#receiving deposition services

[fatehbaz]

Good question:

In the United States, many jails and prisons can and will charge you money for every single night that you spend imprisoned, for the entire duration of your incarceration, as if you were being billed for staying at a hotel. Even if you are incarcerated for years. Adding up to tens of thousands of dollars. What happens when you’re released?

In response to this:

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So.

You’re getting charged, like, ten dollars every time you even submit a request form to possibly be seen by a doctor or dentist.

You’re getting charged maybe five dollars for ten minutes on the phone.

Any time a friend or family tries to send you like five dollars so that you can buy some toothpaste or lotion, or maybe a snack from the commissary since you’re diabetic and the “meals” have left you malnourished, maybe half of that money gets taken as a “service fee” by the corporate contractor that the prison uses to manage your pre-paid debit card. So you’re already losing money every day just by being there.

What happens if you can’t pay?

In some places, after serving just a couple of years for drugs charges, almost 20 years after being released, the state can still hunt you down for over $80,000 that you “owe” as if it were a per-night room-and-board accommodations charge, like this recent highly-publicized case in Connecticut:

Excerpt:

Two decades after her release from prison, [TB] feels she is still being punished. When her mother died two years ago, the state of Connecticut put a lien on the Stamford home she and her siblings inherited. It said she owed $83,762 to cover the cost of her 2 1/2 year imprisonment for drug crimes. [...] “I’m about to be homeless,” said [TB], 58, who in March [2022] became the lead plaintiff in a lawsuit challenging the state law that charges prisoners $249 a day for the cost of their incarceration. [...] All but two states have so-called “pay-to-stay” laws that make prisoners pay for their time behind bars [...]. Critics say it’s an unfair second penalty that hinders rehabilitation by putting former inmates in debt for life. Efforts have been underway in some places to scale back or eliminate such policies. Two states — Illinois and New Hampshire — have repealed their laws since 2019. [...] Pay-to-stay laws were put into place in many areas during the tough-on-crime era of the 1980s and ’90s, said Brittany Friedman, an assistant professor of sociology at University of Southern California who is leading a study of the practice. [...] Connecticut used to collect prison debt by attaching an automatic lien to every inmate, claiming half of any financial windfall they might receive for up to 20 years after they are released from prison [...].

Text by: Pat Eaton-Robb. “At $249 per day, prison stays leave ex-inmates deep in debt.” AP News / The Associated Press. 27 August 2022.

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Look at this:

To help her son, Cindy started depositing between $50 to $100 a week into Matthew’s account, money he could use to buy food from the prison commissary, such as packaged ramen noodles, cookies, or peanut butter and jelly to make sandwiches. Cindy said sending that money wasn’t necessarily an expense she could afford. “No one can,” she said. So far in the past month, she estimates she sent Matthew close to $300. But in reality, he only received half of that amount. The balance goes straight to the prison to pay off the $1,000 in “rent” that the prison charged Matthew for his prior incarceration. [...] A PA Post examination of six county budgets (Crawford, Dauphin, Lebanon, Lehigh, Venango and Indiana) showed that those counties’ prisons have collected more than $15 million from inmates — almost half is for daily room and board fees that are meant to cover at least a portion of the costs with housing and food. Prisoners who don’t work are still expected to pay. If they don’t, their bills are sent to collections agencies, which can report the debts to credit bureaus. [...] Between 2014 and 2017, the Indiana County Prison — which has an average inmate population of 87 people — collected nearly $3 million from its prisoners. In the past five years, Lebanon’s jail collected just over $2 million in housing and processing fees.

Text by: Joseph Darius Jaafari. “Paying rent to your jailers: Inmates are billed millions of dollars for their stays in Pa. prisons.” WHYY (PBS). 10 December 2019. Originally published at PA Post.

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Pay-to-stay, the practice of charging people to pay for their own jail or prison confinement, is being enforced unfairly by using criminal, civil and administrative law, according to a new Rutgers University-New Brunswick led study. The study [...] finds that charging pay-to-stay fees is triggered by criminal justice contact but possible due to the co-opting of civil and administrative institutions, like social service agencies and state treasuries that oversee benefits, which are outside the realm of criminal justice. “A person can be charged $20 to $80 a day for their incarceration,” said author Brittany Friedman, an assistant professor of sociology and a faculty affiliate of Rutgers' criminal justice program. “That per diem rate can lead to hundreds of thousands of dollars in fees when a person gets out of prison. To recoup fees, states use civil means such as lawsuits and wage garnishment against currently and formerly incarcerated people, and regularly use administrative means such as seizing employment pensions, tax refunds and public benefits to satisfy the debt.” [...] Civil penalties are enacted on family members if the defendant cannot pay and in states such as Florida, Nevada and Idaho can occur even after the original defendant is deceased. [...]

Text by: Megan Schumann. “States Unfairly Burdening Incarcerated People With “Pay-to-Stay” Fees.” Rutgers press release. 20 November 2020.

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So, to pay for your own imprisonment, states can:

-- hunt you down for decades (track you down 20 years later, charge you tens of thousands of dollars, and take your house away)

-- put a lien on your vehicle, house

-- garnish your paycheck/wages

-- seize your tax refund

-- send collections agencies after you

-- take your public assistance benefits

-- sue you in civil court

-- take money from your family even after you’re dead

[aemondsbabe]

What is Owed

summary: the gold cloaks raid the brothel, you make a deal to secure your freedom

pairing: harwin strong x lyseni!reader x daemon targaryen

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, reader is briefly described as having lyseni features (pale hair, purple eyes) but no other physical descriptors are used, mentions of sex work, reader is a sex worker, breast/nipple play, dirty talk, double penetration, piv sex, anal sex, anal fingering, regular fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, double creampie oh jeez, oral (m receiving), handjobs, hands on necks, "whore" is used both as a pet name and degradingly we love innovation, big hulking men idk, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 7.7k

a/n: so sorry for being away! wasn't intentional, just busy with life things! but god i missed writing and i'm so happy to finally have this one done! daddies galore!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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A barely concealed sigh of disgust leaves your lips, which remain pulled into a tight, docile smile as some lord, whose name you couldn’t be bothered to remember, finally finishes over your bare chest with a beastly grunt, his hips twitching as you stroke him through it. 

Took his sweet time, you think as you rise to your feet and quickly grab one of the spare cloths stashed in the nearby vanity to wipe his spend from your chest. Depositing the cloth in a nearby basket, you take a moment to right your dress and run your fingers through your pale hair. Finally, you turn back around and eye the man still lying across the ornate chaise catching his breath. 

You glance at his trousers, still haphazardly piled on the floor, before checking him once more, smirking when you see that his eyes are still closed. Carefully, you make your way over to his trousers and kneel once more as you grab for the heap of fabric; keeping your eyes on him, you swiftly rifle through the pockets and smile triumphantly as you pull a few coins from one – one golden dragon, three copper stars, and a half-penny. 

Grinning, you toss the man’s trousers back onto the floor before quickly grabbing the small coin purse you keep tucked away beneath the chaise, way back toward the wall and covered by the ends of one of the red satin curtains that cover the windows of the brothel – the perfect hiding spot until you can move them to the more secure lock-box beneath your bed. 

“Mmph,” the lord sighs, stirring finally just as you drop the last coin into your pouch. Shoving it back beneath the chaise, you quickly rise to your feet with a placid smile just as he finishes stretching. 

“Some wine for you, my lord,” you smile, keeping your voice light and sweet in just the way the Madam likes as you offer him a goblet, “To replenish your strength.”

“Yes, yes,” the older man mumbles, paying you no mind as he busies himself with the buttons on his tunic, “Fetch me my trousers,” he commands, brushing you off with a wave of his hand. 

“Of course, my lord,” you nod, teeth gritting as you set the goblet back down before grabbing his blasted trousers with an eye roll. He all but snatches them from you with a pompous little hum, not even looking in your direction. Once again behaving as the Madam demands, you merely stand by while he redresses, hands clasped demurely in front of you as you wait to be of service once again, or, hopefully, to kindly escort him to the door. 

You don’t mind working in the brothel, not really, especially knowing that it could be much worse – you could’ve ended up as one of the many beggars that line the streets of Flea Bottom or, more dreadful still, stuck as a slave back home. It was luck, really, that brought you to the brothel in the first place, back when you were still stumbling half-blind with grief around the fish market by the docks only to be plucked up by chance by a few of the girls from the brothel. They’d brought you back here, promising that the Madam would take you in, that you’d earn great money with your exotic looks. 

One of those things had been true – the Madam was very happy to take you in. Technically, you do also make great money… for the brothel; only a small percentage is ever paid back to the workers and, for your circumstances, that just won’t do. Which is precisely why you sometimes took a little tip for yourself, especially if your client for the evening was of higher status; it’s not as if they’d miss, or even notice, a few missing coins. 

As far as you’re concerned, it’s a flawless system. 

You’re brought out of your short reverie by another sigh from the lord as he polishes off the goblet of wine you’d offered some moments ago and once more, your lips quirk up into a pleasing smile, “Leaving so soon, my lord?”

“Mm,” he merely grumbles before flashing you a lecherous grin, his yellowed teeth making your stomach turn, “Worry not, girl, I’ll be back before the tournament’s over.”

“Wonderful,” you sigh, grimacing internally as you make a half-step toward the arched doorway, “I’ll see you out.” Blessedly, the lord makes no more of a fuss and lets you lead him to the entryway, sparing you one final nod before slipping down the dimly lit street. 

You remain in the doorway for a moment more, arms crossed over your chest as you gaze outside, relishing the feel of the cool night air against your skin. After a moment, though, your eyes narrow when you realize the streets seem much quieter than usual. At this hour, there would normally be more people about – some returning from a long day of work, others already stumbling around drunk, but tonight there were only a few scattered people roaming about. 

“Strange…,” you murmur to yourself, absentmindedly running a finger over the gold chain around your neck, your fingers brushing over the small key hanging from it. Sparing a glance up at the Dragonpit looming on the nearby hill, you finally close the door with a shrug. Returning to the room you’d serviced the lord in, you glance around quickly to make sure the coast is clear before you retrieve the small coin purse from beneath the chaise, smiling at the weight of it as you carry it swiftly back to your bed, to your little lockbox, wholly unaware of the envious gaze on your back. 

“Commander on the floor!” One of the Gold Cloaks shouts as Daemon prowls into the hall, a self-righteous smirk on his lips as the drum of fists against chest plates ceases. 

“When I took command of the Watch, you were stray mongrels,” he growls, dark violet eyes surveying the men around him, “Starving and undisciplined!” 

He pauses for a second, heart pounding with the heady sensation of power as he prepares to do what his dear older brother cannot – punish. Too long have the streets of King’s Landing, of his city gone to the Seven Hells; controlled by crime and near-anarchy when they should be controlled by him, by the dread of his authority. 

“Now, you’re a pack of hounds,” his voice rises as he speaks, as he breathes life into his men, “You’re sated and honed for the hunt!”

Howls erupt around the hall, making the prince’s lips stretch into a vicious grin – his men were ready, ready to rule with the iron fist Viserys lacked. 

“My brother’s city has fallen into squalor!” He says, pacing down the room, “Crime of every breed has been allowed to thrive!”

His chainmail clinks with each of his heavy steps, pride swelling in his chest as many of the soldiers nod their heads along with him. It was true, after all, everyone knew it. Viserys may have the crown, the damned throne, but the dragonfire in his veins had run cold long ago. The blood in Daemon’s burns hot, however; centuries of power and glory fuel his fires, flowing through him like the lava in the Dragonmont. 

“No longer,” he grunts, pausing at the end of the hall, the silken cloth draped over his shoulders shining in the light of the torches lining the room as he turns to eye his men, smirking at the blood lust evident on their faces, “Beginning tonight, King’s Landing will learn to fear the color gold!”

A loud bang wakes you sometime later and you sit up with a small gasp, clutching the linen bed sheets. Whipping your head around, you can see the dark night sky still looms heavily over the city through the slats in the window – you must’ve not been asleep very long. 

Another cry from somewhere outside finally gets you moving and you quickly wrap yourself in an embroidered silk robe, tying it loosely around your waist as you move closer to the door, your ears perked at the sound of frantic whispers. Poking your head through the beaded curtain that separates the sleeping quarters from one of the hallways, you finally spot a familiar face in the dim candlelight. 

“Genna!” You whisper, waving one of the other working girls over, “What’s going on, what’s happened?”

“Gold Cloaks!” She hisses, working quickly to stuff an armful of dresses into a small bag, “They’ve gone mad, they’re rounding up damn near everyone out there!”

“Gone mad?” You echo, brows pinching together as you look toward the entrance, another muffled cry from outside catching your attention, along with the sounds of metal clanging against metal. 

Genna merely nods as she practically shoves past you to get into the room before quickly loading her bag with various perfumes, oils, and loose jewelry from one of the vanities, “One of the regulars came by, woke everyone up,” she explains as she quickly ties the bag off, “They’re taking in anyone who’s so much as nicked an apple from the market.”

Your eyes go wide at her words, head ringing as blood rushes to your cheeks. Thankfully, she seems too busy to notice you glance warily at your bed, knowing your lockbox with weeks worth of lifted coins is tucked neatly below it. 

“I’m telling you, if you’ve pocketed even one extra groat, you’re as good as dead,” She shakes her head as she slings her bag over one shoulder, “Get out while you can, yeah? I think they’re a ways away st–”

A deafening crash from the front of the building cuts her off, the both of you shrieking. Your heart pounds in your chest at the sound of men’s voices; yours and Genna’s heads swivel to face one another at the same time before you both glance at the large wardrobe in the corner of the room – big enough for someone to climb inside of. 

It seems you both have the same idea at the same time, each of you scrambling toward the cupboard. She’s a second behind you, though, her hefty bag slowing her by an instant and she yelps as you pull the wooden doors closed, pinching one of her fingers. You push yourself as far back in the cramped space as you can, trying to tuck yourself behind the hanging coats and dresses.

Finally, you stay as still as possible, chest heaving as your back presses into the wood behind you. You hear a muffled curse from Genna before she shrieks as heavy footsteps flood into the room. 

“Shut it, whore!” A guard yells and the sound of a harsh slap makes you cover your mouth with a hand. 

“Careful!” A different voice shouts as more heavy footsteps sound outside, “She’s a woman, not a shadowcat,” the new voice admonished, “Take her outside with the others, then go ahead and take the wagons to the dungeons below the Keep. No harm is to come to any of them, understood?”

“But the Commander sai–”

“I don’t give a shit what the Commander said,” the man all but growled, “I am your superior still, soldier, you take orders from me; I’ll worry about him. The night’s gotten out of hand as it is.”

“Yes, Captain,” the first man grumbles after a second. Heavy footsteps sound for an instant before Genna shrieks again, “I said shut it, whore!” The man’s voice is a bit muffled this time, further away. 

“Tell the Commander I’m searching in here!” The second voice calls out gruffly; silently, you curse. 

You hold yourself as still as possible as the muffled sounds of opening drawers and cabinets sound from outside the wardrobe, slowly but surely getting closer to you. Your heart leaps into your throat as the wardrobe doors are tugged open, yet you hold yourself still and squeeze your eyes closed, a naïve part of you hoping the soldier would just overlook you.

Of course that doesn’t happen. 

“I do see you, you know,” the gruff voice sighs, his eyes on you, “Come on, out,” he commands. 

Finally, you open your eyes and peek at him through gaps of fabric, warily taking in his appearance. Your eyes widen at his size, truly a mountain of a man, with curly dark hair and matching dark eyes, clad in metal plate armor with a familiar golden cloak around his shoulders. The look in his eyes is neutral, if not sympathetic, but you still don’t move, rooted to the spot. 

With another sigh, he shakes his head at you and beckons you forward with a wave of his hand, “Please make this easy.” 

When you still don’t move after a few more seconds, the man grumbles and reaches in, shoving past various articles of clothing until he grabs at your forearm and pulls you, stumbling, from the wardrobe. 

“Let me go!” You cry, struggling in his grasp like a fish on a line, “Let me go, damn you! I haven’t done anything!” You shriek loudly, uselessly kicking your feet as he holds you steady at arms length. 

“Easy!” The dark-haired man shouts over your screeches, “If you’ll just calm–”

“What’s this?” Another voice questions from the doorway, making both of you pause. Your eyes widen when you see the man, dressed in the same gold cloaked armor as the one holding you, though this one has purple eyes and pale white hair cascading over his shoulders, complete with a familiar face you’d seen before in the shadowy corners of the brothel, “Is that her?”

Her? You balk, glancing between the two men, They were looking for me?

The brunette stays silent for a moment, bushy brows furrowed together as he looks between you and the prince, brown eyes meeting two sets of purple, “She’s not… one of his, is she?” He asks quietly, only confusing you more. 

Prince Daemon merely chuckles and shakes his head as he traipses toward you with a smirk. “Ohh, no, definitely not,” he mutters, squeezing your cheeks in one large, gloved hand as he forces your face to lift up toward his, “No, my dearest brother would never dare betray his wife so.”

He tilts your head from side to side, studying your face carefully, before making you face him once again as the other guard keeps hold of your arm, “What’s your name, girl?”

You glance between the men, caged in between their large frames, before finally telling them, each syllable merely a whisper on your lips.

The prince repeats it with a smug smile, the sound of your name on his tongue makes your head spin. “Ah, see, just as I thought,” he smirks, a pleased twinkle in his violet eyes, “A Lyseni whore.”

The other man merely grunts, though you don’t miss the way his dark brown eyes flit over your form appreciatively. Daemon moseys around the room, eyes scanning over the row of matching twin beds lined against one wall. “Which is yours?”

“I… I don’t sleep in here, my pr–”

“Lying won’t do you any good, you know,” he smirks, “We’ve had eyes and ears all over the city for months, including here. So, I’ll ask again. Which bed?”

You hesitate, only for a moment, before nodding at the bed to the far right. Your mind reels as Daemon begins his search, Someone was spying in here? One of the other girls?

“Aha!” He says after only a moment and your heart sinks as he pulls your small wooden lockbox out from its hiding spot. He drops it down onto your bed with a gloating smirk and you glance up just in time to see one of the prince’s pale hands reaching for the key at your neck, easily tugging it off the chain as you gasp and jerk once more in the other man’s grasp. “That was a gift from my father!”

“Daemon, please,” the other man sighs tiredly, scrambling to hold you in place once more, “Was that truly necessary?”

“Don’t start with me, Strong,” the prince huffs, moving to unlock the box, “You’ve spoiled my night of fun enough as is.” A low whistle sounds from his lips as he flips open the lid, quickly shuffling through the various coins, small pieces of jewelry, and other trinkets you’ve managed to swipe. 

“Seems we got the right one after all,” the man holding your arm, the one apparently called Strong, murmurs, nodding toward you.

“Of course we got the right bloody one,” Daemon scoffs, violet eyes rolling in his head, “I only know of two Lyseni whores in this city and it certainly isn’t the other one.” 

“Mysaria!” You whisper lowly, eyes widening as puzzle pieces begin clicking together in your mind.

The prince merely laughs, looking between you and the other knight as if you’ve just told some hilarious joke. “Finally figured it out, eh?” He teases, sauntering over to where you’re still being held. 

As soon as he’s in reach, the guard holding you grabs your other arm as well, holding them both behind your back as if you’d be stupid enough to try anything against two Gold Cloaks. Even if you did manage to free yourself, what would be the point in running now? 

“Seems we have a clever whore on our hands, Strong,” Daemon drawls, grinning when you flinch as he grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his once more, “And a pretty one too. You must earn enough to pay your keep, no? A little exotic flower like you is bound to get plucked at often enough.”

You wait for him to continue speaking but he doesn’t, he simply waits, eyes boring into you as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. For all you know, he can – you’ve heard whispers around King’s Landing of how the Targaryens were supposedly closer to Gods than men. 

“I suppose so, my prince,” you all but squeak a moment later, unable to bear the intense silence any longer. 

“Then tell me,” you gasp as he suddenly turns your head, directing your gaze toward the small wooden lockbox strewn open on your bed, “Why does a well paid whore need to steal? Hm?”

“I wasn’t stealing for me!” You blurt, chest heaving.

“Then why do it?” You startle slightly as the knight behind you speaks, his grip on your wrists loosening enough for you to relax some in his grasp. For someone so gruff and intimidating, there was a distinctive warmth to his voice – a soft, kind lilt. 

With a sigh, you glance between the two men before speaking, “I send it back to my family, once every other moon or so.”

“You send money to your family,” Daemon echos, purple eyes narrowed suspiciously, “In Lys, I presume?”

You simply nod, your eyes downcast as the men share a look over your head.

“Why do you need to send them money?” The Strong guard asks as he releases your arms, brown eyes watching you closely. 

“My father was a merchant,” you begin, nervously fiddling with the tie on your robe, “He would travel to Volantis a few times a year to buy the more exotic goods shipped in from cities further east, from the other side of Slaver’s Bay, to bring back to sell in Lys. He could get a better price for them at home, Westerosi ships rarely go any further than our ports and they were willing to pay more.” 

“And then, one time he left for Volantis and… never came back,” you continue, your voice only a raspy whisper as the back of your throat tightens, “We received word some months later that there had been a slave rebellion in the city and that my father had been killed in it. So, now I send money back so that my mother and siblings are able to pay for our house, because in Lys, if you can no longer afford your land you –”

“You risk becoming a slave yourself,” the brunette knight finishes, sighing sympathetically when you nod.

“How very touching,” the prince mutters, though you can see pity clouding his eyes as well. 

“Perhaps we should just let her go,” the Strong guard says after a moment, making you whip your head toward him in shock, “She isn’t a danger to anyone.”

“She may not be,” Daemon says, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “But a drunken, disgruntled lord who’s discovered his gold missing certainly is.”

The brown haired man hums thoughtfully at his reasoning and both of them eye you for a moment, silence falling over the room. 

Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you silently reason that you have two options – convince them to free you or wind up in a cell beneath the Red Keep. Being locked away simply isn’t an option, not for you, as that would mean being unable to send money to your family and although petty theft doesn’t carry the penalty of death, you know that if anything were to happen to them, you’d wish it did. 

Gathering your courage, you look between the two men, eyeing them up and down. “Perhaps,” you start, loosening the tie on your robe just enough to bare your cleavage just a bit more, “I could convince you that I’m worth much more as a free woman?” 

“Little minx,” the prince rasps, stepping toward you and grasping at your jaw once more, “Maybe you’ll prove useful after all,” he says cryptically. 

Before you have time to dwell on his words, he releases you and busies himself with quickly unbuckling his plate armor, letting the chest and torso pieces noisily clank on the floor as they fall against a pile of gold cloth. 

You gasp as Daemon grabs you by the hips and pulls you to him, pressing himself against you tightly as his rough hands roam over your soft curves. You can’t help but giggle as an appreciative grunt leaves his lips, violet eyes darkening as they meet yours. 

“Daemon,” the other guard starts with a sigh, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. 

“Come, ser Strong,” the prince growls, hastily turning you to face the brown eyed man. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you look him up and down, the corners of your lips quirking up into a small smile when you see the flush on his cheeks, “It would be rude to turn down what our little mouse is so generously offering, hm?” The feel of Daemon’s hands on your body makes your eyes flutter closed for just a second, only to snap back open when he roughly grabs at your breasts just as his teeth press against the column of your throat, eliciting a soft cry from you. 

“O-Oh!”

“See? Listen to that,” Daemon says, words muffled against your skin, “She likes it, don’t you?” 

You quickly nod your head yes, head clouded by the feel of the prince’s length as it presses against the small of your back, hard enough to be felt through the trousers they wear under their armor. He chuckles as he suddenly cups your center, the silky fabric of your robe pressing against your already aching flesh, and nips at your neck once more before releasing you. 

“Go,” he murmurs, giving you a gentle push toward the other knight, “Make the stubborn bore more comfortable.”

Biting your lip, you approach the man with a little grin. Standing before him, you move your hand to his shoulder, to the buckles of his plate armor. 

“Is this okay?” 

All he gives you is a curt nod, but it’s enough for you. With another reassuring smile, you pull at the leather buckles, unstrapping them one by one until he grabs at his chest plate and sets it on the floor, more gentle with it than Daemon had been. 

Pausing for a second, you cock your head to the side curiously. “I know him,” you say with a nearly bashful smile, nodding your head at the prince, “But what do I call you, Ser?”

“Harwin, my lady. Just Harwin.”

Still sensing hesitance from him, you decide to be bold and gently take one of his hands and place it on one of your breasts, peering up into his deep brown eyes all the while. Your lips turn up into a pleased smile at the low groan that rumbles from his chest and you marvel at how warm his touch is through your robe, though before you have time to linger on it further, Harwin surges forward and presses his lips against yours. 

You still for a second, not having expected such boldness from a man who had held so much back thus far. Getting your wits about you, you quickly respond in kind and move your lips with his, leaning into him a bit more as you grab at his shoulders. A pleased hum leaves your lips as his hands begin exploring you, seeming to grab and knead at any bits of you he can like he’s been starved for touch for years. 

He groans into the kiss once more when you nip at his bottom lip, prompting him to slip his tongue into your mouth, which earns a small whimper from you as one of your hands slips down from his shoulder to rest on his toned, muscular chest. 

The sudden feel of another presence at your back makes you jump slightly – you’d gotten so wrapped up in Harwin that you’d nearly forgotten that Daemon was still in the room, though the knowledge that he’d been watching the two of you sends an excited zing up your spine. 

“Oh!” You gasp as he begins nipping and biting at your neck once more, soothing the marks he leaves behind with his tongue. Your lips move against Harwin’s as another pair of hands begins exploring you, impatiently tugging at the tie around your waist until your robe falls open. A whine leaves you as the knight’s hands immediately cup your bare breasts, kneading them and savoring the way your soft skin feels against his palms. At the same time, Daemon nearly growls as he presses himself against your ass, grinding his length against you as his hands grip at your hips and waist. 

“I believe you said something about convincing us?” He mutters against your neck, grinning when you pull away from Harwin and meet his gaze as you turn to look over your shoulder, brow raising when you see he’d taken the time to strip off his tunic at some point. 

“Quite right, my prince,” you grin, looking between the two men once more before slipping off your robe, leaving you bare as it pools on the floor. Your cheeks flush at their appreciative groans, skin prickling at the way you can practically feel their eyes on you. 

With another little breath, you lower yourself to your knees between them and immediately skim your hands over their strong thighs. Ever eager, Daemon quickly unties his trousers, a predatory gleam in his purple eyes as he frees his hardening length. 

You bite your bottom lip at the sight of it and quickly reach up to wrap a hand around it, marveling at the way it hardens steadily under your touch. “I think you’ll find I can be very persuasive,” you murmur, softly licking over the tip before sealing your lips around it and suckling gently while you gaze up at him, batting your lashes enticingly. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, long fingers threading into your hair as his head tips back. You grin around him, bobbing your head while you stroke over the rest of his length with a hand, laving your tongue over the head. 

Not forgetting about Harwin, you shift your gaze to him as your other hand palms his length where it presses against the rough fabric of his trousers, already hard and wanting. That seems to be the final straw for him and he scrambles to undo the ties, brown eyes glued to where your lips are wrapped around the prince’s hard cock. 

Your eyes widen when his length finally springs free and you let Daemon slip from your lips as your mouth falls open. “Seven Hells,” you murmur, watching as Harwin strokes a hand over his cock, a proud smirk on his lips. 

“Well now, that must be where your damn stubborn attitude comes from, Strong,” the prince teases, chest heaving as you continue stroking a hand over his length. 

Unable to resist, you brush the knight’s hand away before grasping his cock in your own, heart skipping a beat as your fingers hardly touch around the girth of it. You lean over and lick up the length of him, from the base to the very tip, before taking him into your mouth, bobbing your head in the same way you did with Daemon. 

It takes a few moments, but eventually you settle into a good rhythm – stroking one man’s member with your hand while you suck and lick at the others, swapping every few moments or when one of them gets impatient enough to tug you over by the hair. 

It’s easy to lose yourself in the cacophonous sounds of grunts and growls above you, at the way each man’s fingers thread into your hair differently. Daemon’s grip is much rougher, more commanding, as he drags you exactly where he wants, pushing and pulling your head along his cock in an exacting rhythm. 

Harwin, on the other hand, is more gentle — his tugs seeming more like suggestions than commands. Unlike the prince, he strokes over your hair gently as you attend to him, letting you set your own pace. Anytime your eyes meet his, he looks at you with awe almost, hairy chest heaving as his hips twitch, holding himself back from fucking your face in the way he wants. 

Daemon has no such qualms, hasn’t the patience to resist tugging at your hair as he presses your mouth lower and lower down his cock, relishing the way you choke and sputter. His violet, half-lidded gaze sends shivers through you each time your eyes meet, the look in his eyes echoing the fierce dragon’s blood flowing in his veins. 

Surprisingly, it’s Harwin that breaks first, tossing back his head with a low groan after some minutes and pulling you off of his cock. 

“What—?” You scarcely get the word out before his lips are on yours once again, tongue licking into your mouth. 

“Need you,” he mumbles simply, glaring as Daemon snickers behind your back. “Please,” he breathes, voice softer this time. 

“You needn’t ask,” Daemon drawls, pressing himself against your side as his hands paw at your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples and chuckling at the way you whine, “She’s a whore.” 

You roll your eyes playfully at the remark and grab Harwin’s hand, leading him toward one of the bigger rooms of the brothel. “That may be true, but perhaps I like a man with some decorum, my prince,” you call over your shoulder, chuckling as Daemon follows hot on your heels. 

You lead the men to one of the fancier rooms, one laden with imported ornate rugs and silken lamps that give it a warm red glow, complete with a giant circular daybed with plenty of room for all three of you. After all, if the brothel is empty, why not take advantage of it?

Putting on your very best show, you push at Harwin’s hairy chest until he sits back on the edge of the bed before walking over to him with a sly smirk, hips swaying enticingly. A chuckle leaves your lips when his eyes widen as you climb on his lap, your thighs bracketing his. 

“Is this ok –” His lips are on yours before you can finish the question; the both of you move a bit more desperately now, though his touches are no less attentive as his hands skim over your waist and up your back. 

Suddenly, you’re tugged away from Harwin’s lips with a little gasp as one of Daemon’s hands laces through the hair at the crown of your head, drawing you back until your spine is arched. 

“Forgetting someone?” He teases, lightly wrapping his other hand around your neck in a way that sends pleasant tingles down to your already aching center. You shake your head no, teeth biting into your bottom lip as Harwin’s cock twitches between your legs.

“Never, my prince,” you murmur, smiling into the kiss as Daemon presses his lips against yours. His movements are more urgent than Harwin’s and it soon dissolves into a battle of teeth and tongues; you mewl into his mouth when the hand around your neck slides down your chest and palms eagerly at one of your breasts. 

Though they’re closed, your eyes roll back as Harwin leans forward and begins mouthing at the side of your neck, his wavy hair tickling your shoulder. Soon enough, both men are pawing greedily at your chest, making your head spin – both of their touches are so different: where Daemon is rough, pinching at your nipple until you gasp and whine into his kiss, Harwin is gentle and uses his thumb to tease at the other until he feels you shivering on his lap. 

The knight surprises you once more when his touch skirts down over your stomach before his fingers run through your folds, making you jerk from Daemon’s grasp with a moan. Your cheeks flush slightly at the sight of the little victorious grin on Harwin’s face as he expertly circles your pearl, watching closely at the way his touch makes you squirm and grind down against his hard length. 

“That’s it,” he husks, grunting as your grasp tightens on his shoulders, nails digging into his lightly tanned skin, “Need to warm you up, don’t I?”

Beside you, Daemon scoffs as he stands straight once more, fingers still threaded through your hair. “Please,” he huffs, sliding closer to where you sit on the knight’s lap, until his length is practically brushing against your cheek, “Whores don’t need warming, Strong. You may as well take her.”

Before you have time to so much as register the jab, Harwin slips a thick finger inside you in the same instance that Daemon manhandles his cock into your waiting mouth, muffling your whimpers. Both men growl as they take you, the knight’s finger fucking easily into your wet channel as the prince’s length slides against your tongue once more. 

You can hardly do more than ragdoll in their grasp, mewling while Harwin fingers you open, adding a second digit after a moment and crooking them in a way that makes your hips rut eagerly into his touch while Daemon takes from you as he pleases, fucking into your throat with loud growls and grunts. 

Below you, Harwin groans as he easily presses a third finger into your heat, watching you carefully as he does and smirking when you show no signs of discomfort. “Think you’re ready for me,” he murmurs, chuckling when you nod your head as best as you can. As desperate as you are to be filled properly, you can’t help but let out a little petulant whine as he pulls his fingers from you. 

“Patience,” he grunts, shifting you on his lap enough to reach between your bodies and fist his length, grinning at the way you squirm eagerly as he runs the head through your slick folds. His chest reverberates under your palms when he growls as he finally grabs at your hips and pulls you down steadily over his thick cock, half-lidded eyes staring down at where you both connect, “Fuck, there you go.”

You pull away from Daemon with a loud gasp, sucking in a lungful of air, chest heaving as your walls pulse around the knight, savoring the way his stretches you open. “Gods!” You cry, wriggling in his hold as you grind against him, your hips moving of their own accord. 

Daemon huffs, annoyed, and tries dragging you back onto his cock a few times to no avail, quickly becoming irritated at the way you mindlessly clench your jaw closed each time Harwin’s cock presses against the sensitive spot within you. 

“Poor little whore,” the prince sighs exasperatedly, once again tugging your head back until your eyes meet his, “Too distracted, hm?”

You open your lips to reply, only to gasp dazedly as Harwin thrusts up into you from below, muscular thighs flexing under your own. “Give her a moment,” he grunts, gripping your hips to guide you over his length.

The prince merely tsks, pulling at your hair again until your eyes pop open; a shiver goes through you at the smirk that graces his lips, as if he knows something you don’t. “Tell me,” he starts, carding his long fingers through your hair, “Have you ever taken two cocks at once?”

“N – fuck!” You gasp, eyes rolling back briefly as Harwin ruts up into you quickly, evidently excited by the idea, “N-No.” 

“Hmm,” Daemon hums, smirk only widening, “Then I know just the way to get your attention.”

He moves away from you quickly, letting your head flop back uselessly as he walks swiftly to a small cabinet in the corner of the room where the Madam keeps a small stock of massage oils and lotions. You straighten just in time to watch as he stalks back over to you and Harwin, a vial of oil in hand. “I trust you have at least some experience with this, yes?” He questions, letting out a pleased hum when you nod. 

The two men share a look between them and you mewl as Harwin lays back against the day bed, pulling you with him until you’re lying against his chest, making you gasp as the change in angle presses his length squarely against the most sensitive spot within you. 

“Hold her steady,” Daemon murmurs behind you, uncorking the little bottle of oil.

The knight grunts when you tighten around him and one of his hands abandons its hold on your hip to cup one of your cheeks, his touch surprisingly delicate for a man of his stature. “Excited?” He questions, brown eyes studying your face carefully. 

Any reply dies on your lips in lieu of an eager gasp when you feel the prince’s presence behind you, his hips nearly touching your rear as he slots himself between Harwin’s legs. Still, you nod your head earnestly, sending pearlescent hair cascading over your shoulders to pool on the knight’s chest.

Harwin’s chest rumbles with a satisfied hum, though you’re left gasping at the feel of one of Daemon’s hands deftly parting your arse cheeks, swiftly followed by massage oil being drizzled between them, filling the room with the scent of lavender. When you jolt slightly at the feel of a finger skirting over your entrance, the prince is quick to reprimand you with a sharp slap to the rear, leaving your skin tingling in its wake. 

“You’re going to be good for us?” Harwin questions, drawing your attention back to him as he smooths a thumb over your cheekbone. 

“Y-Yes, yes,” you nod listlessly, breaths staggered as Daemon fingers you open, expertly preparing you. Again, you earn a pleased hum from the man below you. 

The next few moments pass in a blur – your head spins as the prince readies you and Harwin placates you all the while with gentle caresses and kisses, even snaking a hand between your bodies to rub at your aching pearl.

Finally, Daemon seems satisfied and pulls his fingers from you before slotting himself against you, quickly slicking up his cock with more of the oil before pressing the head against your opening, grinning smugly when you press back against him. 

“Fuck, there we go,” he rasps, carefully sliding his length into you until his hips meet your backside. 

A high, whining keen is pulled from your lungs at the stretch, tingles shooting up your spine and making you shudder at the feel of being this filled. You can do little more but gasp, pinned between two muscular bodies, as the men start to move. The feel of it is like none other, a constant push and pull as they thrust in and out of you in tandem. 

“G-Gods, fuck!” You finally cry, managing to suck in a lungful of air as your nails dig into Harwin’s chest. 

The knight beneath you isn’t faring much better than you are, a near constant stream of deep grunts and groans leaving his lips as he feels you tighten on his cock. “By the Seven, you feel divine,” he mumbles, making you cry out as he pulls you to him, strong hands encircling your waist as he mouths at your shoulder, biting at your skin.

Above you, Daemon’s violet eyes remain fixed on your ass, savoring the way it bounces each time his hips smack against it, watching as his length spears into you again and again. “What a good little whore,” he grunts, words short and clipped as he clenches his jaw. A stuttered moan is pulled from you as he grabs at your backside, fingers do doubt leaving bruises in their wake as he gropes you, “Taking us so well.”

Your muscles tense at the praise as your high threatens to overwhelm you, looming in a small pit in your belly that’s growing bigger and bigger with each passing second. Your walls tighten around Harwin again, making him hiss beneath you. 

“Gonna, Gods, I –” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as the knight bullies the sensitive spot within you, pounding against it with each rough thrust, making your words die on your tongue. 

Thankfully, Harwin understands perfectly, balancing on that thin precipice himself – the cacophonous litany of your moans and whines along with the lewd, wet sounds of their cocks plunging into you again and again only serving to push him further to his own end. 

“That’s it,” the knight rasps, grabbing your chin with one hand and directing your attention toward him once more, “Go on, peak, let me feel it.”

His command, along with another hard smack to your rear from Daemon, send you hurtling over the edge with a sharp, loud cry. You lose all sense between them, muscles clenching and relaxing rhythmically as your whole body seems to erupt into flame. 

The gorgeous look on your face, along with the steady pulse of your walls around him, finish Harwin as well. A deep groan, complementary to your own high-pitched whines, is all but punched from his chest as his length twitches within you, painting your walls with his spend. 

As your peak slowly settles, like waves receding at low tide, you’re left gasping, clinging to Harwin as Daemon still thrusts wildly into you, chasing his own high. Desperate to feel you clench around him once more, the prince reaches around, over your hip, and his greedy fingers quickly find your bud. 

“Oh!” You gasp, squirming in the knight’s grasp as the prince’s fingers roughly rub against your pearl, forcibly dragging you right back to the edge you’d just fallen from. 

“Come on,” Daemon grunts, tugging you up by the shoulder until your back presses against his chest, deep, vicious grunts filling your ear, “One more, little whore, fucking do it for me.”

You scramble in his hold, lips parting in a silent cry as your muscles jerk in sharp, uncoordinated movements. Unable to extract yourself from his hold, the overstimulation finally gives way to blinding pleasure once more and you peak with a loud, piercing yelp. 

Daemon grunts behind you, pleased, as your walls all but force a high from him as well. He thrusts into you a few more times, groaning at the feel of your slick coating his fingers and pooling between your bodies. Finally, he lets go, grumbling low words in a language you don’t understand as he fills you. 

The only sounds in the near empty brothel is the sound of staggered pants as the three of you catch your breaths, content to do little more than lie in a heap for a few moments. 

It’s Daemon that moves first, pulling himself from you with a muted grunt before swaggering over to a small vanity, pulling up and tying his trousers as he goes. 

Harwin soothes you with gentle touches as he pulls away, keenly aware of the way you wince at certain movements, overly sensitive now. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice gentler now as he surveys your body, “Nothing hurts?”

You can’t help but chuckle at his concern, so unused to men caring for you once they finish. “I’m fine, I assure you,” your lips quirk into a smile as you soothe his worries, a little sigh leaving your lips as you settle back against the silken sheets that cover the daybed. 

“Here,” Daemon grunts with indifference as he tosses a clean cloth at you, more than familiar with the layout of the place, “To clean yourself.”

You huff softly and roll your eyes playfully before grabbing the small towel and standing to wipe spend and extra oil from your skin, making a mental note to heat water for a proper bath as soon as the men leave. 

It’s then that it occurs to you that they may not let you stay, what if even this wasn’t enough to secure your freedom, to get them to overlook your transgressions? 

“So,” you start, discarding the cloth in a laundry basket by the vanity before turning and facing the men, surprised to find Harwin’s eyes already on you, “Forgive and forget, yes? The debt has been paid, etcetera?”

They share a look as they dress themselves, Daemon loosely pulling on his armor, opting to tuck most of it beneath an arm, though Harwin takes the time to fasten his properly. 

“Oh, I think you’ve more than convinced us to spare you, little minx,” the prince drawls, eyes roving over your still nude form as he approaches you and takes your chin between two long fingers, “As for your debt, well…”

You grin as he trails off, two pairs of purple eyes sliding over to Harwin. 

“There’s still the interest to consider,” he murmurs with a little chuckle, dark eyes sparkling with mirth.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

[lieutenant-rasczak]

On the incredible danger of the quaint, English village....

Although I live in Texas, thanks to various streaming services I get to watch a great deal of British T.V.  I have noticed that these shows (Midsomer Murders, Dalziel and Pascoe, Waking the Dead, Shakespeare and Hathaway, Vera, Rosemary & Thyme, Wycliffe,  etc.) share a common theme. 

And, after a certain amount of research I discovered that, believe it or not,  the third leading cause of death in the UK seems to be  "Moving to a quaint, country village". 

While “Getting murdered in a quaint, English, village”  killed slightly fewer UK Residents in 2021 than "Cancer" and "Heart Disease" it was distressingly close.  Even worse it came in only  slightly ahead of  "Attending a weekend party at a stately country home", which is in itself a fairly lethal pastime.  In fact “Attending a weekend party at a stately country home”  WAS the second leading cause of death in Britain between 1919 and 1939, but began to decline after the war as the Labour Govt. raised taxes and the number of country homes dropped drastically; thus causing a steep decline in the number of weekend parties one could be murdered at.

In any case my research indicates that IF you are British, AND you are feeling down, depressed, and suicidal, there is no reason for you to run your car off a cliff, or take a trip to Switzerland.  In fact, you need only do the following

1) move to a lovely, quiet, English village where nothing ever happens, but the murder rate is (adjusted for population) is far higher than that of South Chicago or East L.A.

You might think that such a village would be hard to find, but apparently England is simply teeming with them.  Places with highly competitive flower shows or bleak, cliff filled coastlines seem to be particularly deadly.

2) Change your will, and make sure to mention this to the former beneficiary. (This is vitally important!) Also make sure to let them know where the new will is kept. The top drawer of your desk is probably the best place, no need for locking file cabinets or bank safety deposit boxes!

3) Develop a keen interest in local land titles and/or genealogy. In fact you should probably announce that you are writing a book on the subject.  (It is suggested that you do so in a crowded pub.) In any case make sure to spend plenty of time at the local public records office researching this while receiving vaguely threatening  remarks from various upset neighbours. If you receive any threatening notes make sure to save them in an easily discovered drawer somewhere, but do NOT mention them to anybody, and certainly do not heed any warnings you are given about a need to “back off”.  That last one is ESSENTIAL.

4) Stand against the most popular member in the election for  Parish Council. Threatening to win the local flower show is also a good move.

5) Always leave the door or doors unlocked at night. (This includes your car.) Even if you have lived in London for decades, discard any habits you may have about locking up as soon as you move to the quaint, country, murder hole.

6) Never close any curtains or blinds, that way your future assailant always knows exactly where you are and what you are doing.

7)  Either don't have a phone or keep it in an inaccessible or hard to find place.

8)  Never, ever have any useful weapons nearby or if you do ensure you lose of drop them immediately on seeing your assailant.

Do this, and you’re guaranteed to be pushing up daisies by Christmas.

[seeingivy]

the lore

sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's (older brother) sukuna fic

previous part linked here

AN: tw/ mentions of SA and manipulation. please read at your own discretion - protect your own peace!!!

--

“okay, well. it was back when-” you start. 

sukuna reaches forward and pinches the bridge of your nose. 

“are you a nutjob?” 

you frown. 

“huh?” 

sukuna drops his hands from your face, resting them against your waist before he uses them to spin you around. he’s walking behind you, leading your steps to the bedroom and whispering into your neck. 

“c’mon. we’ll wash up for bed and then talk. want you to be comfortable and all that, we’re not gonna have a serious conversation in the fucking kitchen.” sukuna murmurs. 

you smile, letting his attentive hands lead you to the bathroom as he busies himself with doing nearly everything for you. pulling the clips out of your hair and placing the headband just right to pull your hair back, putting toothpaste on both of your brushes, and busying himself with doing your skincare. 

his fingers are soft on your cheeks, the slight tautness of his fingertips massaging the terse of your cheek. 

and you can’t help but stare at him. at the arch of his eyebrows, his eyes attentively focused on the task, and how slowly he’s breathing – in full focus. 

“quit staring. you're freaking me out with your bug eyes.” sukuna murmurs. 

you smile. 

“you’re a big acts of service guy.” you state. 

“eh?” 

“acts of service! it’s a love language.” 

sukuna glares at you. 

“love language? where the fuck do you come up with this shit?” 

you hum in response. 

“it’s a book – you can even take a quiz to see which of the five is yours. it’s how you show love, how you like to receive it. and yours is acts of service.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“is not.” 

“yeah, it is! you always like to do stuff for me. like when you washed all my clothes. took the train back to the apartment for me, making me breakfast. you like to do things for me!” 

“you’re my girlfriend. i’m not a fucking asshole that’s going to let you take the train alone at night.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“but the breakfast.” 

“you know, i’m quite attached to my security deposit. can’t exactly have you burning my apartment down every morning.” sukuna complains.

you frown. 

“still. you like to do things for me. that’s how you show your love.” 

the serum he spreads under your eyes cools your skin, as you instinctively shut your eyes and welcome the tiny sting. 

“what’s yours?” 

“quality time! and words of affirmation.” 

sukuna pauses. 

“sounds about right. you’re always lurking around here, like a troll.” 

you open your eyes and give him a grin. 

“i’ll just be on my way out then.” you state, stepping out of the bathroom. 

but sukuna’s too quick with it, wrapping his hands around your waist and resting his chin on top of your head. he tickles at your sides, as you try to squirm out of his touch and smack his arms. 

“when did i tell you to leave, huh?” 

“quit tickling, i’m-” 

“you leave when i tell you to leave.” sukuna states. 

sukuna’s tickling subsides, as you heave and turn around to glare at him. sukuna’s delighted at the pink flush in your cheeks, coupled with the murderous glare you’re giving him. 

“if you had your way, i’d never leave.” you state.

sukuna leans forward, lips brushing against yours and nose ghosting your skin. 

“something wrong with that, huh? is it a crime to want you all to myself?” sukuna whispers. 

it’s enough to send an electrifying jolt down to your core, as you look up at his brown eyes – honeyed over with sweetness. you reach forward and cup his cheek. 

“no.” you whisper. 

sukuna presses a kiss to the top of your head, before locking his hand in with yours and dragging you out. and you both turn around, quickly discarding your dress clothes for your pajamas and settle under the sheets, tangling your legs together, as you rest your head against his bare shoulder – twisting the little charm on his necklace between your fingers. 

sukuna’s hands are in your hair, massaging into your temples as you push your cheek harder into the warmth of his shoulder. 

“sometimes it’s hard to explain how things were when they…build up over time. when i try to explain it…it all seems so trivial but i-” 

“none of this is going to sound trivial to me.” sukuna clarifies. 

you smile. 

“i know. i just mean, it’ll sound…stupid. petty stuff at first but it–” 

“acknowledging that someone treated you so far from what you deserve is never going to be stupid to me.” 

the bluntness is enough to catch you off guard. you give him a meek nod, feeling your cheeks head up as you try to remember the order of events, how things escalated so far, and it’s almost like the damper of it all is back in your brain. 

sometimes remembering feels like an oversaturated filter. that if you recollect your memories, that underlying feeling of the memories casts over your entire head, that it sucks out your energy even though nothing is really happening – even though you’re far from him and from being treated like that again. 

“no one liked me when i was in middle school.” you state. 

sukuna fights the urge to correct you. to tell you all about the camping bag, about how he thought about it for years, even mentioning it at his big age of twenty one to all of his coworkers. but he refrains. 

“maybe some part of me internalized that. but i’d watch as people all around me would…would have these guys interested in them. and sometimes i’d try to copy them. i’d want the same jewelry, like the same movies…try to change my hair so i’d look like them.” 

sukuna presses a kiss to your hair. you get the message and shoot him a halfhearted smile. 

“when i went to highschool…i was really hyper aware of what other people wore. talked about, when it came to guys. and sometimes it would really frustrate me – how stupid, how fucking petty people would be in relationships.” you start. 

“i would have killed to be in their position, sukuna. that if i got to love someone, if…if i could get someone to like me back, i would have done it so right. i’d buy them gifts, i’d tell them i love them, i would never talk to other guys because they were all i wanted.” you finish. 

how adamant you were being about sucking his dick an hour ago suddenly makes plain, clear sense to sukuna – confirming his hunch entirely. that you’d do anything to make him happy, and while it’s a noble quality, a part of him knows where this is going – and the fact that someone took advantage of it, such a deep earnestness to love, to please, fills him with an insurmountable amount of disgust. 

“when i was in my sophomore year of highschool, i had a crush on this guy named parker.” you state. 

“with your weird inappropriate english teacher, i remember.” 

you smile. 

“yeah. i feel like it was one of those…those cosmic connection type things. where you see someone and you just know you like them. he was doing role on the first day and…and i don’t know what it is but i just found myself being drawn to him. i couldn’t help but stare – at how he smiled at his friends, waved at other people in the class.” 

you cringe. 

“fuck. i’m sorry. i shouldn’t be talking about other guys like that when–” 

sukuna shakes his head, dismissively. 

“i want to know the whole story. if this is a part of it, if this is what’s truthful for you, then that’s okay. granted, i already have a leg up on this parker idiot – you’re in my bed, tangled up in my arms right now. not his.” 

you smile. 

“you jealous?” 

“of some pipsqueak little fifteen year old who didn’t see your worth? absolutely not. and we’re the ones with the real cosmic connection, so i’ll live.” sukuna deadpans. 

“we have a cosmic connection?” you ask. 

“of course. you think i let yuuji play my video games when i was six? i only let you guys play, the first time we met because you were there. i was fully intent on hanging him upside down from his legs but…decided against it.” 

you smile, pressing a kiss into the muscle of his shoulder. it takes a second – to reach your train of thought again – and sukuna affords you the time to think, twirling the ends of your hair in his fingers. 

“the year after that, i ended up in this big friend group of people, with guys, which i had never had before. it was originally a big group for a school dance, but…we just ended up hanging out after that. and when we all started hanging out as a group, i realized that my best friend and parker would…talk a lot. we’d go on picnics and they’d be trailing behind the group – and i’d never really found myself fitting in with any of them.” you state. 

you pause. 

“i’m really boring, sukuna. i mean, i know that i’m not boring, that drinking and smoking and going to parties or whatever doesn’t make you cool – but at that time, i felt boring. they’d all smoke and i’d shake them off, they’d all dress a certain type of way and i wouldn’t. and…and it was like everyone knew it too.”  

“we’d play these games of truth or dare. and i’d always do dare, just to…get sometime tame. like writing something in marker on the wall.” 

sukuna’s eyes widen. 

“how is vandalism tame?” 

“erasable markers. and compared to everyone else’s dares – to kiss each other on the neck, to wear each other’s clothes or…or take their own clothes off. i’m glad they never asked me to do that stuff, because they knew i wouldn’t or…or i couldn’t…but. made me feel like a sore thumb sometimes.” 

you swallow hard. 

“there was this guy in the group. his name was mazzy.” 

“prick name.” sukuna states. 

you laugh. 

“you’re funny.” 

“what was funny about that? objectively, that is such a prick name. i want him dead.” 

you can’t help but look up at him, his angry brown eyes looking down at yours. and slowly but surely, he breaks out into a smile, rubbing into the little smile lines by your eyes. 

“i love how i just wished death on another person and you’re smiling at me like i’m the sun.” sukuna states. 

you laugh in response, as you rest your head back against his shoulder and trace stars into your shoulder. 

and there’s a searing regret when you recall that what comes next was the catalyst for everything that happened – that a seemingly harmless move caused you some of the deepest, gutting pain of your life. 

“i sent him a tiktok, based on this inside joke that the entire group had about him. individually, in a chat with just me and him. and after that…we just started talking. everyday, about lots of different things.”

you swallow hard. 

“about him, a lot. he’d tell me all about…the girls he liked, what he liked about them. it was always objectifying. and…sometimes he’d make these comments after i asked why he told me. i was…trying to hint that he thought i was really trustworthy, or that we were friends but-” 

you frown. 

“he’d always say it’s because i’m not a real girl.” 

“what?” sukuna asks. 

you can feel hot tears in your eyes, remembering the biting sting of being told that in the early hours of the morning, when you’d sacrifice your sleep to hear what he had to say.

“i wasn’t a real girl.” you whisper.  

sukuna reaches forward, swiping the lone tear spilling from your eye, his demeanor washed over in concern, in contempt. 

“he…he wasn’t a good guy. so, just…don’t judge me for not saying anything about it or the comments he made and-” 

“you were sixteen. keep going.” sukuna whispers. 

the recognition, or the mere acknowledgement, that sukuna wasn’t going to accost you for not doing the right thing is enough to make your chest ache. because now, at twenty-two, the comments he made – slight jabs at the expense of others – they disgust you. 

and sometimes it disgusted you that you had put up with it, that you had brushed it aside, just so that you wouldn’t have to be alone. that you were that desperate for it. 

“when i asked what he meant, he said it again. that i don’t count as a real girl, that…which is why he can tell me about how hot other girls are, how horny he is for them all the time. and i know – trust me, i know how fucked up it was of him to say that, of me to not correct him – but…i guess i just internalized it instead. that he had put words to the feeling i had. that i didn’t get dares like the other girls did, that other guys weren’t interested in me, because…” 

there’s a block lodged in your throat, vision blurry. 

“because i’m not a real girl. i’m not pretty, and i wasn’t smart and – why would someone ever consider me…why did i delude myself into thinking it could be different?” 

sukuna’s insurmountable rage is displaced now, from this faceless asshat, to everyone else. to idiots like naobito – who was going to get another beating from him – to yuuji and kugisaki’s seemingly harmless comments, even down to your mother who had affirmed this feeling to you. hundreds of times over. 

but he realizes that it's because they don't know. and makes every intention to stop them, in the most discrete way he can.

“a year after that, he started talking to me about more personal stuff. about his parents, how he thought his sister hated him. and i’d always listen – i’d always affirm him that i thought he was great, and that point, i had started liking him…and i’d do anything to make him feel good.” you state. 

you bite into your cheek. 

“there was this day where he was talking about his parents, about how he felt so frustrated hiding it, and i…i told him that it wasn’t just him who felt like that, that lots of people did. like me. and it was almost like he had flipped a switch – because we went from talking about him to him…wanting to know everything about me.” 

sukuna absentmindedly tucks your hair behind your ear, the thoughts floating around his head. that at that time, it must have meant the world to you. that now, you were one of those people. that someone wanted to talk to you, to know about you too.  

but it leaves him with a sour taste in his mouth. because it almost feels exploitative to him, that this asshat had talked to you for a year at this point, and had only now thought to ask about you. after you had played therapist for a year. 

and the thought of you spilling out your secrets – about your dad, about sammy – just to have it turn around on you alter makes him understand that little concrete wall. and thanks the lords that he was there, a house across from you his entire life. 

the regret that sukuna left is deeper. because sukuna couldn’t have prevented it – any of it – but the thought of you suffering alone made his stomach hurt. that he could have at least been here. 

“where was yuuji?” sukuna asks. 

“you know…no one really knew that we talked. yuuji included. it was almost late into the night and…and when we first got together, we didn’t tell anyone for months. it wasn’t going to be a good idea, because of a fight we had before we were dating, where he called me a bitch in front of everyone and-” 

“he called you a bitch?” 

“yeah. it was this dumb thing, group plans that i had made that were kind of spontaneous from this volunteering thing. some people felt left out, and…and i had even invited him because he wasn’t there…but later…when it all kind of blew up in my face, he called me a bitch and everyone was just confused as to why we were friends after that. left a bad taste in people’s mouths.” 

“why didn’t it? for you?” sukuna whispers. 

“he was really good at being apologetic. and if someone was being earnest, i was always going to forgive.” you murmur. 

sukuna frowns. 

“always loved that about you. that you saw good, even if there wasn’t any.” 

you smile. 

“yeah. came to bite me in the butt later but…i’m getting ahead of myself.” 

sukuna nods, hand warm around your neck, as he pulls you closer. 

“when we met up for the first time, we wrote each other these letters. mine was four pages – about all the things i liked about him, memories that i cherished. and he wrote me one too, but…” 

you pause. 

“it was nice. there was stuff in there that was nice. but..he ended it with some joke about how he wanted to hit it from behind.” 

sukuna watches the disgust spread over your face, as you shake your head like you’re trying to get it off of you.

“he also tried to kiss me that day. but i dodged it. he did grab my butt though, which…i don’t know. guess i wasn’t expecting, but maybe should have in hindsight. he had asked me to wear these leggings and this form fitting shirt…” 

sukuna tries to think back to the first time the two of you kissed – to see if there were any inclinations of you pulling away. but he remembers it vividly, the way he pulled you into his lap in your bedroom, pressing kisses into your neck while you were begging him to kiss you full on. 

it makes him happy. 

but it disgusts him, the second part. that he had dictated what you were going to wear, that he had run his hands over you without asking for permission. and it reminds him of that day, where you were purposely trying to dress to impress him, and thanks the heavens he trusted his instincts and asked you to change. 

“the second time, i mustered the courage to kiss him back when he leaned in. and he was kind of…aggressive with it. a lot of the things he did were that way, kind of a lot. i’m more into…the softer things i guess but –” 

“i love that.” sukuna states. 

you smile. 

“yeah?” 

“i’m not a fan of that – the aggressiveness.” 

sukuna brings his fingertips to your face, thumb brushing down from the bridge to the end of your nose. 

“i like to savor it. keep it slow, so…so i can feel it all. commit you to my memory.” sukuna whispers. 

your shy smile makes sukuna’s heart skip a beat. 

“me too. wanna remember it forever.” you whisper. 

sukuna gives you a smile, before nodding for you to continue. 

“he talked to me a lot about how…horny he was before we were even dating. but now that we were, it was…something he talked about a lot. and while he never…outright forced me to do something, it was almost like he was wearing me down. first, he…he wanted me to send him nudes. i didn’t like the idea of doing that because he could use them against me so he told me that we should just…facetime and do it, if we had to.” you murmur. 

there’s an embarrassment that’s blooming over your skin, images of sneaking downstairs – past sammy and your mom – just so you wouldn’t get caught. 

“and i said no. but he asked again and i…i guess i caved. then he was talking about he wanted to take screenshots…because…” 

you lean your head back, the embarrassment – the realization that you had done something so utterly stupid that it made you keel back. but this time, sukuna fills the silence. the way you were harshly cutting off the circulation to his hand from squeezing signaled to him that he had to – and he wanted to meet you where you were. 

“you’re doing so good, you know that?”  sukuna whispers. 

there’s a film of tears in your eyes. and you shake your head. 

his lips are warm on your forehead, brushing away the frown lines. 

“doing so good, angel. so proud of you, you know that?” 

you scoff. 

“for what? being an idiot?” you murmur. 

sukuna’s voice is soft, but adamant. 

“don’t.” 

you sigh. 

“sorry. it’s a habit. i…i don’t actually think i’m an idiot. for any of it, because…i was just a kid. i just wanted someone to like me and–” 

“and someone took advantage, sweetheart. that doesn't make you an idiot.” 

it makes your chest ache. that he understands it. 

“yeah.” 

you swallow hard. it's enough to keep you going.

“he told me that i made it really hard for him…to jack off. because i didn’t really wear revealing clothes, which is why he needed the picture. that it would take him hours and that…if he had something it would just make it easier.” 

sukuna’s eyes have a murderous glint, but you ignore it for the time being. 

“it was kind of a slippery slope after that. because how are nudes different from a screenshot? that he’s my boyfriend so i should trust him and let him save them. that i should take my phone in the shower and call him and…” 

you trace the outline of sukuna’s tattoos. 

“he’d mask it all in compliments. tell me that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me and then ask. say that i was the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen before he asked me to get up and send him a picture after i was already in bed.” you state. 

sukuna gets it. words of affirmation. mazzy knew it meant the world to you and used it to his advantage.

“we started meeting up after that. and you remember how strict my mom was with sammy and his parents were too…so we’d kind of just…do stuff in my car.” 

you frown. 

“i’d fight with my mom about it. about how i wanted to drive myself to hangouts. she thought it wasn’t safe, but i’d just…cry so hard about it…because i knew it would disappoint him and i had to go. she’d give in, but…i’d feel like shit after the fact. and whenever we did stuff, it would be blistering hot in the car and his touch was already so…aggressive that i hated it.” 

you sigh. 

“i’d feel disgusting afterwards. not only because i was caked in sweat or because i did that, but…he’d always call me names. was really into choking and…and i was always scared that my mom would find out when i’d come home looking disheveled or smelling like him. i’d spend hours in the shower trying to scrub the feeling off till i was clean.” 

the obsessiveness. sukuna had watched you do it hundreds of times, pricked and prodded at your skin when you felt like you were at your worst. he cups his cheek in your hand, fingers soft on the little blemish on your cheek – and he can’t help but wonder how many times you had picked at it until it bled, scraped off the healing in the name of feeling like his touch was off of you. 

you can see sukuna’s eye watering and before you can even prod as to why, he shakes his head. 

“there was one time where the security guards of that mall caught us, because i needed to turn the air on in the car. and it was so humiliating, because i wasn’t wearing a shirt and…and they flashed a light on me and started yelling at me. i…i found it hard to take my shirt off after that and…i don’t know. he’d do stuff like that all the time. grope me in public when we were standing against the wall or…at the prom after he didn’t ask me.” you state. 

you shake your head. 

“anyways, we told people at some point. and people stopped talking to me. he wasn’t a nice guy, he…he had even bullied some of my friends which i found out about later, but…they just didn’t want to associate with him or me by proxy. yuuji was one of the only friends i had during that time, but he was really confused about what was happening too. and he’d ask but…i couldn’t bring myself to tell him because he’d want me to end it then and there. and i would have but–” 

you lean your head back. 

“he was really unstable. every time he fought with people, he would tell me that he…he'd get so upset and...and punch walls and stuff. and…i felt like it was on me, that his life was in my hands if i didn’t say the right thing. so if i ended things, i’d be leaving him alone – without a lifeline.” 

sukuna breaks the silence. 

“that’s a big burden to carry at seventeen. feeling like you’re responsible for someone’s wellbeing.” 

the recognition makes you cry. 

“yeah. it…it is, isn’t it? and-and it was so scary, sukuna. i really thought something bad was going to happen…so i did what i knew would make him feel better.” 

sukuna understands. that you were able to give it up and do the one thing you hated doing just to make him feel good, to satiate his needs. 

you shake your head. 

“anyways, it went on like that for the rest of the year. almost all of the memories from that year are colored dark – because he either did something bad or was mad at me. my eighteenth birthday, my graduation. and around july, i…i had found something bad.” 

sukuna tilts his head to the side.

“i was curious one day, so…so i decided to look my dad up. it had been years since he had gone but i just wanted to see. and i found a yelp review for his company and just searched that woman’s name up who left it.” 

“sukuna…my dad had been cheating on my mom. for a really long time. there were pictures and…vacations and all this stuff while my mom was like…taking loans from your mom just to buy us clothes and–” 

sukuna’s perceptive. and you’re endlessly thankful about it in this moment, just because you don't have to say it.

“he cheated on you, didn’t he? just like your dad did on your mom?” sukuna whispers.

“yeah. i had asked him not to, begged him even, and i-i found out the same way. when he left for college, he’d been so distant that i had started stalking all his followers, just to see what he was up to. and he was…commenting pick up lines on this girl's account.” 

you tuck your head into his neck. 

“when he came back for break, he told me that he was confused but…but we still did stuff. he broke up with me two days after that.” 

sukuna brings his hands up around your waist, pulling you up till you’re straddling him and secured in his lap. you’re stifling your sobs into his neck, his hands warm on your back as he leans his head against yours. 

“our anniversary was on december first. i had sent him a gift, this custom made expensive necklace he wanted, and…and two days after the fact i found out that while i was ordering that online, paying same day shipping, he was on a date with her.” you state. 

sukuna sighs, pulling you in closer. 

“he sent me pictures of their date. because we were still friends. he’d tell me how i was going to be important to him forever, and…tell me all about her. how perfect her family was, how smart she was…that she even matched his sex drive more and–” 

you sigh. 

“we talked on and off for that year. whenever he came home for break, we’d basically talk all the time – but i figured out later that it was only because of the time difference and that his girlfriend was asleep. and the time that we did spend talking, it was him talking about how he felt like such a dick for how he treated me. and every time, i’d-i’d reassure him that it was okay, that i didn’t mind it.” 

“still using you to make himself feel good, huh?” 

“yeah. isn’t that….so fucking stupid?” 

sukuna sighs. 

“that’s very cruel, y/n.” 

you pull back, the full depth of the word hitting you as you look at his eyes, brown and washed over in hurt. not pity – because you had seen that droop hundreds of times, but…in recognition. you reach forward, cupping his face. 

“very cruel.” you whisper back. 

“that’s heartbreaking. you’re a very earnest person and for someone to take advantage of this –” 

sukuna reaches forward, pointing at your chest, before he crosses on it again – like the promise he made earlier – and continues talking. 

“– of your beautiful heart is brutal, y/n. of course, you felt the way you did about it. anyone would.” 

you nod, reaching forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“i hope you know i’ll spend a lifetime trying to mend this with you, whatever that looks like.” sukuna whispers. 

“sukuna–” you whisper. 

“i’ve always seen you as what you are – a girl. in fact, the only girl for me.” 

it’s almost painful. that sukuna’s repeating every word back to you, but the other way. in the way you had wanted when you were seventeen, when you were so desperate to love someone. 

“you’re the only person that i’ve ever considered, for something this serious. i know i’ve dated other girls and slept around but…i’ve never felt this way about anyone.” 

sukuna reaches forward, taking your hand into his and placing it flat against his chest, over his beating heart. 

“s’yours. all yours, for as long as you want it.” 

you cross on his heart, which has him breaking out into a smile. 

“there’s my pretty girl…come here, yeah?” he whispers, gesturing for you to scoot closer, till you’re faces are only a few feet apart. 

and the way he scans his eyes over your face makes your chest hurt – with such attentiveness, with such adoration as he continues murmuring his sweet nothings. 

“i’ve always loved your style. i think you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen – i love when you frown at me and pretend to be mad and when you sleep with your mouth open.” 

you roll your eyes, sparing him a teary laugh. 

“i do not.” 

“yes, you do. but anyways–” 

“no i don’t!” 

“baby, i’ve watched you sleep. your mouth is wide open, like you’re going to catch flies.” 

“okay, edward cullen. why are you watching me sleep?” 

sukuna smiles. 

“you look at peace. i love it.” 

you shake your head, as he continues. 

“you…you drive me crazy.” 

he drops his hands down your back, the touch making you shiver. 

“but you’re going to call the shots. we’re...we’re going to do what you like. when you’re ready for it and –” 

“i meant what i said earlier. i’m ready.” you state.

“i’d wait years if you needed me to.” 

you smile. 

“i know. but i want you too. and– you…you’re everything to me.” 

sukuna smiles back. 

“never want you to put your own needs to the side for me, ‘kay? i’d never expect you to do that. you don’t need to sit in sweltering cars or…or get up from bed for me. i’ll always be there after – washing your hair and tucking you into bed and –” 

you lean forward, cupping his face, as you press a kiss to his lips. it’s warm and sweet, mixed with a mess of your tears – and him murmuring against your lips. 

“angel–” he whispers.

“what?” you murmur back, whispering onto his lips.

“i’ll write you hundreds of letters. i’ll buy you nice gifts on our anniversary and it’ll be just you and me. make you a playlist with all my favorite songs, listen to all of yours. i'll even get a shitty cat if you want one that bad.” 

you pull back, shifting your gaze from his left eye to the right and then back to the left. it’s the jump again – the same one you made last time. 

when you promise someone your heart, when you begin to cross your heart on someone else’s. 

"cat? really?"

sukuna glares.

"of course that's what you fixate on."

you smile.

“do you really mean it?” 

sukuna reaches forward, crossing on your chest. you return the gesture. 

“always. you’re everything to me.” 

you poke at his dimples. you’ll leap – for him. 

“does this change things?” you ask.

sukuna pulls you closer. 

“it helps me understand you better. makes me love you more, because you’re the strongest person i know. has me filled with pride because you won’t let bad things, or experiences, change how good your heart is.” 

you lean forward, cupping his face in your hands. 

“don’t flatter me. you’re going to make it impossible for me to leave, ryomen.” 

you can see it – the glint in his eyes when you use his given name. and the ear splitting smile that follows makes you ache as he leans forward and closes the gap. 

“that sounds like the perfect scenario to me.” 

--

the following morning, sukuna leaves early for work. but you find a perfectly plated breakfast and a letter sitting on the counter. 

seven pages worth of sukuna and his sweet words – and an embarrassingly cute story about the camping trip you took years ago. 

(you ask satoru to corroborate the story after. and he spells it out in full detail, about how in his drunkenness, sukuna told the group of them about your night together in the camping bag.)

--

next part linked here

an: anyways. lore. no one look at me - and big fluff chapter after this one, trust.

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[purelyfiction]

Room for Dessert

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x F!Reader

Summary: it's date night for you and Bob and as always, he is the most doting gentleman you know. full of manners and always wanting to be up to expectations! after a gracious dinner, Bob reminds you there’s still a course you missed at the restaurant.

Word count: 1,658 words

Author notes: HIIIIIII i got this as a prompt from a prompt sheet ages ago and wanted to put this out for mr perfect in every way's birthday but i finished it maybe two hours after the day ended in EST time so!! a day late but, in honor of blorbo's birthday a very nice little birthday treat :)))) HEY THIS HAS SMUT SO IF YOU AREN'T 18+ GTFO || f receiving oral, maybe spanking? not sure it counts. some nsfw language for sure. Thank you @callsignthirsty for beta-ing the majority of this as always you are crucial for my writing :))))))

Your darling and sweet man had gone the extra mile for date night. A white tablecloth restaurant, reservations, bottle service to your table, and the whole nine yards. He’d gotten himself all dressed up just so you could do the same. He’d held doors, played your playlist the whole way in his beat-up classic truck – the perfect man. There was even a fresh set of flowers on the counter when you’d returned home. Amazed by all of this, you look back at him as you drift into the kitchen.

“You have really outdone yourself, Bo.” Your fingers caress the petals, looking over the roses with such delicate motions. You catch Bob’s reflection in the window as he comes up behind you.

“I wouldn’t call it outdoing myself if this is what I deem the standard.” Hands wrap so delicately around your waist, finding themselves at home as the two of you linger in the continued feel-good endorphins from the night.

You have work in the morning. He has training. Yet as his palms flatten against the elegant fabric of your dress, you hum with ease and let your head sink back to his shoulder. Bob takes this new spot as an invitation to pepper minute and delicate kisses up your neck, to your jawline. If this keeps going, the two of you might end up miserable and sleep-deprived. His hand grabbing the flesh of your thigh convinces you to ditch the bedtime.

“Your standard is far from the industry’s,” you tease, looking at how his blue eyes seem to shift in the low light of your kitchen.

“Guess you’ve got the top-of-the-line product then, now don’t you darlin’?” Hands travel from where they’d been innocently tracing little circles on your hip bones. Instead, slinking down to your thighs to toy with the hem of your skirt in this wonderful dress (which he’d bought you just for tonight).

“It would seem that way. And it’s still running like a dream three years later.” There’s an amused huff of air deposited onto your skin, hands busy entertaining the softness of your thighs, fingertips paving a path of goosebumps under them.

“You sure about that? No need for a diagnostics run? Make sure there aren’t any lingering bugs that might be screwing up the hardware?” There’s an easy giggle that leaves you while his hands busy themselves spinning you back around to face him, guiding you so you are flush against the counter of the island.

“I mean, everything seems to be in working order.” Your own arms wrap up around his neck as he gets impossibly closer, lips gluing themselves back to the skin of your neck, moving downward this time. One hand takes yours, holding onto it innocently as his tongue draws a hotspot to your skin. In one swift movement, he’s flattening your hand against his groin, smirking at the way your breath catches when you make contact.

“I think you’re right, baby.” He’s rock-hard. Instead of letting you linger in the sensation, Bob’s moving before you can even indulge in his previous action, hands gripping under your ass and carefully lifting you to rest on the counter. His lips meet yours for the first time since arriving home, his tongue pushing its way to its rightful place against yours. One hand continues to toy with anything he can find under your skirt, his fingers skating to the lace of your underwear, tugging at them with no real defined goal. You're like magnets, Bob's large hand hopelessly drawn to your waist, your chest, fingers desperately grasping at you through the padding of your bra. There’s a resistance as his lips pull back, moving back to the spot right under your ear. “You know, I just realized something.” The low baritone of his register vibrates the shell of your ear.

“Did you get a notification on your operating system?” The tease leaves him nipping at your ear.

“Something like that,” he huffs, hands still gripping onto you as if you will vanish if he lets you go. “We completely skipped over the dessert portion of dinner.”

“Was it on the agenda?” The response comes quick, but not nearly as instant as the following one. “Or is this fine-tuned machine starting to break down?” His hand is gripping your chest again, an almost punishing response to your question.

“This machine would like to self-correct if you’d just be patient enough.” He finally breaks the magnetic spell he’s under, blue eyes a heavy, royal color by this point. His hands easily glide back under your skirt, both of them working in tandem to tug the cotton from your hips. You shift to help him rid the fabric from your body, the cold granite of the countertop making you shiver on contact. With your panties on the floor, his hands drop to the counter, boxing you in as you rest on a makeshift pedestal to your most nerdy—yet flushed and intoxicating—boyfriend. The cocksure demeanor has begun to fade ever so slightly, uncertainty creeping in at the most inopportune time. “I- ugh-” his fingers are chilled from the stone when they return to your waist.

Your eyes meet with his, the softness of your boyfriend suddenly on full display as his hands make laps on your thighs, running up and down. A cautious hand comes up to his chin, forefinger and thumb gripping it. “Honey?”

This happens from time to time. He’ll be on such a roll, so easily matching the energy that you ignite in him, then suddenly shut down as if he’s rebooting. Once, he told you that he would get so overwhelmed with how many emotions he felt toward you—so turned on—that he would short-circuit and need a minute for all systems to come back online. Bob’s gaze returns to yours, no longer spaced out, hands pausing their continuous motion in favor of gripping at your thighs once more.

“Would it be too crass to say I want you to come on my glasses?” All systems go. Your hand shifts up to caress his jawline, carefully guiding his lips back to yours.

“No. It’s fucking hot-” Your answer evaporates into the air as you tug him close again, his hips slotting between your easily parted thighs.

“Should I–?” he gasps, eyes flicking toward the floor before they return to your mouth.

“If you want me to cum on your glasses, Bo?” You run your tongue over your kiss-stung lips. “Yeah.”

Bob surges forward, eager to lick into your mouth, claiming it before falling to his knees. You card your fingers through his hair and shift your legs further apart to give him more room to work with. “God, baby, you look so good like this,” he groans. The praise jolts you as large hands settle on the inside of your thighs, careful lips starting a trail of kisses from the top of one knee, up your leg, and right to your dripping center. His breath staccatos over your skin, hovering as a thumb carefully spreads you, basking in what he’s done to you. “Oh, this never gets old, angel, never, never.” The sound of his voice fades as his tongue expertly glides up your folds, making a lap or two at the top that sends your breathing pattern into a fit. You attempt to brace against the counter as he works, your hand gripping taut to the curls you adored.

You aren’t sure what code Bob has written in his brain that gives you the benefit of duality: the charming and beyond kind gentleman at dinner this evening and the absolutely rogue man between your legs.

“You taste so good, baby, so fucking amazing—fuck dessert,” it’s muttered against your cunt, eagerly lapped away to send your stomach spiraling. You have half a mind to let the counter behind you morph into a mattress as your eyes fall shut. You’re tempted to let the stone cool your skin from the burning sensation Bob is supplying you.

Instead, you jump, eyes shooting open when his hand comes to the outside of your thigh. Glancing down, blue eyes drill into yours, Bob pulling away with the hardest focus chiseled into his features. “Eyes on me.” Oh, fuck, he was taking it to the extremes. Bob’s ability to hyperfocus was an advantage and a disadvantage. Such as right now, when he is insistent on making you watch as he devours you, barely getting enough air as he fastens himself even more firmly against you.

As his tongue pushes into you, a shrill sound escapes you. You’re not going to be much longer, if he stays down this path. Bob just might get his wish. And he does, not even minutes later, your legs viscerally shaking, large hands clamping them to the counter to prevent you from locking your thighs around his head in an effort to stop. Gasping for air, slapping the palm of your hand against the countertop, your words are short off your lips, “Bob, baby, you can- shit- honey that’s enough,” however, he hasn’t powered down yet, with no intentions on stopping. When you try again, an arm crosses over your hips, pushing you down just enough to keep him centered right where he needed to be to tie the knot in your stomach again. You can’t help the way you squirm and writhe under him, strong arm gripping to your hips as he frantically swipes his tongue against you - until you break, nearly screaming under him, possibly - no, likely disturbing the neighbors.

You’ve laid fully back on the stone by this point, unable to will yourself to move after all Bob had put you through. There’s a pop of his knee when he stands up, hands coming to either side of your body, leaning onto the counter and over top of you. Glasses not only fogged up to no end, but in dire need of a cleaning.

[diejager]

makarov hunting an/a (enemy? long assassin?) reader who doesn’t really want to work with him- reader knows their stuff, erasing tracks, setting up traps, etc- its a game

призрак Cw: canon-typical death, murder, assassination, mercenary, blood, tell me if I missed any.

You were a ghost —призрак in his mother-tongue. Appearing whenever you wanted and disappearing before anyone could find you, a phantom in the business of assassination, a killer without too high of a price. He’s watched the aftermath of your handiwork, the shows you played and the kills you made, they were a masterpiece he wanted to witness, to utilise for his goals. Even from the darkness of his solitary cell, locked away in the Gulag - the Zorgaya prison complex - he kept hearing about your endeavours.

You interest him, your brought out a certain excitement, made adrenaline pump in his blood, when you were first brought up. You were the a ghost - a wraith - that haunted the world, killing off men and women for the right number. You were a killer for hire, one of the best in the industry that even he - Vladimir Makarov - had attempted to recruit, to tie you down to his name and fame, to have you work for his purpose. Permanently.

But you were a slippery one, escaping whatever trap he carefully laid out for you, falling through his fingers, finding the smallest crack - mistake - in his plan that he once thought was full-proof. You were smart, feisty and skillful, able to see through his carefully crafted words for a hire, pushing past the firewall of his mind and planting a virus, corrupting his original purpose, rooting yourself into his sick mind. This feeling, the way his heart rammed against his rib when you sent a warning shot, or when you escaped from his grasp, this wasn’t love —no, he was a being detached from such frivolous affairs. He didn’t love. He couldn’t with his cold, dead heart. This was an obsession, Makarov obsessed over things, he knit picked, he stole and took apart.

Makarov was a being whose conscious transcended the likes of capitalist westerners who’ve corrupted his motherland, small-minded and parasitic politician who made the Soviet Union crumble to dust; whose forgone the primal needs that made humanity weak —vulnerable; Vladimir Makarov was better than any man.

That’s where stemmed his obsession with you, the need to hunt you down. You portrayed yourself as a being higher than him. A better strategist and killer than him. It went from word of mouth to ear, Makarov heard from the other guards and new inmate speak of you, you achievements, the spike in your demands and the people who were ready to give you an arm and leg to pay for your service. Powerful men and women routing you an undisclosed amount of money to kill of someone, to have them assassinated in their own bedroom, to be drowned in their own bathtub or to be poisoned by their own wine.

He had Konni keep a track on your work while he waited for the right time to be freed, jumping back to work once he landed in Russia. He took it on himself to follow your steps, he had a hand in every sector of the underworld, dabbing in everything to keep his hold over the world. He couldn’t find anything about you, neither your past nor your character, you were nameless and faceless, the hooded mask obscuring your face from the world. Makarov’s best couldn’t even track you through cameras and find your deposit account, it seemed as though you had a team of your own, working in the dark to keep your and their livelihood going.

You evaded his traps, able to figure out which deals were made by him as a ploy to catch you, to find the ghost that haunted his mind. You were a disease, a parasite that unknowingly clung to him. You knew him, the messages he received through the grapevines, taunting remarks and threats that made him see red. You were too skillful, erasing your steps, making it seem as if you were never there in the first place, uninvolved with it, but the world knew who committed the crime. This was a game - or so he liked to think - of cat and mouse, he preferred being the cat, the dangerous and cunning feline who stalked the small mouse, he had to swallow his pride and confess that he played the mouse as often as he played the cat, being hunted and narrowly escaping because you let him.

But this, this meeting was a surprise, to see his призрак stand before him, tempted by the proposition he had to offer you —without any underlying meaning or hidden thoughts.

“мы наконец встретились, Призрак.” (We finally meet, ghost.)

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday

[scribbledghost]

Respite

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader (no y/n)

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,010

Warnings/Tags: third person POV, Really corny jokes, possibly OOC Ghost??? idek, Ghost's love language is acts of service and telling shitty jokes. This is a hill I will die on

Notes: yeah, yeah, I hear you, I've got requests sitting in my inbox (that I promise I'll get to) and here I am writing for a completely different blorbo that also shares my own damn name. Let me have this. Depending on this fic's reception I may write another. Lemme know what y'all think.

He could tell she was angry the moment she walked through the front door. Could feel it before he even saw her face.

A barely-contained, match-lit fuse, dangerously close to an exploding payload filled with shrapnel and black powder. If he’d been anywhere except their shared home, Simon would have wondered why he wasn’t smelling smoke as she walked.

He followed her silently into the kitchen where she deposited her bag and jacket, offering only one quiet word as she mumbled something about a shower and retreated into their shared bedroom. 

“Alone?”

She paused. It was a question she had asked him on many occasions. And just like all those times for him, it wasn’t meant as an invitation for something explicit - wasn’t meant as a double entendre or flirtatious means to an end. It was a simple question: did the other party want the asker’s presence, a wall at their back as they stood beneath a rain of hot water. It was an offer of calm, silent company.

“Alone.”

Yeah, she was pissed. 

Simon busied himself making dinner while she showered. Something quick, easy, and simple for her to at least get something in her stomach after the day she’d had. If he knew her like he thought he did, he doubted she’d eaten much (if at all) that day anyway. Part of him hoped that between a meal and a shower, her fuse would extinguish at least enough to clue him in on what was going on.

She took her time. Much like him, she showered to separate herself from work. “Washing the day off”, she called it. He knew the longer she was under the water, the more she felt the need to wash away. And today, she was there for a good, long while. Long enough for her to grumble about the water getting cold when she emerged again. 

“Dinner, love.”

“Not hungry,” she said as she walked past him towards the living room.

He followed her, gently placing his hands on her arms as he brought her back to his chest.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

She sighed, and he knew he had her pinned. 

“Yesterday.”

“Gotta eat, love,” he said softly. “You’ll feel better. Already made it, all y’gotta do is eat.”

Another sigh.

“Go. Sit. I’ll bring you a plate,” he said as he released her with a light pat to her hip.

She did as he asked without complaint, and as he brought her food to her and sat next to her on the couch, he carefully logged her body language. Leg bouncing, hand pinching the bridge of her nose, head leaned back, a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth.

Dinner was a quiet affair, only the low sound of the television in the background breaking up the silence. Once they were finished, Simon took her plate and his back into the kitchen, then returned to his spot on the couch with an arm stretched across the back behind her head.

“Long day, pet?”

At first, he only received an affirmative grunt in response. He gave her time, gave her space to fill if she wanted to elaborate.

“Boss is driving me up a fucking wall,” she finally started. “Got too much on her plate and can’t keep up. I want to help, but I’m stuck doing two jobs as it is. Don’t have the time to take on any extra. So I sit and struggle to get through my own shit while she’s in her office bitching and moaning about ‘I can’t find this’ or ‘I don’t understand that’ and I have to listen to it. And all that’s on top of everything else going on that’s not work related. Feel like I’m getting pulled in a thousand different directions. Got a fucking headache, Simon.”

At some point during her rant, Simon’s hand had drifted down and he had begun to rub a thumb along the back of her neck. 

“I’m not even getting decent sleep,” she mumbled.

“I know.”

By now, the tension had left her. Seeped from her lungs and drifted down through the carpet. All that was left was exhaustion.

“I feel bad for complaining,” she finally admitted. “It’s not like I’m getting shot at on the daily like… other jobs.”

“No,” Simon agreed, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t complain.”

She didn’t believe him. He knew she didn’t. In her mind, she was whining about office politics and a busy schedule to a man who was on leave from a job where being on the business end of a pack of explosives was a near daily risk. He knew from vast experience that there was little he could do to dissuade her on that front. So trying to cheer her up by affirming her need to vent was out of the question.

Simon was a man of many means, however.

“What do you call a pile of cats?” 

She gave him a weary stare.

“...What.”

“A meowntain.”

Then, he caught it. Before she could hide it, a quirk of her lips, a grin that spread before her sour mood could dampen it.

“That was awful, Simon.”

“Another?”

She paused. Then she let a soft smile grace her features.

“...Yeah.”

“How do you count cows?”

“Uh… one, two, three, four?”

“No, with a cow-culator.”

This time, he received an approximation of a laugh from her. A puff of air through her nose, accompanied by a good-natured shake of her head.

“That one was even worse.”

“Made you smile though.”

She shifted closer to him, brought a hand up to his face, and pulled his face to her as she pressed her lips to his cheek in a gentle kiss.

“Yeah,” she murmured against his skin, “you did.”

Simon turned his head to nudge his forehead against hers as he closed his eyes. A quiet moment after a hurricane, a giving of permission to let go after holding on against the waves all day.

Tomorrow would be better. He’d make sure of it.

[sserpente]

A/N: Happy Easter to everyone who celebrates! ♥ Some naughty President Loki action seems like a fitting Easter gift to me, what do you think? Also, I’m proud to announce there’s an actual Easter egg in this Imagine that may or may not have something to do with my upcoming English novel… Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 2616 Warnings: assassin!Reader, violence, dub-con, smut

One and a half million—as a deposit. That’s how much you demanded to see in your secret bank account before you had even considered going anywhere near what used to be Stark Tower and now acted as a base for him. Loki. President Loki.

You didn’t particularly care who you were supposed to kill, nor who hired you to do it. Governments were corrupted all over the world—there was not a single politician who didn’t act in his own interests rather than the people’s. You were only in it for the money.

President Loki, however… he was different. That man was a god with abilities you wouldn’t even dare dream of as a mere human. Your raised fee would reflect the danger you’d put yourself in if you accepted this mission. And then once the God of Mischief was dead, you’d be ten million dollars richer.

You were the best of the best—you got hired when the job needed to get done. You doubted that anyone else would be capable of sending Loki straight to hell. Or was it Helheim? He was a Norse god, after all. Surely, there was some eternal hellfire reserved for the likes of him.

But then again, you weren’t exactly a saint either. You murdered for money, never questioning whether the person whose life you were going to end was innocent or not. Granted, most of them were not and had red on their ledger one way or another but occasionally… occasionally, they did not deserve to die.

You were pretty certain that Loki did though. He wasn’t the worst ruler this world had ever seen but at the end of the day… he was an alien king forcing humans into submission. You wouldn’t bow to anyone, you thought, as you polished the sharp and hidden blade inside your lipstick. The job was messier when you chose it as your weapon but with Loki, you’d have to be sure. A slit throat would ensure he was truly dead and for that, you would have to get up close.

This time, your approach was going to be a little… unconventional. You had thought about it for a long time—and you had come to the conclusion that there was no other way to get into that tower without getting killed yourself before making it even anywhere near Loki.

Judy Magenta. That was the made-up name you had used to register for the escort service to receive legal identification for offering Loki… your time. It had taken quite a few naughty pictures to lure him in, along with a bought recommendation from another escort girl one of Loki’s lackeys booked regularly.

You had to admit, you did feel a little silly putting on that green glittery cocktail dress after tossing your lipstick knife into your clutch. The black high heels were a lovely touch though. You’d keep them after this job, as a trophy.

-

“You’re here to… entertain the president tonight?” The bulky bald man who escorted you to the lifts after the taxi driver dropped you off right in front of Stark Tower licked his lips when his greedy gaze travelled up and down your V-shaped cleavage.

“I am,” you gave back with a sweet smile, batting your eyelashes at him all the while you imagined kicking him in the balls until he howled for his mummy. You could tell he kept staring at your body and your rather revealing outfit during the ride up to the penthouse but, for the sake of keeping in mind you were not really an escort girl, you elected to ignore it and said nothing.

President Loki was standing at his bar surrounded by power-hungry politicians eager for his attention. Dressed in a black suit with a green tie and those golden horns on his head, he turned to face you with a glass filled with what you presumed was bourbon in his hand. He lifted his chin in a curious manner, his blue eyes narrowing just a little.

“Mr President…” the bulky bouncer began. “Uh… this is…”

“Judy. Judy Magenta. Your company for the night?” you offered. The bouncer let out a relieved breath.

“Ahh… just in time. I was just about to call it a day.” Loki’s voice was smooth, charming. He had a way with words, you had to give him that. Under different circumstances, you’d even admit that he was outrageously attractive. He was a god, after all. That must have been the reason.

You didn’t know if he’d done this before—or if he’d done it back on Asgard but at the end of the day, it didn’t matter, right? You were only doing this because it would give you the perfect opportunity to get just close enough to kill him and get this over with. Pleasure had no place here.

“Gentlemen… I will see you tomorrow. And you…” His blue eyes fixated on you, involuntarily sending shivers up and down your spine. “…why don’t you wait for me in my bedroom? I will be joining you shortly.”

You almost scoffed. So formal… if the sex was going to be anything like that… ugh. Well, most men with a big ego disappointed under the sheets.

Nodding, you made your way over to the door he pointed at and slid inside, taking in the furniture. A king-size bed with green sheets, of course, hundreds of books on shelves towering up all the way to the ceiling, and a neat desk armed with ink and a green and gold quill. It was very old-fashioned but a surprisingly comfortable room, you decided, as you threw your clutch on the bed.

You’d come prepared. Condoms, lube, even a cock ring. Whatever would tickle his fancy before you’d draw your little knife for a different kind of climax. By the time his lackeys would notice he was dead, you would be long gone. You were wearing a wig tonight as well, along with some coloured contacts to conceal your identity. Life as an assassin was a dangerous and lonely one but you were pretty used to it.

You flipped around when you heard the door open, forcing a fake smile. Loki had removed his horns now, and swapped his suit for a more comfortable outfit. In fact, he was shirtless, putting his pale but trained chest and arms on display. He wasn’t as shredded as Thor but the God of Thunder had never been your type anyway. Loki on the other hand… remember, no pleasure!

Your feigned smile widened as you turned around and moved your fake hair out of the way. “Help me undress?” You felt his presence behind you after a few silent steps, his soft fingers ghosting over your back to unzip you.

Needless to say, you had relinquished wearing any underwear tonight even though you did carry a spare pair of knickers in your clutch just in case. Once he slid the green dress off of your body and you stepped out of it, you turned back around, trailing your fingers over his abs.

“Ready for some fun, Mr President?”

“Loki will suffice, pet,” he replied. Pet? Oh, of course. Complete and utter submission. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him and instead, took his hands in yours and started walking backwards until you could lie down on his bed, pulling him on top of you.

You had to admit, you quite enjoyed how hungrily he glared at your naked body, his blue eyes wandering over every single inch of bare skin as if he was a demon you had summoned and now aimed to please in exchange for his power. The bulge in his trousers grew quickly as he hovered above you.

“Loki,” you repeated, testing his name on your tongue. Then, you reached for your clutch on his bed, pulling out the lube.

“And what’s that when it’s at home?” he asked, eyeing the bottle in your hands suspiciously.

You smiled at him. “Lube will make this experience more enjoyable for the both of us, Loki.”

The God of Mischief frowned. You blinked at him when he began to chuckle as if you’d just told him a hilarious joke.

“I can guarantee you, we will not need it, pet.” You were about to protest when he cupped your cunt with his hand all of a sudden, two fingers lightly stroking over your outer lips. You dropped the small bottle the moment his thumb found your clit, applying just enough pressure to ignite… arousal. He knew what he was doing. You realised that the moment he bent down to pepper your neck with hot kisses and teasing licks, his digits working their magic. He had you wet and ready for him within minutes of this delicious treatment. Fuck… you were not supposed to be enjoying this!

“There we go… it seems your body thinks we don’t need your lube either…”

You gasped for air when he slid two fingers inside of you, curling them at your g-spot. Your hips were bucking up to meet his hand against your will the moment the slick sounds of him fingering you echoed through the silent bedroom.

“Oh… fuck…” That felt good. You couldn’t quite remember the last time you had taken a minute to masturbate. That… that must have been why. You hadn’t had sex in so long that Loki exploring your soaking pussy had you writhing because of your celibate lifestyle.

His dark chuckle went directly between your legs too. And it was only then you realised that his trousers had disappeared into thin air, willed away by magic. You could feel his hard length pressing against your inner thigh, eager to claim you. Much to your own surprise… you wanted him to.

“C-Condom…” you choked out panting. But your reward was Loki removing his fingers from your cunt to instead snatch your wrists and pin them down above your head to render you all but helpless beneath him.

“A condom? I don’t think so, pet…” And with that, he forced himself between your legs and used his free hand to guide himself into your waiting hole. Inch by inch, Loki pushed forward, sheathing his girth inside you until he’d claimed you to the brim. His growl made you moan as he filled you so deliciously well that you believed your pussy was made for him.

When he started moving, you almost forgot why you were here. Loki withdrew almost entirely and then began rutting into you like there was no tomorrow. He fucked the assassin right out of you—for when your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he made sure to attack your neck yet again.

Moaning, you arched your back, your breasts brushing against his bare chest with every single thrust of his and fuck, this man knew how to use his tool. Each and every stroke drove you further to what already felt like the best orgasm of your life as the sound of sex and skin slapping against skin filled the room.

“I can feel you tightening around me, pet. Cum. Beg me for my seed,” Loki growled into your ear. You wanted to disobey him—wanted to disobey that commanding tone, that entitled smugness. But you couldn’t. Loki played you like an instrument, taking that delicious climax from you whether you wanted to give it to him or not.

You came around him with a moan, your toes curling and your walls pulsing around him, doing just what he had asked you to do. Your cunt was begging for his seed. He was merciful tonight. Loki reached his own peak with a low growl only moments later, filling you up and staining your walls until it came oozing out of you.

Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck, that arsehole had screwed you without a condom! Only now that you came back to your senses did you realise what you had let him do. Okay, don’t freak out… you can get a morning-after pill as soon as you are out the door. You’d ruin everything if you lashed out at him now. Besides… Loki was still hard—and it did not seem like he was going to tire any time soon.

-

It was three a.m. when he finally let you rest. Your pussy was sore, his cum leaking from almost all of your openings. He’d made you cum for him at least six more times before you’d lost count and now… now he was sound asleep next to you.

Time to strike.

As quiet as a mouse so you wouldn’t wake him up, you reached for your clutch that had at some point fallen to the floor, retrieving your lipstick knife. Then, you climbed on top of him, revealing the blade in the dark. You could barely make out his features with the curtains drawn but your eyes were trained to work in the shadows.

You gripped your weapon tighter, ready to slit his throat.

“I wonder…”, he mused with a start. You froze. “I wonder how much money you were offered to try.” He’s awake. “Are you going to tell me, pet?”

Your heart was beating so fast you worried it would jump straight out of your chest. Your paralysis lasted for only a second too long. By the time you reacted to finish what you’d started and kill him, he’d already overwhelmed you. Loki snatched your wrist so harshly you were forced to drop your weapon. He flipped you both over so you came to lie on the bed beneath him, his face only inches from yours. You winced when he ripped the wig off of you.

“Now… I’m impressed. You went to considerable lengths to get close to me. But you see, pet, I am the God of Mischief. I’m not easily tricked.” Cold shivers ran up and down your spine when he proceeded to call you by your real name. “But I must admit,” he went on, “that I am also a little disappointed. You know the punishment for attempted assassination of your king, do you not?”

Death. Execution. You swallowed thickly. How had he found out? He’d known. He’d known this entire time you were no real escort girl and still… he’d still fucked you! You gnashed your teeth, narrowing your eyes at him with anger usurping your growing fear.

“It’s a shame, really… you would make such a fine pet. Hmm…” He paused, burying his face in your neck and inhaling your scent deeply. “I think I’m going to keep you.”

Your eyes widened. “Kill me or let me go, Loki. I’m not playing your stupid games.”

“Oh, but you will, pet. You better get used to your new surroundings. You won’t be leaving any time soon.”

He made you moan involuntarily when he pushed inside of you without any forewarning. You hadn’t even realised he’d gotten hard again.

“Now…” he mused. “How much was it?” His lazy strokes made you even angrier—it felt good. Too fucking good.

“Ten… million,” you spat through gritted teeth.

“Ahh… well, I hope the money was worth your freedom. Because you are mine now, my little assassin.”

You wanted to punch him, scratch him and bite him, to wipe that mischievous smirk from his face. But you couldn’t. Not right now anyway—Loki kept rutting into you until you were sure to lose consciousness. My little assassin… you hated the depraved and lascivious part of you that enjoyed the idea of him keeping you as a pet.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you’d finish your mission, right after… right after you’d let him give you another orgasm. You’d… find a way… surely…

[swappingbryn]

Always Save Before You Exit

Kenny was tired of the drudgery of life, working, gym, his nagging girlfriend, even his friends were boring him. It didn’t matter that he was good looking, rode a motorcycle, he was just bored, which wasn’t helped by his tedious construction job.

He’d heard of a new service where you could rent out your body, you’d set the price, set all the limits, and if any conditions were violated, the rental would automatically end. He’d been thinking of doing a trip across the country during the summer, and this would help him be able to afford it.

He set up an appointment and heard them out. He wasn’t sure, but he figured he’d give it a chance, he had nothing to lose, if no one liked his price or the rules, they’d turn him down. He started simple, no smoking, no unprotected sex, no tattoos or permanent marks, he opted to be unaware of the time he was being rented, he chose not to give the person access to his memories, and then shot for the moon with the rental fee, $1,000/day, clicking “Save” after each page. Once he got to the last page, he clicked “Save” once again and walked out, unaware he didn’t click “Submit.”

As he walked out, he didn’t see anyone else around, but that was a mix of adrenaline and tunnel vision, as there was an old, thin man sitting in the corner who entered the room next to fill out his profile.

When Icarus walked into the room, he noticed the computer was still opened to Kenny’s profile, and he could still make edits. Icarus went to town making changes, knowing he’d love to have Kenny’s body. He changed the limits, the rules, the settings, even the price. And then he clicked “Submit,” finalizing Kenny’s account, and setting up his own.

No less than an hour after he arrived home, Kenny received an email saying his body had been rented. The email noted the renter agreed to everything Kenny listed, and so if Kenny accepted, no further bargaining was needed. Kenny was prompted with a warning when he clicked accept “Warning: All rentals over five days required additional disclosures. Are you sure you want to engage in this rental? All rental funds will be placed in escrow earning interest until the end of the rental period. Do you agree?” Kenny happily clicked Yes. He was expecting to wake up a few days later, with a huge deposit into his account.

However, Kenny was instantly unable to move, with his body moving on its own. He was petrified, thinking something had gone horribly wrong. His body was moving without him in control, he could hear his voice talking, “Hmm, this feels so good. This voice is so deep, and I’m so young and hot. This is the best use of my annual bonus from work. I don’t regret spending 7Gs got this body.” Kenny realized he never looked at the rental time, but figured while he hated this arrangement, it would only be for a week. His body went into his bedroom and jerked off, several times, with Kenny feeling it each time. Then his girlfriend came home and Kenny heard his voice say “Hey Clarice, want to have some fun?” To which he thought ‘how does he know her name?’ She relented after a few minutes and they fucked, over and over, with her moaning how much better it felt than usual. Kenny also realized how good it felt, and that his body wasn’t wearing a condom.

Kenny realized how much he’d fucked up. Whoever this guy was, he somehow had access to all Kennys memories, Kenny was aware of the rental, and apparently none of the rules were in play. Kenny felt his body smoking like a chimney, felt tattoos being applied, felt his body fucking like crazy, his girlfriend, random women, even men. It wasn’t until the eighth day Kenny was scared, as he was still unable to control anything.

This hell went on for days beyond count. Kenny eventually gave up and retreated into the recesses of his mind. Until finally, he woke up and had control. He woke up to kids running around, jumping on his bed.

His phone, which he knew was his, but it was much different and high tech-y pinged, “Thank you for using our service. The rental fee of $7,300 plus 5% annual interested has been deposited into your account. We hope you enjoyed your rental.” And “A deposit of $19,369.08 has been made to your account.”

Kenny ran from bed and looked in a mirror. He was old now, grey hair, leathered skin, he felt a craving for a cigarette which he instinctively lit, and he saw tattoos covering his arms and chest.

He ran to the rental office to demand answers. It turns out he now had six kids, from four different women, still the same shitty job, and the same bike. It was only then that he was shown a copy of his rental agreement. “No rules, full awareness, full memory access” was all that was written, not the pages of rules he set up. And then he saw that the rental amount was different too, rather than $1,000 per day it was $1. Kenny had given up twenty years of his youth for $7,300, and while that almost tripled in size, he now had a huge family, a bad job and a nicotine addition.

@malevessel for the picture and rental idea

[whimsicalpoet44]

Astro Observations - Lucky Edition.

**Based off of my opinion and experience. If it doesn't fit your situation, that's okay!**

Planets that I think are lucky or could indicate great fortune or success. (Mostly fire sign edition)

Midheaven: Leo in the 10th house:

Likely to be a supervisor, mentor, or role model. You find the best opportunities through self-expression. You may forced into the limelight, which you may struggle with because you're also a very private person. Your accomplishments will also be highly praised in public settings. Allow yourself to create results that are important or meaningful to you. This will help you achieve success.

Careers: Management, Entertainer, Artist, Designer, Media, Marketer, Teacher. You need roles that allow you to make decisions and express your individuality.

MC conjunct Sun: You're resilient. Success is guaranteed for you, though the road can be bumpy at times. Be careful when it comes to your ego. Make sure you listen to the needs of others that you must collaborate with.

MC Trine North Node: You can't hide from capturing the attention of figures of authority. In fact, you always seem to be publicly recognized for your successes, even if it makes you uncomfortable. Your sense of purpose may be strong and you have some valuable knowledge to teach humanity. Think "Right place, right time" kind of energy.

Sun in Leo in the 10th House: Commonly recognized as "fame" placement. You might have the desire to transform the world in some capacity. And you just might succeed. You're hard working and extremely self aware, which allows you to reflect on your choices. You may be forced to put yourself out there to gain success though.

5, 17, 29 Degree Placements: Commonly known as the "fame degrees."

Jupiter in Aries in the 6th house: "Leader" should be tattooed on your forehead, because you radiate this energy. You can find abundance in just about any job you pursue. Your abundance could come from you day to day job. You'll receive immense luck once you've found a job you adore. Downside? Others may see you as bossy if you aren't in a posistion of leadership to exercise this confident energy. If you haven't embodied your confidence, you may be prone to anger. Work on self-love to shift this.

Careers in teaching, education, publishing, customer service, or a career related to animals. You're a natural healer, so it could be in any career where you're taking care of others' well-being.

Jupiter in the 12th: Many people are afraid of the 12th house, but there's something about Jupiter in the 12th that defies those stereotypes. 12th house Jupiter's are seen as "guardian angel" placements. You are often protected in the most bizarre circumstances. You may be someone that has weird synchronicities when everything appears to be falling a part. Your car broke down a day before pay day? The person towing it significantly discounts the price. Not sure how you're going to pay your power bill? A random deposit you forgot about hits your bank account. You're not necessarily luckier than others, but your bad luck may turn around quickly.

Moon Conjunct Jupiter: You're probably super optimistic and generous. You're also a manifestation magnet. If you want, you got it.

[iamsherlocked1479]

Kinktober: Day four, prostitution

Okay, so far so good, we've made it to day four and i'm still going strong, Hope you enjoy this one!

Warnings: Prostitution

word count: 1.4K

Kinktober masterlist

This was a new thing for you, jt wasn’t work that was well received by others, but it paid your bills. When people asked what you did for a living your answer was always IT and you made sure that you missed out the fact that people would pay to spend the night with you. And now here you stand in probably the nicest building you’ve seen in an elevator far too extravagant to be in an apartment complex. The man in question your appointment was with a new client, he had sent a healthy deposit into your account and a promise of more money after the evening had ended. It was enough to convince you to come to his place, you normally have your own space for these kinds of meetings but he insisted on it, and with your college funds still needing to be paid you weren’t in the position to decline.

You stood outside his door, in your leather boots, fishnet stockings black denim skirt and a white t-shirt. Your hair was curled so its dark waves curled around your neck giving your head more of a highlight making the bright red lipstick really pop. You knocked on the door and heard the sounds of footsteps come towards the door. As the door opened you were greeted by a handsome man, clean shaven with bright blue eyes. His hair was dark with a hint of curls to them, his temples had silver streaks running through them. He was fairly toned with his chest pressing against his his shirt that was neatly tucked into his black jeans.

“You must be y/n.” He smiled opening the door, giving you room to walk in.

“And you must be Stephen.” You smiled as you walked into the apartment. It was huge and spacious, the kitchen taking up most of the corner, though it looked mostly unused, the view of the city was immaculate with a black grand piano placed behind the grey sofa in the living room, a large bookshelf replacing where a TV would normally go. The shelves filled with Shakespeare and human physiology books.

“Not much of a Tv person.” He laughed “take a seat” he gestured to the sofa. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah sure bourbon if you have any” you smiled sitting comfortably on the couch as he grabbed to glasses.

“I’ll send over the rest of the money later.” He said sitting on the sofa, handing you the drink.

“So Mr Strange, how may I assist you this evening?” You say sipping your drink

“It's Doctor, Doctor Strange and it depends. I gave you more than enough for the full service.” He leaned back into his chair, his eyes scanning your body.

“Well then, Doctor, the evening is yours to plan, I only ask that you wear protection. You must do this often if you know what you want.” You begin to grow more comfortable and twirl your fingers through your hair.

“Occasionally, protection is fine. I can’t afford any health issues. It wouldn't look good on my reputation.” He raised his brow.

“Don't want to give the hospital receptionist an STD?” You joke

“How did you know?” He put his glass on the table. You nodded your head to the black panties stuffed down the side of the couch

“She must have forgotten something.” You put your drink down and straddled his waist, trailing your fingers across his collarbone. His hands slides to your waist where he played with the fat of your ass. 

“You’re a smart one aren’t you.” He quirked as you began rocking into his legs.

“I like to make men think they have to work for me.” Your arms crossed around his neck and you leaned in close to his lips leaving only a small gap. You could feel his hardness pressing your cunt and you began to exhale with pressure.

“Is that what you like? You want us to feel like we deserve you, I paid for you didn’t I?” He smirked at the sight of you enjoying yourself, and began to moan. He grabbed your lips with his hand and pulled you closer. “Don’t go faking it on me.” He said with a dark tone, you smiled and crashed your lips to his. 

“Never.” You smiled, he stood up and you wrapped your legs around his waist as you continued to kiss. He kicked open a door and flopped you onto a large bed. He pulled off your t-shirt smiling at the fact you weren’t wearing a bra. His mouth moved from your lips to your chest, his tongue swirling around your nipple until it peaked with hardness before moving onto the other.

“Are you going to let me fuck your throat?” He lifted his head off your chest and you nodded. He got off the bed and you stood on your knees kissing him, helping him to remove his shirt. It dropped to the floor and then you moved to his jeans, pulling them down with his boxers. Your eyes widened at his thick cock bouncing up to his abdomen, it was long and thick and you knew this evening was going to be worthwhile. You take him in your hands and his breath hitches at the sensation, you leave a trail of light kisses along his length before taking him all in. You swallow as much of him down but he fills your mouth easily, he angles himself and begins to gently thrust allowing you to get used to the sensation. “Did i tell you how pretty your mouth looks when i fuck it.” He moans holding onto your head and keeping your hair out of your face you moaned as he contined you fuck your mouth, you could feel he was close, but judging by his relentless you knew he’d be able to do more than one round. “Shit baby, your mouth is so good. Im gonna- gon- fuck.” White ropes flooded down your throat and he held your mouth there making sure you swallowed every last drop. You pulled away and left a trail of saliva still connecting you.

“Would you like to rest a little.” You as he wipes your mouth.

“Hell no” he laughs “gonna make you feel good baby.” He laid you on the bed and began to remove your skirt and stockings. He kissed your pelvis lightly, your stomach rising and falling with anticipation, it was very rare any man made sure to touch you during your visits. His tongue swiped through your folds settling with circular motions around your clit.

“Yes! Shit thats good.” You moaned loudly pushing your fingers through his hair pushing his face deeper. You could feel a pulse making its way to your clit. He added to the sensation with two fingers, pumping them in and out of your hole.

“God you taste so good, want you to cum on my mouth baby, you think you can do that for me?” He asked, increasing his motion. 

“Y-yes.” Your words stuttered and you clenched around his fingers

“Thats it, good girl, let loose” he moved his tongue down to you cunt and began fucking your hole, you came into his mouth like he did to you. “Taste so good.” He muttered licking up your juices.

“Stephen?” You looked at him with desperation 

“Yes?” A smile crept to the corner of his mouth

“Fuck me.” You begged 

“Why else would you be here?”' He stepped away and got a condom from his drawer and put it on. You bit your lip and watched as he climbed on top of you. He lined himself up and pushed in with one strong thrust, he hit that spot instantly, you could already feel your second orgasm building as he hit his hips into yours, you wrapped your arms around his back digging your nails in hard enough to cause your knuckles to turn white. “God your such a good girl for me, letting me fuck you like this.” He groaned as sweat began to form in the corner of his brow.

“Stephen, don’t stop, I'm so close.” You cried out as he found a way to hit that spot even harder, you came again for a second time, you could tell he was close. He stopped being able to form sentences and you could feel the way he pulsed inside you and finally he let loose groaning as he came. 

“Shit!” He collapsed onto you “God i’m gonna pay you double”

“Its free” you panted

“What?” He looked up at you

“If i can see you again it's free.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @rmoonstoner @mary-johnlocked

falcityllemon it won't let me tag u :O

[feralnando]

Take your punishment

Sexting Mark while he’s on a work trip is all fun and games until he comes home.

Pairings: Mark Webber x Fem!Reader x Fernando Alonso - set in @percervall’s Fuck it Universe

Warnings: it got feral up in here.

Smut, Sexting, oral (m receiving), masturbation, dom!Mark, use of restraints, clothing being ripped off, cuckolding, dirty talk, degradation, fingering, hair pulling, use of ‘Daddy’, P in V, unprotected sex, spanking.

Word count : 1.1k

-

“All good?” David Coulthard queries, trying to stifle a laugh. He’d just watched Mark splutter half of his freshly made coffee over himself, the table and his phone - which he quickly slams face down.

“Y-yeah, peachy.. mate..” was the Aussie’s strained reply as he scrambles to wipe up the mess he’d made. He’d only seen the thumbnail of the video Fernando had sent him but that was enough to not only make him wear his coffee, but know that he needed to find some privacy, ASAP.

“Just, uh, need to clean myself up,” Mark mutters, excusing himself to the bathroom in a manner that he hopes wouldn’t inform David of his steadily growing erection.

-

Closing the door behind him, Mark unlocks his phone. Instantly greeted by the image of you on your knees between Fernando’s legs, big doe eyes looking up at the camera as Fernando lazily strokes himself with his free hand.

“Fucking hell,” Mark hisses, using his free hand to unzip his trousers in an attempt to relieve some pressure. Pushing down his boxers, his cock springs free, a bead of precum already forming.

“You gonna show Mark what he’s missing, nena?” He hears Fernando coo from behind the camera, tapping his cock against your lips.

You flash a coy smile, trailing your tongue along the length of the Spaniard's cock before taking it into your mouth completely, the action eliciting a moan from him that makes Mark shudder, now so desperate for release that he’s given up on feeling the shame of having a wank in a bathroom stall of his workplace.

He strokes his cock at the pace you’re servicing Fernando, wishing it was you. The sounds coming from the video alone would be enough to finish him off, but paired with the sight of you - bobbing up and down Fernando’s cock as you maintain eye contact with the camera - it doesn’t take long for him to be biting back a string of curses as he spills over his hand.

‘You’re both getting punished when I’m back home!’ he types once he’s cleaned up and tucked back into his boxers.

-

The punishment, as it turns out, doesn’t feel like much of a punishment to you. Mark having a fistful of your hair as he fucks you into the mattress, would class as a pretty good evening in your books.

Fernando however, is not having a good time, at all.

Within a few minutes of Mark arriving home, Fernando found himself being manhandled to the bedroom.

You find his predicament amusing, until Jenson scoops you up in his arms and you’re following suit.

“Don’t look at me like that doll, I’m just doing as Mark asked,” the Brit shrugs “sounds like you deserve it though,”he adds, playfully nipping at your ear before throwing you over his shoulder.

As soon as you’re deposited into the bedroom, you see that Fernando has already been stripped and unceremoniously dumped onto the wooden chair in the corner.

He starts to protest but the second Mark grabs his jaw and forces eye contact, he quickly rethinks back chatting the older man.

“I was at work!” Mark growls, maintaining his grip on Fernando as he shoots a look over to you, as if reminding you that you’re in trouble too. “You’re lucky David wasn’t sitting closer to me..you want Coulthard to see what’s mine?” You both shake your heads, swallowing thickly. “Didn’t think so,” he huffs, letting go of Fernando’s jaw with a shove and pacing over to the bag he returned home with.

Fernando, quite frankly, can't decide if he’s terrified or more horny than he was to begin with as Mark returns to his side, armed with navy bondage rope.

“You’re gonna stay still and watch me ruin her, got it?” He hisses, pulling Fernando’s wrists behind his back and securing them to the chair.

“M-Mark, is this necessary?” he stammers, tugging against the restraints as Mark moves on to binding his ankles to the chair legs - spreading him wide.

Mark doesn’t dignify this with a response. Instead, once satisfied that he’s fully restricted, he bows his head, licking a long strip up the Spaniard’s cock. A helpless whine escapes him as Mark turns his attention back to you - leaving him painfully hard.

“Get over there and face him,” Mark orders and you’re moving without hesitation, eager to please. You breath hitches as you feel his presence behind you, big hands sliding up and down your body as he toys with the silk of your dress. The tearing sound that follows leaves you dumbfounded as he rips the clothing off of you. “The fuck, Mark!” You gasp as you watch the fabric fall to the floor.

“I’ll buy you another one,” he hums, trailing his fingers across your now bare skin - watching the goosebumps form. You go to protest, but his mouth on your neck stops any coherent thoughts you’re having.

You notice that his voice softens slightly as he asks for your colours. The ragged yet reassuring echo of ‘green’ from both lovers has him picking up the pace as his fingers snake their way lower “she’s so fucking wet, Nando.” He groans.

Fernando whines at the lewd sounds that follow as Mark expertly curls his fingers into you. He’s already rock hard and looking exceptionally pitiful about it. His cock twitching helplessly as he takes in the sight in front of him.

Knowing just how to torture you both, Mark wraps your hair around his fist and tugs, using it to direct your gaze at Fernando.

“Break eye contact with him and I'll edge you till you’re crying, got it?” A shiver runs down your spine and all you can do is moan in reply. That clearly isn't enough for Mark, as you feel his hand strike your ass a second later. “I expect a reply, sweetheart”

“Y-yes, yes Daddy,” the sound that the term rewards you with, is downright sinful.

“That’s my good girl..” he smirks, shoving you down onto the bed as you desperately try to keep your eyes locked on the wide eyed hazel ones staring back at you. You almost falter as he pulls your underwear to the side, teasing you with the tip of his cock.

“You gonna take your punishment like a good little whore?” You would reply to this, but the sensation of him suddenly filling you leaves you devoid of any words and you feel the sharp sting of his hand once more.

“I asked you a question,” Mark all but growls in your ear.

“Yes-.. Yes, Daddy,” you’re quick to correct yourself. You can feel Mark smile against your skin as he murmurs his praise. He presses your back against his front, a hand curling around your throat to make sure you keep your head up and eyes locked on Fernando. Judging by the way the Spaniard is looking at the both of you –eyes glazed over in lust and cock weeping–, you are in for a long night.

Well, here it is! First fic in a long while, so please be kind..

This was the result of the brainrot sessions ™ with @percervall , who helped me out so much with this 🖤 ily Mar!

Feedback on this filth would be greatly appreciated.

[merrysithmas]

Anakin & literacy

It seems likely that Anakin, as a slave, would have never had initial instruciton in Basic or Reading.

Of course, he is preternaturally gifted in mechanics and a prodigy with such skills (which is actually a Force ability called mechu-deru).

Given these advantages, he was likely able to teach himself some basic symbol interpretation for practical engineering, or worked to at least superficially comprehend discarded, out-of-date droid instruction manuals which had little to do with the tech he had at hand.

More importantly, for his survival, I postulate, he was able to decipher numbers ledgers and invoices given to those cajoled by Watto into overpriced and unquality services.

And of course, we know Anakin can speak several language. Basic, Bocce (another standard of Tatooine), Huttese & Jawaese (both trade languages of Tatooine with Huttese being the most commonly spoken language). Anakin could also likely understand others such as those spoken by the various Tusken tribes & Toydarian. His skill with spoken language likely far outstrips most classically trained Jedi padawans.

But for the most part, in regards to written language, it seems that Anakin was likely illiterate when Qui-gon found him and brought him to the Temple. It is very much easy to imagine a strung-out, grief-lagged young Obi-wan carelessly depositing a stack of beginner texts on simplistic rules of the Order meant for Younglings in front of the unusual Anakin, who looks up at him, perplexed.

"What am I supposed to do with those?" the boy asks in his innocent, direct manner.

Obi-wan -- already wearied and short of fuse from the barrage of new responsibilities which follow knightship, the ever-watchful concern of the Council regarding his "special assignment" of Anakin, and the hard punch of social curiosity regarding his slaughter of Maul (and so reliving Qui-gon's death daily) -- assumes this is some childish and unmannered inquiry, and vexed, replies, "Why to read, young Skywalker. Now please attend to your duties as I attend to my own."

Obi-wan hardly thinks much else of it until one day, not too far later, he sees Anakin holding a book upside down. It's only then he realizes his mistake and assumption and guides Anakin to the Temple teachers to catch up on what is a considerably delayed instruction in the basics of Reading and Writing. This is something Obi-wan has taken for granted and that he hadn't truly given much thought to at that point besides the ubiquitous airy sentiment of "we are so lucky to live in Coruscant, the farther reaches of the galaxy don't have what we do".

Anakin undoubtedly becomes well-versed in all manner of literacy by the time he is a General, receiving and sending communiques constantly, but it is still likely that, given his penchant for direct action over delayed patience, he may prefer holograms and other spoken communication.

Anakin's habit of action-over-patience is a proclivity that certainly comes from somewhere. It is well known he is arrogant which is connected to a keen sense of doubt and self-perceived inferiority. His lower than average reading comprehension - and his consequent natural penchant for learning through action - is a probable contributor to this sense of nervousness and displacement. Especially in the context of schooling, where he may have wanted to prove himself growing up - such as when around his contemporaries (the other universally-educated Padawans). Also, it stands to mention the incredible awe he must have had of young Padme & young Obi-wan's skills in these areas.

This routine of showing off what he can do is clearly an effort to contribute in his own way, to fit in, and to distract from what he can't do- a habit which does not serve him well later in life, and is often interpreted as pure bravado.

His desire to prove his skills equal to (or superior to) traditional bookishness is apparent especially in his early relationship with Obi-wan. Obi-wan, who is desperately, white-knuckled clinging to the rules and regulations. Obi-wan who suffers from a terror and self-doubt in his own abilities, seen as inferior by Qui-gon. He truly doubts his ability to handle the undue aquisition of the Chosen One. Thus, he reacts in contrariness to Anakin's criticisms and complaints. They just do not see eye to eye and are both struggling individually, not seeing each other.

Anakin sees Obi-wan's skills and reliance on the rules as weak (propped up by the summation he heard Qui-gon give of Obi-wan's abilities himself - "he is headstrong and has much to learn of the Living Force... there is nothing more I can teach him"). To him, pedantics are a poor substitute for real-life experience. And it is worth noting Anakin does have a point. That even as a child he had a considerable amount of experience and knowledge of the "real world" in a way all of the other Padawans (and even many of the knighted Jedi) did not. Their actions & inexperienced appraisals of even common social situations must have seemed at times incredibly ignorant and unjust to him.

Obi-wan on the other hand, sees Anakin's restlessness and discomfort with Temple norms as disrespectful and premature. In a way, of course, Obi-wan is also correct. Anakin lacks the formal finesse and structure of the Order, the foundational skills to the responsibilities he seeks to have as a Jedi as written in their carefully crafted syllabus. Anakin certainly lacks the building blocks of respect for his incredible natural gifts - something Obi-wan struggles mitigating.

I do think Anakin was right (at some points): Anakin was very observant and sensitive in the Force - it is likely that he was correct in his observations, that Obi-wan was jealous, young and unpracticed as Obi-wan still was. Obi-wan who was hypersensitive of rules and process, an unforgiving perfectionist who stuck to dogma like glue in order to become the most pristine version of himself. His gave his utmost efforts to fulfill the vision of the Order, to please his inscrutable Master & the Council - and so feel self-worth. Anxious padawan Obi-wan who worked and studied tirelessly for every perfected skill he had. Anakin wasn't the only one searching for approval and praise as a padawan...

That Obi-wan... faced with someone so naturally talented and shirking of core basics as Anakin? That must have, indeed, irked him like no other! Anakin on the other hand also equally harbored a jealousy of Obi-wan - someone who could focus so keenly and work so diligently and through that alone nearly match his skill. Obi-wan worked to be so good. Anakin's skills were Force-given, and in his own doubtful mind he must have asked himself... were they unearned? am I a sham?

They both distrusted one another before they realized, in an immense stroke of binding fate, that they were more alike in the ways that counted than different, and their differences strengthed and empowered the other. Anakin eventually sees Obi-wan's observation, patience, and practiced mastery as unmatched - the perfect companion. He is stabilized and turned inward by Obi-wan's influence. In a way, tamed. He is shocked by Obi-wan's ability to be so wise & skilled by focus alone. Something he sees as a Obi-wan's great gift. Obi-wan on the other hand, learns to truly live with Anakin by his side. See life for what it is, not what he learned. He is set free.

I always wondered when reading The Jedi Path, when I'd see scribbled notes in the margins of the text from Obi-wan, Ahsoka, Tyranus, etc: out of all of them, Anakin's seemed the shortest, the least detailed, the most succinct. Why? His petulance and disinterest aside, it was likely, out of necessity. His lack of skill in reading and writing at that point (as a Padawan). And realizing this, many of these feelings we observe in him (petulance, impatience, restlessness) may have arisen in the academic sense because of his learning curve with both reading and writing.

Lastly, I'd like to note in The Book of Sith when we see Vader's scribbled notes they are far more eloquent, written in impeccable cursive, and insightful. It is interesting that Vader is so different from Anakin in this sense and that he seems to pick up many of Obi-wan's defenses - a mask of eloquence and neatness. This may be in an effort to become a "perfect" Sith, (as Obi-wan struggled with his pursuit of being the "perfect" Jedi) when he knows he is not truly capable of such (Anakin always inside, as it was Anakin's love that was manipulated to form Vader).

Vader's manner of diction and formality can be linked to all of the above ("Anakin Skywalker was weak)". It is an exhausting effort by Vader to distance himself from the prime ego Anakin Skywalker. Vader, the alter ego, seeks to pursue a mask of monstrosity for both his own psychological shield and to project an identity he could not, infuriatingly, get to entirely stick.

[pumpkincurryelote]

Furthering the world-building thought experiment of Midwives as an independent organization or governing body in a stateless/moneyless world: Imagine their purview extending not just to birth, but to abortion, women's health, women's history, and women's liberation by force where necessary up to and including the execution of rapists. Exclusively female membership, living in facilities akin to non-religious convents. In fact the most powerful of any large organization. How their services/protection might be engaged would vary depending on region. If this be a post-patriarchy world, they would be the first line of defense against the resurgence of said disease.

Farmers would be second most powerful. As permaculturists in a world where everything is locally sourced, and they would be responsible for protecting biodiversity of both flora and fauna in their biomes. There is no mass production of anything in this model. Wild animals are respected members of the community alongside domesticated ones. They monitor and survey the land, on guard for outbreaks and potential disasters, tending the food forests and keeping the biome healthy. They deliver non-human medical care to every creature in the land. Their voices are heard first on the floor of any development project and they can set hard boundaries or veto projects outright. While not explicitly stated to be female only, females would nonetheless outperform males in this field. Even in hunting.

Next up is Libraries. Librarians collect, organize, and administer all manner of public resource, not just books. Knowledge, tools, furniture, clothes, technology, seeds, genetic material, whatever is needful. They keep mundane records of everyone in their community, and community members can deposit personal logs for safekeeping here. Indeed anything the community deems of utmost value may be stored here. Every library is built to withstand assault, and to protect its contents-- a last resort lockdown would fully seal the library from the outside world for 100 years, killing anyone inside. The identities of chief librarians with access to sensitive collections (and the ability to lock their library down) are shrouded in secrecy. Field librarians go out on expeditions to collect data, specimens, etc where permitted by a region's Farmers (and always with a Farmer in attendance).

Hospitals are fourth, and we all know what they're supposed to do. Universities are arguably fifth, and bosom buddies with Libraries. Universities would be the only "large cities" you ever see, and are major transportation hubs. Any large scale project happens here-- rocket to the moon large. Trains occupy this status bracket as well, being the main arteries of civilization/transportation. Ocean cargo could be an extension or a symbiotic relationship.

Of equal influence are Mail and Sanitation. The postal service delivers through whatever means necessary. Any interference with another person's mail results in brutal application of force. No matter how isolated or alone you think you are, the post service will find you. If anybody at all sends you a message, you WILL receive it. They're the best trackers in the world. Many have working dogs as companions. Some have birds. All of them tend to be loners unless someone has done them dirty or behaves dishonorably.

Sanitation encompasses recycling/repurposing of non-compostable goods, composting itself (composting toilets are the norm), janitorial work, pandemic/outbreak containment, and burials (where applicable). If there's a landfill or old oil spill that needs remediation, they're there. Many have skill in repairs/fabrication, and choose this life to have first pick of scavenged parts. Many are also skilled at soapmaking, extractions (Greek oregano, eucalyptus, wintergreen, etc.), and distillation (vinegar).

[1533-secrets-from-history]

10 most Influential women in the Ottoman Empire (plus five non- sultans)

I must say in advance, this is purely my opinion and it doesn't include legal power,but general influence. For example if one woman had more legal power but still was limited to some actions, that another woman could get away with, I will rank her higher. Let's start with non sultans.

Part I: Non-Sultans

Number 5: Çevri kalfa

Çevri kalfa was a woman of Georgian origin and previously loyal servant to Nakşidili Sultan (also Georgian). She became mistress head treasurer( Baş hazindar usta) after accession of Mahmud II, who she saved from executioners by throwing them hot coals and sneaking the prince out. After becoming Head treasurer, she attained so much wealth that she could afford expensive clothes not even sultans wore. A girls school, built in her name, is one of the first schools for girls and the biggest primary school in Istanbul. She remained in her office until her death and was Sultan's trusted and favoured advisor.

Number 4: Meleki Kalfa

Meleki kalfa was a servant of Kösem and Ibrahim, however following the deposition of the sultan, she secretly switched sides as an agent of Turhan. Meleki played an important role in Turhan's rebellion by giving her information about Kösem's plan to dethrone Mehmed. After Kösem's death and Turhan's accession, she became an important person in Valide Sultan's court, was freed and married to Şaban Khalife. The couple built a residence in Istanbul, where Meleki not only conditioned her line of information to Turhan, but also acted as a negotiator in the palace on behalf of people. The political influence of her and her husband grew so much and they were murdered in 1656 for abuse of power.

Number 3: Gulfem Hatun

I have spoken about her in my previous posts

Number 2: Mahidevran Hatun

I have thought a lot about where to put her. People would expect her to be Number 1,mostly because they are used to her being sultan. That is what I first thought,for other reasons,but here we are. She has several significant influences that not many other women had:

1. She was popular with janissaries and people

2. Had a spy network, allowing her to hear major events happening in the capital.

3. She had strong allies. Ibrahim Paşa supported her and Mustafa later in his life, Hatice and her husband were supporting her openly or indirectly.

4. She was a considerable rival to the first and one of the most powerful women in the ottoman empire.

5. She had powerful characteristics: Was an intelligent, educated woman. Could mask her resentment towards Hürrem and act calmly around him.

6. She was a trusted advisor to her son. Actually, she supported the idea of Mustafa revolting against Suleiman,but only after she received information about his imminent execution, through her spy network.

Number 1: Çanfeda Kalfa

Çanfeda was the woman of Circassian origin, who served as second in command of Nurbanu for 18 years and the ruler of harem for another 11, so we can say she was de-facto Valide sultan.

In her almost three decades of service, she acquired wealth, so great that it attracted negative attention of Janissaries and even the grand Vizier. Although she collected such affluence through her salary(that was extraordinarily high consisting of 200 akches a day, it was the average salary of an imperial princess) and bribery, she used it for selfless purposes. She built three mosques, fountains, hamams, two schools, irrigation systems and fixed the roads, costing her several million akches, still she remained as one of the wealthiest people in the empire. In 1595, when Safiye exiled her, she needed dozens of carriages to carry her holdings, which apparently did not consist of much of the furniture, because she bought it from Venice the next year. It's also considerable that as an exiled person, she had to give up some of her wealth to imperial treasury.

Apart from her vital involvements in harem management in which she dominated Safiye, she had considerable influence over state matters as well. Çanfeda used her connections to install her not so bright brothers as paşas and after the series of mistakes,they were imprisoned, Çanfeda not only defied Grand viziers orders and had them set free,but restored them to their offices as well. Her power, wealth and influence came to the attention of Janissaries, who demanded her dead, but she got away with this as well. Another indication of her power, was her attempt to free the second son of sultan Murad. Even though she was caught red handed, the power it would take to infiltrate the prison is still considerable.

P.S. I did not list Halime and Handan,because after becoming Valide Sultans and regents they reached a whole different level, leagues above almost every single woman in ottoman history, however their power and influence was immense even when they were Hatuns.

As there is only 10 images/Gif limit. I will speak about 10 most powerful women in second posts.

[olivefeuillu]

Aemond X Male Knight / Kingsguard reader

Summary : Aemond and a male kingsguard reader having a passionate make out session.

Modification of the supper scene

Might write a part two

Already established relationships

Warning : cussing (?)

English is not my first language and It’s the first time I post more than a tiny imagine. Sorry if there’s any mistakes !

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The man in armor wore his white cloak with pride, being a royal bodyguard was always something he dreamt of being. A few months ago, he was promoted to the Kingsguards as he received the crown’s favor and recognition. He was given the honor to serve and protect the second born son, Aemond of house Targaryen.

During his months of service, he got close to the prince’s heart, very close. The knight didn’t only protect him, he also loved him. He gave him the love the prince never had in his own family.

Tonight was special, the royal family was celebrating unions between the house Velaryon and the house Targaryen. The kingsguard was far away from the big table full of food that was surrounded by the royal family. He watched the maids running with the plates of food, carefully. The guard listened to the conversations coming from all directions as he stood near Ser Criston Cole, until he saw a roasted pig on a platter being deposited in front of Aemond’s place.

“ Oh, oh,” he thought.

Lycerys sneered as he looked at Aemond. The prince stormed out of the room after he saw the smirk on his nephew’s face. If he could have fed his nephew’s eyes to his dragon, Vhagar, he would have done it. He didn’t want to make a scene in front of his mother. Revenge can wait. He can wait.

His guard followed him out of the room like he would normally do, but tonight his prince is furious.

“ This fucking bastard,” he clenched his jaw and took a deep breath to calm himself down. “ If he dares look at me again, I’ll-…”

“ My prince, I suggest you to not bring unnecessary drama to your family supper,” his knight softly smiled to help him calm down. “Do it for your king, your father. This is probably one of his last family reunions.”

“ I don’t give a shit. My father never did anything for me. He did nothing when this bastard took my-…” his eye hardened to this thought and his brows furrowed.

“ Then do it for your mother, for your sister,” he approached him and his armor made metallic sounds as the meters separating them disappeared, “ do it for me.”

“ For you ? mmh.”

“ Yes, for me,” he hoped this was enough to calm his lover’s nerves.

Aemond approached him, they were now closer, their chests were almost touching and the prince looked down to him. The knight was just a little shorter, but almost the same height.

“ What do I have in return,” he asked and took his hand in his.

“Whatever you want , my prince,” he looked at him for a little while.

The silence took place between the two men. They spoke with their gaze like they normally do around others, teasing each other without words. Aemond thought about everything he could do and decided to kiss him gently.

They began kissin in the empty hallway, a slow and soft kiss. The light coming from the torches were gently exposing their actions to the dark. Their lips were locking, the knight‘s hands placed themselves on the prince’s left cheek and neck to deepen their passionate moment.

“ My prince…” he kissed him back and Aemond pressed him between his body and the wall. He slowly lifted his head up and caressed the knight’s bottom lip with his thumb. The knight’s strong back was against the wall, Aemond’s lower body between his legs, their hands gripping whatever they could find like they never had enough of each other. The guard put his lips on the prince’s jaw and made a trail of kisses until he pecked his lips.

“ Aemond, I love you-”

Then the door suddenly opened. His sister, Rhaenyra Targaryen, still pregnant, was standing in the hallway. The knight’s heart stopped beating as he gasped and pushed away the prince : “ It’s not what you think, your highness !”

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