#I get wanting to capture the audience’s attention

[kathlare]

sneaking glances

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: During a post-race debrief, Lando struggles to focus as a live stream of Amelie's final performance on the Eras Tour captures his attention. What begins as a secret moment quickly turns into an impromptu team viewing party, exposing his feelings to his colleagues in a humorous and heartwarming way.

Wordcount: 1.1 k

Warnings: just fluff

request over here!

March 9th, 2024 - Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

The post-race debrief felt like it had been dragging on for hours. Lando sat in the dimly lit McLaren meeting room, surrounded by engineers and strategists dissecting every second of his race in Saudi Arabia. P6 in qualifying had felt promising, but slipping down to P8 during the race was frustrating.

As the head engineer clicked through lap data on the screen, Lando leaned back in his chair, his leg bouncing restlessly under the table. His phone, strategically tucked in his hoodie pocket, vibrated softly—a notification from Instagram Live. His heart jumped.

He didn’t need to check to know what it was. Amelie’s last night opening for Taylor Swift on the Eras Tour was happening in Singapore.

Lando had known how much this tour meant to her, how thrilled she was to perform on some of the biggest stages in the world. And tonight was special—her final show. She’d been glowing over FaceTime earlier in the week, buzzing with both excitement and a tinge of sadness that it was coming to an end.

He shifted in his chair, pretending to adjust the waistband of his hoodie as he slid his phone out. Keeping it low and angled away from the team, he unlocked it with a swipe.

The live stream loaded almost immediately, and his chest tightened as Amelie’s voice filled his ears.

Her silhouette was bathed in soft purple light, the crowd roaring as she belted out the final notes of her song. She was dressed in a sparkling outfit that shimmered with every movement, her hair flowing as she twirled across the stage with her signature energy.

She looked breathtaking.

—Lando?— Andrea, his performance coach, nudged him gently, bringing him back to the room.

—Yeah, yeah, I’m listening,— Lando replied quickly, his eyes darting to the screen and back. He adjusted his posture, tapping on the table as if he were fully engaged in the conversation.

But his mind was anywhere but there.

Amelie laughed into the mic, her voice warm and effervescent as she addressed the crowd. —This is my last night opening for Taylor, and I just want to thank every single one of you for making this journey so unforgettable.— The audience erupted in cheers, and Lando couldn’t help but smile. She always knew how to command a room.

He angled the phone closer, careful not to make it obvious, but the subtle glow of the screen caught the attention of Oscar, who was seated beside him.

—What’s that?— Oscar whispered, leaning slightly over to peek.

Lando flinched, quickly tilting the screen away. —Nothing. Just checking... stuff.—

Oscar raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. —Is that… a concert?—

Lando sighed, realizing he wasn’t getting out of this one. He lowered his voice. —It’s Amelie. She’s performing in Singapore.—

Oscar’s eyes widened in recognition. —Wait, Amelie? Like, your Amelie?—

—Shut up,— Lando hissed, his cheeks flushing.

But it was too late. The exchange had drawn the attention of one of the engineers, who leaned over curiously. —What are you watching?—

Lando groaned, sinking lower into his chair as the small crowd around the table grew more intrigued. —It’s nothing, guys. Just focus on the debrief.—

Andrea’s sharp gaze narrowed. —Lando.—

—Fine!— he relented, holding up the phone. The live stream displayed Amelie mid-performance, her voice soaring through the room.

There was a beat of silence before someone muttered, —Damn, she’s good.—

One by one, the team leaned in, captivated. Even Andrea, who had been ready to scold Lando, seemed impressed.

—Isn’t she friends with you?— one of the engineers asked.

Lando shrugged, trying to play it cool. —Yeah. We’re... close.—

Oscar snorted. —Close? Mate, you’re grinning like an idiot. You’re in love.—

—Shut it, Piastri,— Lando muttered, but his smile betrayed him.

The debrief quickly devolved into a makeshift watch party. The engineers abandoned their laptops, the strategists leaned against the table, and even Zak Brown appeared in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at the scene.

—What’s going on here?— Zak asked, his tone amused.

Andrea gestured to the phone. —Lando’s watching his... friend’s concert.—

Zak crossed his arms, clearly entertained. —Friend, huh?—

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. —Can we just finish the meeting?—

But no one was listening anymore. Someone connected the phone to the meeting room’s projector, and within seconds, Amelie’s live stream was on the big screen.

She was mid-song, the crowd swaying to the rhythm as she poured her heart into every note. Lando couldn’t take his eyes off her, his chest swelling with pride.

—You know, you could’ve just told us you’re dating her,— Oscar said, nudging him playfully.

—We’re not...!— Lando started, but the room erupted in laughter.

Zak clapped a hand on his shoulder. —It’s okay, kid. We’re rooting for you.—

As Amelie finished her set with her traditional Nonsense outro, Lando’s phone buzzed again, a text from her.

Ames💛: You better not be ignoring your meeting to watch me.

He grinned, typing back quickly.

Lan🧡: Busted. The whole team’s watching now. You were incredible.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Ames💛: Told you you’d fall for me all over again ;)

Lando chuckled, shaking his head as he pocketed the phone.

—Alright, alright, back to work,— Zak called, though his tone was far from serious.

As the team reluctantly turned their attention back to the race debrief, Lando couldn’t help but feel a warmth settle in his chest.

Amelie had always been his biggest distraction—and his greatest joy. And as he glanced at the projector one last time, watching her blow a kiss to the crowd, he realized he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[marscats37]

Whatever happened to that uzumaki anime I watched the first episode and forgot about the rest of it ? Did anyone end up finishing it ?

[im-still-watching-anime]

i started watching hunter x hunter recently and it has what is probably the most interesting and also funny pacing i have ever seen like it’s DEFINITELY rushing towards action scenes a lot but also it’s dragging everything out so long lol watching it is absolutely insane cause one second i’m like wait we’re doing this already???? and the next it’s like can we PLEASE move on

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Prime’s enshittified advertising

Prime's gonna add more ads. They brought in ads in January, and people didn't cancel their Prime subscriptions, so Amazon figures that they can make Prime even worse and make more money:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2024/10/amazon-prime-video-is-getting-more-ads-next-year/

The cruelty isn't the point. Money is the point. Every ad that Amazon shows you shifts value away from you – your time, your attention – to the company's shareholders.

That's the crux of enshittification. Companies don't enshittify – making their once-useful products monotonically worse – because it amuses them to erode the quality of their offerings. They enshittify them because their products are zero-sum: the things that make them valuable to you (watching videos without ads) make things less valuable to them (because they can't monetize your attention).

This isn't new. The internet has always been dominated by intermediaries – platforms – because there are lots more people who want to use the internet than are capable of building the internet. There's more people who want to write blogs than can make a blogging app. There's more people who want to play and listen to music than can host a music streaming service. There's more people who want to write and read ebooks than want to operate an ebook store or sell an ebooks reader.

Despite all the early internet rhetoric about the glories of disintermediation, intermediaries are good, actually:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

The problem isn't with intermediaries per se. The problem arises when intermediaries grow so powerful that they usurp the relationship between the parties they connect. The problem with Uber isn't the use of mobile phones to tell taxis that you're standing on a street somewhere and would like a cab, please. The problem is rampant worker misclassification, regulatory arbitrage, starvation wages, and price-gouging:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/29/geometry-hates-uber/#toronto-the-gullible

There's no problem with publishers, distributors, retailers, printers, and all the other parts of the bookselling ecosystem. While there are a few, rare authors who are capable of performing all of these functions – basically gnawing their books out of whole logs with their teeth – most writers can't, and even the ones who can, don't want to:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

When early internet boosters spoke of disintermediation, what they mostly meant was that it would be harder for intermediaries to capture those relationships – between sellers and buyers, creators and audiences, workers and customers. As Rebecca Giblin and I wrote in our 2022 book Chokepoint Capitalism, intermediaries in every sector rely on chokepoints, narrows where they can erect tollbooths:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

When chokepoints exist, they multiply up and down the supply chain. In the golden age of physical, recorded music, you had several chokepoints that reinforced one another. Limited radio airwaves gave radio stations power over record labels, who had to secretly, illegally bid for prime airspace ("payola"). Retail consolidation – the growth of big record chains – drove consolidation in the distributors who sold to the chains, and the more concentrated distributors became, the more they could squeeze retailers, which drove even more consolidation in record stores. The bigger a label was, the more power it had to shove back against the muscle of the stores and the distributors (and the pressing plants, etc). Consolidation in labels also drove consolidation in talent agencies, whose large client rosters gave them power to resist the squeeze from the labels. Consolidation in venues drives consolidation in ticketing and promotion – and vice-versa.

But there's two parties to this supply chain who can't consolidate: musicians and their fans. With limits on "sectoral bargaining" (where unions can represent workers against all the companies in a sector), musicians' unions were limited in their power against key parts of the supply chain, so the creative workers who made the music were easy pickings for labels, talent reps, promoters, ticketers, venues, retailers, etc. Music fans are diffused and dispersed, and organized fan clubs were usually run by the labels, who weren't about to allow those clubs to be used against the labels.

This is a perfect case-study in the problems of powerful intermediaries, who move from facilitator to parasite, paying workers less while degrading their products, and then charge customers more for those enshittified products.

The excitement about "disintermediation" wasn't so much about eliminating intermediaries as it was about disciplining them. If there were lots of ways to market a product or service, sell it, collect payment for it, and deliver it, then the natural inclination of intermediaries to turn predator would be curbed by the difficulty of corralling their prey into chokepoints.

Now that we're a quarter century on from the Napster Wars, we can see how that worked out. Decades of failure to enforce antitrust law allowed a few companies to effectively capture the internet, buying out rivals who were willing to sell, and bankrupting those who wouldn't with illegal tactics like predatory pricing (think of Uber losing $31 billion by subsidizing $0.41 out of every dollar they charged for taxi rides for more than a decade).

The market power that platforms gained through consolidation translated into political power. When a few companies dominate a sector, they're able to come to agreement on common strategies for dealing with their regulators, and they've got plenty of excess profits to spend on those strategies. First and foremost, platforms used their power to get more power, lobbying for even less antitrust enforcement. Additionally, platforms mobilized gigantic sums to secure the right to screw customers (for example, by making binding arbitration clauses in terms of service enforceable) and workers (think of the $225m Uber and Lyft spent on California's Prop 22, which formalized their worker misclassification swindle).

So big platforms were able to insulate themselves from the risk of competition ("five giant websites, filled with screenshots of the other four" – Tom Eastman), and from regulation. They were also able to expand and mobilize IP law to prevent anyone from breaking their chokepoints or undoing the abuses that these enabled. This is a good place to get specific about how Prime Video works.

There's two ways to get Prime videos: over an app, or in your browser. Both of these streams are encrypted, and that's really important here, because of a law – Section 1201 of the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act – which makes it really illegal to break this kind of encryption (commonly called "Digital Rights Management" or "DRM"). Practically speaking, that means that if a company encrypts its videos, no one is allowed to do anything to those videos, even things that are legal, without the company's permission, because doing all those legal things requires breaking the DRM, and breaking the DRM is a felony (five years in prison, $500k fine, for a first offense).

Copyright law actually gives subscribers to services like Prime a lot of rights, and it empowers businesses that offer tools to exercise those rights. Back in 1976, Sony rolled out the Betamax, the first major home video recorder. After an eight-year court battle, the Supreme Court weighed in on VCRs and ruled that it was legal for all of us to record videos at home, both to watch them later, and to build a library of our favorite shows. They also ruled that it was legal for Sony – and by that time, every other electronics company – to make VHS systems, even if those systems could be used in ways that violated copyright because they were "capable of sustaining a substantial non-infringing use" (letting you tape shows off your TV).

Now, this was more than a decade before the DMCA – and its prohibition on breaking DRM – passed, but even after the DMCA came into effect, there was a lot of media that didn't have DRM, so a new generation of tech companies were able to make tools that were "capable of sustaining a substantial non-infringing use" and that didn't have to break any DRM to do it.

Think of the Ipod and Itunes, which, together, were sold as a way to rip CDs (which weren't encrypted), and play them back from both your desktop computer and a wildly successful pocket-sized portable device. Itunes even let you stream from one computer to another. The record industry hated this, but they couldn't do anything about it, thanks to the Supreme Court's Betamax ruling.

Indeed, they eventually swallowed their bile and started selling their products through the Itunes Music Store. These tracks had DRM and were thus permanently locked to Apple's ecosystem, and Apple immediately used that power to squeeze the labels, who decided they didn't like DRM after all, and licensed all those same tracks to Amazon's DRM-free MP3 store, whose slogan was "DRM: Don't Restrict Me":

https://memex.craphound.com/2008/02/01/amazons-anti-drm-tee/

Apple played a funny double role here. In marketing Itunes/Ipods ("Rip, Mix, Burn"), they were the world's biggest cheerleaders for all the things you were allowed to do with copyrighted works, even when the copyright holder objected. But with the Itunes Music Store and its mandatory DRM, the company was also one of the world's biggest cheerleaders for wrapping copyrighted works in a thin skin of IP that would allow copyright holders to shut down products like the Ipod and Itunes.

Microsoft, predictably enough, focused on the "lock everything to our platform" strategy. Then-CEO Steve Ballmer went on record calling every Ipod owner a "thief" and arguing that every record company should wrap music in Microsoft's Zune DRM, which would allow them to restrict anything they didn't like, even if copyright allowed it (and would also give Microsoft the same abusive leverage over labels that they famously exercised over Windows software companies):

https://web.archive.org/web/20050113051129/http://management.silicon.com/itpro/0,39024675,39124642,00.htm

In the end, Amazon's approach won. Apple dropped DRM, and Microsoft retired the Zune and shut down its DRM servers, screwing anyone who'd ever bought a Zune track by rendering that music permanently unplayable.

Around the same time as all this was going on, another company was making history by making uses of copyrighted works that the law allowed, but which the copyright holders hated. That company was Tivo, who products did for personal video recorders (PVRs) what Apple's Ipod did for digital portable music players. With a Tivo, you could record any show over cable (which was too expensive and complicated to encrypt) and terrestrial broadcast (which is illegal to encrypt, since those are the public's airwaves, on loan to the TV stations).

That meant that you could record any show, and keep it forever. What's more, you could very easily skip through ads (and rival players quickly emerged that did automatic ad-skipping). All of this was legal, but of course the cable companies and broadcasters hated it. Like Ballmer, TV execs called Tivo owners "thieves."

But Tivo didn't usher in the ad-supported TV apocalypse that furious, spittle-flecked industry reps insisted it would. Rather, it disciplined the TV and cable operators. Tivo owners actually sought out ads that were funny and well-made enough to go viral. Meanwhile, every time the industry decided to increase the amount of advertising in a show, they also increased the likelihood that their viewers would seek out a Tivo, or worse, one of those auto-ad-skipping PVRs.

Given all the stink that TV execs raised over PVRs, you'd think that these represented a novel threat. But in fact, the TV industry's appetite for ads had been disciplined by viewers' access to new technology since 1956, when the first TV remotes appeared on the market (executives declared that anyone who changed the channel during an ad-break was a thief). Then came the mute button. Then the wireless remote. Meanwhile, a common VCR use-case – raised in the Supreme Court case – was fast-forwarding ads.

At each stage, TV adapted. Ads in TV shows represented a kind of offer: "Will you watch this many of these ads in return for a free TV show?" And the remote, the mute button, the wireless remote, the VCR, the PVR, and the ad-skipping PVR all represented a counter-offer. As economists would put it, the ability of viewers to make these counteroffers "shifted the equilibrium." If viewers had no defensive technology, they might tolerate more ads, but once they were able to enforce their preferences with technology, the industry couldn't enshittify its product to the liminal cusp of "so many ads that the viewer is right on the brink of turning off the TV (but not quite)."

This is the same equilibrium-shifting dynamic that we see on the open web, where more than 50% of users have installed an ad-blocker. The industry says, "Will you allow this many 'sign up to our mailing list' interrupters, pop ups, pop unders, autoplaying videos and other stuff that users hate but shareholders benefit from" and the ad-blocker makes a counteroffer: "How about 'nah?'":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

TV remotes, PVRs and ad-blockers are all examples of "adversarial interoperability" – a new product that plugs into an existing one, extending or modifying its functions without permission from (or even over the objections of) the original manufacturer:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Adversarial interop creates a powerful disciplining force on platform owners. Once a user grows so frustrated with a product's enshittification that they research, seek out, acquire and learn to use an adversarial interop tool, it's really game over. The printer owner who figures out where to get third-party ink is gone forever. Every time a company like HP raises its prices, they have to account for the number of customers who will finally figure out how to use generic ink and never, ever send another cent to HP.

This is where DMCA 1201 comes into play. Once a product is skinned with DRM, its manufacturers gain the right to prevent you from doing legal things, and can use the public's courts and law-enforcement apparatus to punish you for trying. Take HP: as soon as they started adding DRM to their cartridges, they gained the legal power to shut down companies that cloned, refilled or remanufactured their cartridges, and started raising the price of ink – which today sits at more than $10,000/gallon:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/30/life-finds-a-way/#ink-stained-wretches

Using third party ink in your printer isn't illegal (it's your printer, right?). But making third party ink for your printer becomes illegal once you have to break DRM to do so, and so HP gets to transform tinted water into literally the most expensive fluid on Earth. The ink you use to print your kid's homework costs more than vintage Veuve Cliquot or sperm from a Kentucky Derby-winning thoroughbred.

Adversarial interoperability is a powerful tool for shifting the equilibrium between producers, intermediaries and buyers. DRM is an even more powerful way of wrenching that equilibrium back towards the intermediary, reducing the share that buyers and sellers are able to eke out of the transaction.

Prime Video, of course, is delivered via an app, which means it has DRM. That means that subscribers don't get to exercise the rights afforded to them by copyright – only the rights that Amazon permits them to have. There's no Tivo for Prime, because it would have to break the DRM to record the shows you stream from Prime. That allows Prime to pull all kinds of shady shit. For example, every year around this time, Amazon pulls popular Christmas movies from its free-to-watch tier and moves them into pay-per-view, only restoring them in the spring:

https://www.reddit.com/r/vudu/comments/1bpzanx/looks_like_amazon_removed_the_free_titles_from/

And of course, Prime sticks ads in its videos. You can't skip these ads – not because it's technically challenging to make a 30-second advance button for a video stream, and doing so wouldn't violate anyone's copyright – but because Amazon doesn't permit you to do so, and the fact that the video is wrapped in DRM makes it a felony to even try.

This means that Amazon gets to seek a different equilibrium than TV companies have had to accept since 1956 and the invention of the TV remote. Amazon doesn't have to limit the quantity, volume, and invasiveness of its ads to "less the amount that would drive our subscribers to install and use an ad-skipping plugin." Instead, they can shoot for the much more lucrative equilibrium of "so obnoxious that the viewer is almost ready to cancel their subscription (but not quite)."

That's pretty much exactly how Kelly Day, the Amazon exec in charge of Prime Video, put it to the Financial Times: they're increasing the number of ads because "we haven’t really seen a groundswell of people churning out or cancelling":

https://www.ft.com/content/f8112991-820c-4e09-bcf4-23b5e0f190a5

At this point, attentive readers might be asking themselves, "Doesn't Amazon have to worry about Prime viewers who watch in their browsers?" After all browsers are built on open standards, and anyone can make one, so there should be browsers that can auto-skip Prime ads, right?

Wrong, alas. Back in 2017, the W3C – the organization that makes the most important browser standards – caved to pressure from the entertainment industry and the largest browser companies and created "Encrypted Media Extensions" (EME), a "standard" for video DRM that blocks all adversarial interoperability:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

This had the almost immediate effect of making it impossible to create an independent browser without licensing proprietary tech from Google – now a convicted monopolist! – who won't give you a license if you implement recording, ad-skipping, or any other legal (but dispreferred) feature:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

This means that for Amazon, there's no way to shift value away from the platform to you. The company has locked you in, and has locked out anyone who might offer you a better deal. Companies that know you are technologically defenseless are endlessly inventive in finding ways to make things worse for you to make things better for them. Take Youtube, another DRM-video-serving platform that has jacked up the number of ads you have to sit through in order to watch a video – even as they slash payments to performers. They've got a new move: they're gonna start showing you ads while your video is paused:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/money/2024/09/20/youtube-pause-ads-rollout/75306204007/

That is the kind of fuckery you only come up with when your victory condition is "a service that's almost so bad our customers quit (but not quite)."

In Amazon's case, the math is even worse. After all, Youtube may have near-total market dominance over a certain segment of the video market, but Prime Video is bundled with Prime Delivery, which the vast majority of US households subscribe to. You have to give up a lot to cancel your Prime subscription – especially since Amazon's predatory pricing devastated the rest of the retail sector:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

Amazon's founding principle was "customer obsession." Ex-Amazoners tell me that this was more than an empty platitude: arguments over product design were won or lost based on whether they could satisfy the "customer obsession" litmus test. Now, everyone falls short of their ideals, but sticking to your ideals isn't merely a matter of internal discipline, of willpower. Living up to your ideals is a matter of external discipline, too. When Amazon no longer had to contend with competitors or regulators, when it was able to use DRM to control its customers and use the law to prevent them from using its products in legal ways, it lost those external sources of discipline.

Amazon suppliers have long complained of the company's high-handed treatment of the vendors who supplied it with goods. Its workers have complained bitterly and loudly about the dangerous and oppressive conditions in its warehouses and delivery vans. But Amazon's customers have consistently given Amazon high marks on quality and trustworthiness.

The reason Amazon treated its workers and suppliers badly and its customers well wasn't that it liked customers and hated workers and suppliers. Amazon was engaged in a cold-blooded calculus: it understood that treating customers well would give it control over those customers, and that this would translate market power to retain suppliers even as it ripped them off and screwed them over.

But now, Amazon has clearly concluded that it no longer needs to keep customers happy in order to retain them. Instead, it's shooting for "keeping customers so angry that they're almost ready to take their business elsewhere (but not quite)." You see this in the steady decline of Amazon product search, which preferences the products that pay the biggest bribes for search placement over the best matches:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

And you see it in the steady enshittification of Prime Video. Amazon's character never changed. The company always had a predatory side. But now that monopoly and IP law have insulated it from consequences for its actions, there's no longer any reason to keep the predator in check.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/03/mother-may-i/#minmax

[targaryen-dynasty]

THE GREATEST TEMPTATION.

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x cam girl!Reader

"Keeping your boyfriend waiting for too long is always a dangerous game, and when he finally has enough, he deems it most fitting to give your audience a real show."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, semi public sex?, rough sex, manhandling, size kink, possessive and jealous Aemond, kinda submissive reader

WORDS: 2.6 K

NOTES: This is an older story, and although I have edited it, I didn't want to change too much from my older writing. I‘ll now work on new stuff with Maegor, Aegon and Cregan. The movie „cam“ was my inspiration for this!

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

“Come on, guys, stop it,” you say, your hands running over the curve of your hips. A short riding crop is clasped between the fingers of your right hand while the ones of your left hand pull the thin strap of your lace thong to let it snap back against your flesh, making a show for the audience as you squirm at the impact. “You know, if you don’t get to the cum show, I’m going to have to go off cam to do it without you, so…" 

You kneel on your bed, sitting on your haunches with the ring light and camera positioned so only the parts from your neck down are visible for your viewers. 

“And nobody wants that, right?” your words are accompanied by a feigned pout as you drag the tip of the riding crop from the valley between your breasts down to your navel, dragging it around it slowly. “But seriously, guys, I need it, so hurry up.”

It’s a ping! that alerts you of a received donation, and you clap your hands in excitement upon seeing the bright red $450 popping up on the screen. 

“Ah, RoguePrince81, thank you so, so much,” you hum with a smile. “Alright, ten spanks for you.”

You turn around and position yourself closer to the camera to give them the perfect view of your ass, but before you’re able to start to deliver ten spanks to it, your boyfriend barges into the room. 

Learning from past mistakes, the camera isn’t recording more than your bed, Aemond’s presence remaining unknown to the viewers. With your microphone not muted, you can’t do more than mouth a ‘five minutes’ to him still standing in the doorframe. 

The pout on his lips is barely there, already gotten used to the way his girlfriend earns her money, though he doesn’t necessarily approve of it. Sighing quietly, he closes the door behind him and sits down in the chair at your desk across from the bed. 

You barely watch him, focusing back on the audience. One slap after another is served to your ass, and you yet again make a show out of it by moaning, squirming and wiggling your ass. 

“My butt’s gonna hurt tomorrow,” you whine. After the tenth slap, you rub your asscheeks, sighing an ‘and one for good luck.’ With the eleventh slap, you throw the crop aside.

Five minutes turn into fifteen, and with all your attention on the audience, you don't notice the set jaw and furious gaze of your boyfriend, a blaze of jealousy flickering in his eye. At least not until he stands up to approach you. 

Being quick to mute the chat, you turn towards him, sitting on your haunches and looking up at him. A crease has formed between your brows, knowing that you have kept him waiting for too long. 

It’s a fruitless attempt to calm him as you rub the palms of your hands over his thighs, squeezing them just slightly in the way you know he enjoys. 

“I’m not here to waste my time watching you fuck around with other guys,” he remarks coldly. 

The coldness of his voice makes a shiver run down your spine, a contrast to the heat growing between your legs. As your eyes meet his ice-like gaze, you swallow hard. “I know,” you reply, continuing to brush your hands up and down his thighs. “But you know I need to make money, Aem.”

He scoffs at your response. “You can make money in other ways,” he replies, his hands capturing your wrists tight enough to indicate his disapproval. “You don’t need to show off your body for strangers.”

Your heart is racing now, and you feel a flutter in your chest at his words. But you can’t deny that his possessive side only makes you want him more. “But this way is easy,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light. “It’s quick and pays well… plus, I enjoy it, you know that.”

Aemond’s nostrils flare ever so slightly at your words, his jaw setting firmly. In one fluid motion, he pulls you up on your feet. He’s tall and strong, and his presence looms over yours. “I do,” he says. “But you’re mine, and I don’t share.”

Running your hands over his chest, you take a step closer and press yourself against him, and he uses the proximity to rest a hand at the back of your neck. “And I’ll only ever be yours.” You start to play with the buttons of his shirt. “But this is just a job, Aem. It doesn’t mean anything.”

His expression betrays no emotion as he regards you, but his grip on your neck tightens. “If this doesn’t mean anything, then this won’t bother you at all,” he states, using his grip to force you towards your desk. He pushes you over it, and with you having relocated all your stuff to film the bed, there’s not much left on it that topples onto the ground. 

Your hands fly to the desk to steady yourself upon impact, a gasp leaving your lips. Your heart rate picks up, your blood thrumming with a mixture of arousal and a hint of fear. The sudden manhandling sends a thrill down your spine. “Aemond,” you breathe, your voice trembling slightly. 

His breath is hot against your ear as he leans down, chest pressing against your back while his arms cage you in. It’s clear he’s the power right now, and it’s making you feel all the more vulnerable under his control. “What?” he asks, his voice soft yet commanding. “Do you want me to stop?”

With your body reacting to his husky voice, your hips press back against his. “No,” you answer softly, looking over your shoulder at him with wide eyes. 

His lips curve into a smug smile. “Good, because I had no intentions of stopping anytime soon,” he replies. Prowling toward the dresser, he grabs the laptop. “This will be the best show they’ve ever seen.”

Several pings! echo off the device, the viewer’s comments filling the chat box with messages you’d die to read right now. Aemond has seen you set everything up plenty of times before, and he knows all too well where to put the laptop so that it doesn’t show anything else than the parts below your faces, and quickly unmutes the chat. 

His outburst is nothing new, he’s confessed his jealousy often enough, but it’s the first time he willingly participates in one of your streams. It’s clear it’s his way to mark his territory, to claim you in front of everyone to show who you belong to, and his possessiveness does little to diminish the fire in your body, the ache between your legs only becoming more prominent. 

His hard bulge presses against your ass as he approaches you again, shoving you against the sturdy desk with his hands gripping your hips. It catches you by surprise and you release a choked moan at it. 

Nimble fingers hook under the thin straps of your thong, pulling it back enough the snaps against your skin have you wincing for real. “You’re even wearing my favorite lingerie, hm?” he taunts, large hands roaming over your asscheeks. “All this for some horny bastards and their dirty money?”

You shiver at his touch and the dominance in his deep voice, too zoned out to give him an answer. His impatience runs thin with how quickly he serves a slap to your ass, palm landing exactly where you have hit yourself before. The pain is sharper, stinging, and causing tears to brim in your eyes. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Gods, well…” you whimper. “I… I have to make my viewers happy.”

“Is that the only thing you care about?” he challenges. “Making them happy? What about making your boyfriend happy, mh?”

Licking your lips, you look at him from over your shoulder again. “You know you’re the only one I care about,” you breathe out. “Only you.”

Aemond’s hand smooths down your back, his touch gentle but firm. “Do they know you belong to me?” he asks, a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “Nah, fuck this, go on and tell them now.”

“They… they know I have a boyfriend,” you admit. 

But it’s a sharp slap served to your ass that makes your head snap towards the laptop quickly, taking in a shaky breath before you address whoever’s behind the screen. You merely know them by their usernames, RoguePrince81, MrSunfyre, thereal_heir and so on. “I… I belong to my boyfriend,” you say, your voice clear yet laced with a tremble that betrays your submission to him. “And only him.”

Aemond’s hand runs over your asscheek in response, soothing the stinging pain. “That’s right,” he purrs, the possessive tone evident in his voice. “You’re mine, and I don’t like sharing.”

“All yours,” you whisper, though there doesn’t come a reply from him. You merely hear shuffling coming from behind you, and judging by the haste of the sounds, it’s clear he’s desperate and impatient. Aemond enjoys teasing, and maybe even punishing you, but there always comes the point where he can’t take it anymore himself. 

It’s the elongated groan of him that has you pushing your hips back, growing just as impatient and desperate, and it’s the cue for him to tug the lace of your thong aside, easing two of his fingers inside of you. You moan wantonly at that, yet the stimulation doesn’t last long enough for you to truly enjoy it, fingers withdrawing almost immediately after the intrusion. 

With his fingers coated in your arousal, he smears it over the tip of his cock and therefore mixes it with the few beads of precum. His hand glides up and down his cock with ease, before he eventually aligns the tip with your entrance. Sheathing himself inside of you slowly, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein of him, you quickly rise on your tiptoes to adapt to his height and make accommodating his size easier, although you’re all but used to it by now. 

A renewed wave of your arousal drips down your thighs at his intrusion, allowing him to slide into you with little to no resistance. As you both moan in unison, yours is slightly muffled by your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, reveling in the slight burn that accompanies the pleasure. 

Aemond seizes a fistful of your hair, pulling you back as his hips thrust into you harshly once as a clear warning. Brushing your sweet spot so expertly, you arch your back like a cat, pushing back against him with another muffled moan making its way past your lips.

“Oh, don’t act all shy now,” he coos, his other hand finding its way to the back of your neck. “Let them know how good I’m making you feel.”

His words make you nod meekly, and he takes it as a silent invitation to move, the pace starting slow but becoming much more intense in a matter of seconds until he’s recklessly driving his hips into yours. Aemond is always fairly rough with you, but the jealousy and possessiveness do make it even better. 

A breathless gasp falls from your lips in an attempt to catch your breath through his ruthless pounding, and your fists clench around the edge of the desk again, bracing yourself for the way his cock bullies your sweet spot and drives your whole body back and forth.

“Gods, please… use me,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut as you are overwhelmed by the different sensations overcoming your body.  

“Fuck,” he groans. “You like that? You like being used by me while those miserable bastards watch you getting split open by my cock, hm?” His words are punctuated by several harsh thrusts, knocking the air out of your lungs and causing his balls to slap against your sensitive clit, sending shivers down your legs. 

His thighs are heavy as they press into your frame, applying pressure to where your hips meet the edge of the desk. While it hurts, you barely have time to focus on the pain, overwhelmed by the soaring pleasure inside of you. The building tension inside of you spreads through your core, your walls fluttering as furiously as Aemond’s relentless onslaught on your cunt. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimper. 

“Or what?” he taunts. “You’re gonna come for me already?”

Despite him mocking your despair, he pulls your hips back a little and brings his hand down between your legs, dragging his nimble fingers over your clit to give you the last blow that’s meant to push you over the precipice. Every attempt to give him an answer dies in your throat at the sudden burst of pleasure, your mind hazy and your eyes glossy. 

Parting his legs and slightly bending them at the knees, he curls his hips in a manner that all but forces his cock into you at an angle that has stars dancing across your vision, prolonging the intense orgasm that ripples through your core. The tension you hold in your legs from the position causes them to shake uncontrollably, making your body rely on the firm grip of his hand now resting at your hip.  

His own orgasm nears with how forcefully you clench around and convulse all over him, his pace more erratic as he leans down to press his chest flush against your back, pinning you to the desk and planting a searing kiss to the crook of your neck. His thrusts grow sloppier thanks to the position, but that doesn’t mean they don’t fill you deeply enough anymore. 

Bringing his hand from your hair to the wall in front of the desk, the veins in his hand and arms bulge from the exertion. “That’s it,” he rasps into the crook of your neck. “Be a good girl for me and take everything I give you.” 

“Hm-Hm… yes,” you whimper, pushing back against him. Your body is pressed flatly against the wooden surface of the desk, his weight on top of you not allowing you to take any deep breath – yet the throbbing of his cock inside of you definitely makes up for it. 

A strained groan announces his orgasm, muffled by his lips pressed against your skin. A relieved moan leaves your lips as soon as his twitching cock spends itself inside of your still spasming walls. He keeps thrusting into you, though his thrusts become gentler and even slower than before due to his stamina decreasing, eventually stopping.

It’s unlike Aemond to pull out of you so shortly after, and you wince at the sudden loss, your assaulted core clenching around nothing to adjust to the emptiness. Turning your head to look at him, sweaty and heated cheek pressed to the cold desk, you can’t hide the blissed out expression that’s written all over your face. Aemond prowls towards the set up, picking up the laptop with the camera filming nothing but his chest, still heaving with ragged breaths.  

“Now, did you like that?” he asks as he walks back to you again, obviously speaking to the part of your audience that stayed for the show. “Then you’ll definitely love this.” 

Bending forward slightly, he points the camera to your cunt, blessing the viewers with the sight of his seed slowly oozing out of your cunt, running down your folds and quivering thighs. You stay still, too focused on the multiple pings! that bounce off the device, indicating that your little show has earned you a big deal of money.

“Is this the kind of cum show you expected, hm? I bet the fuck not.”

He then abruptly shuts the laptop with a thud, carelessly throwing it onto your bed. 

You push yourself back, standing on wobbly feet as you adjust your thong, holding onto the desk. You turn your head to look at him, the smirk on your lips matching the wicked one on his. “You know you’re gonna be a regular now,” you tease. 

“And I thought you’d never ask.”

[sweets3rial]

Camgirl Fantasies !

Kinktober Oct 6 !

re2!leon x camgirl!reader

summary: he's a lonely man and finds warm comfort in the girl on his computer screen. the girl with pretty pink lips and sweet sugary moans. 

tags: camgirl reader, virtual/phone sex, mutual masturbation, smut, some fluff, leon is pathetic, depictions of lingerie, rough sex, gentle sex, creampie, etc.

word count: 5.2K

be sure to check out my kinktober masterlist to see what's coming up in the future ;D!

‘you look beautiful as always,’

“thank you, Scott,” she chuckled, drawing circles on her bare thigh. Scott sat up in his chair, straightening his back, and his fingertips hovered over his keyboard. he gulped a lump down his throat as he began typing. thousands of people flooded in, sending her dozens of compliments and gifts.

she was trying to read out and thank every single one of them which is why he typed out:

‘i love your necklace :), it suits you,’ in a hurry, hoping it would capture her attention.

she was too busy replying to other comments they were all comments about her gorgeous body, breasts clad in a lacy black bra, and her cunt hidden away with matching panties. Scott watched her carefully as she adjusted her position in front of the camera, curling her hair around her finger and smiling brightly at the camera.

“oh my necklace,” she giggled, reaching up for the necklace hanging between her breasts. it was a simple red pendant and it went exceptionally well with the red tint on her lips and cheeks. “thank you, Scott, you’re such a sweetheart,” she cooed.

he’s been addicted to her…addicted to you. he was lonely, pathetically so. he’s been so busy with work and unbelievably pent up. starting a new job is never easy, everyone loves fresh meat, and they love chewing fresh meat to the bone.

coming home from a stressful day at work, his muscles were taut, and he was frustrated with his coworkers, with his boss, and with the stupid speeders on the highway who could read him like a book — taking off as soon as they find out, he’s just a naive rookie.

he’s jealous of his coworkers who are married or engaged; they have a partner to return home to. a partner who can rub their sore shoulders and kiss their lips to welcome them home. what welcomes him home is an eery silence and the creaking of his ceiling fan.

but he wasn’t lonely anymore. he found you. after a long day at work, he needed some way to relax, some way to get rid of all this pent-up frustration and anger. what’s better than a quick cum? or so he thought.

whilst scrolling through a random porn site, he found himself even more frustrated trying to find the right video to watch. everything looked so fake; the pleasure, the passion, the moans, the bodies … it was all just so fake.

and before he could give up, he found you.

this specific website was advertising the website they created specifically for cam girls, or women who go live, pleasing themselves, pleasing the men watching them with solely their voice, or just sitting there looking pretty for the camera.

you captured his attention instantly. every night you went live, you’d have on a pretty set of lingerie and then sit on the edge of your bed. you never showed your face, only your lips and you’d tease your audience, playing with the hem of your panties tauntingly, toying with the straps of your bra — always so nervous to touch yourself on camera, and that only added to the experience.

he was one of the few viewers who sent kind gifts and messages that warmed your heart. he enjoyed seeing your face light up when his message would be read aloud to you and the way you’d read out his username with a small laugh.

he was slowly starting to become your favorite viewer. it’s like he saw you as a person rather than just entertainment for his hard dick. though, you were pretty sure he was just another creep wanting praise and compliments from you.

he was probably a balding old man with a wife and kids like most of the men in your chatroom. but is it still wrong that you look forward to his small compliments and cute smiley faces? streaming was easy money. actually. men are easy. they don’t need to see a nude body and a pretty face to get off, just a woman’s existence could get them off.

which is why it was so easy to make money dressing prettily and playing with yourself for the camera.

Scott was one of your biggest donors, and there have been times when he’s been the only one in the chat sending you messages. he’d ask you about your day or compliment your new set of lingerie and how the color looked good on your skin.

he once took notice of the jazz in the background. even though he isn’t much of a jazz fan himself, he still acted like it solely for your attention. now, every time he hears jazz, it reminds him of you. the image of your plump lips and curvy body flashes into his mind and he finds himself thinking, ‘i can’t wait to get home.’

it’s pathetic, really. he’s found a comforting company in a random woman who was probably miles or even states away. he’s tried going on dates with other women, trying to cure his loneliness but something inside of him can’t deny that there was something between you and him — an unspoken relationship. he was your delusional fan and you were his idol.

he hasn’t missed a single one of your streams. most viewers would get bored of you and stop tuning in, but not him. he was the sweetest, always saying hello, always wishing you goodnight, and thanking you for the entertainment you provided. you would be lying if his messages didn’t make you blush a little.

so after a few weeks or so, you sent him a private message.

‘hi Scott, you’ve been tuning in for a while, and i wanted to thank you. if it doesn’t bother you, why don’t we call? just you and me, one on one. XOXO’

it shocked him when you messaged him privately. asking if he’d like to meet you on a private call, just you and him, no one else. he almost dropped his phone upon receiving the message. he knew it couldn’t be real, that this was some scam and someone was using your name to out him.

but here you are. your hair was tied up, showing off your neck and shoulders. you wore a set of white lingerie. lace trimming and sheer fabric. he could see that you were nervous, too, idly playing with the bow on your panties or your earlobe. a cute habit that you had.

“hi,” you smiled at him, straightening your posture. he did the same, sitting up straight with his sweaty palms rubbing at his joggers.

“hi,” he smiled back.

“i just want to say thank you, i mean for supporting me,” you shrugged, nervously playing with the small bow on your white panties.

“of course! i mean, it’s the least i can do,” fuck. he was so hard it was starting to hurt. his abdomen was burning, and he felt lightheaded, all his blood was rushing to his jumping cock. you were a stranger but in his own twisted fantasy, you knew each other on a much deeper level.

that you were his partner waiting at home. welcoming him home with sweet words and kisses, massaging his shoulders while praising him for how hard he worked today.

“i’m glad that i finally get to talk to you…one-on-one,” you smiled prettily, placing your hands on your knees and leaning forward. this new position gave him a view of your plump breasts. his eyes shot from your lips to your buxom and then back up to your lips.

“yeah,” he replied with a shaky breath.

“Scott, right?” you asked, tilting your head to the side.

“no, no, that’s an alias,” he admitted with a breathy chuckle.

“oh okay,” you hummed, “if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your real name?”

he gulped down a lump in his throat, bouncing his leg nervously, “it’s Leon,”

you leaned back, “Leon,” you said in almost a whisper as if you were letting the name sink into your memory. Leon was the name of the faceless man who’s been making your heart skip a beat. it’s silly really, receiving gifts and kind words from a man you didn’t even know would make you so excited to stream.

“what do you look like, Leon?” Leon had his camera off, too nervous to turn it on. what if you aren’t attracted to him? what if he isn’t your type?

“what do you think i look like?” he answered your question with a question. his nerves somewhat subsided, who knew you were so easy to talk to? and who knew you were so curious about him? here he thought it was a simple thank you call, but you care to know what his name is and what he looks like.

he would be lying if that didn’t excite him a little.

you brought your finger up to your chin, thinking to yourself for a moment.

“brown hair, green eyes or brown eyes, and a handsome smile,”

he chuckled deeply, “so close yet so far,”

“damn,” you said with a click of your tongue.

“why is that your type? brown hair, green eyes, and a handsome smile,”

you shrugged, leaning back a little from the camera and crossing your legs over one another, “i don’t particularly have a type but i do like handsome smiles, but let me guess again, are you a balding forty-year-old man with a big mean wife and spoiled teenage kids?” you rambled out.

“ha! god no!” he exclaimed, a low laugh reverberating from low in his chest. funny too?

“then why don’t you show me?”

his heart stopped. his blood ran cold, and his breath hitched. “what?”

“why don’t you show me what you look like?”

you must’ve noticed his silence and hesitation because you followed up your question with,

“if you show your face, i will too. i’ll show you everything, Leon. so please, let me see your face, i want to see you,” you were practically begging, a small whine in your voice only amplifying your desperate need.

he sucked in a shaky breath, carding his fingers through his blonde hair a few times before nodding his head, “okay, but don’t be too disappointed,”

he reached forward, moving his mouse toward the small camera icon. then with a simple click, his face was revealed. the camera took a second to adjust to the lighting in his room before finally focusing on his face.

your lips dropped agape as his face popped up onto your screen. you were very wrong. he wasn’t a lonely old man with brown hair and green eyes. he was a young blond man with gorgeous blue eyes, plump lips, and the cutest chin she’d ever seen.

he looks like he was straight out of a movie, one of those teenage romcoms. he had a certain boy charm to him. his shoulders were wide, and you could see the outline of his muscles through the simple grey t-shirt he had on. he was nervously playing with the strings of his joggers and he was hiding his face. cute.

“you aren’t saying anything,” he laughed nervously.

“Leon,” you finally have a face to the name. you reached up for your camera, adjusting it upwards so it showed your face and not just your lips. Leon watched curiously as you sat back down on your bed and fuck he wasn’t disappointed.

the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. doe eyes staring back at him, long lashes fluttering, and a light blush on your cheeks. your cheeks rounded as your lips lifted into a smile. you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “now look who’s quiet,”

it makes sense that your beautiful voice matched your face. he was so special. being the first one, out of so many men who watched you, to see your face and to hear your voice say his name. you chose him.

“i’m sorry, you’re just breathtaking,” he replied, still leering at you but not in a creepy way. rather, in a way where he was taking every feature of your face into intricate detail.

“i could say the same for you, Leon. if i’m being honest, i thought you were another sweet-talking forty-year-old man,”

he laughed at your comment, “is that so?”

you nodded your head, tilting your head to the side again, “at least i was right about one thing,”

“and what was that?” he hummed curiously.

“you have a handsome smile,”

fuck, he needed you so bad. your chemistry was undeniable, and the tension in the air was thick. he wanted to kiss you so badly, suck off the pink gloss on your lips until they bruised. he wanted to taste the sweetness of your skin, run his fingers over your curves, and sink his fingers into the plump skin of your thighs. he wanted to touch you and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

your eyes followed his every movement like a curious cat. “tell me what you want, Leon,” your tone of voice switched, thick and lustrous. he adjusted his hips, licking over the dry skin of his lips.

“you,” he admitted.

“what of me?”

“everything,” he said in a breathless plea, “i need to see you, to hear you, to touch you,”

you nodded, reaching up for the strap of your bra, and slowly, you dragged it down your shoulder and then proceeded to do the same with the other. Leon palmed at his throbbing cock through his joggers, watching your movements with blown-out pupils.

“what do you want to do to me, Leon?” each time his name slipped past your lips, it was like a rush of serotonin through his veins. a warmth that numbs every one of his senses and blurs the world around him, right now it’s just you and him.

“i want to kiss you,” he heaved, “i want to kiss you slowly,”

“mhmm,” you hummed, reaching for the hook of your bra at the front.

“oh fuck,” he moaned to himself, watching as your bra dropped into your lap. the prettiest breasts he’s ever seen, nipples pebbled by the cold air, and smooth skin glistening in the light from your lamp. you reached up, taking one into the palm of your hand, and gave it a small squeeze.

“tell me more,” heat rushed through you, and directly to your swollen clit, you clenched your thighs together wanting some relief. his voice was like music to your ears, slowly putting you into a trance. you could feel each small groan he let out, it vibrated in your chest and shook your core. you closed your eyes as you imagined his weight on top of her, and he was whispering into your ears.

“i’d undress you slowly, kissing the new areas of skin revealed to me,” he reached into his boxers, gripping the base of his cock with a small grunt. he gripped the arm of his chair, watching as you leaned away, throwing your head back as you continued to fondle your breasts and pinch at your nipples.

“i’d make my way down your navel and take off your pretty panties slowly,”

“mhmm,” he was such a pretty talker. he was the type of man to make a woman swoon. he knew what to say and what to do. he���s a dangerous and charming man, and you’re a liar because you have a type: dangerous and charming men.

he began to slowly stroke the length of his cock, the heartbeat in his chest matching the pulsating of his dick. he watched intently as your fingers moved down your navel, you was matching the actions in his words. your eyes were still shut as you imagined it all playing out in your head and god you could feel it. you could feel him.

“but i won’t touch you,” his words vibrated deep in his chest, and a weak breath left his mouth as he pressed his thumb into the tip of his cock. “i’d watch you just like i am now,”

if you were with him now, he would take his time with you. slowly and gently destroy you. he’d revel in the way you’d fall apart piece by piece as he brought you higher and higher. then he’d piece you back together. kissing your sweaty cheeks and coaxing you with gentle words.

“please,” he could hear you whisper out.

“touch yourself for me, i want you to feel good,” you looked back at him with a drunken gaze, your cheeks were hot, and your chest was heaving up and down. he watched as you spread your legs for him, propping up your heels at the edge of your bed.

he could see the wet stain in the gusset of your white panties, fuck you were dripping and just over a few words. there was a slight tremble in your legs as your fingers inched closer and closer to your throbbing clit. it was hot, it was so hot.

your entire body ached. you needed something more. you needed him.

you needed to feel the stretch of his cock, the weight of his hips pounding into you, and his tip slamming into your cervix. you needed his lips on yours; you needed to taste him, the salty sweat that dripped from his hairline and the sweetness of his tongue.

you rubbed at your pantie-clad clit, electricity ran through you, and a small moan elicited from your mouth. “Leon,” you whined, begging him to continue talking.

“look how wet you are,” he chuckled, bemused. he freed his cock from his boxers, stroking it slowly to your rhythm. your eyes flickered from his face and down to his lap, and the ache in your core only grew more. he was big, thick with veins running up to his pretty pink tip. he was curved upwards and his balls were taut.

you could just imagine what he’d feel like inside of you.

“fuck,” you clenched around nothing, rutting your hips up into your fingers. you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

“fuck yourself, baby, let me see you,” he groaned out, squeezing the base of his cock even harder. you were quick to abide by his wishes, watching his visage closely as you pulled your panties to the side, revealing the dripping heat that had been aching for him all this time.

he gulped upon seeing you, running his thumb over the tip of cock; precum was dripping all over his hand. god, he felt pathetic. just upon seeing your pretty pussy, he’s going to cum. he’s so close but he wants to make this last. he wants you to finish first. he wants to hear you, to see you, to watch you.

you dragged your two fingers through your trembling folds, biting down on your lower lip and squeezing your eyes shut. “so pretty, look at you,” he cooed.

the most lewd noises filled your room, the sound of your squelching cunt and your small moans and the wet faps of his cock and his heavy breaths. you slowly dipped your middle finger into your clenching hole and the subtle stretch and drag of your finger against your trembling walls had you reeling. but it wasn’t enough.

“follow my lead, baby,” he heaved out. you peeled open your eyes, looking at him. you watched him closely, matching the strokes of your finger to the strokes of his cock.

“oh my god,” you moaned out, dipping another finger into your cunt. the stretch only burned a little bit, but you knew it wouldn’t compare to the stretch of his girth. your breathing picked up, and you were focused on his voice and the movements of his fist.

he was so pretty. his lips wet with his saliva and red from biting down on them with his teeth. his pale cheeks were dusted over with a pink tint, and the pupils of his blue eyes were blown out. he looked crazed, his hair a sweaty mess, his lips agape, his muscles taut from trying to hold back from coming undone.

how beautiful he’d look in between your legs. that smooth tongue flicking at your clit and plunging into your dripping hole over and over.

“faster baby, fuck yourself faster, make yourself feel good,”

“Leon,” you dragged out, plunging your fingers into your cunt faster and faster. your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and you arched your back into the air, “fuck,” you whined weakly. you clamped your legs shut, overwhelmed by the pleasure that was until you heard a tut of his tongue.

“nuh uh, don’t hide from me, baby,”

“it’s too much,”

“you can do it,” he urged, watching as you slowly spread your legs for him again. there was a sheen layer of sweat on your skin, glistening in the warm orange-red lights. your thighs were trembling, a layer of your sticky essence coating your inner thighs and your plump lips — not the ones on your face.

your hair was coming loose from how you tied it back, how beautiful you looked all disheveled and messy just for him. your other hand gripped at the sheets beneath you, twirling the fabric in your fist — tugging at it helplessly as you continued to moan out his name like a martyr.

each curl of your fingers sent electricity through every nerve of your body, sending it up to your brain until you were ultimately a mess.

“Leon, I-“ you choked on your own words as the apple of your palm came in contact with your clit.

“i know, sweetheart,” he breathed, tightening his grip on his pulsating cock. fuck, he was leaking so much. he knew he was going to cum soon, his balls were so heavy, slapping against his fist with each stroke and he was lightheaded.

he watched as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your back arched, and your cunt clenched around your fingers. a throaty moan left your lips as you came undone around your fingers. Leon wasn’t too far behind as his name left your lips in a weak whine. his muscles went taut, and a pathetic moan spilled from his swollen lips.

hot ropes of cum erupted from the tip of his cock and onto his joggers and fist. the grip he had on the arm of his chair was tight, but as his high came down, he was finally able to relax back into his seat. you were laid back on your bed; your thighs were still trembling, and your fingers were still between your legs, slowly circling your clit.

there was a small silence between them, a comfortable silence.

“that was…really good,” he sighed, running his palm across his forehead, wiping away the sweat. you chuckled, reaching behind your for your silk robe. an apricot-colored robe that matched the color of your lingerie that was now discarded somewhere in the room.

she pulled the robe over your shoulders, “i enjoyed that,”

you did more than just enjoy that. it was the best fucking orgasm of your life.

“i did, too,” he smiled. you sat back up, adjusting your appearance, tucking strands of hair behind your ear, and wiping the smudged mascara beneath your eyes.

“i meant it when i said you’re beautiful,” he spoke up.

“thank you, Leon,” you said, laughing nervously. you avoided eye contact with him as you rubbed at your thighs; your heart was still pounding in your chest, and that same feeling you were getting earlier was starting to come back.

“i don’t want this to be the last time i see you,” you admitted timidly.

Leon was taken aback by your sudden confession, did you mean like this? through a computer screen. or in real life? even with all these questions, he didn’t deny the buzz that pulsated through him. the raw excitement. it was like he was in high school all over again like his crush had just asked him out on a date.

“me too,” he gulped. you sat up a little bit, unable to hide the smile on your lips.

and it sure wasn’t.

“fuck!” your nails dragged down the skin of his back, and your other fingers were tangled in the strands of his blond hair. one of his hands gripped the headboard while the other had a vice grip on your hip. he was focused on the joining of your hips, how his cock pounded into your pretty cunt over and over again and the way with each thrust a deep moan was punched out of you.

“it’s so good,” you drawled out, leaning your head back into his pillow. he bent down, placing a kiss over your wet eyes. how many rounds have you gone? 2? 3? who knows, all he knows is that he’s caught in this loop. you’d fuck and then lay in each other's arms for a few hours, then fuck again, then relax, then fuck.

the drag of his curved tip was driving you crazy; he was stretching you so perfectly; it was all so overwhelming, yet you still craved more.

“so beautiful,” he bellowed through clenched teeth, “so fucking good,” your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer and forcing him even deeper. both of you sucked in a gasp at this new feeling, his thrusts faltering at the way your cunt fluttered around his pulsating cock.

“fuck, baby,” he chuckled amusingly. he ground his hips into your slowly, nudging his tip against your cervix. each shallow thrust had your fingertips itching and your toes curling; it was so good, and it was even better because you’d been waiting for this.

you’ve been craving this. his weight on top of you, the smell of his cologne, the stretch of his girth, the feeling of his fingertips, the weight of his voice in the shell of your ear, and the taste of his plump lips. he dug one of his arms beneath the arch of your back, holding you close to him as he continued to grind into you.

“oh my fuck!” this new angle elicited another gasp from your swollen pink lips; the drag of his tip only got better, and he felt bigger. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into the crook of his neck where you could muffle your pathetic moans and calls of his name.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he cursed. his fingertips sunk into your back, and his lips found your shoulder.

“i’m gonna cum,” you cried out. he continued thrusting into you at the same pace, taking his other hand and slipping it between their sweaty bodies. his calloused fingers found your swollen clit and he began rubbing in small circles.

a shuddering breath left your mouth, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. you arched up further into him, begging him not to stop but also pleading that it was too much. your nails dug into his skin further, causing him to wince. it hurt, but it hurt so good.

when he looked at himself in the mirror, he could see the red lines all down his back and the multiple hickeys and bite marks littering his neck. you were the same; he had marked your body up and a sense of pride filled him as he looked down to see what he’s done.

red and purple bruises between your thighs from him nipping at your skin, hickeys all over your neck and breasts, bruises forming on your hips from the grip he’s had on her. red and purple marks decorated your beautiful skin; there was nothing you could want more than that.

getting lost in dirty sex and pleasure. rough and gentle. fast and slow.

you clenched down around him, burying your face deep into his neck, and with a loud cry of his name, you came undone around him. your release trickling down and staining the inside of your thighs and the front of his.

you locked your ankles around his waist, keeping him sheathed inside of you. “wait, baby-“

“i need it inside, Leon, i want to feel it,”

fuck.

he couldn’t say no. they both discussed safety before meeting each other. you were on the pill, and he had enough condoms, at least, he thought so. it wasn’t long until you ran out. two people lost in a forest of lust, blinded by pleasure and deafened by passion.

one last thrust, and his muscles went taut, his heavy balls clenched, and the hand between their bodies went to grip your thigh. chills ran through you as his hot cum flooded your cunt, you could feel every pulse of his cock and every heavy breath he let go.

just knowing that he finished inside of you enough to have your aching all over again.

he collapsed, wrapping his arms around her, and brought you along with him as he laid down. your eyes were already shut, your brain suddenly aware of the aching pain in your muscles and the pulsating of your skin.

his heart was still pounding and he lay in silence listening to it. he could feel sleep taking over him but he didn’t want to close his eyes. he was afraid that this was all a dream, all a part of his fantasy. he was afraid you’d disappear from his grip and he’d wake up to you two being strangers across a screen again.

he didn’t want that. if anything, he wanted to stay like this, enjoying passionate sex and continuing to build this newfound relationship with you.

you had driven down from your city to meet him for the first time. he took you out to dinner by the shore, and you two walked along the beach, you had on his jacket, and you two just talked and talked for hours. then in a rush of lust, you ended up in his bed.

he didn’t want this to end.

“why don’t you stay in Racoon City for a few weeks?” he whispered out, half asleep.

“huh?” his question sprung you back awake. “Leon, i brought like barely any clothes with me,”

“I have a washing machine, and my closet is all yours,” he smiled, his eyes halfway open and halfway closed, but he was very aware of what he was saying, and he meant every bit. you sat up, propping yourself onto your elbow, and placed a hand on his chest.

“you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“very,” he nodded.

you couldn’t deny the fact that you really wanted to and even though there were so many reasons to say no, Leon sat above all those reasons. he was the sole reason to say yes.

(divider creds to @saradika ,, photos off of pinterest)

a/n: official welcome to my kinktober yayyy!! sorry guys i'm so late i've been vv busy with school lols, but i hope you enjoyed this. i've never done a kinktober before, and even though i'm not posting a fic for all 31 days, i hope these few i will post this month will suffice. anyways bai bai until next time :3 - V!

notes: if you wanna be on my tag list pls message me or fill out the form below (just to make it easier on me :D)

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[aemondwhoresworld]

“MY DAUGHTER HATED ME!”

pairing: dad!ewan mitchell x mom!reader ; ewan mitchell x actress!reader

part of series: y/n, ewan and elowen mitchell

part 2

summary: following the success of House of The Dragon, you and Ewan were invited to appear on Jimmy Fallon’s The Tonight Show. However, it seems that the story about your only daughter, elowen captured the majority of the audience's attention after that interview.

word count: 1,3k

warning: english is not my first language, use of y/n, ewan and reader are actor and both are in hotd cast, fluff (?), etc

masterlist | ADD YOUSELF INTO MY TAGLIST HERE

That evening, you and Ewan stepped onto the stage of The Tonight Show, greeted by enthusiastic applause and cheers from the audience. Jimmy Fallon, with his familiar smile, guided you and Ewan to your seats and then thanked both of you for coming on the show.

"Let me introduce tonight's guests, the actors from House of The Dragon, please welcome Ewan Mitchell and Y/n Mitchell, playing Prince Aemond Targaryen and Princess Visenya Targaryen," Jimmy announced

"Thank you both for being here," Jimmy expressed his gratitude to you and Ewan for accepting the invitation to be interviewed.

Ewan, with his usual calm and slightly shy demeanor, responded modestly, "No, no, thank you for having us." You also smiled warmly and added, "Yes, thank you, Jimmy, for inviting us here; it's an honor."

Jimmy chuckled and continued his introduction to the audience.

Jimmy then began, "First, I want to congratulate both of you on the success of House of The Dragon!" His congratulations were met with enthusiastic applause from the audience, accompanied by loud clapping. Jimmy joked, "Well—they're already too fond of you guys."

"Thank you, Jimmy," you and Ewan said in unison, both of you still smiling brightly.

"So, Ewan, can you tell us about your life after the explosion of House of The Dragon?" Jimmy asked, but before letting Ewan answer, he quickly added a clarification, "I mean, it was already a hit after Season 2 aired, but now with Season 3 out, how has it changed?"

Ewan clicked his tongue lightly and said, "Well… I think it has, a bit. People still seem like they want to run away from me whenever I step out of the airport or when they see me on the street." After saying that, Ewan couldn't help but laugh, and you, having witnessed those moments, couldn't stop laughing either.

Jimmy laughed along, then turned to you and asked, "Is that really true, Y/n?" All you could do was nod in agreement, confirming it was indeed true. After laughing too much at your husband's story, you caught your breath and shared, "Once, on a flight to the set, a little girl came up and asked me to get his autograph because she was too scared." You burst out laughing at the memory, and so did Ewan, Jimmy, and the audience.

"But I want to affirm to everyone that my husband, Ewan Mitchell, is a good man, a good husband, and a good father!" you said, looking at Ewan with pride. The pride and love in his eyes for you were unmistakable, making the atmosphere in the room even warmer.

Jimmy couldn’t help but laugh again, sharing in the pride and joy you both displayed.

“Speaking of Ewan as a father, does your daughter know that both of you are famous?” Jimmy asked the two of you.

Ewan responded, “She does… but she only found out recently.” He chuckled softly, explaining that for a long time, their daughter had been a fan of Harry Collett without realizing that her own parents were co-stars with him, and perhaps even more famous.

“On her 3rd birthday, after she blew out the candles, I asked her what she wished for,” Ewan continued, his face glowing with pride as he spoke of your daughter.

“She told me, ‘I wish that one day, mommy and daddy will be as famous as Harry Collett,’” Ewan recounted, causing the audience to erupt in laughter once more.

“At that moment, I briefly wondered if my wife and I were just amateur actors,” Ewan said with a laugh, taking a quick sip of water before continuing. “That’s when we decided to take her to the set of House of The Dragon to show her.”

“But even then, she wasn’t fully convinced by us,” you added, clearly enjoying the audience’s amusement at the story involving your daughter, Elowen.

“Seeing how much the audience here is enjoying your stories about your daughter, can you explain the video that’s being shown on the screen?” Jimmy asked, pointing to the screen in front of you.

The screen displayed a video of you and your daughter, Elowen, sitting at the kitchen counter coloring together. You had set up your phone to capture what you thought was a hilarious moment, intending to send it to Ewan, but it was so adorable that you decided to post it on your social media.

“So, El, can you tell mommy again why you said that to mommy?” you asked your daughter in the video. Elowen paused her coloring, sighed, and responded, “Because I saw daddy putting a ring on another woman hand, so now I don’t like daddy at all,” she said before immediately dropping her head to cry. The audience burst into laughter some with a soft ‘aww’

“Okay, okay, can you explain why that happened, Y/n? Why did she say that?” Jimmy asked.

“Well, as you saw, Elowen and I were coloring together when she suddenly turned to me and said, ‘Mommy, I don’t like daddy,’ so I thought she must have had a reason for saying that,” you explained, shifting in your seat position before continuing, “So I set up my phone to record, but it wasn’t until I showed the video to Ewan that we realized she was talking about the scene where Aemond gets married, you know in the House of The Dragon episode 2 scene” You couldn’t help but laugh as you finished the story.

"I only showed her that one scene, not the whole episode, so don’t worry," you continued, wanting to make sure everyone knew you hadn't exposed a 3-year-old girl to a series that wasn't suitable for viewers under 17.

The audience roared with laughter, and Jimmy shook his head in amusement. "That's adorable! She really thought her daddy was betraying her mommy on screen."

Ewan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, she’s still at that age where she doesn’t fully understand the difference between fiction and reality. But I think it’s sweet how protective she is of our relationship."

Jimmy nodded, grinning. "It’s amazing how kids see the world. So, what did you do to make it up to her, Ewan?"

Ewan smiled fondly, glancing at you before answering. "Well, after we explained that it was all just pretend and that daddy only loves mommy, we took her out for ice cream. I think the double scoop of chocolate chip really helped clear things up."

You laughed, adding, "And, of course, we had a long talk with her about what acting really means. But I think it was the ice cream that sealed the deal."

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Well, it sounds like you two have it all figured out—balancing stardom with parenthood. And I have to say, it's refreshing to see how grounded and loving your family is, despite the craziness of Hollywood."

"Thank you, Jimmy," you said sincerely, reaching over to give Ewan's hand a squeeze. "We just try to keep things as normal as possible for her, no matter how crazy things get on set."

Jimmy nodded, smiling warmly. "And it’s clear that you’re doing an amazing job. I mean, the way you both light up when you talk about her—it’s obvious that your family comes first."

The audience clapped in agreement, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for the life you and Ewan had built together, both on and off the screen.

"Well," Jimmy said, wrapping things up, "I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re looking forward to seeing more of you both—whether it’s on screen or in more adorable videos with your daughter!"

"Thank you, Jimmy," Ewan said with a grateful smile, and you echoed his sentiments.

As the interview came to a close, you and Ewan exchanged a loving glance, knowing that no matter how big your careers became, nothing would ever compare to the joy of sharing your lives with each other and your daughter.

…pt.2 ? a whole series of ewan being a dad?? or any ideas for dad!ewan?

mae.

let me know what you think about this and thank you for reading 🌟 also a like or reblog/comments are my motivation

[thefanficmonster]

Never Beating the Allegations

Colby Brock x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: A compilation of Colby and Y/N being far too obvious with their feelings for one another for the entire world to see. Basically, a YouTube documentation spanning several channels that marks the history of this goofy relationship

"It's fucking nighttime already, dude! We're running two hours behind schedule!" Sam complains through a smile, shaking his head at Colby who's trailing behind him with bags full of snacks. "All because someone spent those two hours scouring a store!

They're currently in Canada following the filming of a couple investigations for Hell Week with Kris and Celina. As Sam said, they were supposed to be two hours along the road back home already - a very tiny portion of their roadtrip back, seeing as how they didn't get to buy plane tickets on time. So, they settled for a two day roadtrip and the adventure it would bring on.

Colby, not at all bothered by Sam's accusations, smiles at the camera, "I promised Y/N I'd bring back signature Canadian snacks for her. There is no chance in hell I go home empty-handed. She'd kill me." As if to prove he is serious about his quest, he lifts the two heavy looking bags for the camera to get a better shot of them.

Sam's smile falters, replaced by a highly offended frown, "So you're telling me we're not gonna eat any of those snack on the road?" Colby - folding with laughter, mind you - shakes his head. "Are you fucking ki-...."

* * * * *

"I'm almost done!" Y/N calls out from her spot in front of the mirror where she's been stuck for the past thirty minutes trying to even out her winged liner.

A groan comes from a far distance but is still picked up by her phone microphone and is heard by the audience of Y/N's Instagram live, "You keep saying that!"

Not ten seconds later, the door is thrown open, provoking a laugh from the girl. She lowers her hand and takes her attention away from her reflection to pay her roommate proper acknowledgement. "Give me a second, sheesh! Can't a girl make herself pretty in peace?"

Although he never enters the frame fully, the live chat is already flowing with cheers of Colby's name. Whether it was wishful thinking or an educated guess on their part is a mystery. Regardless, they're entirely correct, their suspicions confirmed when they hear his voice and see his arm come into frame, his hand cupping Y/N's chin to tilt up her face.

"You're always pretty." He says, causing her to roll her eyes. At that, he boops her nose with his pointer finger before withdrawing his arm, "You have five minutes to wrap things up."

Y/N's gaze lingers on him until he's out of sight. She shakes her head and catches the camera's eye in the mirror reflection, "The audacity on that man. Tsk

* * * * *

@_y/n_dragonfly Fuck Valentine's Day @_colbybrock

Needless to say, the comments went wild, running with this post on Y/N's Instagram as unofficial proof of the ship the fandom seems to hold so near and dear to their hearts.

Hope dies last, after all. Maybe one day their ship might set-sail.

* * * * *

"Ok, so, update..." Colby chuckles, looking away from the camera he's currently holding blogging style to make sure he doesn't trip on anything, "We were supposed to go grab food before starting the investigation, but then...." He flips the camera to show the backyard of the abandoned house they'll be exploring tonight, "Y/N found a trampoline in the backyard."

As the camera focuses, both Sam and Y/N come into clear view - the former laughing at the latter who's too busy to care. She's too occupied having the time of her life on this raggedy looking trampoline, reveling in childlike joy as she hops around.

Colby sets the camera on the tripod Sam had left nearby, wanting to capture this wholesome moment, even if it didn't make it into the final cut of the video. Though he doesn't see why it wouldn't.

After adjusting the camera, he turns to find Sam has joined Y/N on the trampoline, far more hesitant than she is, though.

"You guys are ridiculous." He remarks as he approaches them, shaking his head with a bright smile on his face.

Y/N lands on her knees so she can be at least halfway at eye-level with her friend, offering him a beckoning hand, "Come be ridiculous too. Don't be a bore."

Colby scoffs and rolls his eyes. Still, he accepts her hand but instead of using it for support to climb up to join his friends on the trampoline, he tugs on it. Y/N lets out a little yelp as she's enveloped in his arms. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, unwilling to have a rather unpleasant encounter with the ground.

"Colby! Put me down!!" Put her down he most certainly doesn't, instead opting to spin her while securely holding her in his arms, eliciting mock terror-filled screams from her.

Eventually, he does get persuaded into joining her and Sam on the trampoline.

And the whole fiasco eventually makes it into the final cut and onto the internet.

And, inevitably, in edits.

* * * * *

It's an innocent, wholesome TikTok they filmed in the garden of the Conjuring house. Yes, the Conjuring house, no biggie.

Sam is the cameraman who much to his relief didn't even need to orchestrate anything. He just pressed the record button on his phone to capture the tomfoolery going on. The lighting is perfect, provided by the few remaining rays of sunlight before dark befell them. A little lighthearted fun was more than needed before they'd have to go back in the house to chat with spirits for the night.

The video captures Y/N in her natural element - dancing goofily with the pair of headphones they use for the Estes method on her head. The caption under the video reads: 'When the spirits drop a sick beat' and is quite the perfect depiction of the trio's dynamic.

Sam documenting the chaos. Y/N being the chaos. And Colby observing her chaos with heart-eyes from the sidelines.

Although Sam hadn't originally noticed his best friend's awed gaze accidentally captured in the video, the fans most definitely noticed. And, as per usual, they ran with it.

*sigh* These two are never beating the allegations.

@benbarnesprettygurl @jessy-shine @mushycore @richardsamboramylove55 @smuttiest-smuttt @honey-bees-13 @rei-ito

[freedomfireflies]

Yellow*

Summary: An extra for One for the Money*

The one where you have to use your safeword with Mr. Styles and you worry it'll ruin everything.

Word Count: 3.4k

(TW: Panic attack and mentions of panic attacks)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Just like that…shit, just like that, Peach. So fucking good. Can feel you, honey. Fucking feel you—”

Mr. Styles’ hand intertwines with yours before he brings them both to your stomach. Pressing your palm taut to the flesh until you can feel the subtle bulge from his cock. Thrusting into you so deep, your eyes roll all the way back into your head.

He’s been at it for hours. Showing off for the camera, allowing them to see him at his most powerful. And you at your most vulnerable.

You’re used to it by now. More than used to it, and on any given day, you thrive off it. You indulge in his prowess, his intentions. More than willing to be flaunted in front of the large audience of onlookers as he takes you anyway he wants you.

So you’re not sure why today feels different. Why the weight on your chest is heavier than it usually is. Why his hands – while always kind, always comforting – feel like tools in a game of your misery.

You don’t want to stop him. Don’t want to scare him or upset him. You know the moment you utter the words, the dynamic will shift instantaneously. And perhaps that’s what you want, but the repercussions might be more than you’re prepared to handle.

Yet the thought doesn’t leave you as he lowers his fingers toward your clit to pinch and tweak your next orgasm out of you. But you’re already far too sensitive, far too gone in the stimulation and the pain to enjoy it.

Instead, you try to focus on the little red light that blinks from the camera, try to imagine how pleased the audience will be to see this. How all of this will be worth it. It has to be worth it.

“Feels good, honey, doesn’t it?” he groans, now pushing your knee into your chest until you’re whimpering. “My pretty pussy takes me so well, doesn’t she? Let’s me fuck her exactly the way I want. Till she’s fucking crying.”

You nod weakly and the sight of your wet eyes makes his cock twitch as he drives himself in at a quicker pace.

And suddenly, you can’t breathe. Can’t slow the racing of your pulse or ignore the ringing in your ears. It’s everywhere, this pain. Your vision of him has gone blurry and your poor pussy feels swollen and abused.

But you tell yourself it’ll be fine. That you just need to catch your breath. You just need a second, and it’ll be okay. 

Because you don’t want to say it. You’ve never had to say it before, and you don’t exactly want to start now. And you aren’t sure why, you know he’d be more than understanding. But this is silly, you feel silly. Because you’re fine. You just need a second. And it'll pass. 

It will pass.

But it doesn’t pass, and you don’t feel in control of your own body anymore. Which is normally the point, but not today. Today you need to feel grounded, to feel some semblance of power over the anguish. And he’s so good, and so kind, and you can’t say it. You can’t do this to him, can’t do this to yourself, and if you can just catch your breath, it’ll be okay. 

Because he feels good, he really does. And you’re making him feel good, and you don’t want to take that from him. Because then he won’t get to cum, and he’ll be upset, and he’ll never treat you the same. He’ll always remember that you were too weak to take it.

So you’ll take it, you will. You’ll be his good girl, his good little slut, and you’ll make him proud. 

You will.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you repeat this mantra. As you command yourself to like the pain. Because you do. You have to. You can’t say it. You can’t, so you won’t, and you won’t do this, and you won’t ruin it, and it’s fine, and everything is fine—

“Wait,” you whisper, hands tugging on the sweaty curls at your disposal. Hard enough to capture his attention. “Wait, hold on, hold…yellow.”

Just like that…it all stops. He stills, instantly. No more thrusts into your cunt, no more pinching or pulling on your clit, no more kisses to your neck. It all stops in the blink of an eye, and you hear him inhale a quick breath as his body freezes above yours.

Seconds pass. Quiet and filled with a charged, tense energy that’s so eerie, you can almost hear your heart thumping in your chest. 

Then, he murmurs, “Okay. Okay, m’waiting.”

Your lashes flutter shut as a wince stretches across your expression. He doesn’t sound upset, but maybe he is. And you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, can sense how hard he’s trying to hold himself back, how difficult this must be for him to stop like this.

And you realize now that you’ve ruined it, and he’s gonna be pissed, and he’s going to end things, and he’s never gonna fuck you again—

“Peach,” he says softly, face still nuzzled against your shoulder. “Talk to me, what do you need? What would you like me to do?”

You don’t trust your voice. Can feel the influx of tears racing up the back of your throat as you squeeze his hair harder and shake your head.

But this isn’t an answer he accepts, his fingers gently tugging on your waist. “Peach, I need to hear you. I need to know what to do—”

“Nothing,” you exhale, the words getting lost in his cheek as you hold on for dear life. “Nothing, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just need one second. One second and you can go, okay? I promise, I’m sorry—”

“Peach.” It’s not angry but it’s fervent. Determined. “Don’t…shit. Don’t you dare fucking apologize right now, just tell me…tell me what you want me to do. Do you want me to pull out? Or do you want me to stay still?”

And you want to answer, but you can’t. Because there’s too much happening in your head right now. In your heart. It’s going faster than you think it ever has, and your lungs feel like they’re going to collapse, and you want to cry—God, you want to cry. Can already feel the tears slipping down your face, fast and without mercy.

Because he’s so good, and so wonderful, and so kind, and you don’t deserve him. Especially after making him stop, and why did you make him stop, why did you do this, why can’t you just get over it—

“Hey, hey.” His head lifts, eyes finding yours as his hand comes up to cup your jaw. As delicately as he can without startling you. “Okay, it’s all right. You’re okay, Peach.”

His lips press to the tears on your skin. Gently and with great compassion. Which, in turn, only makes you cry that much harder.

“You’re okay,” he whispers between slow kisses to your cheek. “Deep breath, my love. You’re all right, I’ve got you, yeah? M’right here. Won’t let you go until you want me to.”

You melt into the mattress as he continues holding you to the best of his ability. As he attempts to comfort you without causing you any more pain.

“Honey, I need you to tell me what you need. What your body needs,” he repeats after a moment, nose faintly brushing against yours. “Do you want me to pull out or do you want me to stay still?”

Truthfully, you aren’t sure what you want. It doesn’t sting the way it did before, but you’re worried if he moves, the pain will return tenfold.

And the thought of him taking himself from you makes your chest ache.

“I don’t know,” you whimper, attempting to hide yourself in his neck. “I don’t know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m trying—”

“Hey.” The stern voice returns as his palm tightens against your chin and pulls your focus to him. “What did I just say, hm? I don’t want to hear one more apology out of this pretty mouth. Is that understood?”

Your bottom lip quivers. “…I’m sorry.”

With a gentle but slightly amused sigh, he says, “Peach—”

“I am,” you insist, nails curling into the back of his neck. “I don’t know why I made you stop, I’m fine. I’m fine, really. I think I just got scared or something—”

“Scared?” His demeanor shifts on a dime, brows furrowing, and expression quickly growing distressed. “Scared how? What did I do? What can I do?”

“Nothing,” you repeat, gasping slightly at the implication. “Nothing, no. You didn’t…that’s not what I…fuck.”

“Okay, easy, Peach,” he mumbles, sweeping his thumb along your bottom lip soothingly. Waiting until you calm. And he studies you for quite some time, as though looking for the answer written somewhere on your face. “It was a lot, yeah? I pushed too hard.”

“No,” you try again, but his look of disapproval makes you wilt. “I mean…it was a lot, yes, but you didn’t…normally, it’s perfect. It’s never too hard or too much. You didn’t do this, I think I just…my mind wasn’t here. Maybe.”

He nods once. Contemplates this. “I should have checked in with you more frequently. Especially with the camera on—”

“No,” you huff, resisting the urge to slap his shoulder. “Stop putting this on yourself, it’s making me sad.”

“And your apologies make me sad,” he counters. “But that’s the point of the safeword, isn’t it? The system we have in place? It’s nobody’s fault. It’s about communication. About trust, about safety.”

You swallow thickly and settle into the calming safe of his eyes.

His finger continues to trace the outline of your mouth, almost as if in an attempt to collect himself. “Do you trust me, Peach?”

Your stomach sinks. “Of course.”

“Do you feel safe with me?”

“Yes.” You leave a kiss to his thumb. “Always, Sir. I promise.”

He begins to frown. “No, I don’t want you to call me that right now. I want you to call me Harry.”

And this shift – this instruction is what you were afraid of. Lashes fluttering as you whisper, “It’s…it’s okay. You can still be Sir, I promise—”

“No, I don’t want to be your dominant right now,” he corrects firmly. “I don’t want to be your Sir. Or your boss or your investor. I want to be your partner. Your equal. I want to be you and me. Us.”

And you know he means it. Can sense the truth of it behind his assertion and it feels like the first deep breath you’ve been able to take all day.

 “Okay,” you agree, taking hold of his wrist to keep his hand close to your face. “Okay, we’ll be us.”

He seems relieved, dipping down to kiss the center of your forehead before asking, “Now…tell me what you want. Do you want me to pull out or keep still? What does your body need right now?”

You take a moment to find the right answer. “I don’t…honestly, I don’t know. I’m okay right now. Doesn’t…doesn’t hurt as much. You can…you can keep going if you want.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he reminds you. “It’s about what you want. What you need. If you want me to stay, I will. If you want me to go, I will.”

“I…I don’t want you to go. Really, I didn’t mean to make us stop, I swear—”

“We’re not stopping yet,” he interrupts. “Not until you say red. Right now, we’re just taking a break. Reassessing what you need. Okay?”

You nod weakly. “Okay.”

“Good.” He presses his palm to your cheek. “Do you want to say red? Do you want to stop?”

Again, you deliberate this. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

The frown returns. “I need you to do more than think, Peach. I need you to be sure.”

“I am,” you rush to clarify, shifting a bit beneath him as you squeeze his arm and fight against a pained wince. “I am, I promise. I just…I don’t know what happened. It just…there was a lot happening all of a sudden, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t enjoy it. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe or…or understand why I felt so off.”

A certain sadness finds him again as he nods and presses a couple more kisses to your temple. “I think you had a panic attack, my love.”

It’s an odd thought. One you aren’t quite familiar with, as panic attacks aren’t that common for you. In fact, you don’t believe you’ve ever had one before. At least not that you were aware of.

“Oh…” The words feel empty in your head. Weightless, with no meaning to grasp onto. “I…why?”

The corner of his mouth curls up, and the delicate smile makes your heart soar. “I don’t know. Sometimes we can’t find the cause, it just…happens.”

You blink up at him. “You’ve had a panic attack before?”

“I have,” he says calmly, and it surprises you more than it should. “I get them occasionally. Not as much anymore, though. With you.”

And this admission feels like something you can’t explain. Another piece to the Harry Styles puzzle you get to add to. Letting you see his big picture.

“I didn’t know that,” you whisper, and he shrugs.

“I never told you.” Another kiss to your forehead. “But I know how disorienting they can be, and I think it’s best we take a longer break before we continue.”

You feel your expression fall as he gently begins to move. “No, I…I don’t want to stop, I’m fine. You can…you can go—”

However, when he suddenly shifts his hips, it forces you to suck in a sharp, pained breath. Making it clear that continuing is no longer an option.

And for some reason, it feels like a punch to the gut. Knocking the wind from your lungs until that heaviness returns to your chest.

He really is going to stop. He’s going to take his body from you, and his weight, and his heat, and his cock. And the scene will be over, and maybe you won’t start again. Maybe he won’t be in the mood, or he’ll jerk one out in the shower without you, or he’ll look at you differently.

And you hate that thought more than anything in the world.

“No,” you practically whimper, grabbing onto his hips to keep him still. “No, we don’t have to stop, I’m fine. Really, it was just…it was nothing. Please, Harry.”

His thumb quickly returns to your face, brushing just below your eye to help dry the fresh set of tears on your warm, stained cheeks.

And he looks so very wounded. “Peach…this isn’t a punishment. There’s a reason we use the traffic light system, and it’s for moments like this. To keep things safe—”

“But I am safe,” you argue, the sound of your plea timid and riddled with distress. “And I’m fine now, really. You can go, we can finish. I want you to finish—”

“Peach,” he says again, but it’s a bit more resolute. “This isn’t about me finishing. It will never be about me finishing, all right? We can always resume the scene later if you’d like, but right now…I want to hold you. I want to help you feel steady again.”

And it’s the most perfect thought in the world. From the most perfectly imperfect man, and yet the idea of stopping sends sharp needles down your spine.

“Please,” you whine again, sniffling softly. “I don’t want to stop, I promise. Please don’t make us stop, please don’t…don’t…”

He dips down and nuzzles his nose to yours, forcing you to take a deep breath. “Honey, I’m not doing this to hurt you. Or upset you. I want to help, I want you to let me help. To honor our system and take a break.”

But you tug on him tighter, face disappearing into his chest as you shake your head. “Please don’t. Please just ignore me. I’ll feel worse if we stop, really. I’ll get worried and I’ll overthink, and I’ll panic again, and it’ll just be so much worse. So just…let’s finish, okay? I want to finish.”

You hear – and feel – him sigh. “Baby, I need you to listen to me right now, okay? This is my answer.”

It’s rare he uses this nickname, and even though it might be a little cliché, it makes your stomach wrench in the best possible way.

Yet still, the anguish is evident. “Harry,” you whisper, pleading desperately with everything you have left.

He slips his palm around the back of your neck to pull you from his body and allow him to see your face. It’s scrutinous, his expression. Slightly stern and somewhat doleful. “Do I need to be your dominant again? Is that the only way you’ll listen to me?”

Truth be told, you wonder if it is, and your sad little hiccup seems to be answer enough.

So, while fighting a smile, he says, “Then I want you to be a good girl and let Daddy hold you. I don’t want you to argue with me, or fight me, or act like a brat. I want you to say, ‘Yes, Sir,’ and be done with it. Is that understood?”

With a shaky inhale and a feeble nod, you murmur, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he hums before landing his mouth on yours. Kissing you for the first time in what feels like years. “Much sweeter when you behave for me, my love. Aren’t you?”

But you don’t have the strength to answer.

“I know,” he says for you, chuckling against your lips. “Now…I’m gonna pull out. And I’m gonna go slow, all right? Try to be as gentle as I can. And I want you to tell me if it aches or if it’s too much, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

With this vow, he begins to draw his hips back, cock retreating from your pussy until that full feeling begins to diminish.

And at first it’s a bit uncomfortable. Tight, in a sense but eventually, he’s all the way out, and your cunt is provided a moment of much needed reprieve.

The moment that relief finds you, it seems to melt across your expression. And he notices, smiling gratefully but with a twinge of regret. As though he’s punishing himself for causing you the displeasure in the first place.

But before either of you can argue about it again, he’s settling on the mattress beside you and slipping an arm around your stomach. Keeping you pressed against his body to hold you the way he promised.

“There,” he sighs, lips returning to their rightful place on your neck. “Is that better?”

Your eyes fall shut in blissful ecstasy as you lace your hand with his. “Yes, Sir.”

He grins and that familiar dimple reappears. “Attagirl. And you’re gonna let me hold you, yeah?”

“Mhm. Always, Sir.”

He kisses the spot below your ear. “Good.”

The large bedroom falls silent while the little red light from the camera blinks the seconds away. You imagine you’ll have to scrap this video, and you want to feel regret over wasting so much content over this.

But you know, deep down, it’s not about the videos, or your OnlyFans, or the money.

Because all you really need…is here beside you.

“Sir?” you whisper into the delicate air.

His head rolls back. “Yes, Peach?”

“Thank you.”

He squeezes your hip. “Don’t have to thank me, honey. This is my job. This is what we agreed on.”

“I know,” you admit, allowing your other hand to travel to his hair. Fingers absentmindedly sweeping through the curls. “But I don’t think any of my other partners would have been this understanding. And I really appreciate it.”

His eyebrow raises. “Well, that’s why they aren’t your fucking partners anymore. You needed someone that wasn’t a total fucking twat.”

You smirk. “Touché.”

Another quiet lull as you listen to the sound of his soft breaths. Reveling in the feel of them against your heated skin. The way they keep you present in this moment with him instead of losing you to the voices in your head.

Contented, you turn and press your cheek to his forehead, nails scratching down his scalp gently. “Harry?”

“Yes, Peach?”

With a racing heart, your eyes flutter shut.

“…I love you.”

Previous Part:

~ How Many?*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @caynonmoondreams @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz @closureesny

[queenofwands89]

Do you do fanfic requests? If so I was hoping for maybe an angsty enemies to lovers with Tyler Owens, like they are rivals and just got off on a bad start that spiraled into them hating each other but slowly seeing there's more there but being in denial until maybe like Reader gets injured in a chase or helping someone and Tyler realized how he truly feels? Idk lol. Just need some good angst and hurt comfort.

Stormfront Showdown (Part 1)

Tyler Owens x fem!Stormchaser!reader

Summary: Y/N and Tyler have been longstanding rivals, their past filled with unresolved conflicts and clashing opinions on storm chasing. With vastly different approaches to tracking and studying storms, their heated debates have become legendary. Now, with the upcoming storm chasing convention on the horizon, tensions are set to skyrocket. You know Tyler will be there, and the question is: will this be another explosive encounter, or will the storm finally bring them together in unexpected ways?

Word count: 2262

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers, verbal sparring, competition, dumb blonde joke, teasing, a little angsty idk.

Notes: Thank you so much for your request! I apologize for the delay; I recently started school and things have been hectic. I took a bit of creative liberty with your request and turned it into a short series. I hope you don't mind! If anyone wants me to make a taglist, just let me know. I hope you enjoy it—bye! 💜

The storm chaser convention is your annual pilgrimage as a weather enthusiast or professional. The ballroom of the Kansas City Grand Hotel buzzes with anticipation. As you stand at the entrance, your eyes sweep the room with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. You don't particularly enjoy these crowded events, preferring the solitude and precision of your solo chases, but your presence here is a necessary evil—an opportunity to share your findings and emphasize the importance of safety and scientific rigor.

You smooth the front of your blazer, double-checking your notes for the panel discussion. It’s then that you spot him: Tyler Owens. The Tornado Wrangler himself stands surrounded by a throng of fans and admirers, his laughter loud and infectious. His rugged appearance, complete with cowboy boots and a well-worn hat, seems to dominate the room. Boone is there too, camera in hand, capturing every moment for Tyler's YouTube channel. Lily, Dexter, and Dani mingle nearby, each in their element.

You inhale deeply, trying to steady your nerves. The name Tyler Owens epitomizes everything you abhor in storm chasing—recklessness, unchecked bravado, and an insatiable thirst for sensationalism. To you, he is the living antithesis of diligent scientific inquiry and responsible journalism.

Your last encounter with Tyler was nothing short of disastrous. What began as a simple disagreement escalated into a full-blown public feud, broadcasted for the world to see via social media and various news outlets. You had penned a scathing article, meticulously criticizing his methods as dangerous and irresponsible. Your words were sharp, intended to signal a wake-up call not just to him but to the entire community of storm chasers.

Tyler, never one to retreat from controversy, responded with an incendiary video. Filled with passionate retorts and dismissive gestures, his rebuttal ignited a firestorm of reactions, polarizing the storm-chasing community and capturing the attention of a captivated audience.

The bitter memory of this exchange still lingers in your mind, a festering wound that has yet to heal. Now, as you anticipate another face-to-face meeting with him, you feel the weight of that unresolved animosity. You brace yourself for the confrontation that seems as inevitable as the approaching storm you both intend to chase.

The panel is called to order, and the moderator introduces the speakers with a flourish. You take your seat, your heart pounding in your chest. Tyler settles into the chair next to you, flashing a charming smile that belies the tension crackling between you.

"Welcome, everyone," the moderator begins. "Today, we have a diverse panel of storm chasers who will share their unique perspectives on this thrilling and dangerous field. Let's start with you, Y/N. Can you tell us about your approach to storm chasing?"

You take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking. "I believe storm chasing is an essential tool for advancing our understanding of severe weather phenomena. My approach focuses on meticulous planning, data collection, and public safety. The goal is to minimize risk while maximizing scientific value."

Tyler leans forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he addresses the room. "You know, while I truly appreciate Y/N's unwavering commitment to safety," he begins, his voice smooth and confident, "we sometimes overlook the bigger picture. Storm chasing isn't just about data and caution—it's about raising awareness and capturing the awe-inspiring power of nature."

He pauses for effect, letting his words sink in before flashing a charismatic smile at the crowd. "My team and I, we're not just scientists; we're storytellers. We bring these magnificent storms to the world, showing people a side of nature they rarely see."

His smile widens, eyes sparkling with excitement. "We have a saying in our crew: 'If you feel it, chase it.' Because in those moments of raw, untamed nature, we find our stories, our inspiration."

The room erupts in appreciative murmurs and nods of agreement, some even breaking into applause. Tyler's infectious enthusiasm and charm work their magic, swaying the audience to his perspective, if only for the moment.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "Raising awareness is important, Tyler, but not at the expense of safety. Your methods put not just you and your team at risk but also the communities you travel through."

"And your methods," Tyler shoots back, "might yield scientifically valuable data, but they often lack the human element. People need to see the raw, unfiltered power of these storms to understand what we're dealing with."

The panel has been raging on for twenty minutes, each of you firing verbal volleys that keep the audience captivated. The tension is palpable, and it’s clear that you and Tyler aren’t on good terms.

Tyler leans forward, a cocky grin spreading across his face. He’s baiting you, and he knows exactly which buttons to push. "You know, ever since that article you wrote, questioning my methods, I've been wondering. Maybe you're just not a fan of a little excitement? Gotta admit, though, it did spark quite the public feud."

The hint of satisfaction in his voice is unmistakable—he’s reveling in the attention, the controversy, and most of all, the fact that he’s gotten under your skin.

You snap back, your tone fiery and unapologetic. "And with good reason. Your methods are reckless, Tyler. Capturing nature is one thing, but ensuring the safety of our team and the community is paramount. Data collection can be done without playing Russian roulette with our lives."

Tyler smirks, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah, but without taking risks, we miss out on the most stunning phenomena. The beauty of a storm isn't just in its data points—it's in the visceral experience."

Your eyes narrow, voice sharp and unyielding. "Visceral experiences are meaningless if they end in tragedy. We need to strike a balance—pushing limits, yes, but with calculated caution. Not reckless abandonment just to feed your adrenaline addiction."

Leaning in slightly, his voice drops to a teasing whisper, "Careful. If you play it too safe, you might end up in a cozy weather office instead of out there chasing the real action."

You raise an eyebrow, your smile icy. "Better a cozy office than a hospital bed, Tyler. Besides, in the office, I can keep an eye on your antics, making sure you don’t turn yourself into a cautionary tale."

Tyler chuckles, clearly unfazed. "Touché. But admit it, you'd miss our epic sparring sessions out in the field."

You smirk back, your tone dripping with sarcasm, "Maybe. But I'd miss watching you lose a battle of wits with a breeze. It's like a real-life dumb blonde joke, but without the punchline."

Boone, with his characteristic enthusiasm, interjects, "You both have valid points! The thrill and the data—can't we find a middle ground here that marries both perspectives?"

Tyler grins at Boone's comment, "Maybe, Boone. But finding that middle ground is easier said than done."

The moderator, sensing the escalating tension and the need to maintain decorum, finally calls for a break. Their calm yet authoritative voice cuts through the cacophony of arguments, bringing a temporary ceasefire.

"Let's take a ten-minute break to gather our thoughts," the moderator says, brokering no argument. "This will give everyone a chance to cool off and reflect."

The announcement is met with a collective exhale from the audience. You can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you step away from the podium, your mind racing with the flurry of ideas and rebuttals. Tyler shoots you a confident smirk, clearly reveling in the public sparring.

As the room buzzes with low conversations and people stretch their legs, you glance towards Boone, Lily, Dexter, and Dani. Boone gives you a thumbs-up, his eyes sparkling with excitement for the next round. Lily offers a supportive nod, while Dexter's contemplative gaze meets yours, as if silently urging you to remain steadfast. Dani approaches you quietly, her concern evident.

"Take a moment to breathe," she advises softly. "You’re doing great, but don’t let him get under your skin."

You nod, appreciating the support as you resolve to keep your composure for the next part of the debate. Tyler may have won the crowd for now, but the debate is far from over.

You step away from the panel, finding solace in a quiet corner of the room. You sip your water, your mind racing with a mix of frustration and determination. A voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Y/N," Tyler says, his tone unusually soft. "Can we talk?"

You turn to face him, your eyes narrowing. "There's not much to say, Tyler. We clearly have different philosophies that will never align."

He sighs, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Look, I know we've had our differences, but we're both here for a reason. We're passionate about what we do. Maybe... just maybe, there's a middle ground we haven't considered."

Before you can respond, a group of Tyler's ardent fans—mostly attractive young women whose adoration for him is barely concealed—swarm in, interrupting your conversation. Their laughter and excited voices fill the air as they clamor for his attention, each holding out their phones for selfies.

"Tyler, can we get a picture with you?"

"You're amazing, Tyler, can you sign this?"

Their voices form a cacophony of admiration and eagerness. Tyler gives you a fleeting look, a glimmer of regret in his eyes. As he turns to handle the eager fans, you seize the moment. You walk away quickly, your strides purposeful and filled with resolve.

By the time Tyler manages to take a few pictures and sign a couple of autographs, he looks up to continue the conversation, but you're already gone. He scans the room, his expression shifting from hope to dejection as he realizes you're nowhere to be seen.

His shoulders slump slightly, and a look of displeasure shadows his face. The admiring fans around him continue their cheerful chatter, but his thoughts are elsewhere. He looks in the direction you went, frustration evident as he contemplates the vanished opportunity to bridge the chasm between you.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

The second day of the storm chaser convention dawns with a swirl of excitement and anticipation. Yesterday had been a whirlwind, with Tyler and you continuing your intense, verbal sparring match during your panel. As soon as it ended, you purposely avoided Tyler for the rest of the day, determined to keep your distance and focus on the upcoming events.

Today, however, is different. You feel a surge of excitement as you head towards the sign-up area for the competition on advanced research—a competition you have won every year. You stride confidently through the bustling convention hall, ready to claim your victory once more.

Approaching the registration table, you're taken aback to see Tyler there, pen in hand, scribbling his name onto the sign-up sheet. Your eyebrows knit together in a mixture of surprise and annoyance as you walk up to him.

"What are you doing here, Tyler?" you ask, folding your arms across your chest. "This competition has strict rules that you couldn't follow even if they were spelled out in neon lights."

Tyler smirks and meets your gaze. "Decided to sign up this year. Thought I'd give you some real competition."

You lock eyes, each ready for a verbal duel. The air between you crackles with tension.

"If you think you can handle it, by all means, try," you retort, your voice tinged with sarcasm. "Just know that this isn't your usual chaotic escapade. This requires precision and knowledge—qualities that, frankly, I don't think you possess."

Tyler chuckles softly. "We'll see about that. Underestimating me might be your biggest mistake."

Before you can continue your exchange, the host of the panel steps up to a microphone, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. The host, a renowned meteorologist named Dr. Sandra Jacobs, greets the crowd with a warm smile and a practiced ease.

"Good morning, everyone! I'm Dr. Sandra Jacobs, and it's my pleasure to welcome you to this year's storm chaser convention!" Dr. Jacobs begins, her voice carrying effortlessly through the room. "As many of you know, this convention is a celebration of the fascinating and often dangerous world of storm chasing. It's a place for experts and enthusiasts alike to share their passion and knowledge."

A murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd as Dr. Jacobs continues.

"One of the highlights of our convention is the competition on advanced research. It's a chance for storm chasers to showcase their findings, methodologies, and innovations in storm tracking and prediction."

Your eyes shift back to Tyler momentarily, a competitive fire igniting within you.

"This year, however, we’ve decided to change things up," Dr. Jacobs announces, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "There will be no rules and no limits! The stakes are higher than ever, with $100,000 in research funding and a special feature on Discovery Plus for the winner!"

A collective gasp and murmurs of surprise and excitement ripple through the crowd. Your eyes widen slightly, processing the unexpected twist. Tyler glances at you, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

"No rules, huh?" he teases, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Looks like your little rule-book speech just got thrown out the window."

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, both frustrated and fueled by the sudden turn of events. You watch him go, your mind already strategizing how to adapt to the new, unpredictable landscape of the competition. The game had just changed, and you are more determined than ever to come out on top.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗔𝗡𝗫𝗜𝗘𝗧𝗬 𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗥

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N is just another fan at one of the Let's Trip Tour shows, until it comes time for the Meet&Greet. Things get out of hand for Matt, and she ends up being the only one who manages to calm him down.

WARNING: Panick attack, anxiety.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by @patscorner

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The stage was illuminated by a myriad of lights, as the bustling crowd eagerly pressed near the front. Y/N could feel the electricity in the air as the beats of upbeat music keep echoing throughout the venue from the big speakers. It was the beginning of the much-awaited Sturniolo Triplets show from the Let's Trip Tour.

She couldn't believe she was finally there, in the middle of the action, about to witness the boys she'd followed through a screen for years, finally face to face. With her heart pounding in her chest, Y/N let herself be carried away by the infectious energy of the crowd as she got closer and closer to the stage.

The music reached a crescendo, and then, suddenly, they appeared. Matt, Nick, and Chris entered the stage, radiating a magnetic presence that immediately captured everyone's attention. Y/N held her breath as her eyes found Matt, the boy she had never seen in person, but with whom she had a huge crush for months, in the flesh right in front of her. He looked even more stunning out of screen, with his messy hair and shy smile.

As the greetings sentences were let out by the three's microphones, Y/N felt a wave of emotion course through her body. It was as if every cell within her was vibrating in tune with them, with the pulsing energy of everyone around her.

As the show progressed, Y/N couldn't take her eyes off Matt. Every laugh, every saying, seemed to hypnotize her even more. She wondered if he could feel her gaze on him or if that was just her desire playing with her mind.

When it was time for a break between games, Matt grabbed the microphone and began speaking to the audience. His voice was soft and engaging, making everyone around him feel like they were having an intimate conversation with him. Y/N held her breath, hanging on every word he said.

As Matt interacted with everyone, his eyes swept across the crowd and, for a brief moment, seemed to meet Y/N's. She felt her face blush intensely, and a shy smile formed on her lips before she looked away, embarrassed, holding back the immense urge to scream at having been seen by him.

As the show continued, Y/N found herself caught up in a rollercoaster of emotions. The pulsating energy of the music, the interactions, the magnetic presence of the triplets, and, most of all, Matt's closeness left her ecstatic. Every moment was like a dream come true, and she refused to blink for fear of missing even a second.

When the stage lights finally went out and the final words were given, Y/N felt a mixture of ecstasy and melancholy by the feeling of the long-awaited moment coming to an end, but little did she know that the night was just beginning.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N waited anxiously in line for the meet and greet. Her heart was beating so hard that it felt like it was about to jump out of her chest while her right leg bounced up and down in anxiety. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity, but at the same time, she wanted the moment to last forever.

As she watched the fans in front of her greet the triplets with beaming smiles, Y/N wondered what it would be like to be so close to them. She could barely contain her excitement as she approached the door that led to the meet and greet room where traps played loudly from the speakers, and colorful lights painted the walls.

Finally, her turn has come. Her stomach fluttered nervously as she entered the room, and her eyes instantly locked on Matt, who was there, so close and so real.

The three were side by side, Nick had a relaxed posture as he placed aside a teddy bear that he had probably received from the previous fan, while Chris glanced at Matt, seeming to watch him closely.

Matt was feeling fine until seconds before, but something inside him started to stir. His heart beating faster, his breathing became irregular, and a feeling of panic came over him.

So, when Y/N walked over to greet Matt with a hug, she noticed something was different, off. His arms were shaking, and his eyes looked a little lost, as if he were fighting some internal battle. Now up close, she could also notice how rigid his posture was and how his hands were clenched into a firm fist.

Y/N felt a wave of worry run through her own body, struggling internally over what to do, but ended up deciding not to expose Matt's situation in front of anyone, remaining silent. Instead, she smiled warmly and tried to keep the conversation light, hoping not to bother him with intrusive questions.

"Hi, Matt." The girl greeted softly, trying to ignore the nervousness that came over her body. "It's amazing to finally meet you in person. How are you?"

Matt lifted his head towards her for the first time, appearing to have only noticed her presence at that moment, trying to open a smile like hers, but his lips were trembling to the point where it came weaker than he wanted to.

Y/N could see the tension in his blue eyes as he tried to hide his discomfort, wondering what had happened to make him react in such a way so suddenly. Meanwhile, Matt tried to convince himself that it was nothing and that it would soon pass.

But it didn't pass. Instead, the feeling of panic grew, enveloping him like a dense fog. He felt like he was suffocating, like the world was crumbling around him, while his mind convinced him that he was alone.

As Y/N moved to greet Chris and Nick individually, keeping a brief and quick conversation - following the pattern imposed by the team that observed them -, she noticed how Matt seemed increasingly agitated, her own mind racing in an eagerness to help him, but the fear of reaction from the public, the team and even the triplets themselves held her back.

Until the picture moment. Y/N felt her heart sink as she felt Matt's breathing become more rapid and shallow as they prepared to take the group photo. She knew she couldn't just stand by and watch as he fought the monsters of his own mind.

With a lump in her throat and trembling hands, Y/N removed her left arm from around Chris, muttering a quick apology before turning to Matt, blocking the view of the line of people behind them, creating a small haven of privacy amidst the chaos of the room. The girl lifted her head slightly, searching his eyes with her own, desperately looking for any sign of life inside the blue orbs.

"Matt, hey." She began, her voice soft and comforting, acting as a balm to his troubled soul. "Are you okay?"

Matt's eyes widened in panic as he realized that the disturbances in his mind became visible enough to be seen by someone else. He swallowed hard, forcing himself not to look at his brothers or the fans behind the girl in front of him, the fear of receiving disappointed or judgmental looks growing in his chest.

He limited himself to just shaking his head, unable to utter a word. His eyes were unfocused and lost, and his nails pierced the palm of his hands - probably drawing blood - with the force he was squeezing the area, trying to maintain control of the uncontrollable emotions.

Y/N could see the terror on his face, and her heart ached for him.

She turned her head slightly and passed her eyes briefly over Nick and Chris, noticing how the two now had a rigid posture, ready to make a move as soon as necessary. Chris's eyes carried great uncertainty, as if he was afraid of leaving Matt in the care of a stranger, but Nick's hand, which held his biceps surreptitiously, prevented him from acting on impulse.

Y/N turned her attention back to Matt, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth in a thoughtful act before sighing softly.

"Can I hug you?" Her voice came out in a whisper as low as the music that surrounded them, but loud enough for him to hear it, and she was sure of it when she received a small nod in response.

Without hesitation, the girl enveloped him in a warm hug, holding him tightly against her chest as he trembled. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he struggled to control his breathing and calm his nerves. Y/N pressed her fingers into strategic points on his back, touching the hard knots with every inch of skin, lightly massaging the covered area.

"Everything is okay." Y/N whispered softly, snaking her right hand up his shoulder to the back of his head, interlacing her fingers in Matt's messy curls, stroking them carefully while guiding him to lay his head on her right shoulder. "You're safe here. No one is gonna hurt you. Just breathe with me, okay? Follow my breathing."

Y/N began to breathe slowly and deeply, the warm air hitting Matt's ear, helping him to follow her rhythm. A disguised smile grew on her face as she felt the boy's back rise and fall in an uneven rhythm below her left hand, knowing he was trying as hard as he could in that moment.

Little by little, she felt the tension in his body ease, his tremors becoming less intense as he finally reacted, clinging to her for comfort. His large but so fragile hands at that moment held her arm tightly, searching desperately for support and balance.

For a few precious moments, Y/N and Matt remained like that, joined in a comforting embrace, and lost in their own world of calm and safety. The sounds of Chris' agitated voice shouting for water to one part of the team and Nick's voice demanding the other part to remove the fans that were still there were all muffled against both of their ears, just the unison rhythm of their breathing and the beats of their connected hearts echoing around their bodies.

When Matt finally pulled away, his eyes quickly met Y/N's, overflowing with gratitude and fascination, feeling flattered to have had the opportunity to meet a girl so empathetic to the point of helping him without a second thought.

His mind searched for words to thank her, but to Y/N, he didn't need to say anything; his eyes said it all.

"How can I-" Matt began, clearing his throat briefly as he heard his own voice come out hoarse and worn out by the whirlwind of emotions that he went through in a short space of time. "How can I thank you? Repay you for what you did for me..."

Y/N shook her head, interrupting his sentence, her own smile widening and brightening her features as her eyes remained fixed on the blue ones, who now seemed to be taking their own time to carefully analyze her expressions, seeming mesmerized.

Matt's warm hands suddenly felt heavier against the exposed skin of her arm, a shiver running down her spine as she noticed how close they were physically, the boy's scent filling her nostrils with an inescapable force, leaving her dizzy and lost.

"I think you owe me a picture."

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @mattsneezing @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @watermelonreid @fratbrochrisgf @iammattswife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Hi Skyen, hope you're well! I'm seeking some advice and since you used to work doing mainly art commissions I figured asking you was worth a shot.

I'm a furry artist and I'm looking into doing commission work as a side gig while I finish animation college, and hopefully acquire enough experience/clients/notoriety to turn it into a full time job once I graduate.

Do you have any advice for someone literally just starting out with fresh accounts and zero following? Especially when it comes to reaching people and getting your first clients, and anything that one should take into account when working with NSFW specifically. Also advice for pricing your work is always useful 😅

No need to answer obvs but I'd appreciate your viewpoint if you want to share!

Got 2 asks on this exact subject so I'll write up what advice I can. One big caveat: I haven't worked as a commission artist for like half a decade at this point, and this job has a tendency to change fast, do not take anything I say as gospel. This is advice from a limited perspective, be critical of what I say and trust your peers and the people you are in community with before you trust me.

building audience

Step one is getting people to notice the artwork you create. Literally nothing else can happen until you have eyeballs on your work, and the most consistent and reliable way to make that happen is fanart. Ideally you'd want to produce fanart in a fandom you are personally engaged with and passionate about and familiar with, and which also has a sizeable community whose attention can help you build recognition and a base of followers.

This isn't always possible, and there's many a working artist who creates work for fandoms not out of deep personal connection, but because the fandom is large and relevant and a good way to capture the goodwill of algorithms and content feeds.

This approach has some downsides. For one, genuine fans can usually tell when someone's engagement with Their Thing is shallow, and for another it can be deeply creatively exhausting to chase the algorithm. I don't recommend this approach, but it is a valid means of building a business.

Another important consideration, especially when you are early in your career, is that volume tends to trump quality. Every artist will eventually learn that their shitty joke-doodle they sh*t out in ten minutes on a whim will get a billion reposts, and their complex personal work that took eight weeks to finish gets 2 likes from their closest mutuals and a comment from a bot saying "wow!"

In the age of the algorithm, what machines and for you pages value is a consistent, high-volume of output that generates user engagement. You will generally get further, faster, by producing a lot of work than you will producing great work. Again, this can be rough on your mental state, and a fast way to burn the fuck out, so please be careful and mind your health before all else.

The best way to build something that will last is to build your audience in communities and around fandoms and themes and ideas you genuinely care about and enjoy exploring and interacting with. Being your authentic self and creating work from your authentic interest is generally both healthier and long-term better for your career than trend-chasing. Treat trend-chasing and volume > quality output as tools in your toolbox, as creative and business decisions you can make to achieve a specific purpose, never ever EVER let them become the center of your praxis or your philosophy. Never ever EVER allow the Numbers™ to be your source of validation and accomplishment.

building business

Ok, so you've got eyes on your work. You've got some followers. How the hell do you get them to commission you?

Well, again, by demonstrating a capacity to create kinds of art for which there is demand. In the furry community, there's brisk trade in things like ref sheets and character design, for example. For most fandoms, ship art is a product which tends to be in demand. Being able to do really good expression sheets is a marketable skill. Being able to create compelling and clear emotes for streamers and creators is a marketable skill.

Showing the capacity to work in a wide range of styles is valuable. Showing the capacity to work in a wide range of genres is valuable. If you can do both comedy and romance your appeal expands. If you can do shonen-like action and angst as well, it expands again.

Equally, being incredibly good at a specific niche is valuable as well. Focusing hard on an under-served niche of work can give you a lot of opportunities to be the Go To person for that specific kind of thing.

Perhaps the hardest part of all of this is marketing yourself. Not only showing that you have the skills, but actively informing your audience that you are available, eager and willing to practise your skill for a fee. You have to sell yourself. It sucks, but you have to do it. You have to advertise what you can do, and you have to suffer the rejection and annoyance that comes along with doing that.

You have to ask people to commission you. You have to raise your hand and demand attention. It's not fun, but it's business.

Walking the line between self-promotion and being a person is hard. I can't help you that much with it, it's a very personal balance to find. Stay in touch with your soul, but kill the part that cringes at yourself.

Ultimately, you best marketing asset is your portfolio. Every time you do work, show it off. Repost it, retweet it, spread it around. If someone is happy with what you've made for them, do your best to make sure that other people see that happiness. Ask your clients (politely) to tag you when they share your work.

Oh, and for the love of god, sign everything you create, slap watermarks on anything that's likely to get reposted, and make it impossible for someone not to find your business email on your profile.

building network

If you're a commission artist, you are in community with other commission artists. You share interests, you share experiences, you share needs.

Practise solidarity. Absolutely seek out professional peers to help your business, but equally seek out opportunities to help them with theirs. If someone comes to you for art and you don't have commission slots open, point them at a colleague who you know can do the work too. Gas up your peers and spread their work.

Be a symbiote, not a parasite. Respect the craft of your peers, and don't chase celebrities and big names in the hope of coasting on their coattails. It will fail.

smut

If you're a working artist, at some point you have to reckon with smut and r34.

These genres are excellent sources of income, and fertile ground to build a business and network of customers. BUT. Do not ever make the mistake of thinking that they are "the easy way" or a shortcut. Do not ever make the mistake of thinking you can simply offer to draw tiddies and rake in the cash.

It's work and graft same as literally any other form of labor, it's challenging on both a technical and creative level, and the audience can sense if you're looking down on them. If you approach this from a position of shame, of "eugh, I'm debasing myself by doing this for rent money," it will not work, and you will lose standing and respect in the eyes of every peer whose support you need to succeed.

Just as in all other forms of creativity, if you treat the audience as morons who will slurp up whatever slop you serve them, then you will attract clientele that agrees with you, and you will deserve the misery they will inflict upon you.

If you are going to work in smut, establish your boundaries and enforce them. Know that good clients will feel safer and more comfortable with an artist who clearly states their red lines and earnest interests than they will with someone who tries to attract more clients by pretending to be open to work that they are actually uncomfortable with.

Never, ever, EVER let a client push you to create work you are not comfortable creating. It scars your soul in both the short and long term.

Also, when working with this kind of content, know the rules of payment processors and know how to hide the nature of your business from them. PayPal should never, EVER know the details of the content you sell with their service. Frankly, neither should your bank, most likely.

Look to your peers for advice and best practises about this. And be meticulous about your bookkeeping.

money

I want to tell you to charge at least minimum wage for your time. I want to tell you to charge substantially more than that, because your labor is specialized and highly skilled.

But the economic reality of commission work is that there is a crushing downwards pressure on the labor price of art, which has only been made more devastating by the rise of generative AI, and especially when you are a young artist just starting out, you're going to find yourself in a position where charging even minimum wage for your time will turn away a huge proportion of your potential customers.

Again, your portfolio will be the greatest argument for the value of your work, but you have to build that portfolio first, and very often that means doing a f*kton of work for not remotely enough pay until the pressure of demand finally works in your favor.

I don't condone or justify this state of affairs. It is horrid and I hate it, but I don't know how to fix it either.

Making a living from content creation of any kind requires you to get lucky, on top of working obscene hours and foregoing rest and vacations. It's not a safe or sensible plan for a career or paying your bills.

My sensible advice is to get a "normal" job you can survive doing, and do your creative work on the side, and resign yourself to the possibility that the creative work may never actually pay your bills.

And that is soul-crushing, but I cannot stomach pretending that hard work and gumption will guarantee anyone a decent living if they just try hard enough.

There are people who are better at every aspect of my work than I am, and they struggle harder and work for longer, and they will never see half the success I have, because I happened to get lucky, and they happened not to. It's wretched.

I'm not telling you not to chase your dreams. I'm telling you to do it with your eyes open, and with compassion for yourself first before all else.

All of this to say: I can't tell you what to charge for your work. It depends on everything from your competition to your niche to your genre to your community to your economic situation. You have to figure it out on your own.

All I can tell you is never forget that your work is worth more than the market will let you charge, and to raise your prices as soon and as much as you can. Try to reach at least minimum wage for your time as fast as possible.

in conclusion

Again, I haven't been a commission artist full time for a long time, please do not take any of this as gospel. Listen to your peers before you listen to me.

But trust me about the solidarity. It will save you when all else fails.

[sweemmy]

“Remember, dear, the key to being an excellent broadcaster isn’t just having a pleasant voice, but knowing how to use it to capture and hold your audience’s attention. Speak to them as if you’re sharing an intimate secret, something only they should know. Make every word feel as though it’s meant solely for their ears.”

Alastor's voice flowed smoothly, weaving through the air like a hypnotic melody, and it took hold of you in a way that felt almost suffocating. His red eyes glimmered with a dark amusement, a twisted joy in watching your reaction. There had always been something unsettling about him, a danger lurking just beneath his charismatic exterior. But tonight, that danger felt closer, more present than ever before.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” His voice dropped lower, no longer just instructive but now filled with an edge of menace, as if testing how much you could handle. His gaze bore into you, evaluating, judging.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words press into you, constricting your breath. “Yes, Professor. I understand,” you managed to say, though your voice came out more fragile than you intended.

Alastor’s smile deepened, predatory, as he closed the distance between you with slow, measured steps. Each one made your heart beat a little faster, the tension building as his shadow loomed larger. Though he stood only inches away, it felt as though his very presence consumed the room, suffocating any sense of control you thought you had.

“Good,” he purred, his voice a whisper laced with satisfaction. “Then let’s test that understanding, shall we?” He handed you a script, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment, leaving a trail of warmth that lingered far too long. “But this time, I want you to read it as though you’re speaking directly to me, as if every word is a whisper meant only for my ears.”

You took the script with trembling hands, the paper feeling heavier than it should, as if it carried the weight of the moment. Your eyes skimmed the words, but focusing was difficult with him so close. His proximity was overwhelming, the heat radiating off his body like an invisible force that seemed to pull you in. You could feel the breath of his words still clinging to your skin, each syllable echoing in your mind like a spell.

“Slower,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed the shell of your ear. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, making it hard to concentrate on the script in your hands. “Take your time. Control the rhythm of your words, just as you would control an audience. Let them hang on every syllable, every pause.”

You tried to follow his instructions, your voice faltering as you read. But it wasn’t just the words that were slipping from your grasp—it was your own control. You could feel his presence everywhere, an invisible hand guiding you, pushing you further into the depths of something you couldn’t fully understand.

Alastor’s hand slid down your arm, so light it was almost imperceptible, yet it sent a spark through you. His touch was both comforting and threatening, a duality that left you frozen in place. You knew you should resist, should step back, but instead, you found yourself leaning into him, letting his energy consume you.

“Better,” he said softly, though his tone was still thick with dominance. “But you’re holding back. I want more.” His fingers trailed down your spine, and every inch he touched ignited a fire under your skin. “You’re trying to control your voice, but you need to let go. Surrender yourself to the moment, to the power of your words.”

Your breath hitched as his hand came to rest on your waist, a subtle but unmistakable claim. He was testing you, not just your voice, but your will. And the worst part was that you could feel your own resolve crumbling, your body betraying you as it leaned further into his control.

“I... I don’t think I can,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

His laugh was low, almost sinister, as he tilted his head, his lips ghosting over your neck. “Oh, but you can, darling. You just don’t realize it yet.” His voice wrapped around you like a noose, tightening with every breath you took. “You’re not here to think. You’re here to feel, to experience the raw power of your own voice... and mine.”

Without warning, he plucked the script from your hands and tossed it aside, his actions deliberate and dismissive. “Enough of the formalities,” he said, his tone dropping to something far more intimate, more dangerous. “Now, I want you to speak from here.” His fingers brushed over your chest, just above your heart, and then moved downward, tracing a path that left your skin burning in their wake. “From your soul.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the room growing hotter, more oppressive. His hand rested on your hip, pulling you gently but firmly toward him, and despite the alarm bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t resist. You didn’t want to. Alastor’s gaze was magnetic, a dark promise of pleasure and pain that made your knees weak.

“Control isn’t about restraint, my dear,” he whispered, his lips so close to your ear that his breath sent shivers down your spine. “It’s about knowing when to let go. To let someone else take the reins.”

Before you could react, his lips met yours, and the world seemed to stop. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was consuming, filled with a hunger that felt centuries old, as though he was devouring a part of you. And you... you gave it willingly. His hands moved with expert precision, tracing the curve of your body, igniting a fire that burned hotter with every touch.

Your mind screamed that you should stop, that this was wrong, that he was playing you like a puppet on a string. But your body, traitorous as it was, responded to his every command, melting under his touch.

“Alastor...” you gasped between kisses, but he silenced you with a look, his eyes burning with that same dangerous glint you had seen earlier.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice dark and velvety. “Now is not the time for words. It’s the time for surrender.”

His hands slid under your shirt, the cool air meeting your heated skin as he pushed the fabric away. Every movement was deliberate, calculated, as though he was savoring the moment. His fingers danced across your skin, making you arch against him, seeking more of his touch.

“You see?” he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “This is what true control feels like. You think you’re helpless, but in reality, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. In my hands.”

You tried to speak, to regain some sense of control, but the words died in your throat as his lips found yours again. This kiss was different—slower, more intense, as if he was drawing out the pleasure, savoring every second of your surrender.

The world around you seemed to blur, your senses overwhelmed by him—his scent, his touch, the sound of his voice in your ear, promising both salvation and damnation.

And in that moment, as his hands moved with precision, as his words wrapped around you like chains, you realized the truth: you were his. Entirely, utterly his. And there was no turning back.

[joocomics]

ಬ baby all mine

pairing: streamer!keeho x fem!reader

genre: smut wc: 1.1k

contains: sub!reader, fingering, spanking, exhibitionism kink, praise kink, established relationship

[ p1harmony masterlist | general masterlist ]

Keeho’s hand loosens up the tie around his neck as he stares at the computer screen. The movement radiates frustration as he pulls and tugs roughly.

“I swear to god…” He leans back in his chair, his right leg is bouncing up and down under the desk - a sign that he’s slowly loosing patience. The bright light of the monitor picks up on every twitch of his sharp facial features, but that only emphasises their attractiveness.

“Stop talking about my girl y’all, that’s not cool. I can see the comments you know?”

His lips form a smile; a forceful one which is quite different than his usual expressions during his streams.

The comments keep piling up.

show her to us bro

i bet she’s hot af

if i were you i wouldn’t be here rn

“Nah, forget about it,” he scoffs, “that’s not happening.”

we saw her ass once let us see the rest

didn’t she show it off on purpose anyways ???

she wants to be seen

… and after that comment he starts noticing it too. You didn’t dislike the attention from the viewers. You keep bringing him snacks and drinks during his streams knowing the camera will catch your swaying hips, your seductive thighs exposed from the loose little shorts. The mic always picks up on your gentle voice, leaving the people want more.

It’s almost like you’re having some sort of a secret game with them and he’s the one left out.

“Your viewers really like me.”

Keeho shoots you a quick glance. You’re leaning against his desk, dressed in one of his shirts. He doesn’t need to look at the comments section to know they’re blowing up with questions about you.

He proceeds with the game, but the way you step closer distracts him, and clicking the keyboard becomes more and more difficult.

Your back is now captured from the camera; your bare legs are on display. One quick move and Keeho’s shirt will expose your panties to everyone.

His eyes accidentally look at the comments which make his blood boil.

“They like your ass.” His big hand lands with a smack on your butt cheek.

It feels good - showing people that he can do that while the only thing they can do is jerk off pathetically to the thought of you.

“They want me.” You speak out the second word more firmly and clearly. Emphasising the facts.

You lift one leg and swiftly straddle your boyfriend’s lap. His chair moves backwards a bit as his hands leave the keyboard to get a hold of your hips.

The surprise on his face is apparent, but it quickly melts away after you kiss him. You humm from the pleasant dancing of his lips that leads yours, as his fingertips grip the sides of your body with more eagerness.

You break the moment, then look into his eyes. They’re still gazing at your lips and even your next words can’t shift them away.

“Show them who I belong to.” You place a wet kiss under his earlobe, feeling him get harder beneath your panties. Each word you say is a new wave of adrenaline rush that floods his veins. “You owe me, baby.”

His fingers fidget with the shirt, dragging it slowly up your waist to expose more of your skin to the camera; more of the pink lace of your underwear.

“I do,” he breathes out. “I do.”

The number of viewers watching grows bigger with each minute, but only Keeho can see it, because he’s standing next to the gaming chair while you obediently kneel in it, being streched out by his long fingers. He doesn’t need to move them too quickly to prove how wet you are; you’re drenched, and the slow gliding is enough to produce lewd sounds that reach the audience just fine.

“Goddamn it, baby,” he pulls them out, slapping one of your cheeks. Your ass is on full display, showing off his handprints in pink color as his shirt is scrunched up at your waist. “You’re soaking wet for everyone to see.”

He swipes through your puffy folds with one finger to collect from your essence, then sucks on the digit, savouring the sweet taste.

“Looks like my pretty girl likes showing off her pretty pussy, huh?”

You humm in agreement meanwhile Keeho spreads you out nicely with his two big hands, allowing everyone to see you in all your glory. The arousal is glistening, gushing out of you as your desires grow every time he touches you.

You wonder how many people are touching themselves to you right now; do they want to see you cum, and do they wish they could see your boyfriend fill you up?

“All mine.”

He shoves his fingers inside you again, curling them more harshly this time. Your voice cracks in the middle of your moans when he begins to thrust them in a wild possessive speed, causing your arousal to drip down your inner thighs.

“Fuck, fuck, f-fuck, baby… so good—“ you babble uncontrollably with your desperate fragile voice.

The slamming of his hand causes your cheeks to jiggle in front of his eyes simultaneously filling the room with skin on skin slapping in addition to the wet noises erupting from you.

At first Keeho thought he wouldn’t be able to listen to you knowing there are hundreds of other people hearing your moans too, but since the moment you opened your legs for him, he hasn’t thought about those people. Your sounds are still just for his ears only.

You’re seconds away from cumming for him.

“Ah, ‘m gonna—“ your jaw falls open for a silent scream that puts an end to your incoherent sentences. It leaves you only whimpering and panting.

The sensation has you barely holding onto the back of the chair. Your thighs shake, your voice too, as you whine from Keeho’s rough fingers pushing against your g-spot with full force till your climax fades down.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty…” Keeho mutters under his breath. His hard cock has been putting pressure on him for a while now, it starts to become unbearable, and it’s showing in his heavy breathing. “The prettiest girl with the most perfect pussy.”

He empties your swollen entrance, and you gasp from the feeling. He observes carefully how it clenches from the absence of his hand; how it leaves a string from your juices connected to his fingers that he breaks by licking it off.

He groans in bliss meanwhile your mouth waters at the sight of the tent in his pants.

“Baby, I need you.” Your one arm reaches to caress his bulge, but even your palm squeezing his dick doesn’t affect him as your doe eyes glowing with lust and yearning do.

You sense Keeho going to his desk. You stay in one place since you prefer to keep your face private and wait for him to give you a signal.

“The show is over, perverts.”

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[muntitled]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐄𝐏. 𝐈 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐚𝐧

❝ 𝘾𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙚𝙚, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙣? ❞

Pairings: Park Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Being begrudgingly seduced by the anarchist

Warnings: Language, Enemies to Lovers, Cop!Reader, Revolutionary!Seonghwa, Implied Violence, Crazy Form!Au, Seduction, Smut (+18, minors dni) Corruption Kink, Innocence Kink, Masochism, Humping, Fingering, pet names, Rough Sex, Massive Degradation Kink, Dom!Seonghwa, Sub!Reader, Squirting, Humiliation, Unprotected Sex, Hate Sex

A/n: I might turn this into a series featuring all the Pirates with their own smutty little parts because I cannot help re-watching the Crazy Form mv. It's too good

The very sight of the undulating mosh pit has your stomach rolling with nausea as you enter the dimly lit warehouse. The corrugated walls are illuminated only by various splotches of neon paint, and you suddenly feel the uncanny need to pray as you enter the crowd.

You begin to grow fearful, not onky because this crowd might birth a fresh panic attack, but because you fear for your focus as well.

That you may not be swayed from your mission.

The Intel that led you and your police partner here had been incredibly difficult to come by because every one of their little followers were so terribly loyal.

So naturally, upon receiving a tip off about a show being hosted on the seedier outskirts of town, you had no choice but to attend.

In this unpredictable field of law enforcement, of one thing you are completely certain: There will always be a clear distinction between the good and the bad and they are as bad as they come.

They are common criminals, and there is nothing else to it.

In fact, referring to them as anything but, feels like a gross display of exaltation. Exaltation, which is, evidently, what they are used to.

Disgust is smeared across your face as you and your police partner sieve your way through drunken bodies swaying to the sound of Seonghwa's voice. Although you're shoving roughly past people, all in an attempt to get to the front of the stage, you can not help but marvel at the crowd, undulating to the beat of a bandit.

His face, along with the faces of 7 of his fellow delinquents were smeared across every wanted poster in the city, and yet here he is, raging into a microphone while the crowd cheers his name.

“If I hear ‘Seonghwa’ one more time I fear I might shoot myself in the foot,” you call out, to your partner not far behind, “Keep a tight grip on your weapons, please,” you say, craning your neck back as you palm cradles your back pocket with the Glock 14 nestled inside, “We don't know what any of these idiots are on and I dont think we want to find out.”

Your civilian attire is successful in keeping the attention off of you and your partner as you break out of the heat and anxiety of the moshpit, right in front of center stage.

Seonghwa is right above you, cradling a microphone as if it were the Holy grail while his accomplice, a very inebriated San, bounds across the stage, stirring up the crowd like Seonghwa's personal hypeman.

You could almost feel your vexation increasing to ungodly heights.

Everything about this egregious display of egomania makes your blood boil raging hot, and although these are only 2, you find your hands clenching in anticipation of being one step closer to putting all 8 behind bars.

Your hatred seems to be oozing out of your pores because soon, you catch his attention. Perched on a stage elevated amongst the masses, he is looking at you now. You. Instead of any of the other drunken groupies in the crowd begging to get even a sliver of attention.

With both hands cuffed around the mic, he peers down at you and winks before belting out the final words of the song.

How badly you itched to bind his wrists with your silver cuffs.

How badly you wished to get him and his insolent underlings off the streets.

"They do know how to capture an audience… we can at least give them that," Your head snaps sideways as the words of your partner rouses what little patience you're already working with.

You tap lightly at his badge. The sound of your nail hitting the metal is drowned out by the raucaus applaud but your police partner watches you intently as you cooly say, “Don't forget why we're here, Sergeant,” your voice holds caution as the noise of the crowd trickles down.

The set ends, and the man on stage drenched in flamboyant white linen bids the crowd a ‘Very good night’. He strolls off stage, not without giving you one last, knowing glance.

‘If you catch me, it's because I let you catch me,’ is what those eyes seem to be saying.

So much for blending into an unsuspecting crowd.

“These are not your friends. They're common criminals.” Your voice is louder now, with the absence of that Seonghwa's cacophony. “Stay here, make sure none of these degenerates kill themselves.” You're hellbent om following Seonghwa off the stage, but your partner's light snickers have you pausing slightly. You raise your eyebrows in questioning.

“You speak about them like they're not just fans," Your partner shakes his graying head, "Like they're complicit,”

“They are." You almost immediately reply with a narrowed gaze. "As far as I'm concerned, their fans are just as bad as them.”

With those parting words you make your way towards the part of the warehouse sectioned off from the rest of the crowd, where Seonghwa and his accomplice disappeared off to in the wake of their applause.

You reach what appears to be a backroom hidden behind the makeshift stage. It is far quieter than the rest of the warehouse pulsating with cacophony. You do not miss the slight apprehension that swallows you whole when your feet stop you from venturing over the threshold.

“It doesn't look like you have a backstage pass,” San sits beside Seonghwa on a couch positioned in the focal point of the small room. You recognize hid face as another one of the men whose visage was stamped in a very large police docket on your desk.

“Apologies,” you murmer to San, “I only have one of these,” you raise your police ID to the side of your face and San rises from his seat in mild curiosity. He sinks closer to you while Seonghwa, the man who held most of your attention, sits reclined, with his legs spread on the wide sectional.

He sits lazily, almost kingly under a giant white sheet. A flag plastered to the wall, with a giant, obnoxious, A carelessly spray painted in black.

“I thought we said no fans allowed backstage." San says in a sing-song voice, blatantly ignoring your badge with his giant shoulders now bending down to your height. The circumference of his hat casts a wide shadow over you, all in a clear display of intimidation. "That counts for pigs, too.”

His steely gaze never wavers from your face, and you fight valiantly to keep your emotions tamed under a calm, nonchalant reserve. "If you're a cop, where's your uniform?" San does an obnoxious display of racking his eyes over your body.

"Your dad's place," you whisper cooly, "I couldn't put it on in time."

Your words have an unmistakable smile cracking on the sides of San's face. "I enjoyed that very much."

"I thought a degenerate like you might." Despite your words, San is still smiling. In fact, you fear yourself at risk of slipping right into that enchanting gaze of his were it not for the interception of the third voice in the room.

“How interesting,” Seonghwa's voice cuts through the tension blistering between you and San like a white, hot knife.

“Leave us.” San's head snaps backward towards his accomplice, and all Seonghwa does is smile as they communicate, quite literally without words right in front of you. Seonghwa evidently 'says' what is needed in order to get San slyly leaving room. Not before tipping his hat in parting.

With your attention now focused solely on the man ok the couch, drenched in the white linen, whose arms are outstretched and resting on the headrest, you suddenly find yourself completely and unfortunately unsure.

You had met plenty of prisoners. Dined with manner delinquents and questioned many criminals, it is only in his presence when you feel your usually tough reserve quaking at the smallest fraction. In the face of what is apparently true rebellion.

“Why don't you have a seat,” he snickers when he finds you already stepping over the threshold, making yourself all too comfortable in an evil space. Nothing good existed beyond this point.

“I hope you enjoyed the show,” There is a depth to his voice that is regrettably tickling down the edge of your spine, dousing every bit of pateince you had.

“You call it a show… I call it inciting a riot,” you shrug, finally choosing to sit beside him on the wide sectional. Far too close beside him and his outstretched arms.

Despite the warning bells, you refuse to exhibit any fear.

“Is that why you're here?” His voice remains steady as he focuses it on tracing the tips of his fingers against your shoulder. He wants to see how quickly his touch could elicit a valley of goosebumps.

He is all too pleased to find you shivering in protest.

“You're here to arrest me?” In all honesty, Seonghwa enjoyed watching you try to push him away for the sake of your precious morals. Call it masochism, but there is something enticing about a woman who so very clearly abhors everything he stands for. Seonghwa cannot help but find it almost irresistible. His captain always remarked on Seonghwa's enjoyment for not only fixing broken things but also obsessing over them.

You did not know that the frown plastered across your face only accelerated his racing heart more. Desire plunged through his arteries as he immediately recognized you as a challenge.

Something to perhaps break.

It would be so incredibly satisfying, especially because you represented everything he despised in this wretched world.

Order.

“Actually, no.” You say, staving off another shivsr as you evade Seonghwa’s steadily heavy growing eyelids. “We received a call that someone was disturbing the peace.”

“In an abandoned warehouse?” He asks, voice airy and tone almost dismissive because he is much closer to you now, leaning towards you, as if enchanted by your very scent. You watch him with apprehension as you begin to feel the very first signs of what you regrettably realize to be attraction.

However, you can not move off the couch now because you can not control any of your motor functions in your concrete bones. Every one of your morals howl for you to get away from this man. To cuff him, send him down to the precinct and convict him for... something…

but that 'something' does not come quick enough, and he's leaning closer to you, with both arms still resting on the couch behind you. Before you can blow up your entire career, and close the distance, you wrangle some bit of sense to turn your head sideways, evading his half lidded eyes and slightly parted lips.

Your blatant rejection rouses him slightly, and he readjusts himself in his seat. Seonghwa brings his legs together to better manage the heat rushing to his cock in the wake of your rejection and apparent attraction (and immense frustration) as he shifts even closer beside you.

“You will find no disturbance here,” he says, “Only music.”

His words release the floodgates of your vexation, and your head snaps as you fire off. “Music that you weaponize to spew your delinquency.”

“Ah. Ah.” Seonghwa dips his head down to your ear as he whispers, “Delinquency, or rebellion?”

You're laughing humorlessly into the air, effectively causing Seonghwa’s smile to widen and his cock to stiffen completely in the confies of his pitch black dress pants. You are oblivious to his eyes, watching you as if you hung the very moon.

“You and your… freaks preach your vitriol and call it ‘rebellion’ when all you're actually doing is polluting our city with riots and crime.”

“You don't wish to be liberated from an oppressive world order?” He adjusts himself again, getting far too excited with the way this conversation is flowing. Your wide eyes and high vibrato do little to calm his restlessness.

“What oppression!?”

His voice is quick and monotonous, “Capitalism. Classism. Racism.” His fingers clench and unclench before swiping against the back of your neck, “Why do you willingly submit to a system that is simply un-winnable? We want you to free yourselves from the hierarchy. Fucking wreck the system-”

“You're fucking Pirates,” you spit the word out, unwokowungly snapping the very last of your reserve before Seonghwa is pulling you into a heady, heavy kiss by the nape of your neck.

"Fuck yes," He whispers before pulling you in as if you weighed absolutely nothing and you let him. You let his lips move languidly against yours as your hands fall against his chains and the white linen frills spilling from his collar. His hand is still positioned on the nape of your neck and he squeezes, forcing you to kiss him back. He groans into your mouth when you begin to work with him instead of against him. You mouth falling open as his tongue collides with yours.

Vaguely, in the background, outside these four walls, you can hear the crowd beginning to cheer once again as raucous music spills from unseen speakers. You can hear San beginning to sing into a mic, and your hand on Seonghwa's shirt curls imperceptibly.

“You're so beautiful…” You hate how easily his words affect you. You hate what a slave to desire you seem to be as he leans back to immediately push his hands in between your legs.

“Tell me to stop,” he challenges, keeping his feline eyes trained on you as he unclips the buttons of your jeans with one hand. “Tell me you don't want this disgusting delinquent to make you cum over and over again.”

Your lips are pursed painfully, and you throw your head back with your eyes clenched shut as you lift your hips. All the better for him to wriggle your jeans down to your ankles.

As he brings your legs up to his lap to pull off your jeans completely, Seonghwa's movements become all the more reckless and all the more urgent.

“All the same,” he murmurs before kneeling on the floor in front of you, “You conformists are all the fucking same.” Your eyes flutter open, along with your mouth, and the very moment your gaze locks onto the spray painted flag, hanging above you, Seongwha pushes aside your underwear, immediately spearing your dripping cunt with his long fingers. You release a broken moan into the air and his smile has blossomed into a full-on lopsided, evil grin as he brings your knees up to frame his face.

“2 seconds,” he taunts, in between your chorus of broken moans going head-to-head with the sound of San’s sensational belting, “it took me 2 seconds to have you humping my hand like a pretty fucking slut-”

Despite the pleasure coursing through your body, you still manage to keep your teeth clenched as you murmur, “You're the one… fuck… you're the one kneeling in front of me like my personal whore-”

Seonghwa's eyebrows raise, and his eyes glint in excitement at your taunting. He prided himself on being someone who could take as much as he gave out, and you're doing a terrific job at holding his attention when so many other people fell short.

You were interesting, of that, Seonghwa was sure.

“You make me want you so bad, Dove,” he admits before swiping his other hand over his stiffening bulge to the rhythm of his hand pushing in and out of your cunt.

“You drive me fucking crazy-”

“You're already crazy- fuck, just like that! Please don't stop-” your clenching around his fingers, eyes locked on his wide, excited eyes and his close lipped smile as brings his other hand to swipe over your clit.

The very second his calluses make contact with your swollen, puffy clit, you're cumming around his fingers. San’s vocal rages and your screams pour out as you fight to keep your eyes open. Seonghwa's fingers are still pushing into you relentlessly, and your heart sinks when you realise the seat underneath you is drenched with your arousal.

Seonghwa's mind is flooded with the image of you squirting so shamelessly around his fingers. Seeing you give yourself over to him so seamlessly made him feel absolutely restless with arousal, and he's pushing you down onto the couch before you're able to fill the air with idle protests.

His clothes suddenly feel too constricting and he curses the black corset as he wrestles with the buttons of his collar. He does not care that the buttons are flying onto the floor because he is clambouring onto the couch and hovering over you as he slots his hips in between your open legs.

“I need you to make a mess for me,” he whispers, before pulling his collar open, showcasing a patch of his tanned chest to your wide eyes. You unbuttoned your own shirt at the very same time that Seonghwa pulls down the zip of his pants, and he nearly whines at the sight of your breasts spilling out of your top. You are using him just as much as he is using you.

“Just like that, baby,” He nods, forcing his cock deep inside you as you begin to tweak your own nipples to stave off the discomfort of being stretched open so completely.

“F-Fuck- Seonghwa…” He is still nodding as he bends down towards you. Strands of his black hair tickle your face as he positions his hands on the side of your head and ruts into you with urgency. “I don't think I can take it-”

“You're already taking it so well, Baby.” He coos, as he forces his cock deeper and deeper into your clenching walls.

“You're taking everything I have to give and you're doing it flawlessly,” his praises are like that fashioned from a poet and the sheer artistry behind mere words have your head flying backwards as you release a torrid moan into the air.

“Where are you going?” He asks with a breathless laugh as he brings your head back by the grip of your throat. He is driving his cock inside you, his own frills spilling over your skin as he chokes you relentlessly.

Seonghwa is the very sight of violent beauty: hair mussed with his collar completely undone. His corset is still fashioned around his waist but it succeeds in tightening his abdomen, bringing him closer to the edge as the torrid sounds of your fucking fills the air.

"Fuck I'm close,” He grunts with his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his skull. "Tell me you hate me-" he whispers.

"I hate you," you moan out. "I hate you so fucking much-" It fell from your lips so easily because it is the God honest truth. Despite the spell he currently has you under, in the eyes of your aspirations, and everything you've ever worked hard for, you hated him and people like him. People who threatened to dismantle the progress lawmakers have strived to protect. And so, with your orgasm crwsting and your toes clenching, you whisper those words over and over to him. And every time to tell him you hate him, he chokes you harder and fucks you deeper.

"F-Fuck- 'Hwa I'm-" he nods, eyes now incredibly pained as he drives his cock into you with no chance of stopping.

"Cum for me," His whisper has you reading a broken moan into the air and Seonghwa watches as you descend into the depths of your euphoria.

"Gorgeous-" He exclaims through clenched teeth as his own hips begin to stutter, "You're so fucking gorgeous-" He whimpers before spilling inside you.

You're both moaning into the air, at the very same time that Choi San appears at the threshold.

"You work fast," San says languidly. He shifts his gaze from your horror-stricken gaze to Seonghwa who stares at his accomplice with a smirk on his face.

"I work smarter," Seonghwa says, "not harder." You're very much aware that he is still very much inside of you in front of a complete stranger but that panic dissipates when you realize Seonghwa, himself, is nothing but a stranger...

"The police is not gonna be a problem for us anymore, right?" He asks sweetly before dipping his head down in between the crook of your neck. You are starkly aware that your silence is answer enough...

[san8ny]

STILL GOT IT !

?: While you continue reign over your niche internet kingdom, Ellie finds herself consumed with thoughts of you, you and you! So much so, her fans are staring to notice. Joining your livestream, which she’s been trying to abstain from, you quickly remind her on why you’re so addictive in the first place! / E.W / 18+

!: too lazy to write all warnings but pretty tame when it comes to smut. s

Her heart initially falls to her ass when she sees the plethora of comments underneath her latest video, usual adornment of little heart emojis which now turned into discussions of twitter threads. How had a clipping of her rubbing herself inside a public bathroom stall, the usual shtick before she clocks into a boring 9-5– garner this much negativity? What changed?

“Eh, you don’t seem as passionate after the collab tbhhh”

“lost her touch lmfao”

“does this mean we get another video with you and—

She shuts the laptop closed, unable to further stomach her unsatisfied audience with thoughts running rampant in her mind.

Lost..her touch?

Surely these comments were satirical and just baiting her for another video with you, right? I mean, it’s not like she hasn’t gotten hate comments before, though rare for a small homemade creator like herself, but that was besides the point!

it irked her.

Since when has Ellie ever needed anyone for a platform she grew and built, huh? So what if you had given her the best fucking of her life? Genuinely, what about it? It’s not like she goes to sleep with you on her mind, just to awaken the next morning with her pajama bottoms absolutely drenched because she had the most delicious wet dream about you! That’d be crazy..

She rubs her temples a bit to soothe the pounding of her head, she needed a quick fix to this issue and fast! Opening the device back up, she seeks answers.

⌕ [“How do I get horny again without looking at the hot girl who had sex with me’s page?”]

Holding her breath, she types into the search bar. They do say google holds all the answers.

aaaand..nothing.

God, maybe she was dealing with an original experience? 8 Billion people and all useless.

What if you’ve ruined her to the brink of no-return? She can’t even orgasm anymore on her page without watching you, which makes the climaxes lackluster. She can never go back after you’ve given her a taste of the real thing.

That night, she props her laptop up with you pulled up on the screen. You’re wearing a pretty lingerie set, too pretty of one Ellie thinks. It’s the little fancy-pancy one’s you had in your closet that night you graciously let her stay over. Post-nut delirium, but Ellie could still see you liked lace alot, it being the main choice of material inhabiting your wardrobe.

Hot.

Her eyes scower the screen as donations roll in and as per usual, you thank the viewers with a pristine smile, like you didn’t turn Ellie back into a fuckin’ virgin.

She hasn’t been on one of your streams in a while actually, too caught up with work but now, she really remembers why she use to.

You were a guilty pleasure. Addictive, and Ellie didn’t even have a knack for sweets; you just always managed to pollute her head with the most vile of scenarios she could envision recreating with you and fuck, did she hate herself for it— hated herself for becoming so obsessed with someone who only saw her as a collaborater, a co-worker.

She couldn’t complain however, not with the way you manage to talk everyone through it in your streams in a low shaky voice, and especially, not with the way you capture everyones attention with your movements.

and, like a moth to a flame, Ellie finds herself, unaware, cupping her breasts..kneading the flesh like soft dough through her bleach-stained band tee, relapsing back into a place she thought she wouldn’t want to return to; she can’t help the moans that steadily escape her when you let one of your own out, and God, Ellie might really be the worst person because she hasn’t had this good of a masturbation sesh in forever. It’s been feeling so cold and robotic lately with her trying to appease her few followers, but we know how that turned out.

“Ellie’s in the stream?” You whimper out, reading the explosive chat when you slap the silicone toy messily against your puffy clit, swollen under it’s hood but sitting so pretty like an pearl would on its’s oyster, glistening in both your own liquids. “Hi Els..” Your whiney voice calls her out.

Oh God.

Ellie’s eyes roll back abit when she sees your crinkled eyes, lip pulled in between teeth and your flushed cheeks. She practically punches the ‘Co-Host’ request button with her camera off so only her pathetic pants of your name are heard, “H-hi doll..” She hisses out softly, “You l-look so pretty r’now, ah!..’m sorry haven’t been o-on your—mmh!— streams..”

You giggle at this, and the viewer count doubles in amount. Somehow, the stream becomes what seems like a steamy facetime call between two creators, with the rest of the viewers witnessing and prying in on the salacious moment, “‘s okay..just w-wanna hear your noises, Ellie.” It’s like you knew she couldn’t speak to you without a hand busying itself down there..

The girl groans, dropping her camera inbetween her legs to the echoing sounds of squelching and heaven. Though you couldn’t see her in the dark, 2:30 AM lighting of her bedroom she lounges in, you could feel it. She doesn’t even remember the last time she’d secrete this much arousal without the assistance of lube.

“A-ah, me baby? Gosh, ‘jus wanna watch you f’ a sec. Hear me well?”

You nod, eyebrows furrowing and your eyes growing more heavy when you prop your legs up on the gaming chair, displaying your drenched pelvic area— all so messy and for everyone to see. Mainly the broad on the other end of the stream..

You squeal when you curl your fingers into a specifically spongy spot, lips parting and your head thrown back a bit— you’d long ditched the dildo for something a bit more efficient, something to really capture the moment between you. Strands of hair stick to your forehead when an orgasm arises, and you seem a bit upset for cumming too quickly, not when Ellie has just got here!

Prolonging it a bit, you heave and retreat from your digits, rubbing your thighs imaptiently with your sighs stuttering, all while the other girl slaps at her cunt from what you can hear. Painslut

Ellie looks up back at you when she, herself, feels a tight coil in her stomach beginning to loosen, “B-boutta’ cum, dollface. Cmon..put them back on ‘er. Need my girl to do it with me.”

You nod ever so slightly to her voice, though you cannot see her, the raspiness of her voice takes you to a whole other level, “Ellie..” you cry out when your fingers make contact, it seems to be hitting you harder than usual, hypersensitivity of edging yourself all stream. Is it so wrong her green-eyed gaze trains on you intently while you whine and bitch for her?

The muscles in her abdomen tighten when she particularly notices a dumbed out look on you, saliva seeping past your glossy lips and dribbling to the lacy outfit you had on, rubbing her clit as fast as she can, she eggs you on, “Ah! Ah! J-just there w’you..wanna do it ‘wif you.”

Ellie gasps when your legs twitch uncontrollably, and on-cue, as promised, she meets the point with you— biting her knuckle when she spasms through the waves of orgasmic pleasure.

A few moments go past when Ellie picks her phone camera up to see you’d already went past your donation threshold. She can hear your hiccups, hair all messed up and covering your face— sweet baby..

She quickly ends the live-stream for you, a co-host accessible option you’d enabled incase you couldn’t end it from your own screen.

just to run to her bathroom to clean herself up before heading to your place.

Was she invited? No. Was she likely pushing a boundary? Yes, but, was she going to start a ‘no-aftecare’ streak in her entirety of 23 years? Fuck no.

Whether you liked it or not, she was on her way.

@san8ny: “alr she still got it ig”