!

Desuhiko, like og Yuma, has absolutely no memory of his past. While his personality remains fairly intact, he boards the Amaterasu Express hoping to figure out who he is along the way. While nobody there knows who he is, he instead finds he have a knack for word-play, puns and pick up lines, leading to accusations of secretly being a circus clown as opposed to a detective. This attitude is only solidified more upon meeting Shinigami, the death god with just as many innuendos to make as he does. They get along almost dangerously well, even more so when he learns she has a humanoid form. After completing the first mystery labyrinth, he decides that being a detective HAS to be his true calling, since solving the case was pretty fun all things considered, and receives his hoodie from The Chief to help keep him dry once arriving in Kanai Ward.

Yuma on the other hand, takes the place of co-star of chapter 2. At first he comes off as cool and charismatic but he breaks down almost immediately at the slightest hint of conflict. He's been a very famous musician for years prior to becoming a master detective, though he finds it hard to fully express himself through anything other then his appearance and music. The anxiety induced from an excess of fans, attention, and not knowing who to trust anymore thanks to his own popularity, he was ecstatic to be scouted by the WDO for his talents in disguises. Once it blossomed into a fully fledged forte and he was allowed to work as a detective properly though... they started regretting hiring him. Chaotic, anti-authoritatian and impossible to track down, he's more of a vigilante then a real detective. He was selected to go to Kanai Ward due to it's predicted high mortality rate, the higher ups hoping to dispose of the troublemaker without being too obvious about it. What does APAB mean you ask? All Peacekeepers Are Bastards!!! The Chief wasn't very happy to see him wearing it but permanent marker is permanent.

I haven't decided if I'll change Shinigami's humanoid design yet. If I do though, it'll probably just be more remenicent of her beta design. I haven't decided if I'll swap the Amaterasu Express detectives either though but... maybe I will. Since its forte swap though, the peacekeepers will all remain the same.

I'm hoping to write a fanfic for this, as opposed to like... a comic. But I'm partial to the idea of maybe doing an ask blog as well? I don't know yet. Either way, I'll probably post more for this tomorrow! <3

#raincode #master detective archives: rain code #fanart #raincode yuma #raincode desuhiko #raincode shinigami #swap au #master detective archives: storm cypher

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forest-falcon · 21 days

Text

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 16

⚠️ Erm, not sure what to tag this as...fluffy whump angst? Mainly fluffy!

Timeline starts as memory and ends in the present. Hope you enjoy!

💚💛👨‍🏫🚒🐦‍🔥

Night fell on Tracy Island, and Virgil flopped down onto the cool sheets of his bed. Training had gone well today, despite the odd hiccup; Tam taking to the jet-pack like a duck to water. Jonesy...well, he flew with all the finesse of a drunken penguin. Luckily, the med-scanner had reported no injuries, but for a bruised backside. The merciless ribbing (as to be expected from good friends) was decidedly more painful.

Virgil smiled.

Jonesy had just batted the jokes right back. The firefighter had a good sense of humour, and a thick skin - another vital trait in their line of work. It was like having a second Gordon about the place, which was in equal parts a blessing and a curse.

His piano, for starters; having been somewhat neglected since their guests arrived, had acquired a fine layer of dust. Gordon, of course, had wasted no time at all in scribing messages on its hood.

What's the difference between a piano and a fish? You can't tuna fish!

Jonesy had laughed way too hard at that; and just a few short hours later, another dad-joke (of equal cringe-worthiness) followed. Only, this time, the handwriting obviously not Gordon's.

Why did the GDF arrest Virgil?

Because he got into treble!

Virgil sighed.

"EOS, please can you add piano polish to the shopping list?"

*. *. * .

Virgil drew idle angel-patterns in the fresh bed linen; savouring the luxury of being able to starfish in his king-sized bed after training...well, they weren't really recruits anymore. They had all integrated so well with the family, that it was nice to think that he'd been training friends.

Mac...Mac was quite quiet; that was until he and Brains started chin wagging about Star Trek.

I mean, he liked Star Trek as much as the next person, but those two must have mastered the ability of breathing through their ears. He'd never seen Brains talk so much!

And though he often opted out of their tedious-Trek-talks; it was wonderful to see their resident engineer, and friend, so animated.

Virgil was roused from his thoughts by the strumming of a gentle Spanish folk song; the lilting melody drifting through his open balcony doors.

Someone was humming. By process of elimination; he knew it to be Tamara. It was a female voice, and he had heard both Grandma's and Kayo's over Comms enough times to know that it wasn't them. He padded quietly over to the balustrade, taking in the night air as the music played on.

It was a beautiful night; the father stretches of ocean so tranquil; the surface glittered with dark starlight.

Virgil rested his head on folded arms, watching the seafoam gather and fade along the shoreline.

Usually, all this beauty went unseen. After back-to-back rescues; he was lucky to see a glimpse of his pillow before sleep took him. He sighed contentedly, and the music suddenly stopped.

"Oh God! I had no idea anyone could hear me! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to keep you up!" Tam set the guitar aside with a musical thud.

"No, no, please! Play on! I was really enjoying that," Virgil leaned his head over the balcony.

"I'm really not that good. I-"

"How long have you been playing?" Virgil stalled her from disappearing back from her balcony and into her own room.

"Erm...ever since my mum passed, so that's...six years - but it's all self-taught," Tam flustered shyly. It was the first time Virgil had seen her out of her comfort zone.

"That's really impressive. And...I'm sorry about your mom. We lost our mother, Lucy, when we were just boys. Time doesn't make it any easier, does it?"

"No... but I guess, those who are lucky have, or find others to live for," Tam sighed pensively.

They both stood silently for a moment, lost in memory and deep in thought.

After a moment, Virgil gently cleared his throat.

"Do you like stars?"

"Stars?"

"Mmmm."

"Yes. I mean, especially here. They're so vivid and... ethereal!" Tam enthused.

"Well, if you can spare ten minutes; I'd love to share something with you. You can see it best from the Comms balcony," he gestured.

"Oh...I mean, sure?"

"You don't have to. It's nothing really. I-"

"No, no! I'd love to see," Tam assured, seeing that whatever he was referencing, held a great deal of meaning to him...whatever it was.

"Cool. I'll meet you up there in five."

*. *. *.

Tam found Virgil already waiting outside of the Comms room.

He greeted her with a genuine smile, before turning his face to the tapestry of stars in the near-midnight sky.

“Okay. I'm no John, but you can't have two spacecase brothers without learning a handful of constellations,” Virgil waved vaguely.

“Mmm. I bet.”

"Erm...Do you know many constellations?” he queried, not wanting to patronize another potential spacecase.

“Erm, well...that one over there's the North Star.” Tam pointed to the brightest light gleaming proudly in the sky.

“That's…actually Five. John's obviously overdone his teeth whitening gel.”

Tam snorted as she laughed.

“Spoken like a true brother.”

"Alright...so you'll have to use your imagination...like, a lot..." Virgil smiled.

"Cassiopeia, can you see her?"

Virgil guided Tam's hand up to the constellation.

"Angle your head slightly. It's a..."

"M?"

"Mmm hmm. Now, Auriga - that's your O." He guided her wrist as she traced the shape.

"Bare with me for the next one!"

"Okay."

"This is where you'll have to really use your imagination. You see Gemini - the twins?"

"Erm...yep, got it!"

"Okay, forget their top halves.

"Said no guy ever."

"It's all about their legs." he winked.

"Look..." He guided her hand once more in the final shape of an M.

"Mom."

"Mmm hmm."

Tam hummed appreciatively; the loveliest of smiles forming on her face as she gazed on the astral wonder.

"It really is beautiful," Tam mused.

"Beautiful," Virgil agreed, watching her smile.

Quietly, Tam began humming the melody from earlier, and the palms gently swayed in the light of the moon.

*. *. *

Virgil roused.

Grandma!

He made to move before the rest of his senses had even come back online.

Pain was the elicited result.

He hissed and a gentle hand was felt at his shoulder.

"You're okay, I've got you, I've got you."

The voice was familiar but conscious thought still eluded him.

Everything hurt.

Thinking hurt.

Just then, the voice began humming a familiar tune that filled his darkness with starlight.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #oc tamara fielding #oc jonesy #thunderfluff #thunderwhump #the butterfly effect

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sky-high-standards · 1 year

Note

Part two of yandere!creature x mad scientist? Maybe readers trying to run tests and he's being clingy and unwilling

Sorry it took a while (you should know theres bad grammar at this point)

Yandere creature clingy drabbles💓

You were tryng to run tests on him but he kept clinging onto you he has gotten way more clingy now which is hard to believe since he was incredibly cling before.

"Mmmm Master" he said with a losick smile burying his face into your chest while you tried to check his blood pressure, you loved him very much he was like ur big clingy puppy but sometimes you need some time to yourself to relax and try to regain your sanity.

You then attempted to take a blood sample but he then pounced on you and wouldn't let you go.

"Me love my Master"

You heared him say you'd be lying if you said you didn't love him but you've seen what he's capable of but its hard to think this adorably clingy creature was the one that killed everyone in your village to protect you.

"I love you too my creation"

He then hummed and hugged you tighter you knew you had to keep him away from others if you want to keep this peaceful life seeing him come hug you covered in the blood of the villagers is an image you'll never forget.

Theres literally a huge power outage im my atea and i haven't had power in 3 days requests are always open snd vampire yanderes are coming soon love y'all stay hydrated and get sleep unlike me.

God loves you

#yandere x reader #yandere #x reader #yandere oc #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere creature #scientist reader

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

Text

Parole.

3k words, joel miller x f!reader

Jojo playlist, joel master list, @toxicfics for notifs

SUMMARY: PWP. Phone sex and just-got-out-of-jail sex.

WARNINGS: I8+, dirty talk, jacking off, groping while driving, oral F receiving, Unsafe P in V intercourse, semi-public (bathroom). Reader can sit on a sink.

A/N: cellmate's nephew!Joel, part 3 of 3 (just 8k total) , follows Jailbird and Collect Calls but you just need to know his aunt Mabel is your cellmate. This is the last of Jailbird for the foreseeable future. It’s been a fun diversion. This is not the last of Jojo.

—---

All goes well at your parole hearing. After you get your 72 Hour release notice, you call Joel.

He answers the phone, "You're gettin' out," and you can hear his smile.

"How did you–did Mabel tell you?"

"Had a feeling. So what, 3 days now?" He opens and squirts the lube.

"9pm Monday."

"You just made my dick so hard, baby."

"Jojo. . ."

"Hmm?"

"God, sorry - Joel"

"Call me whatever ya want, jailbird. Mm. Call me joel, call me jojo--mm, call me call me any time baby”

“Can’t wait to be on the other side of that glass.”

"And I'm gonna pop that post-penny cherry" (post-penitentiary)

“Shhh”

"What they're gonna un-parole ya 'cause there’s a hard dick waitin’ for ya?"

“Well, I like the sound of that,” you purr.

“Oh we’re gonna get nasty, baby,” he breathes.

“Mmm”

“You wear thongs, g-strings, whatcha wear?” His fist slurps up and down his cock.

“Thongs,” you tell him. “Boy shorts if I wanna be comfy.”

“Damn. . . that ass in boy shorts? Whew.”

“How ‘bout you?”

“Boxer briefs.”

“Mm, shoulda known. Those tight-ass pants”

“Yeah, ya like’em?”

“Like how ya wear’em”

“How’s that”

“Packing somethin’ fat and juicy for me.”

He moans. “Fuck yeah i am, just for you baby”

“Just for me?”

“‘S’all for you, baby. How ya want it first?”

“Honey, I just want it.”

“Can i come inside ya?”

“Mmmm, yeah. . .”

“Fuck, i’m gonna pump you full,” his voice tells you he’s already close.

“You better.”

“Fuck yeah, baby.” His hand is moving faster. “Ohhh, fuck” He shudders and groans long and drawn out as he comes.

“Started without me didn’t ya”

“Wouldn’t do that,” he says in a transparently false tone.

“Hope ya can last longer than that,” you tease.

“Fuck you,” he laughs. “Shit, maybe I can’t. ‘S’what ya do to me, baby.”

“Then we’ll just have to do it again.”

“Oh I’m grocery shoppin’ like it’s the apocalypse. Won’t have to leave the house for a week.”

—------

Mabel gives you one last poke-and-stick tattoo, a heart on your other hand, mirroring the location of your "clover." The last thing she tells you is, “He’s snipped, ya know. I took care of him after he did it. ”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, he knows he's not dad material," she explains, then lightens the mood with, "he's daddy, not dad," and a wink.

You're gonna miss her. But if things go well with Joel, you’ll see her again in a few months.

—----

Walking down the ramp from the tower toward the jail lobby, you can taste the freedom and almost forget what you’re wearing – booty skirt, platform heels, mesh crop top, fishnets.

His posture is what catches your eye first. Feet spread, arms crossed. Your eyes fall to his bulge then pan up to a white t-shirt struggling to contain the tattooed arms crossed in front of him. Gold chain, Adam's Apple. As his face comes into focus, he tilts his head back and squints, pursing his lips in a pained expression as he looks at you. His expression is enough to remind you what you’re wearing. By the time you reach him, he’s biting his lip, shaking his head at you with his eyes smiling.

He opens his arms and wraps around you for a full-body hug. He smells like fresh cologne, and he feels safe and comfortable. He feels like – ohhh, yeah, he’s already getting hard. You’re holding a plastic bag of your belongings—phone and keys—against his back.

“God damn,” he whispers into your hair and his pelvis subtly presses his growing arousal into you. He murmurs, “Mmm, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

He grabs your hand and your shoes click as you walk through the sliding doors to the parking lot. As soon as the doors slide closed behind you, he drops your hand and grabs your ass. His hand spans much more of your asscheek than you're used to. The beauty of the sky at dusk overwhelms you, even with the lights from the jail.

“Let’s make it to the car,” you laugh.

He puffs out his cheeks with an exhale and gets his keys out of his pocket with his free hand. Then he points to a big truck and unlocks it.

He opens the truck door for you and his hand on your ass helps you up into the seat. Oh the simple joy of getting in a vehicle. You start to grab the seatbelt, and he tells you, “nah, hold on a sec.” When he gets in the driver’s seat he slams up the center console, slides over and you turn to face him as he reaches you.

He grabs the back of your head and pulls your face into his. His tongue parts your lips and his mouth is minty. He sucks hard and gently chews your lips as he grabs your far thigh and puts it over his lap. Then he grabs you by both hips and pulls you all the way into his lap with your help so you’re straddling him. When your crotch meets the warm steel rod in his pants, you whimper and he sighs vocally. Then your mouths connect again. You’ve been dying of thirst and he’s a tall glass of water; you just can’t get enough.

His hands run down your fishnet thighs as you grind on him and make out. He playfully plucks one of the diamonds and murmurs in such a deep voice, “Thought ya weren’t wearin’ these, hmm?” Then he attacks your neck with his mouth, and you sigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a Corrections Officer headed your way.

“Shit,” you say, “We should go.”

He groans.

“They're comin’, we gotta go,” you repeat and pry yourself off of him.

He takes a deep breath and his hips lift out of the seat as he adjusts himself, then scoots back over to the driver’s seat and buckles his seatbelt. You start to go back to the passenger seat and buckle yours, but he says, “get back over here.” He hands you the middle seatbelt.

—----

You tease, “we 'bout to peel outta here?”

"Buckle up, baby.”

He puts his hand behind you to back up. A whiff of his sweat under the cologne makes you want him even worse.

You awkwardly try to keep your hands to yourself. He’s the one driving, so you’ll let him initiate any distraction. "Where we headed?"

"How ‘bout we get ya some real food, ya hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.”

He gives a low whistle and says, “so could I, baby. can’t wait to taste ya." He looks at your legs. “Fuck.” He puts his hand on your thigh, a ring pressing into your skin. “Mmm.” His voice is so deep. “Been savin’ this just for me, huh?'' His wrist pushes your skirt out of the way as his hand slides toward your crotch. He finds your clit with ease, even while driving. He clearly knows what he’s doing and he could get you off like this in a minute or two, but he needs his hand back to make some turns.

You put your hand on his meaty thigh and ask “can I. . .”

“*can* you? Fuck yeah you can” He lifts his elbow, welcoming your hand to his lap.

You grab the bulge in his jeans and get a zap of need in your core. You slowly press your hand into his warm, hard package and feel the outline of his thick cock. You’re aching for him. You’re about to ask him to pull over when he puts on the blinker and see you’ve arrived at Waffle House.

“Here good?” He says as he pulls into a parking space.

“Hell yeah,” you answer.

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Cause if ya don’t like WaHo, we ain’t gonna work anyway.” You both unbuckle your seatbelts.

"Oh, here," you take your hand back as he reaches back behind the passenger seat, and your eyes glue to his huge bulge. He hands you a leather jacket, and says, “Just if ya want it.” It’s a little warm for it, but it’s a nice thought if you wanted to cover up. At WaHo, you don’t really care. That’s the magic of it. He reaches back behind the seat again and you glance at his earring. He returns with a target bag.

You peek into the bag. There’s a casual tank dress, flip flops, and . ..boy shorts. Your heart flutters that his dirty question led to such a wholesome gesture.

“You bought me clothes?”

“Yeah, coulda brought some’a Mabel’s but–”

“That could get weird”

“Yeah.”

—---

You walk in front of Jojo into the breezeway, then into the restaurant. No one bats an eye at how you’re dressed. You hold up the bag of clothes and ask, “Mind if I change ‘fore we eat?” A waitress behind the counter leans to the side to look around you, checks Jojo out and says, “get it, girl.”

“That’s what i’m talkin’ bout,” Jojo murmurs to you and gives her a wink.

Both the individual bathrooms are occupied. Joel stands with his back against the wall facing the bathrooms, so y’all are waiting out of view of the grill. You’re facing him. He grabs your ass with both hands, pulling you into him, massive erection straining his pants, yearning to get to you. His cock digs into your front. You kiss him and he kneads your butt cheeks as your mouths consume each other. He moans quietly into your mouth. His hard cock twitches against you.

He breaks the kiss and breathes heavily against your ear, then whispers “feel like i’m gonna die.”

A toilet flushes. The bathroom smells faintly of cleaning supplies, and it doesn’t look dirty. The illusion of cleanliness is enough to not think about it.

You wanna be right on top of him, but as he locks the door, you find yourself slowly taking a step backwards, watching him in anticipation, almost like you’re daring him to come after you and show you what he’s got. He looks at you darkly and prowls toward you, unbuckling his belt, lips parted, eyes dark like a stalking animal. You freeze. He unbuttons his jeans and walks until his hardness bumps into your thigh.

Then, at a faster pace, he walks you almost all the way to the sink, then grabs your butt to stop you. He hikes up your skirt so it's all the way over your ass. He grabs your ass with one hand and pulls you into him again. The strength of his erection through his exposed boxer briefs gives you another shock of arousal on top of your already desperate need. He pulls back his hips enough for his free hand to engulf your crotch. His thick middle finger presses down on the (very) damp spot in your leggings.

"Soaked for me, aren't ya?" The hand on your ass slides down and curls between your legs. His warm finger slips into one of the fishnet holes.

He uses both hands, one from the front and one from the back, to rip open the fishnets. “Fuck yeah,” he growls. The hand from the back returns to your asscheek, while the other hand remains between your legs. The side of his index finger meets your dripping seam. “Mmmmmm,” he slides his hand up and down for just a couple of seconds, then looks at the sink. “Think ya can sit up here?”

“mm. yeah, if you–”

He helps you onto the edge of the sink. You hold onto the sides and he immediately squats down with his head between your legs.

“Just fuck me,” you say, dying to have him inside you. Your walls are twitching as though your cunt is making a gimme gimme motion like a fist.

“i gotta taste ya," he mumbles as he spreads your thighs. “Sorry, just a sec.” He further rips the fishnets, exposing you to the cool air then sighs, “fuck,” as he reaches behind you to hold your ass. He whispers “just real quick,” his hot breath on your mound, before he plants his mouth on your cunt.

He licks at your entrance. “Mmmm,” he tongues and sucks your clit, then takes one hand off your ass to palm his boxer briefs.

You fist his hair, sighing, “Ohh God, I need that cock, baby. We got time for this later.” You’re physically aching to be filled.

He kisses your clit goodbye, then whispers, "god damn." He puts both hands on your thighs as he stands up. When he’s standing, he yanks his boxer briefs down and his naked cock bobs heavily, making you nearly drool. He’s shaved. It’s thick. Length-wise you might be able to take it. The girth will be a stretch.

He curls his fingers under your mesh crop top and you raise your arms as he discards it. “Fuck it, you’re changin’, right?” He tugs at your bra, and you take it off.

“Oh, fuck me,” he takes in the sight of your tits and can’t resist sucking a nipple into his mouth while palming the other.

You grab his cock. “Are you gonna put this in me tonight or nah?”

“God damn, you need it don’t ya?” He wraps an arm around you and you put your arms around his neck. He nudges you by the ass toward the edge.

“fuck just give it to me.”

He runs his swollen, mauve tip through your slick, then notches it at your entrance and plunges into you with a groan. You gasp as his girth spreads you apart. You can’t remember the last time you felt a stretch like this. But he pushes it right in. You’re so turned on, it works. You watch his cock disappear into you. You glance up at him to see his mouth hanging open with a sigh of relief as his tip nudges your cervix and makes you whole. He sucks in a deep breath as he retreats, then says “FUCK, that’s a nice cunt.”

His fingers dig into the plush flesh of your ass and he begins to fuck you. You pull up his shirt and it’s so tight that it stays where you leave it. He has a slutty little hip tattoo that says yeah. His lips latch onto yours as he buries his length in you again and again. It’s all sucking and biting and hot, humid breath as you moan against each other’s cheeks before your tongues are in each other’s mouths again. The bottom half of your face gets slobbery. He fucks you like he means it, grunting and moaning, “oh yeah.” Your bodies are dewy where your skin meets.

You wrap your legs around him. Your pelvis grinds against his and your orgasm is building. You tell him, “Don’t hold back”

“You want me to last?” He asks as he pumps in and out of you.

“In here?--ohhhh–time for that later”

“Oh, you already close, ain’t ya?” he speeds up and his chain bounces with the power of his motions. “Fuck yeah, baby, c’mere, c’,mon” His cock pistons into you. It’s even better than you imagined so many times in your pathetic excuse for a bed. Oh shit, will you really sleep together? The thought of it melts you. The thought of a real bed alone melts you, but with him, with this cock inches away, god this cock, it feels so, it’s so—A primal grunt comes from his chest. His heavy breathing and grinding against your clit have you on the edge ready to tip.

You whimper, “baby,” pinching your eyes shut.

He grips your ass harder and grinds his shaved pubic bone into you as he fucks you smooth and fast. He fucks like a porn star. “C’mon, jailbird.”

He buries his length in you even faster, then pleasure seizes your whole body and you come on his fat cock.

“Ohhhhh yeah, fuck yeah,” he breathes.

He thrusts into you a few more times, “fuck, baby,” then bottoms out and erupts. He sighs a long sigh as his warm release coats your insides.

“Mmmm,” you savor the pulse of his cock and you twitch with aftershocks. “Oh, god.” He hugs you and you rest your head on his chest while you both catch your breath. His chain feels massive on on your cheek.

Someone finally knocks on the door. He pulls out and helps you down off the sink.

“Someone in here,” he tells them. He pulls up his pants, then leans against the tile of the bathroom wall as he zips them up and fastens his belt while you change.

You thank him again for the clothes as you look in the mirror and turn around.

“Look good on ya. Guess I did alright.”

His face is flushed pink and his hair is a little messed up. He seems to notice you looking at his face and he pushes himself off the wall to look in the mirror. He rakes his hand through his hair, then scratches one side of his beard, turning away from the mirror.

–

You sit down for a late dinner. Neither of you look at the menu. Jojo orders cherry coke and a texas cheesesteak with double hashbrowns covered, smothered, and chunked. You order your favorite meal and he compliments it. Your eyes are on his forearms and tattoos. As he brings the sandwich to his mouth. God damn, how’d this fine ass man practically fall in your lap? You feel like you owe Mabel big time.

You ask, “You really go grocery shoppin’?”

He raises his eyebrows and smiles with his mouth full, nodding. “Mmm-hmm.” After he finishes chewing he washes it down with a sip of cherry coke, then adds, “but you know what i really want.” He looks at you darkly. “So tell me it’s all you can eat, baby.”

“Just for you, Jojo. . .”

-----

yeah he wants to be covered and smothered in that.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. I love your passion and your comments and reblogs really motivate me. <333

----

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #toxicanonymity ☠️#cellmate's nephew!joel #CN!Joel Miller #CN!Joel #cellmate's nephew!joel miller #jojo ☠️#finally f*cking Friday #joel x reader

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