#apprentice laurel tag

Pairing: Female Apprentice (Mine: Laurel Lobban)/Nadia Satrinava/Julian Devorak

Word Count: 13,003

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Post-game established relationship, Dom/sub Play, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Cunnilingus, Threesome, Polyamory, Domme Nadia, Bottom Julian, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging

Summary:

"Please… I just— I don't— I don't want to think about home, or work, or anything any more, I just want you." Quickly, she grips Julian's forearm. "Both of you."

Closing the small distance between them, Nadia seals her words with a searing kiss. From behind, Julian's arms tighten around her, his own lips brushing parchment soft against the ticklish skin just behind her ear.

"Very good,” Nadia whispers, barely pulling away. “You know, there was so wrong answer, but I am so very glad you chose this.” Drawing Julian's face in close, Nadia kisses him just the same. "Does that sound equitable to you as well, Doctor?"

👃💐 for Lyndon

💌 : How would they plan a romantic evening for a significant other?

laurel likes to think of herself as fairly intuitive to what her partners like. something like making them their favorite meal, or if they prefer to go out, taking them to a place they love. probably followed by an activity they like, or going somewhere special to them. a live concert in their favorite park? their favorite artist on display? a movie marathon of something they love with popcorn and all the works. things like that to show them that she listens and cares about their preferences.

😍 answered here

alt - 💋 : Is your OC a good kisser? How do they do it?

she's not necessarily a Bad kisser, but especially if she's never kissed that particular person or anyone before, she's not very confident. she likes to be shown what to do, and then will sort of... mimic what's done to her. as she grows more accustomed to it, she'll start to add more of her own flair to things. likes to kiss and BE kissed deep, lots of tongue. 👃 : Does your OC smell good? Do they have a signature scent?

smelling good is just another aspect of the whole carefully crafted package. i assigned him tom ford tobacco vanille as his preferred cologne, which is described as: top notes are tobacco leaf and spicy notes; middle notes are vanilla, cacao, tonka bean and tobacco blossom; base notes are dried fruits and woody notes.

plus he always smells a Little like graphite and that kind of ozone-y printer paper smell from the office, usually on his hands.

💐 : What is their courting style? How would they woo someone?

2 whole laurels

laurel²

Original prompt: “Nadia 'allowed' MC to be the domme, train Nadia as their pet, and make Nadia beg for release?”

Her Name, My Devotion

Pairing: Female Apprentice (Mine: Laurel Lobban)/Nadia Satrinava

Word Count: 15,092 (me @ me: yikes)

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Post-game established relationship, Dom/sub Play, Kink Negotiation, Switching, Sub Nadia, First Time Topping, Pet Play, Collars, Dirty Talk, Grooming, Corsetry, Nipple Clamps, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Mommy Kink (no actual age play, just the title used), Aftercare

Summary:

“It is bad form, to expect something of you that I would not be willing to undergo myself. I fear I have been woefully remiss in my application of such practices as of late.”

--

Nadia and her wife, Laurel, try something a little different for a change.

"You're certain? I mean, really, truly certain about this?"

Nadia smiles, fingers trailing over the jut of Laurel's cheekbone, down past her lips to linger over the slight frown she finds there. "I trust you."

Laurel huffs, staring down at the collar and lead in her hands. Fine Venterrian leather, soft and supple as a second skin. Her own throat almost aches to have it fitted around her, to feel the tug of the leash with Nadia on the other end. She blinks away the thoughts, shivering, steeling herself. It was not Nadia on the other end of her leash. The lead belonged to her , the collar waiting to be placed around a neck that had never seen such a decoration.

“It isn’t about trust,” Laurel breathes, tries to make her voice firm already and fails.

“Of course it is, my darling.” Nadia is ever patient, ever comforting. Laurel’s bulwark even as her stomach churns with a nervous gale. “It is bad form, to expect something of you that I would not be willing to undergo myself. I fear I have been woefully remiss in my application of such practices as of late.”

Laurel squirms in place. “You know I don’t mind, I wouldn’t —-” Her eyes shift off to the side, unable to meet Nadia’s gaze. It isn’t a lie, she wouldn’t have minded, would never have asked Nadia for anything this. She had only posed as many questions as she had out of… call it incorrigible curiosity? It had been Nadia, practical to a fault, who had decided that perhaps, even after a more than thorough explanation, that a demonstration would be in order. When Laurel had nodded so wholeheartedly, she hadn’t realized this was what Nadia had meant, would never have presumed in a thousand years.

“It’s only…” she sighs, a fallen curl blowing away from her lips. “I’m not practiced at this like you are, Nadia. What if it isn’t — ”

Softly tutting, Nadia moves the lead, the collar, out of Laurel’s hands and sets them aside. She brings those now empty hands to her lips and kisses them, dragging lips over knuckles slowly and deliberately in ways that make little chills erupt like fireworks at the top of Laurel’s spine, fizzling and crackling all the way down.

“You trust me , don’t you?”

10. Are they down for casual one-night stands?

she super isn’t, honestly. laurel likes to fuck with Feelings. must be In Love with at least one of the participants at all times.

20 answered already, 15 for backup

15. Describe their favorite sexual encounter.

laurel doesn’t like to kiss and tell on specifics, but in General, anything that involves her getting as stuffed full as possible immediately makes its way to the top of her list.

25. Share a sample line of dirty-talk

domme laurel:

“Everyone who had you before me wasted you,” she says, low, quiet, almost dangerous, lips pressed close enough to graze the cleft of Ariana’s ass. If she could see herself, surely the whole of her iris would be swallowed up by pupil, her cheeks beyond scarlet, sight half-glazed as if drunk. “This is what this ass is made for, isn’t it?” Her thrusts grow stronger, less exploratory and easy. The worry of Ariana pushing back onto her her gone, the force of Laurel’s strength rocking her forward and back under her own inertia. “To be fucked by me? This perfect ass that’s all mine now to do whatever I like. That’s going to take anything I give it. Nobody ever knew how to fuck you as well as me, did they, sweetheart?”

sub laurel:

23. Do they like having their hair played with?

absolutely! she’ll purr like a kitten if u get ur hands in her hair, and is just as likely to fall asleep in ur lap while u do it. see also: having her hair washed or pulled

14. What's something they unashamedly adore?

20. What do they like seeing their partner in when they “dress-up?”

laurel’s a simple girl, really. lacy lingerie is always welcome. corsets are also a big favorite. also a big fan of seeing her lovers in shibari, even a very simple chest harness is enough to really get her attention. much like with corsets and ropes, she especially likes anything that leaves a mark after it comes off.

22. Favorite thing/part about sex—intimacy, role-playing, etc.

definitely the intimacy. sex for her is all about closeness and trust. giving control to her partner or having her partner give the control to her, making sure her partner feels good. her driving force is, at all times, to be useful and to be wanted, and sex is a perfect outlet for that as far as she’s concerned.

24. A song they would fuck/get fucked to

https://open.spotify.com/track/6br39bRzXUNsbJtIMnQbXb

my contributions to @lovelikeyoursfest for the first prompt, “the start of something new”. these are technically both excerpts from longer in-progress fics featuring my apprentice, laurel, but they happened to fit the theme so well i thought at least part of them deserved to see the light of day. consider this a teaser for my future works if u find urself interested~

chronologically, nadia comes first, julian can be found under the cut

Nadia & Laurel

January, 5 years ago

The whole of Vesuvia thrums with the energy of the masquerade, like one large body set to motion at last after a long winter. The lights, the reeling crowds, they pulse and pump as they make their way along the arterial canals, upwards, always upwards, to the highest reach of the city -- to the beating heart of it all -- the palace. Laurel catches Asra’s hand in her own, dragging him along, or he her, or perhaps they simply get swept away together by the throng, laughter bubbling on her lips for what feels like the first time in months.

Try as one might, it is easy to get separated once the party truly takes hold of the palace. The hoi polloi of Vesuvia clamor towards the offered food and drink, while the elite swan about and entertain themselves with chatter and gossip. It is not with intent that she loses track of Asra somewhere past the room full of enchanted, talking statuary. One moment he is there, and the next he is not, the space he once occupied at her side now taken up by three bustling women in matching silver gowns and masks done up like swans, all vying for entry into the room. It matters little to Laurel. Asra will find her eventually, when he cares to be found himself. He always does, somehow, whether she cares for him to or not.

There is little intent to where she wanders, keen to let herself be drawn wherever the whims of the party may take her. She knows there is something surrounding her -- a pall of grief, though it seems too melodramatic a sentiment. It is a palpable, invisible thing about her nonetheless. People walk around her, unsure of why, rowdy drunkards don't dare to jostle or bump her. Her own personal never-mind-me spell, cast without intent simply by virtue of existing. Their disinterest rankles, but she shoves the ill-feeling down deep. It's not them she's here for, anyway. A tall glass of fizzing wine makes its way into her hand, plucked deftly from a passing servant’s platter, and she carries it along in her gloved hand, sipping occasionally, leaving a smear of bright red along the rim of the glass from her painted lips.

The heavy press of the party lessens as she finds herself on the veranda, the roar in her ears fading, carried away on the cool evening breeze. It chills her overheated skin, bare beneath only a few thin layers of chiffon and satin, and she relishes the prickle of gooseflesh it leaves in its wake like a kiss. She takes her glass and drains the last of the golden wine too quickly, and trades it for another -- something pink and dangerously sugared this time. This too she finishes in a few deep gulps, setting the empty glass back onto the bemused servant's tray and taking another before they have time to even move away. Alone, save for the alcohol that burns in her too empty stomach, she wanders the less crowded gardens, full of others who have little interest in being found. She hums along to a familiar tune as she passes through a faint cloud of sound, drifting over the tops of the immaculately trimmed hedge walls.

She feels sweet with wine and song, the lightest she has felt all year. Here, the sounds and smells, the anonymous, whirling multitude of bodies-- they keep out what Laurel would rather forget. Here there is no responsibility, no pitying glances from familiar patrons, none of Asra's well-intentioned saccharine condolences. No one knows her here, not behind the gilt painted mask. She is hardly herself, if she wants not to be, and oh how desperately she craves the chance to not be herself, if only for just a little while. That is the true magic of the Count’s masquerade, something far more powerful than what she could throw together in a mortar at home and call such. She is only the swell of the music. It lifts her slippered feet, carrying her in some semblance of dance as she walks the cobbled path, eyes closed in what would feel almost like joy, if she could remember the feeling.

There is no one on the path with her, no one to see her dizzy, stumbling attempt at a coranto, so when her body meets something else -- someone else, the slide of a silk gown against her bare arms -- her eyes snap open, and she stumbles backward with an embarrassed curse.

"Shit! Sorry, so sorry."

Laurel lifts her gaze, expecting to see the heated glare of whomever she'd been unlucky enough to plow into. What she does not expect is the countess -- The Countess -- blinking back at her with equal amounts of surprise. 

With a choked sort of squeak, Laurel drops immediately into her best, lowest curtsy, knees creaking and head bowed so low her mask threatens to slip straight off her nose.

"O-oh, My Lady Countess, forgive me! Please forgive me!"

Her heart hammers in her chest. The Countess! Of all people to drunkenly stumble into! The count would likely have her head for daring lay a hand, however accidental, on his beloved wife. Or perhaps the countess herself would ask him to cut off her wicked, clumsy feet instead as a mercy. 

Less likely was the countess's voice -- rich and deep and rolling over her like sweet molasses -- saying softly, "It’s quite alright. Please stand."

Laurel blinks, straightening her spine in fractions, giving ample time should the countess deign to change her mind and command her to sprawl, prostrate in the dirt, at her feet instead. She doesn't. Eventually, Laurel is able to lift her chin and look the -- only slightly -- taller woman in the eye for the first time.

She had known the countess was beautiful, much in the way that people knew the sky was blue, the grass grew green, and the south was a frigid waste, an immutable fact. People spoke often of her features in the market, lauding the beauty of her violet hair, her striking, crimson eyes, her high, royal brow. More so, she knew it to be true by the simple truth that vain Count Lucio would never settle for less. What few memories she has -- a parade, swirling streamers in the air; the profile of a distant woman, nestled like an idol on a float of white roses and purple hyacinth -- are clouded by time and distance. She had pieced her together that first year, vague impressions and gossip and distant glances in the town square where she deigned to appear. Vesuvia's very own princess had crossed her mind very little after that.

This close, close enough to smell her sweet jasmine of her perfume, to count the faint few freckles on her bare shoulders, Countess Nadia is more lovely than Laurel could have ever imagined.

Laurel's gaping leaves her uncharacteristically silent, but the countess seems to recover first. Likely she's used to filling stunned silence.

"How is that you found me here?" she asks, a faint tinge of pink across her nose, though whether it is from embarrassment or anger Laurel cannot gauge.

Laurel glances around, taking in the tall topiaries that surround them. “I-- where is here, exactly?”