#I think you should get to play around with darker themes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tadpolesonalgae · 6 months ago

Text

Two-Faced[***]

Dark!Rhys x reader

a/n: Honestly I’ve tried to edit this so many times I can no longer tell if I like it or not? Also this is a prequel to Desk Pet and goes along with that universe but can be read on its own 🧡💛

warnings: non-con, shadow play(?), bdsm themes, suggested breeding kink, smut, overstimulation, somnophilia, suggested dacryphilia(?), a little peak into Rhys’ mind at the end

word count: 8,875

-Desk Pet- -Play-Mate-

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You glance into the mirror, readjusting how the thin golden chain hangs around your neck, the small pendant sitting pretty between your breasts.

Easing in a deep breath, you check everything else is appropriately placed, nothing revealing too much skin, no fabric dipping where it shouldn’t, everything neatly wrapped up. You could swear you can see how your heart pulses in your chest in the reflection, a slight shudder passing beneath your flesh as you think ahead to what might unfold.

The deep purple gown settles comfortably over your body, dark and velvety, the neckline modest without being conservative, the hem of the skirts brushing just shy of your feet, sleeves that run down to your wrists, locked in matching golden chains, slim and elegant. Your lips are painted darker than usual to match the purple of your dress, with small golden pins keeping some strands of hair in place. Is it too much?

Dining with a High Lord… Even if you’re friendly, you don’t want to suggest something you can’t give, nor flirt where you can’t fulfil.

In the recent months, you know you haven’t been imagining the intensity in his eyes, how they sweep so deliciously over you, slowly, under the guise of polite appreciation. But there’s nothing polite about the way he looks at you. How it sets your skin on fire, pulse spiking with the slightest curve of his mouth. How your breath hitches whenever his skin brushes yours, fingers grazing your waist to guide you someplace—gentle dominance that makes your body flush with heat. Even at the faintest hint of his scent, you’d found yourself seeking out his gaze, as if sharing in a forbidden fantasy together.

Maybe it’s your fault for letting it get too far. Letting it escalate without consideration for how high he might truly be able to take you. He certainly isn’t the only male in your life. You hadn’t even realised how far things had gone with Rhys until the male you’d been seeing casually had brought it up, and you’d felt a tug of guilt in your gut. The two of you weren’t together exactly, but it definitely wasn’t just sex. There was too much emotional intimacy for it to be such a black-and-white situation. Emotions bleeding over where they should have been kept in line.

A triptych of knocks are landed to your door, gentle but firm, and you tear your gaze away from your reflection—attractive as it is, you shouldn’t keep him waiting.

Easing in a breath, you open the door, pulse spiking as you take him in, raising your chin to meet his violet gaze.

On the wooden deck of your house, stood beneath the warm faelight to illuminate the entranceway, he dominates the space, your attention zeroing in on his figure, dressed immaculately as usual, shirt revealing a peak at the appetisingly tan skin beneath, a suggestion of ink peering over the hem of the linen.

“Rhysand,” you greet with a smile, opening the door wider, previous worries forgotten as he takes up your attention whole. “Rhysand?” He drawls, brow quirking in amusement as he leans forward, and you step into his invitation. “Have I done something to irritate you?” He muses beside your ear, bodies pressed a little closer than appropriate as your arms wrap over his shoulders. His palm splays between your shoulder blades, pressing you deeper into his sturdy heat, spine arching under his direction. “You show up dressed as you are—I thought you said this was a casual dinner,” you smile as you pull away, arms still wrapped around one another.

Violet eyes sweep across your features, the skin between your shoulder-blades tingling beneath his broad palm, and that intensity burns down into you. “You look like this for casual dinners?” He replies, lips curving with amusement. “I look like this for my High Lord,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully, stepping out of his hold, already missing his heat. “Will you tell me where we’re going to dine? Or are you going to insist on keeping it a secret until the last second?”

“The last second might be a bit of a stretch,” he chuckles, offering you his arm, “but I know how you like surprises, so perhaps arrangements can be made.”

“You could winnow us there with ease,” you muse lightly, linking your arm with his, door closing at your back as he guides you down the steps leading into your front garden, then out into the street.

Violet eyes flick over you, your skin tightening beneath his open attention, meeting his gaze. “A lady deserves preparation,” he replies, heat fluttering in your lower abdomen at the sonorous drawl. “I’m sure you’d still succeed with the surprise element regardless,” you laugh, lips warm from the smile. “I suppose I could always blindfold you?” He suggests, and you gently elbow him, rolling your eyes again, trying to quell the traitorous heat that’s unspooling in the pit of your stomach. “I’d trip up and break something,” you counter fondly, swiftly averting you gaze so he won’t be able to somehow read your emotions. The attraction that always seems to become much more prominent in his presence. More pertinent, and palpable.

“I could direct you,” he replies lightly, a curve to his soft mouth, “I like to think I’m fairly good at giving instructions.”

“You’re practiced at giving orders. There’s a difference,” you counter, unable to help the smile on your lips—that’s undoubtedly shining in your eyes. “Besides, I don’t trust myself in heels.”

“You certainly picked a tricky pair,” he admits, glancing down to the thin golden strings wrapped around your ankles, disappearing beneath your dress. “I’m sure I’ll be regretting that by the end of the night,” you sigh, taking care to avoid any uneven surfaces. “If you need a reprieve, feel free to say,” he chuckles lowly, guiding you down another street, and you silently admire how seamlessly he blends in with the inky darkness of his court. “I’d be more than happy to sweep you off your feet, if needed.”

————

You’d been surprised when he’d taken you not to a pre-established restaurant but to a house he’d recently purchased by the riverside—for ample view of the Sidra, he’d explained, when you’d asked why he’d picked that part of the city.

He’d guided you in, as he usually does when you’re out together, a hand kept lightly against your lower back to keep you steady, especially when passing over cobbles. You’d noticed how his touch had smoothly migrated from lightly brushing against your skin on the way into the house, to settling securely around your waist once away from the public, a response of equal parts concern and satisfaction humming in your chest. It’s hard to keep your head when he singles you out so obviously—like there’s something special about you in particular. Something he can only find in you. How are you supposed to resist a male who makes you feel so treasured?

“You certainly succeeded with surprising me,” you smile, leaning back in your chair, content with the meal—mansaf, with goat’s meat. “I didn’t know you could cook like that?” You muse, meeting his gaze across the cozy table, tucked away in an alcove on the library he’s slowly filling up, tall windows to your right, providing a clear view of the Sidra, rooftops shadowed under the night’s sky. His smile isn’t as full as you’d hoped, instead seeming quieter than usual. “I don’t have much time to indulge anymore,” he answers, and you straighten in your seat. “It would be nice, to pursue my own interests. From time to time.”

Your expression softens as you watch him from across the table—he makes it easy to forget the things he’s withstood. It’s easy to speak with him, to be around him.

“I appreciate you finding the time to do so tonight,” you say quietly, briefly glancing down at your empty plate before returning your gaze to his. “It was delicious.” His eyes twinkle, and a small smile makes its way onto your mouth at the familiar gleam. “I’m glad you thought so,” he admits, “it’s been a while.”

“If this is how you are out of practice, it might be for the better you don’t have more time on your hands. You’d run people out of business,” you say quietly.

There’s a pause that passes between you, and you feel yourself being pulled in, already so thoroughly snared by his riptides you haven’t noticed you’ve been pulled under.

“I know it isn’t much,” you say lowly, a little roughly, pushing up from your seat to walk to his side. “But you deserve the time to indulge in your own interests, Rhys. To be able to enjoy life like the people you devote yourself to protecting do.” Violet eyes lift to yours, swirling and depthless, pulling you further down. “You’ve mentioned what that time was like,” you manage quietly, voice thick with emotion, at all he’s sacrificed to keep Velaris safe. To keep his people safe. “I can’t even imagine what it was like,” you murmur, hand resting gently on his shoulder, hoping you aren’t overstepping.

It isn’t often he talks about what had been done to him, what he’d been forced to do, but when he does…you listen. Take in every word, let him know you hear him, at the very least. That he has someone he can share his life with, someone he can come to when he’s alone, and know you’ll be there.

“You’re out now,” you whisper, “you made it.”

“I’m in pieces,” he murmurs, expression neutral despite the sadness of the admission.

“It’s okay to be in pieces, Rhys,” you reply, stepping into him when he shifts to face you, his hand coming to rest atop your own, fingers dancing to your wrist, wrapping over your forearm carefully. As if afraid to break you, too. “You’re allowed to grieve yourself, after what happened.”

His fingers tighten a little around your wrist, then he’s smoothly standing from his chair, though you don’t step back, keeping together as his hand slowly settles on your waist.

“I don’t think…” he trails off, voice breathy and hushed, and you hold him a little tighter, free palm settling on his upper arm. His throat rolls, and he pulls you the barest bit closer, bodies connecting as heat is shared and swapped, scents pushing together. “I don’t think I’m the same as I was before,” he admits quietly, violet eyes pinning you to the floor, touch pressing into your skin. “That’s okay,” you whisper, “time changes people. It’s okay to shift in essence.”

“No. Not like that,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your own, your hand brushing against his jaw, his palms wrapping tighter around you, growing more assured in their hold, like you’re becoming a part of him. “I can’t stand it,” he admits, brow pressing to your own, his eyes shut, a troubled expression on his beautiful features. “I can’t stand it anymore.”

You peer up at him, now cupping his face in both your hands, leaning into him. “What is it?” You ask softly, “you can tell me. I want to know what’s troubling you.” Violet eyes open slightly, darkened by his lashes as he looks down at you, brows furrowed in what looks like indecision. Or regret. But then it’s gone in a flash, easing out into something more calm, and familiar. “I want to be happy,” he confesses quietly, words brushing over your mouth so tenderly. “I don’t want to be alone again. How I was.”

“You aren’t alone,” you murmur, thumb brushing his cheek. “You have your family, you’re back with them again—you’re back here again. You survived.” But he shakes his head, and you push slightly closer, letting him know whatever he wants, he can confess to you. You’ll be there for him if he needs.

“I can’t stand not having it anymore,” he breathes, hold tightening on you, voice deeper, rougher, than before. “I should be happy, shouldn’t I?”

Your brows pull together, curving as you nod, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, slotting yourself into the familiar lines of his body. “Everyone deserves to be happy,” you whisper, heart aching, “even if they don’t believe so.” You swallow, feeling hot beneath his gaze, but refusing to step away, not when this is the most vulnerable he’s ever allowed himself to be with you. “If you…” you swallow again, eyes darting away briefly before returning to his. “If you know what you want…” You trail off, bewitched by the swirling intensity of his gaze. Your breath catches, aware of how close you are, how intimate the embrace has become. “…you should have it, Rhys.”

He exhales heavily, relief loosening the tension in his body, then he’s leaning forward, mouth opening over yours.

You freeze, not having expected the bold action, but quickly melt beneath his touch, all previous thought fading to nothing as his lips slant over yours, soft and hot, and his hands are moving across the planes of your body, strengthening as you’re pulled impossibly closer. He’s a really good kisser.

His tongue flicks out, and you start, reeling from his pace, but he’s gently turning you around, mouth still sealed against your own as he pushes you into the wall, hips against your own while his arm wraps tight around your waist, other hand settling over the nape of your neck that’s so small in comparison. Your palms stutter as they shift, unsure where to place them, having been swept off your feet, caught with your guard down. You hadn’t realised just how intense the attraction had become—for either of you.

Rhys makes a hungry sound from the back of his throat, and your insides flutter, spine arching into him, breasts pressing fully against his chest—but you need to slow down. You hadn’t planned on any of this unfolding so rapidly, had intended to be wary of his advances, of the mutual lust binding you together. It’s dominating; overpowering, mind-warping to struggle against, but you have enough sense to know acting on this desire will only confuse things. Mixing tender affection with the sharpened blades of lust never ends well.

“Rhys,” you murmur, pulling away enough to get his name out, but his mouth seals over your own again, and you fight to not be dragged under by hunger, by your desire to follow in his motions. This isn’t something you can rush, if you want it to work. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging him back firmly, heat warming your cheeks. “Rhys, we—”

His hands leave your body, roughly gripping your wrists and shoving them back against the wall, hips keeping you pinned in place as he devours you, prying your mouth open with embarrassing ease, arousal making it hard to resist. His tongue stokes over your own, and a heady feeling rushes your veins, need pounding in your blood, losing grip fast as he sinks his claws into you.

Rhys pulls away from you, and you open your mouth to tell him to stop, but he’s dipping lower, attacking your neck as his canines flash, the kisses rapidly descending into untamed bites and claiming slashes of teeth against soft, unmarked skin. You gasp as he bites, putting his mark into your body, startled by your own enjoyment, how arousal is swiftly rising to meet him, as much as you’re trying to pull away. “Rhys…” you pant, struggling half-heartedly beneath his touch, enjoying how his strength dominates you, a display of power so brutal and fundamental something warms in your chest.

He releases your wrists in favour of roughly gripping your skirts, almost tearing them as they’re shoved up your thighs, making way for him as he grips you tight, hoisting you up so your legs wrap around his hips—allowing him to press against your centre, purple fabric pooled around your waist. Instinctively your arms fly over his shoulders, and then his mouth is reclaiming your own, a flashing frenzy of tongue and teeth that knocks you clean off your feet, heart pounding from the assault on your senses, the ticklish pleasure still tingling across the erogenous skin at your throat.

Your fingers shakily tangle in his hair, and he snarls into the kiss, canines scraping over your lower lip before crushing back against your mouth, the damper on his power waring thinner, and thinner, pressure straining on your bones as you tremble. He’s never come this close to removing it completely around you, and it’s terrifying, your heart pounding in your chest, pulse spiking as you begin to get an understanding of what kind of beast you’ve been taunting.

“Rhys!” You gasp as his hand palms over your breast, grinding between your thighs as he again dips down to your throat, feeling your heightened pulse beneath his teeth. Tongue darting out to taste you.

Your hands stutter over him, torn between trying to pull him away and to tug him closer, to take more of him, startled by the ferocious hunger he’s subjecting you to, and the starvation it’s bringing forth in your own body.

His fingers effortlessly slide beneath your dress, but when they brush the golden string that’s clinging to your right hip, it’s like a bucket of icy water has been speared into your bloodstream. Your palms slam down against his shoulders, leveraging yourself against the wall as you shove at him enough to push him away by an inch or two, allowing your legs to unlock from his hips, standing on your own shaky feet again, nearly collapsing thanks to the sharply-angled heels.

“Rhys, stop,” you demand breathlessly, hands flat against his powerful chest, able to feel how his magic thrums dangerously around you, beating in time with his pulse in deadly waves. “Slow down,” you breathe, gazing up into intensely dark violet, practically plunging into icy indigo, his features turning glacial as he looks down at you, caged in, your cheeks warmed from arousal. He steps closer, crowding your space, and you tense up, abruptly aware of how that lethal strength could just as easily be used against you rather than with you.

“What is it?” He drawls, the tone having hairs rising on the back of your neck in warning, a long lost sense rising from the recesses of your mind to scream its horror at the creature before you, steadily emerging from beautifully carved skin. “I…Rhys, I’m not sure about this,” you answer honestly, hands trembling over his chest, trying to even out your breaths. “I’m sorry,” you fumble, “it’s all happening so quickly—I didn’t expect anything to happen tonight.”

“Is that why you’re wearing these?” He asks lowly, and you stiffen as his fingers brush over your hip, now covered again by your dress, but you know he’s talking about your underwear, how it matches the gold of your jewellery, complimenting the regal purple of your gown.

“I—…that was for me,” you mumble, flushing, shying away from the pressure within his gaze, how his attention crushes down upon you. “So I’d feel more confident around you.”

“Confident?” He remarks lowly, roughly, the slow drag of the word tingling down your spine. “So you always wear something matching whenever you feel unsure?” You falter, glancing away, hands lowering a little but remaining against him, anxious to keep him at bay for the moment. “I’m sorry if I misled you,” you manage, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “But I…if you’re only after sex, I can’t give you that.”

“You’d give more?” He asks breathlessly, pushing closer despite how you try to keep him away. “With someone else, I could manage a one-time thing,” you whisper, “but with you…”

A deep noise rumbles in his chest, male satisfaction resounding through you as your insides flutter, his hands coming to brace themselves on the wall, either side of your hips as he leans down, mere inches separating you. “You want something serious?” He asks quietly, roughly, and you nod, tilting your head to better see him.

His lips curve at the edges, pleased with your reply. “Then come with me,” he murmurs beside your ear, and your breaths stutter as his arousal wraps around you, stark and heady. His hand wraps around your wrist, making to take you elsewhere, but you pull against his hold. “I need you to slow down,” you manage firmly, getting stable footing on the ground—relatively stable, anyway.

“You were so eager a second ago,” he muses, the sonorous drawl returning, his eyes dark and deadly, able to scent your own arousal by now. He doesn’t release your wrist. “I’m allowed to change my mind,” you say firmly, lightly trying to pull away but to no avail. Either he doesn’t get the hint, or…you swallow thickly.

Violet eyes glint, a curve tilting the edges of his mouth. “And what have you changed your mind to?” He asks smoothly, as if indulging a child’s whim.

“I think a lot has happened tonight, and I want to go home and sleep on it,” you say, aware of how his touch is making your skin tingle. A strange weariness creeping over you, eyelids beginning to weigh as the adrenaline wares off.

A sadness flickers in his violet eyes, before it’s vanished, and he shakes his head. “I can’t stand it a moment longer,” he breathes, firmly pulling you into his body, knowing you’re unable to resist. His palm settles on your lower back, and you press your own hand to his chest in protest. “Rhys. Stop messing around,” you say, peering up at him, meeting hungry, dark eyes. “This isn’t funny. Let me go.”

“Lovely, little lamb,” he breathes, angling you so he can peer down at you, and you can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing intrusively into your middle. “You think I would joke when it comes to you?” He asks gently, violet eyes sweeping over you, and you shrink away, the ravenous lust making your legs feel weak. “I can hardly breathe right around you,” he whispers, “I ache for you. To feel you. To touch you. Don’t deny me for a second longer.”

Your lips part in shock, unable to formulate a response, and his eyes glint with approval, before he’s turning, forcefully dragging you from the room, hand shackled around your wrist as you try to struggle against him, to rip yourself from his hold, but he refuses to budge. You might as well be fighting against iron for how much give he allows.

“Rhys,” you call sharply, tugging away. “Rhysand!” You try grabbing onto a banister, but he’s too strong, and your hold slips away, heels practically clawing lines into the floorboards as you try to lean against him, to counterweight his force—to no avail. “Rhys let me go,” you bark, surging forward abruptly in attempt to knock into him, but he’s been trained as a warrior since birth, and has no difficulty in remaining stable.

“Stop struggling,” he demands lowly, piercing violet pinning you to the floor, and you’re utterly helpless as he effortlessly puts you over his shoulder, sweeping you off your feet with devastating ease. You start kicking, slamming your fists against his back, aiming either side of his spine as you scream at him to put you down, trying to dig your nails into his skin, to rip through his clothes to scratch and slice at him.

You recoil into yourself when his palm connects with your hind, body going taut as you freeze, horror and terror paralysing you, and he chuckles lowly. “Like that?” He asks, voice deeper, and your stomach drops when he reaches a bedroom, able to watch as the door clicks shut.

“Rhys,” you whisper, fear pounding through your veins. “Rhys, put me down.”

Panic roils in your gut as you’re roughly thrown down from his shoulder, knees pressing together as you land on the softness of his mattress, crisp sheets rustling as you try to squirm away from him, pushing further up the bed. “Rhys— Rhys listen to me,” you try, but he ignores you, looming like a nightmare as he grips your ankle, dragging you back toward him.

“Relax,” he muses, fingers biting into your skin as he pushes the deep purple of your dress higher, until you’re certain he’ll be able to see the gold material clinging between your thighs, presented with a perfect view between your legs. “You’ll feel good. You know you’ll feel good.”

“Rhys, fuck off!” You bark, voice shaking with terror, pressure building behind your eyes. “You can’t fucking do this. Just because she did it to you doesn’t mean you have the right to inflict it on other people.”

He snarls lowly at that, pinning you down in an instant, easily slotting between your thighs, his powerful body keeping you where he wants with ease. “I thought you cared, huh? I thought you were eager to be with me. What happened to that, hm?”

“You’re sick, Rhys,” you hiss, “this is sick. You’re fucking insane.”

“It’s okay to be a little insane,” he drawls, mimicking your earlier words of comfort, given in attempts to help him, but in doing so dooming yourself. “It’s more than a little,” you hiss, teeth flashing as you try to kick him off you, but he’s pressing himself flush between your thighs, leaving you without a hope in hell.

“I deserve to be happy, don’t I?” He murmurs so softly over your mouth, and in any other context your heart would have broken at the question—that he would even have to ask. But, “not at my expense, Rhys,” you hiss, heat warming behind your eyes. “Not at our expense.”

“I’m not sacrificing us,” he counters quietly, hand coming up to grip your jaw. “I’m joining us together.” He rolls his hips against yours, feeling him against your sex, how the pressure grinds over your clit, deliciously traitorous heat gathering in response, and you’re utterly helpless as his lips curve into a slight grin, sadism gleaming from deep within his violent gaze.

“I don’t want to join with you,” you spit back, trying to push him away, but darkness gathers on his bed, keeping your wrists bound to the mattress as he lowers his mouth to your throat, kissing and biting his way down your skin, painting a pathway of bruises while his hands glide up your thighs, catching beneath the material of your dress. His lips brush the hem of its neckline, and then he’s smoothly pulling it away, leaving you practically bare.

Your High Lord pulls back, tan skin flushed, pupils dilated with dizzying hunger as he gazes down at his prey, the golden fabric clinging to your hips as you squirm, ankles wrapped in that gilded string, keeping your heels in place, the elegant little chains decorating your wrists, settling around your throat. He groans lowly, rough palms splaying over your waist, resting there gently as he rolls his hips against you, into you, taking his time pulling you apart. Savouring your struggle.

“You were desperate for it minutes ago,” he drawls lowly, right palm raising over your stomach, the pads of his fingers brushing with a feather-light touch upward, starting from your lower abdomen, gliding slowly to your sternum, pleased to feel how your breath hitches beneath his touch. “You’ll be desperate again soon enough.”

“Go to hell, Rhys,” you manage, lip curling back to showcase sharp canines—a set he’d gladly allow to pierce his skin. The only set he’d allow to mark him ever again. “This isn’t fucking okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” he breathes, and your throat rolls heavily as his fingers begin the slow, torturous descent back down your body, trailing over your abdomen, stroking down over the golden fabric, running lightly over your centre. “It’s better.”

Heat flushes your skin as his rough palms grip the underside of your thighs, just above your knees, raising your legs up and out of the way, pressing them close to your torso so he has more room. Callouses drag against your skin, a reminder of his strength, the warrior that’s concealed beneath his finely tailored exterior. He is the embodiment of power.

“Rhys, stop,” you breathe as he settles at the edge of the bed, violet eyes hungrily licking over your clothed sex. You squirm, trying to shift your hips, but his lips brush over your abdomen, and then his teeth are clasping the band of your underwear. He gazes up at you intently, slowly dragging it back—tauntingly; teasingly—until he releases it to snap back against your skin.

“Rhys…” you murmur shakily, the understanding finally beginning to dawn across you that he might go through with it. “Rhys, please. You’re better than this.” Violet gleams with ravenous hunger, dark and starved, and he presses forward, mouth a breath’s width from your sex. “Shall I show you how much better I can be?”

You swallow thickly beneath that look, but manage to nod your head. If you can just get him to pull away, to remove the bonds of your wrists…

Your lips part in a sharp gasp, writhing beneath him as he presses his face between your legs, violet eyes closing as he takes in his own heaven, submerging himself in your scent, your heat. You try to buck away from him, to get further from his mouth, but it only serves to make you more aware of how he’s invading, though his grip has lessened on your thighs.

He exhales heavily, contentedly, shifting between your legs and your muscles coil tense, nails piercing your palms as his nose brushes against… Your toes curl, thighs trying to press together, to ward him away, but he keeps you spread apart effortlessly.

Eventually he pulls back, violet eyes glued to your clothed sex as his fingers hook in the golden strings lacing over your hips, slowly pulling them away. His gaze practically glows, pupils dilating as he peels away the wet material, shame and humiliation burning hot in your gut. Eyes flick up to you, and you force yourself to meet them, to not yield and look away—to not admit defeat. “You’re wet,” he breathes lowly, roughly, depthless hunger swirling in the pits of his pupils. “That means nothing,” you hiss, trying to writhe away from him, fearing what practices his mind will conjure. “I think it means quite a lot more than that, darling,” he breathes, pulling your underwear away completely, then pressing it back to your heat.

You inhale sharply as his fingers run up over you, slow but firm strokes, circling your entrance through the golden fabric, and your pulse spikes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing now?” You snap, voice shaking with fear, darkness now banding around beneath your knees to keep them apart as he stands, peeling your underwear away. Embarrassment flushes your skin when you catch their gleam, how thoroughly soaked they are.

Rhys’s cruel mouth curves, and you writhe on his bed, trying to turn away as he pushes the wet material between your lips, long fingers prying them apart. Your tongue recoils, trying to pull away, but his grin widens, a pleasured sound coming from deep within his chest as he feels you struggle. “Do you taste good?” He asks lowly, fingers stroking over your tongue, “like having that in your mouth? I bet you’re only getting wetter by the second,” he breathes, pupils fully dilated.

You release a sound that should be disgusted, but comes out as more of a whimper. His breath catches at the noise, able to see how his cock is straining against his trousers but he leaves himself unattended—for now.

He returns between your legs, and a noise between a whimper and a snarl rips from your throat, heat flaring across your skin as he licks up your centre, broad palms keeping your thighs absolutely open for him to indulge.

“Rhys,” you panic, feeling pressure build behind your eyes, managing to spit out the fabric that had been gagging you. “Rhys please. Please stop. We can— We can figure something out—”

His tongue swipes over your clit, making you jolt and squirm, trying desperately to thrash against his hold but it’s like being chained up, his grip stricter than iron as he applies himself, suckling at the impossibly sensitive part effortlessly, as if he’s familiar with how your body works. As if he knows already exactly where to touch, suck, and fuck to have you drooling dumb.

Breaths pant from your lips, hips wiggling as one hand trails down your thigh, and you know exactly what he’s planning to do with those long, dexterous fingers of his…exactly how they’ll feel inside of you, how they’ll know where to push and rub at to have you dripping onto his knuckles.

“You want me to stop?” He breathes lowly, roughly, thumbing at your entrance, liking how you tighten around nothing as if eager to invite him in. “You know I could make you feel like an immortal,” he growls, mouth prone to attach your clit with his tongue and teeth should you try to rebuke him. “I could take you higher…further than anyone’s ever taken you before.”

“I don’t fucking want it,” you hiss, lip curled as heat wets your eyes, trying to blink away the hot tears in favour of sending him a look of pure hatred.

Rhys blinks his violet eyes, then smiles, pulling away.

“Give me five minutes?” He muses lowly, a starving glint in his gaze, darkened and scheming. You snarl, then inhale sharply when the darkness releases you, completely freeing you. Immediately you sit upright, pulling your legs together, but refusing to cower before him—keeping your hands at your sides, gripping the sheets to prevent yourself from recoiling physically.

“You don’t deserve a single second of my time,” you spit, blinking away the tears as you snarl. “I regret how much I’ve already spent on you.”

“Not even a single second?” He laughs, hands sliding calmly into the pockets of his finely tailored trouser, perfectly encapsulating the raw power contained within his body. “I’m not sure if I can take you there in an instant without hurting you somewhere,” he drawls almost apologetically, but his violet eyes spark. “But if that’s all you’ll give me…” he murmurs, softer than a breath.

Your breathing pattern spikes, heat flushing intently beneath his gaze. Talons swiftly enter your mind, and you’re utterly helpless as your body starts to tremble, terrifying heat swelling with such ferocity your vision goes tilted, muscles feeling like custard as you fall back into the bed. Your spine arches on its own, toes curling eyes squeezing shut as he plies the orgasm from your body, easing out your pleasure while he stands at the foot of the bed, idly licking at the pad of his thumb that had prodded against your entrance.

Your lips part as it intensifies, and you scramble, thrashing in the bed, a choked noise erupting from your chest as you feel the high in your entire body, like there are hands touching, feeling all across your body, tongues lapping over your nipples, sets of teeth biting at your throat, lips sealing over your clit as fingers pump and curl inside of you.

The scream rises swiftly, limbs trembling violently as sweat is forced through your skin from the abrupt intensity, the orgasm absolutely devastating as you lose all control of yourself, moaning unabashedly as those feelings are drawn out—as Rhysand draws them out. His fingers the ones inside of you, his teeth piercing your skin, his tongue circling your clit.

“Do you want it to stop,” he muses, unable to help licking his lips at the obscene sight before him, the scent of it filtrating into his blood, rushing straight to his cock, hot and heavy between his legs.

The words jumble and melt across your mind, splashing like melted butter into your head, and struggle—for what? For more? For more.

He chuckles lowly, and you scream as he forces you through a second one, having it break like the surf across jagged rocks, arousal dripping down your thighs, webbing between your legs as you try to press them together only for the darkness to spread you apart. Definitely more than wet enough to fill a shot glass or two.

You pant heavily. Ragged, gasping breaths as wild heat ravishes your skin, pleasure bursting at the seams of your body, a perfectly ripe fruit dripping with flavour, ready to break beneath the slightest pressure from a set of sharp, piercing canines the second they graze your skin. And Rhysand is more than happy to bite.

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, so you can only feel the mattress dip as he prowls up onto the bed, pinning you down, caging you effortlessly between his powerful, ruining arms.

The High Lord allows your orgasm to wash away slowly, bringing you back to the plane of reality he’s on, your skin hot and dewy from the intense pleasure he’s forced you full of. Your lids flutter, eyes struggling to lock onto his as violet pierces into you, doing nothing to hide the deep-rooted hunger that’s tearing him apart. He moves lazily, with the leisure one can move with when they’re in no rush, yet you can sense that undercurrent, the riptide within him that you’ve been caught in, at last dawning on you. The only other tell aside from his actions and confessions, is the strain in his jaw, wound tight as he gazes down at you, eyes so dark they’re closer to being entirely black as shadow and darkness writhes around you in a great, slithering mass, tangling with you on the bed.

“I think you’re more than ready now,” he whispers, the words dragging like gravel across bare, sensitive skin. “Are you ready?”

Tears spill down your cheeks, so turned around you feel entirely out of control. All you can remember is the sizzling burn of pleasure, the electrifying tingle of heat as it sears through your thighs, making your body feel weightless, like you’re above the clouds and bathing in starlight…starlight that’s hot and wet, that trickles down the naked planes of your body…that slips and slides where your fingers drag through it…that tastes like power and possession…laced through with iridescent violet…

A rough laugh drags from the High Lord’s throat, sensing your pleasure-induced daze, facing not even an ounce of resistance as he gently flips you over on the bed, the side of your face pressing into the soft fullness of one of the pillows, saliva pooling inside your cheek, drooling out onto the cotton as he pushes your thighs apart.

He curses lowly, eyeing the mess between your thighs, wanting more than anything to pull you to the edge of his bed, or flip you around again so you’re spread out on top of him, suspended in the air for him to play with and touch. So he can kiss, lick, bite wherever on your body he likes, so he can press his face between your legs, so he can take his time learning the pace you most like his tongue circling your clit, the pressure to apply that will most swiftly lead you to orgasm, the spots inside of you he should rub against if he wants you to soak him.

But he doesn’t. He’s waited too long.

Besides, after tonight, he can do whatever he pleases; you’ll be his. If he wants to dangle you from the ceiling while exploring your skin, if he wants to bind you to his bed while he kisses up your thighs, if he wants to seat you in his lap while he strokes his tongue against your own…he can. The thought has him growling lowly, dark power writhing beneath his skin, aching to manifest with talons and large, spanning wings, to allow proper canines to slide from his upper lip and his skin to become dark and leathery; to yield to his baser side.

You make a soft sound in the back of your throat, confused but aroused, and his cock twitches between his legs in response. Trailing a hand up the path of your spine, darkness gathers your wrists in a light coil, bringing them to cross at your back, and he swallows thickly at the imagery. Unable to entirely help himself, having only ever witnessed these events within fantasy, the darkness wraps itself also beneath your shins, raising them from the bed until your calves are pressing to the backs of your thighs, legs bent at the knee.

Breathing deeply, he pulls himself free, noting the slight tremors that run through your body, shuddering lightly from the aftershocks of pleasure, trembling beneath the beast who’s got you at his mercy. So out of it you can hardly understand what’s happening, reduced to a panting, drooling mess. A groan of pleasure rasps from his chest, guiding his tip to your entrance, and slowly…slowly easing in.

Your breaths stutter, small noises whimpering from your lips as your lids flutter with confusion, and he applies a light pressure to the base of your spine, having you curve lightly beneath him as he goes in…and in…and in. His breath fans against the nape of your neck, lips skimming the shell of your ear, and tears spill from your eyes, unable to help as you cry, unable to understand why after having had your mind so thoroughly toyed with.

Rhysand shifts, his forearm banding beneath your stomach to raise you up onto shaky knees, legs still bound while your face presses into the pillow, allowing him to press the entirety of himself inside, his hips meeting the backs of your thighs, at last finding home for that last inch he couldn’t fit into you when you were on your front. You whimper at the stretch, the fullness, the strange pleasure from having no space left inside of you. His lips press to the bare skin of the top of your shoulder, skimming the thin golden chain that remains loosely around your throat.

“So good,” he whispers beside you ear, voice shuddering as he presses his face to the crook of your shoulder, inhaling the thickness of your scent—he could come from that alone, from how you’re squeezing him, the pliancy of your body. “I knew you’d fit me perfectly, and feel how right I was.”

He shifts his weight, and your toes curl lightly, squirming beneath the pleasure, and Rhys can sense it will be a struggle to move, to gather the energy to bring a greater pleasure to both of you. It feels so good as it is, he almost doesn’t want to move, to simply bask in the wet heat of your cunt, the lost familiarity of your scent, the way your body slots so perfectly beneath his own.

You’re struggling internally, grappling for consciousness but overwhelmed by the pleasure he’s forcing into you. You can feel everything that’s happening, feel every thick inch of him that he’s pushed into you, yet can hardly even lift a finger to stop it, tears growing larger as they quietly wet the cotton of the pillow.

“Gods, you were fucking made for me,” he breathes roughly, sounding almost pained as he hoarsely whispers the confession of thought, and it has enough disgust gathering in the pit of your stomach to push you to the forefront of your mind, resurfacing and gasping for breath as you tense, awareness coursing through your blood, suddenly so acutely aware of every place you’re pressed together, every intimate touch of bare skin, and you try to recoil, to squirm away from him.

“Rhys get off me,” you hiss lowly, crying harder as you try to free yourself, but his shadows hold tight, keeping your wrapped up beneath him, physically unable to push him away or to claw at him as you would like to. Your cheek presses into the pillow, neck straining from the uncomfortable angle, the weight being pushed onto your shoulders from the position, and your gaze meets with dominating, depthless violet. You try to thrash, try to writhe away, but you can manage little more than a shift of your hips with the way he’s holding you.

“Aware again?” He murmurs softly, holding you a little tighter, pulling his hips back by a few inches, just to let you really feel as he presses back inside, cock touching against a sensitive spot that has a quiet sob escaping from your throat. “You were enjoying it so much,” he whispers cruelly, like a malevolent spirit urging you toward evil, silently goading and encouraging you away from the good, and instead forward into the bad. “Relax,” he muses besides your ear, your spine unwillingly arching as a shiver ghosts up your back.

Words of hate, of fury and disgust sit ready on your tongue, but he pulls his hips back again, and the breath you take is one you would breathe down before being dragged under a river’s icy surface. One you would take, knowing it might be your last.

He pulls out to his tip, then roughly pushes back in, pushing you into the pillow, and all sense is knocked from your head.

All sense from his, too.

A low growl rumbles through his chest, constraints dissolving to dust and ash as discipline crumbles like sand, disintegrating into nothing as both his hands roughly grip your hips, pulling back to slam into you. Deep, rough, thorough strokes that have his cock hitting spots inside of you, drool slipping over your lips as he fucks the protests out of your mind—fucks the moans from your mouth.

Your vision changes, unable to understand anything you’re seeing through the pure haze of pleasure, unable to take anymore after the two he’d forced through you without having to so much as trace the pad of his finger over your clit. And now he’s pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs, filling you up all the while you’re bound and tied, shackled and caged beneath him. For him to use as he pleases.

Tingling heat coils in the pit of your belly, and you’re not sure whether you would prefer the gathering orgasm to be of your own making or his. Whether you would rather it be your body naturally responding to his cruel, dominating pleasure, or for his daemati hands to have slipped into your mind again, fingers easing the puppet-strings to move in the correct formation to have the high rising so swiftly. You hardly have the capacity to consider the thought before it’s banished from your mind, darkness widening the stance of your knees on the mattress so they can twine between your legs, pushing and rubbing at your clit, slick and precum having mixed together, dripping down, slowly making you gleam with arousal that the darkness now uses to catapult you into the orgasm. Shoving you mercilessly into the boiling tempest of pleasure, holding your head below the raging waters so as to drown you in euphoria, to having it fill your lungs and burn at your eyes as it passes through your body.

Rhysand feels you trembling, crying out as you flutter and squeeze him, finding his own high with yours, canines flashing in a barely restrained snarl, teeth biting down into the appetising slope of your shoulder. He feels it as he spills inside of you, hot spurts of cum releasing from him directly into your cunt, and he continues bucking his hips to keep it all pressed deep inside, sloppily grinding against you until your body has ceased its shudders and you’re panting quietly, tears still dripping down your cheeks, nails having bitten deep into your palms but he doubts you’re at all aware of the pain in the moment.

The High Lord curses lowly, breathless as he pulls out of you, seeing how he’s coated in your arousal, wrapped in the evidence of your orgasm, a fresh wave of pleasure having soaked him in your slick, slightly creamy from his cum mixing in. He groans lowly, canine finding place in the corner of his lip as he bites lightly, stroking himself experimentally, then gritting his teeth from sensitivity.

Rhysand glances down at you, ass still kept in the air, trembling; unable to move yet from his shadows, and at once the hunger is renewed, grip tightening on himself as he hardens again. Arousal gathers within him, and he moves almost without thinking, guiding himself back to your entrance, despite how you cry as you feel him begin to push back in, forgetting you will be about to endure a fourth orgasm in less than quarter of an hour, while he is only starting on his second.

You cry out as he firmly presses back in, once again shoving the air from your lungs, and you flinch as the heel of his palm presses hard against the nape of your neck, thumb to one side while his fingers settle on the other, chaining you to the bed by your throat, and allowing him to… You swallow thickly, but struggle with his weight leaning on you.

“Rhys…” you rasp, panic setting in, realising what differences this will make; knowing you can’t take it. “Rhys… Rhys…!” You struggle frantically, arms tugging at the restraints as you try everything you can think of: thrashing against the bonds of your wrists, trying to rock your body side to side to turn over, using all your trembling strength to try and pull your legs free… “Rhys, please…Rhys listen—listen to me,” you cry, fingers moving as if trying to scratch him.

He pays you no mind, grip hardening on the nape of your neck as he pushes in, finding his pace again, following his own instincts this time, the feeling of your orgasm on his cock, how you’d fluttered around him…he’s undone.

Your breath turns more ragged, heart pounding as he increases the pace, feeling inside as it becomes rougher, more feral, more unrestrained, the damper of his power clean off as darkness sprawls across the bed. The rhythm becomes punishing, brutal bucks of his hips, and you nearly scream as he takes advantage of the position, putting his weight behind each thrust, pinning you down by your neck, fucking you into his bed with a conviction that’s obsessive.

Nails dig into your palms, muscles going taut as darkness presses to your clit, rubbing in mean, tight circles, far too harsh for how sensitive you are, thighs shaking with the cruel stimulation. You’re utterly helpless to the way your spine curves, how your toes curl, how you tighten around him with how good it feels—being so roughly treated, pleasure being so mercilessly infused into your body.

And this time, you know he’s tampering with your mind.

You scream as you come again, cock driving into you over and over until your voice gives out, his hips bucking into you in a way that has you forgetting the circumstances, silently begging for it not to end, to not let the pleasure slip away.

A dark grin curves his hellish mouth, daemati fingers effortlessly plucking on the puppet-strings, dragging the high out just as you’d silently prayed for.

But a mind can only take so much tampering. The High Lord knows this, had warned you about it himself before he’d pulled the first two from you. Yet in his haze, caught in his hunger, all he hears are your pleas, and his own mind is helpless to give more and more and more.

It’s only after he’s flipped you over, fucked you full, and sealed his mouth against your own that he realises you’ve passed out, mind exhausted from his relentless ministrations. He doesn’t want to stop, but he knows he can’t continue.

Gazing down at your body, head tipped to the side, your eyes already slightly puffy from crying, he feels a slight ache within his chest. He’s old enough to recognise regret when it appears, the cloying heaviness of guilt that’s so difficult to shake.

He brushes hair from your cheek, wet with saliva, and his thumb traces the curve beneath your lower lip, regaining his breath as he quietly looks over you. You’ll need to rest, to recuperate after the night. As much as he wants to keep you in his own bed, it will only make more damage, and he’s caused enough for the time being. Anymore and he might struggle to fix it.

As it is, he allows himself a few more minutes, leaning over your pliant body, brow pressing to your own as he cups your jaw. He supposes it’s a prayer of his own, though he can’t guess what to.

He’s not sure he wants to pray to something that would listen to him.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#dark!rhys #dark!rhys x reader #dark!rhys smut #dark!rhys x reader smut #dark!rhysand smut #dark!rhysand x reader #desk pet series

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femdomlieeh · 1 year ago

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Pink Blush (m)

First time Sub!Haechan ✧ Secretly Dom!Reader

WC—1.8 k

THEMES—new relationship ✧ nsfw fluff (?) ✧ borderline smut

WARNING—punishment ✧ teasing (m!g) ✧ masturbation (m) ✧ use of handcuffs & strap on ✧ praise ✧ light degradation ✧ pet names "mommy", "channie", "bad boy"✧ mentions of gender stereotypes (ew), safe words & (future) pegging

NOW PLAYING—Tattoo ✧ Loreen

[A/N.] old xiumin (exo) version

When this post gets 100 votes I’ll publish a stray kids group reaction chapter👍

M.LISTS—nct 127 ✧ dream ✧ latest updates ✧ wp version

✧ ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ✧ ੈ ✧

"Come on~! Show me~!" Haechan whined in your ear for the umpteenth time today.

Like all the previous times, you answered no.

Yesterday your boyfriend had found out that you had a mommy kink and liked being dominant in the bed (You had left a wattpad tab open on our shared laptop because you were apparently too tired to click on the cross), and, although that should've been something positive, you didn't want him to know.

On a daily basis, he already got critique for being younger (looking younger) than his partner, and being too 'feminine' and 'cutesy' – so, to want him to submit to you and make him match other people's perception of him was selfish and thus something you refused to do.

The theory of genders having specific power roles was something you'd always been opposed to, as you do not believe a gender determines a level of power. Truthfully, you couldn't care less if your boyfriend wanted to break gender stereotypes or not — damn, he could wear 'girly' clothes and/or put make up on if he wanted to — but you did care about what he thought of himself.

He didn't like it when people commented on how much younger he looked than he was. He didn't like it when people described him as feminine instead of masculine. He didn't like it when people [excluding you and some of his friends] called him cute. He didn't think that having any of those characteristics was wrong; he just didn't want people to call him those things.

"Please?" He attempted to lure you in with his gleaming puppy eyes – which usually worked – but that method didn't work this time around, because the great amount of vexation he had brought to you today had made you fully resistant to his cuteness.

"No, I don't want to hurt you," you answered with a blank face, trying your best to find a seemingly interesting movie on Netflix, that you hadn't already seen, so your boyfriend could give up his dumb quest. It was a little confusing why he wanted to try these types of thing with you, knowing how he felt about being belittled by others.

"I thought you said that we should always be honest with each other and always be ourselves," he argued, making a valid point since you had said those words from the start of your relationship.

"But I also said I never wanted us to hurt each other," you retorted in defense, feeling more and more irritated by the second.

Leaning and sinking down a little bit on the sofa, Haechan wanted to be more comfortable as he knew this conversation would be long. Chewing on the strings of his pink hoodie, he looked at and studied you; frown, annoyed sighs, hard grip on the remote, darker lips from biting on them – everything pointed at you being mad, and thus rather sensitive.

Then a bulb lit above his head.

"But what if I like it when you hurt me?"

You turned your head to his side. There it was. Exactly what he wanted to see. An expression on your face that told him that if he continued this route, he would get fucked. Whether it was literally or metaphorically, he wanted to find out.

"I'm leaving," you announced and stood up as quickly as the short sentence ended. You had to leave, because Haechan was pushing your buttons and you knew that if you stayed for longer you could end up doing what you had been trying to avoid since he had found out about the femdom part of you.

His face changed from calm puppy to clingy puppy with separation anxiety, scared of its owner leaving. This was not the reaction he had tried to get from you. He stood up and followed your fast steps to the bedroom. As soon as he saw you throw one of your biggest bags onto the floor, followed up by some clothing pieces, he felt his blood freeze. Were you leaving as in leaving the relationship?

"Why are you packing?" he asked, scared of your answer.

"I'm going to Irene's. I can't stay with you when you're making me crazy like this." What you said was true; you were sure he'd crack your patience and make you go full sadist on him if you stayed in the same room as him for another minute – or even worse: another hour or whole night.

He felt relieved that you weren't breaking up with him over a silly argument, but he still didn't want you to stay over at your friend's when you both knew that it would be smarter to solve the tension instead.

"Stay with me," he pleaded lowly, sensing he didn't have many other options than pleading and hoping it'd be persuasive enough for you to stay with him.

"We need a night without each to calm down and have an adult discussion, alright?" you tried to explain, grabbing your now-fully-packed bag, and heading to the door to continue your journey to your awesome best friend.

When Haechan didn't talk back, you turned away from the doorway and to the bed to see why he was being quiet and not protesting some more like he usually would. He was looking you in the eyes as he pulled the hoodie off his torso and threw it your way. You caught it in your hand. Proceeding, he pulled down his pants, making sure he did it slowly enough to send you signals that he wasn't planning on putting on his PJs.

As he stood in only his boxers in front of you, a new bulb lit up above his head – and this one was even brighter than the last one – maybe he did have more options than to plead and strip.

With a smirk he sat down on the foot of the bed, maintaining eye contact, and pulled down his boxers to reveal his hard cock. You were speechless when he had stripped down to almost full nudity, but what shocked you the most was that just speaking to him disrespectfully had turned him on.

The moment he started touching his cock and moaning like a bitch, you realized that he had purposely been naughty so you could punish him. He had whined in you ear all day, stripped and masturbated when you wanted to leave because he wanted this; he wanted to be punished.

So, you decided to do it.

You dropped the bag and went to your wardrobe, taking out a box you'd kept secret from Haechan. He looked your way curiously, analyzing your reaction while still stroking his cock rudely. Damn, he hoped you were doing something femdom related.

"Safeword?" you asked, examining the nostalgic box of memory-making apparatuses, trying to decide which ones you wanted to use to make memories tonight.

"Sun," he answered, smiling at the victory; he was going to get fucked literally.

"I hope you understand that I'm going to have to punish you for being such a naughty boy."

"Yes, Mommy," he said oh so naturally.

You looked back at him after he said the last word, watching him lay down on the bed, boxers in a random corner of the room. He seemed experienced or like he'd had a fantasy about calling you that word for a while, no stutter, and thankfully that made it easier for you decide on which toys to use on him.

"Naughty boys don't deserve to touch Mommy," you turned to him with a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs. He blushed a little, not expecting the object you chose to punish him with to be so adorable. Did he seriously think that was all you were going to use as punishment when he'd riled you up like this?

How cute.

Walking slowly to him, you threw the cuffs onto the bed beside his legs and startled him a bit at the suddenness of the action. He had teased you, and you wanted to make sure he'd feel teased as well – and what better way to do that than to use one of his biggest weaknesses against him? Smirking, you pulled off your shirt, leaving your upper body in only a bra – a pink one. He had always liked that color – though he denied it since it wasn't manly to like pink.

You climbed on top of his body and took the cuffs in your hands again, getting ready to restrain him. He was breathing heavily, getting aroused by your body above his, and especially by your boobs that were clad in such a lovely color. Although he liked the bra, he would've loved to see your boobs without anything covering them.

"Hold your arms up for me, Channie," you ordered, to which he listened to instantly. He held them up against the bed frame, assuming you were going to cuff him to it. But he was wrong. You didn't want him to predict his punishment; you wanted everything to be a surprise that not even his fantasy could come close to.

Instead of cuffing his wrists to the frame of the bed, you cuffed them to nothing. Yes, nothing. It may sound boring to restrain your partner to nothing, but it was the opposite; restraining him to air meant that he still could choose to disobey you further by bringing his arms down. "You're going to keep your arms here, and if you at any point put them down and touch me it'll add to your punishment, understood?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"Oh, don't act like a good boy all of a sudden. You're getting punished for a reason, Haechannie," you scoffed lightly, feeling soft from the sweetness that seemed to ooze naturally whether he tried to or not.

"But I am a good boy," he pouted, adding to the cuteness you adored so much.

"Only if you can manage this punishment, but until then you're a bad boy," you explained and turned back to the box to grab the last part of the punishment. He continued pouting, until he saw the object you took out: a strap on. After removing your pants, you put the fake dick on and adjusted it to your hips.

The strap wasn't bigger than the average dick as you didn't know how used he was to having dildos shoved up his ass – and even though you wanted to hurt him, you were still cautious over how harsh you were with him. He was your squishy Haechannie after all.

"You ready, Channie?" you asked as you crawled back to him, searching his face for any uncertainty. His big eyes and toothy smile hinted at him anticipating what you were about to do, but you still wanted a verbal answer as you wanted to make sure he was OK with being pegged.

He nodded quickly, "Yes, Mommy, I'm always ready for you."

✧ ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ✧ ੈ ✧

❝ Violins playin' and the angels cryin'

When the stars align, then I'll be there

No, I don't care about them all

'Cause all I want is to be loved

And all I care about is you

You're stuck on me like a tattoo

No, I don't care about the pain

I'll walk through fire and through rain

Just to get closer to you

You're stuck on me like a tattoo ❞

—lorine zineb noka talhaoui; 2023

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 2 months ago

Note

Why do you think The Arcana always leads towards “ Killing the bad guy “ is wrong?

Because if you kill Lucio in Muriel route & Kill the devil in the Nadia route ( and I’m not 100% sure but I think you can kill Tasya in Portia reversed route ) you get the reversed route.

Do you think because it was a game +12 and up?

Do you think maybe they wanted to push that “ Killing is not the way there’s always another option “ route?

Do you think they were trying to do the “ If I kill you I’ll be just as bad “ trope?

Or something else entirely

Moving on from that, Do you think these should be considered reversed routes? Is Muriel killing Lucio justified after what he put him through? Same with Portia and Nadia? Do you think the punishments each antagonist and/or villain gets in the game is justified/deserved?

Just something I had in my head :)

-🥥

Hey coconut anon! My answer essay is under the cut xD

Honestly, it's hard to say. The second three routes get a little ... gentler, as far as downplaying darker themes, when you compare them to the first three. In Muriel's upright route, you end up defeating the Devil with festival games, while in Asra's upright route, you purposefully lead Lucio to an icy lake so he can drown, only to watch him get devoured by eldritch horrors. Death of the antagonist doesn't necessarily seem to be the deciding factor of reversed vs upright.

The theme that the two different types of endings do revolve around is growth vs stasis, with a particular focus on community. If you consistently pick decisions that challenge and empower your LI to face their shortcomings, you're headed towards an upright ending. If you consistently pick decisions that coddle or enable your LI's flawed tendencies and/or a poor relationship dynamic, you're headed towards a reversed ending. (e.g. Julian caving to self-sacrificing tendencies vs letting others fight next to him, Asra choosing the path of least resistance and isolating vs uncomfortably confronting evil, Nadia choosing control vs letting others help her, Muriel isolating and surviving vs forming community and pushing for happiness, etc, etc)

Killing plays into that as far as making a choice that doesn't give the LI room to grow. For Muriel specifically, it harkens back to his time as a gladiator and turns him back into the person he's spent so long trying to forget. Meanwhile, Lucio's death in Asra's upright ending is the result of him refusing to run away from their problems anymore, developing the courage to confront the person who's caused so much pain head on instead. Meanwhile in Nadia's route, killing the Devil has less to do with murderous intent and more to do with her choice to take all power and decisions and control on herself, rather than depend on others.

I will say in the last three routes, there's a much bigger emphasis on avoiding killing and keeping things a little more lighthearted, but that appears to have more to do with a change in the context the project was happening in than the intentions of the authors themselves. Hope this helps, friend!

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana game

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mauvewalker · 2 years ago

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You know one thing I’ve noticed being parroted around a lot are about how ‘sweet’ the strong boys are, just repeating what the protagonist Rhaenrya views her sons as she has stated it within the show herself. (Which is fine as people are entitled to their own opinions). I suppose it doesn’t help with the way the team black boys have been casted, younger actors & an actual teen matching the character’s age, looking all cherub/innocent like with the awkward hairstyles emphasises their youthful ages & the framing by show is heavily in the favour of the blacks.

Compare this to the team green boys Aemond and Aegon (both phenomenal actors perfectly cast to portray them) but considering Aemond is supposed to be a teen what 16 or 19? (the show-runners can’t seem to do basic maths, lol) however, as an audience member subconsciously Aemond is viewed as an adult & treated/judged as such with his actions. Again the negative framing by the show of him in manipulating the GA perceptions of the teams, I’m really surprised they didn’t play a villainous theme tune as like with Darth Vader every time he appeared on screen but I think that would have been a-bit too obvious, lmao. It’s not like the camera framework & Aemond’s get up in black, heavy smirking in the background isn’t already doing so.

Anyways having watched the show, I happen to be believe that they are not these sweet harmless little princes, in particular, Jace hides a much darker personality, imo. For instance, in the courtyard back at Kingslanding with Luke he says “it doesn’t matter what they think” so on the surface you could argue oh how sweet he is trying to comfort his brother but shows his self-entitlement in viewing the other lords/people as beneath them & we know Rhaenrya has told him “you are a Targaryen that’s all that matters” so it has been instilled in him this belief in the Targaryen exceptionalism being closer to gods than men because of their dragons. Also, that line mirrors young Rhaenrya with “their wants are of no consequence” about the small folk again showing self-entitlement & an attitude that would make them poor future leaders.

Jace having this belief instilled in him, I feel it would explain why they all picked on Aemond because whilst Aemond may be a legitimate true-born prince who was undeniably a Targaryen with the Valyrian looks, what didn’t he have? A dragon!! so Jace with his inferiority complex/issues & superiority complex combined, knowing he was a bastard targets/bullies Aemond unfairly for this (for being what he should have been if he was fathered by Laenor) to make Aemond feel bad, inferior & inadequate like him, which they were successful in.

As we saw this made Aemond risk his life attempting to claim a dragon with helaena saying “he did it again” (hinting that Aemond at 10-12 risked himself numerous times) and it was shown twice with his failed attempt with dreamfyre & his successful attempt with vhagar. As Rhaenyra has instilled in him being a Targaryen is the most important BS & the biggest symbolism of this is having a dragon. So, when Aemond finally claims a dragon, Jace is now unable to see or convince himself as better than or being more Targaryen than Aemond.

Hence, his anger when they all jumped him 4v1 beating him & when Aemond was managing to defend himself & calls them for what he is “a bastard” Jace’s rage comes out, not because he thought Aemond was going to kill Luke with a rock as he had lowered his hand holding it. It was Aemond saying “lord strong” which made him pull out the knife & slashing with the intent to kill him. Again Aemond managed to defend himself & the knife dropped on the floor, so obviously Aemond lifts the rock up again to use as a deterrent as there is now also a knife bought in the fight. The strong boys shared a glance & threw sand in his face blinding him & Luke slashed his eye.

We all know what happened after, they didn’t get punished for it, viserys sided with them reaffirming his favouritism & threatening to remove tongues for questioning their legitimacy. Rhaenyra didn’t care to discipline them for it, thus, reaffirming their self-entitlement that they are correct in their behaviours & did nothing wrong.

Another example of Jace self-entitlement, inferiority complex & bullying behaviour was during the toast speech. It was Aegon who pissed him off & some with an optimistic view would argue his toast was trying to bury the hatchet with “fond memories of our youth”, however, he was looking at Aemond with a slight smirk knowing full well it may have been fun for him it was not for Aemond- he was targeting him again when it was Aegon who bothered him & Aemond was minding his own business. The reason for this? Because he is comfortable to be looking down/belittling/bullying Aemond.

Again, with the dance with helaena, some would argue how chivalrous of Jace for feeling sorry for Heleana being alone but it was to piss off both Aegon & Aemond. Moving on, with the speech & then Luke laughing at the pig, Aemond loses his temper, rightly so. As all he was trying to do during the dinner was ignore them, both Jace & Luke have triggered him with the past, so he gives the infamous strong speech, to push back & give them a taste of their own medicine.

Jace is the one who then loses his temper & his first typical reaction when he does?? is to be physically violent & throws the first punch & which side does he purposely target?? Aemond’s blind/injured & vulnerable side of his face. The punch was laughable, Aemond didn’t even spill his drink & with one push was thrown down. Exactly like his younger behaviour showing no growth, he get back up & during this altercation, Luke had tried to join to gang up on Aemond again. So both brothers are unable to take the heat that they dish out & fight fairly 1 to 1, but, really what could’ve Luke have really done, lmao.

They should of known when they saw Aemond earlier that day in the courtyard training. At the time, it’s clear both strong boys didn’t know it was him (with the typical targaryen blonde hair they maybe could of mistaken him for Aegon) & were super impressed with his prowess/skill, before he turned around with the eyepatch & their faces said it all, like ‘oh shit’ & then soured that the person who they perceived weaker/beneath them during childhood is a skilled swordsman, unlike them. Another thing that Aemond has/is that the strong boys don’t to add to Jace’s list, alongside having both of a mix of a inferiority complex & superiority complex, a ‘sweet prince’ he is not.

#Hotd #hotd critical #anti team black #Anti jacaerys strong #Anti jacaerys #anti rhaenyra targaryen #aemond targaryen #pro aemond targaryen #pro team green #anti viserys i targaryen #anti lucerys velaryon #anti lucerys strong

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dongslinger--420 · 6 months ago

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Escape From LA: How BoJack Horseman deconstructs the sitcom

A LOT of BoJack's characterisation is based on the fact that he sees life as a sitcom. You can't separate BoJack the show nor BoJack the character from sitcoms. So much of the show is based on deconstructing sitcom tropes, and that BoJack thinks that the sitcom solution will work in his life. Take that episode in season 1 where Diane and PB are getting married: BoJack keeps trying to create increasingly complicated situations to sabotage their marriage because he has a crush on Diane, because that's what would happen in a sitcom. But none of them actually work. Diane and PB get married anyway because, why wouldn't they? And the episode ends with Todd telling BoJack that he should just give up.

The sitcom thing is played for laughs to varying degrees throughout the show, with Escape From LA being one example that is exclusively played for drama. The entire episode is set up like an episode of a 90s sitcom: BoJack is extremely close with Penny and involved in her life, there are characters with quirks and catchphrases, BoJack does his stupid BoJack dance at the dance, BoJack acts as the "cool grown up friend" to all of Penny's friends, the New Mexico leitmotif plays throughout the episode as a scene transition, the bjhm theme song is replaced by an 80s sitcom parody of a theme called "Kyle And The Kids".

But the thing about all of this is that the show isn't a sitcom, and everything I just listed has a real life consequence.

Much like bjhm itself does, at the start of the episode the show plays this sitcom subversion for laughs. Pete Repeat has an extremely stupid character quirk both in and out of the context of the story, and he never fucking says anything twice! Because that's stupid! BoJack's stupid dance gets him boo'd off the dance floor because realistically why would a group of teenagers do a 51yo man dance. Kyle And The Kids is immediately followed by a joke about Penny's younger brother Trip having an unprompted erection, which would crucially never happen in an 80s sitcom because, although normal, is not family friendly by any stretch of the imagination.

The rest of my points, however, are subverted in a darker way. BoJack's closeness with Penny means that he knows a lot about her life, and the scene where they go through their plan on what to do also has Charlotte in the room, who has no idea what they're talking about, showing us that this is not a normal level of what an adult knows (there's more to say about this one but I'll get to it later). BoJack acting as the "cool grown up friend" involves giving teenagers bourbon (bearing in mind these kids have only ever drunk beer), and eventually one of them gets alcohol poisoning and ends up going to the hospital. And every time the New Mexico leitmotif is used in the following seasons (i.e. every time New Mexico is mentioned), it is used as something to haunt BoJack. It's the equivalent of having an extremely dirty and terrible association with the Hannah Montana music.

It's difficult to decipher exactly what stereotypical role BoJack is supposed to be taking in this hypothetical episode of Kyle And The Kids, or whatever you want to call it. I think he's supposed to be taking the role of "father". "Father" is the role that he played on Horsin Around. "Father" is what he (at least originally) wanted to be in relation to Penny. "Father" is something that he has one frame of reference for: The Horse.

There is a line in Sabrina's Christmas Wish where Olivia is complaining about the boy she's talking to, and The Horse offers to take her to the dance. The funny thing about this line is that it's not at all out of place in Horsin Around, because it's normal for sitcom parents to have that level of involvement with their children. In fact, they have to, in a narrative context, because it's a dom com, and you have to have the characters interact with each other because that's just how stories work. However, it is out of place in Escape From LA, purely because we have Charlotte as a frame of reference. Charlotte and Penny are very close, and are shown to be very close throughout all of their appearances. But Charlotte is reacting to the conversation with comments like "who are these people?" because she's still Penny's mother at the end of the day. I would say I'm close with my mum and I've never given her that much information about my crushes (it took me half of my one relationship to even tell her that I was in a relationship). And because of this distinction, Penny doesn't see BoJack as a parental figure. She sees him as a friend, which is why she falls in love with him later on.

The interesting thing about this episode is that because it's so sitcommy by design, it's extremely easy to root for BoJack on your first watch. Because the "father" or the "cool adult/uncle/whatever" role in a sitcom is one that's known, and the father in the sitcom would never do anything wrong. Especially considering the background information we have that Charlotte is the one who got away. We, at least to a degree, expect BoJack to actually end up with Charlotte at the end of the episode. When BoJack says things like "you look just like your mother", on our first watch of the episode we connect that to his want to be Penny's father, because that's also BoJack's intention. But then everything gets shattered, both in and out of universe, when Charlotte rejects BoJack. Because suddenly, both we and BoJack are supposed to deal with the fact that, actually, why would she have an affair with Kyle? What information do we have that she and Kyle are not happily married?* This is not a sitcom. So then, BoJack starts to panic. He starts to think irrationally, as this illusion he has been creating for himself for 3 months and/or 29 years starts to crumble. He starts to see Penny, not as a daughter, but as the next best option to being with Charlotte, the next best option to keep living this lie he keeps telling himself.

Sure, it seems like shock value the first time you watch it. Because it's a subversion. It's not what you expect by definition. But then after you rewatch the episode, you can't unsee it. Everything is recontextualised. It's no longer a sitcom.

Escape From LA is my second favourite penultimate episode in the entire show. Other than being one of the biggest parts of the show that wasn't spoilt for me, it's so beautifully constructed and subtle and genius that it remains gripping every time, and I love noticing a new thing about it every time.

*For this very reason, Kyle's lack of appearances and an active role in this episode is genius.

#bojack horseman #bjhm #here's the 1k word essay #bojack the horse #charlotte carson #penny carson #horsin around #bjhm analysis #bjhm s2 #bjhm s1 #escape from la

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callmekenya · 3 months ago

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Pairings: Uma x m!Y/n

Warnings: Contains mild violence, blood, intense emotional themes, and complex relationships. Suitable for mature teens and adults.

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The sun was setting over the Isle of the Lost, casting long shadows across the dilapidated buildings and trash-strewn streets. In a dimly lit room aboard Uma's ship, Y/n, son of Eris, sat reading an ancient tome on chaos magic. The sudden burst of the door flying open barely fazed him as Uma stormed in, her eyes alight with excitement and a touch of malice.

"Y/n! You won't believe what's happened," Uma exclaimed, her braids swinging as she paced the small cabin. "Mal and her little gang are back on the Isle. And get this – they brought Prince Ben with them!"

Y/n's eyebrow arched slightly as he closed his book. "Is that so? How... interesting." His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of something darker. "I assume you have plans for this fortuitous turn of events?"

Uma's grin was sharp as a shark's. "Oh, you know me so well. I've already sent Harry and Gil to bring our royal visitor to us. But Y/n..." Her voice softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability showing through her tough exterior. "What about Mal? Are you going to try to win her back?"

Y/n sat up straighter, his golden eyes fixed on Uma. "And why would I do that, Uma? Do you think she deserves my attention after everything?"

Uma opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. Y/n stood, crossing the room in a few smooth strides. He took Uma's hand in his, his touch gentle despite the calluses from years of wielding weapons.

"Uma," he said softly, "you should know by now. You have me, all of me. There's no need for jealousy or doubt."

Uma's breath caught in her throat. "Y/n, I..."

Before she could finish, Y/n pulled a dagger from his belt. The blade glinted in the low light as he made a swift cut across his palm, then did the same to Uma's hand. She didn't flinch, her eyes locked on his face.

"With this blood, I bind us," Y/n intoned, pressing their bleeding palms together. "Our lives, our souls, united as one. Do you accept this bond, Uma?"

Uma's voice was barely a whisper. "I do."

A faint glow surrounded their joined hands, and Uma gasped as she felt a surge of power flow through her. When it faded, Y/n cupped her face in his hands and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Now and always," he murmured, before turning and walking away, leaving Uma to process what had just occurred.

Meanwhile, in Ursula's Fish and Chips shop, chaos reigned. Mal had burst in, her eyes glowing green with barely contained fury.

"Where is he, Uma?" Mal demanded, magic crackling around her fists.

Uma lounged against the counter, a smirk playing on her lips. "Who, your precious little king? Oh, he's safe... for now."

Mal lunged forward, but Uma was ready. The two girls clashed in a flurry of fists and magic, their battle destroying tables and sending patrons fleeing.

"You've gotten soft in Auradon, Mal," Uma taunted as she dodged a blast of green energy. "Forgotten how we do things on the Isle?"

Mal snarled, her pixie heritage giving her enhanced speed and agility. "I haven't forgotten anything, Uma. Including how to take you down!"

The fight intensified, both girls drawing blood and leaving scorch marks on the walls. Just as Mal was about to land a devastating blow, a sudden pulse of energy sent her flying backwards. She crashed into the wall, her head ringing from the impact.

As Mal struggled to her feet, she saw Uma surrounded by a shimmering aura of power. Uma's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in triumph.

"Well, well," Uma purred. "Looks like I've got a guardian angel. Or should I say, a guardian chaos god?"

Mal's heart clenched as realization dawned. "Y/n," she whispered.

Uma's grin was vicious. "That's right, Mal. He's with me now. And if you want to see your precious Ben alive again, you'll bring me Fairy Godmother's wand."

Mal's jaw tightened. "Fine. But this isn't over, Uma."

As Mal turned to leave, Uma couldn't resist one final jab. "Oh, and Mal? Y/n sends his regards. We've gotten quite... close."

Mal paused, her back to Uma. "Is that so? Well, you might want to ask yourself, Uma – if he's so devoted to you, why does he always come running when I'm in danger?" With that parting shot, Mal stalked out of the shop.

Y/n's hideout was a testament to his parentage – a swirling mix of order and chaos, beautiful and terrifying all at once. When Mal and her friends entered, they found him lounging on a throne-like chair, idly toying with a ball of crackling energy.

"Well, if it isn't the prodigal daughter of evil," Y/n drawled, his eyes fixed on Mal. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Mal stepped forward, her chin raised defiantly. "Cut the act, Y/n. What's this I hear about you and Uma?"

Y/n's laugh was cold and bitter. "Act? Oh, Mal. You're the one who's been acting. Playing at being good, pretending you belong in Auradon. At least I know who and what I am."

He stood, moving closer to Mal. In one swift motion, he snatched the necklace from around her neck – the one he had given her long ago.

"You don't need this anymore," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Uma deserves everything I can give her. My love, my loyalty, my devotion. She's never tried to change me or leave me behind."

Mal's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Y/n, please. This isn't you. Uma's using you, can't you see that?"

Y/n's expression hardened. "No, Mal. For the first time, I see clearly. Now go. Try to save your king. But remember – the Isle always wins in the end."

As Mal and her friends left, Evie placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Mal squared her shoulders. "I have to be. We have a wand to fake and a king to save."

On Uma's ship, Y/n watched as she paced back and forth, muttering to herself. "Uma," he called out, concern lacing his voice. "What's troubling you?"

Uma stopped, turning to face him. "It's what Mal said. About you always coming when she's in danger. Is... is that true?"

Y/n sighed, pulling Uma close. "Come with me," he said, leading her to her cabin. Once inside, he retrieved a dusty tome from a hidden compartment.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, opening the book to a specific page. Uma shook her head.

"This," Y/n explained, "is a record of ancient rituals and bonds. The blood-sharing we did? It's more than just a symbolic gesture. For beings like us – demigods, children of chaos – it's as binding as any marriage. More so, even. Our souls are literally entwined now, Uma."

Uma's eyes widened. "So when you saved me during the fight with Mal..."

Y/n nodded. "I felt your danger. Our bond called me to protect you. It has nothing to do with Mal, and everything to do with us."

Uma's face softened, a rare vulnerability showing through. "Y/n, I..."

Before she could finish, Harry burst into the cabin. "They're back!" he announced. "With the wand!"

The confrontation on the dock was tense. Mal held out the fake wand, her eyes never leaving Uma's face.

"The wand for Ben," she said firmly.

Uma reached for it, but Y/n's hand on her arm stopped her. "Be careful," he murmured. "Remember what we discussed about Fae magic."

Uma nodded, then took the wand. She waved it, expecting a surge of power. When nothing happened, her face contorted with rage.

"You lied!" she snarled, lunging at Mal.

Y/n caught her, holding her back. "Uma, stop. This isn't the way."

As chaos erupted around them, Y/n locked eyes with Mal over Uma's head. For a moment, something passed between them – regret, understanding, a hint of the connection they once shared. Then the moment was gone, and the battle raged on.

The Cotillion was in full swing when Ben arrived with Uma on his arm. The shocked gasps of the attendees were music to Uma's ears as Ben declared his love for her.

But the triumph was short-lived. Mal's true love's kiss broke the spell, and Uma found herself backed into a corner. With a cry of rage and pain, she leapt into the sea, the magic of her mother's shell transforming her into a magnificent, terrifying cecaelia.

As Mal transformed into a dragon to meet her, Uma felt a surge of power flow through her. Y/n's gift, their bond, giving her strength. The battle was fierce, water against fire, tentacles against wings.

In the end, it was Ben who stopped the fight. As Uma swam away, her heart heavy with defeat, she knew where she was going – back to the one person who truly understood her.

Y/n stood on the shore of the Isle, his eyes scanning the horizon. When he saw Uma emerge from the waves, her octopus form melting away, he opened his arms without a word.

Uma collapsed against him, her body shaking with silent sobs. Y/n held her close, stroking her hair.

"It's okay," he murmured. "You're home now. We'll find another way, Uma. I promise you, one day, we'll have the freedom you dream of. Together."

Uma looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mix of tears and determination. "Promise?"

Y/n smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I swear it on the chaos that runs through our veins. You and me, Uma. Always."

As they stood there, the sun setting behind them, Y/n and Uma knew that this was just the beginning of their story. The Isle of the Lost might be their prison for now, but with their combined power and cunning, it was only a matter of time before they rewrote the rules of their world.

After all, in chaos, there was always opportunity. And they were nothing if not masters of chaos.

#male reader #x y/n #y/n #masterlist #descendants masterlist #evie descendants #queen mal #uma descendants #uma x reader

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nyctophiliq · 2 years ago

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I’m absolutely in love with your theme and think we should talk abt Jill rn.

So if you wouldn’t mind me requesting a Jill smut and you could just surprise me… 👀👀

✮ — BACK OF THE HELICOPTER ; jill valentine

SYNOPSIS . . . ( happening right after the end of resident evil 3 remake ) raccoon city is now just piles of ashes and the further the helicopter gets jill’s pent-up stress over what happened is tipping her over the edge. she can’t keep her hands to herself, so much for keeping it professional until things cool down. MINORS DNI. . . afab reader, nsfw ! — lowercase writing intended, carlos is in his own world, jill is pushing every boundary that exists, public sex, fingering, usage of pet names, finger sucking, mouth stuffing,

wc ; 1,58 k

MOSS' NOTES . . . okay look, just roll with this because this is the peak moss wants to climb up to with every fic, so hope you enjoy this kylie !!! we are all just whores for jill, a couple of sluts 🤭

you sat on the other side of the helicopter, giving space for jill to recover from the loss of her town and the blast that ended it all. carlos asked something from her but you couldn’t understand it as your attention was on your girlfriend, following her eyes and observing how her fingers fiddled around with wet wipes, cleaning them slowly. you rubbed your knuckles as you watched her, suddenly having the urge to reach out for her and shake her out of her trance but you got anxious halfway, pulling your arm back to your sides.

“can you give me one more?” she didn’t look at you as she requested, she just continued to stare out of the window while her hand was pushing you to take the dirty one and change it out for a clean one. you nodded as you reached for the box of wet wipes before handing it to her and she took it from you, but her other hand came up to grasp your other hand.

she finally looked at you, her pupils jumping back and forth between constricting and dilating as the whites of her eyes became darker, deep wine blood vessels popping. “scoot over, i’ll help you get cleaned.” her tone was insisting alongside her grasp and you couldn’t say no, so you nodded your head as you unbuckled yourself and shifted to sit next to her.

“we are gonna settle down for a while,” jill started as she took the box from you, pulled out a wipe, and started to clean your cheek. “let you take a clean break while i make my plan, okay?” she took a split moment to take a glance at your whole face before her focus fell back on the blood and dirt under your eyes. you nodded, setting your hands on your lap, letting jill talk while getting comfortable in the otherwise hard and itchy seat you sat in.

the silence was eating you as she tidied your face up, angling your face as she pleased to check if there was anything that she left on you. “alright, can you help me now?” jill asked, letting go of you and throwing the dirty wipes onto the floor of the aircraft, handing you the box. “sure.” you took it without protest, taking a couple of wipes out and moved closer to her, and began to take care of the filth on her face.

once again the tight room and the quiet were killing you, the buzzing of the helicopter being a horrible background noise. you took a deep breath as you pulled away, and gulped when jill’s arm snaked around your waist and brought you closer to herself.

“this whole thing was… nerve-racking,” she murmurs, her head falling onto your shoulder while the hand that wrapped around your waist slipped down to your hip, her fingers digging under your pants’ buckle. you nodded, taking in a shaky breath, “the matter is that it’s o-over.” you stuttered, your eyes jumping back and forth between her hand and her face as she clumsily starts undoing the buckle.

you cleared your throat, pushing yourself further up on the seat, “are you sure this is a g-good idea?” you mumble when she loosens your belt, now having free access to the button of your pants. she chuckles against your skin, her fingers playing around before undoing the pin and pushing the two rims apart. she caresses the underside of your belly, moving closer to you as she does so before her hand glide between your underwear and pants.

“you don’t have to worry this guy is…” she trailed off, her other hand coming to push some hair out of the way that was covering your ear. her head’s weight disappears from your shoulder, her hot breath hitting the shell of your ear, following up her previous sentence, “in over his head, he will never notice.”

she might have been right and as of the moment, you couldn’t even argue otherwise with her, not when her fingers were rubbing up against your clothed clit. your breath hitches as she starts moving her hand, the familiar feeling of pleasure tensing up in your stomach as she plays with you. “fuck, jill, d-don’t tease m-me, please.” you exhale, shakily so as one of your hands grips into the edge of the seat while the other lands on jill’s thigh, gripping so hard your knuckles turn white.

it was embarrassing how excited you were from only just a little, from the mere thought of jill’s fingers inside of you. even the slightest of touches alarmed your nerves, your brain shooting a lightning-like signal right to your core when her lips ghosted on the thin skin of your neck. you could feel it, your arousal trickling out of your aching hole as she touched you

“can you keep quiet for me, hm, sweet girl?” she asks as her fingers climb under your panties, collecting your pooling wetness and teasing your eager entrance. your head hangs, trying to gather your words and not let the special attention that your girlfriend was providing you let you slip. “y-yes! no, n-no…” you shake your head in defeat, there was no way you could keep your moans to a minimum or at least be quiet.

“it’s alright, just open your mouth,” she cooed, her other hand coming up under your chin and offering up two of her fingers. without protesting you open your mouth, letting her fingers settle on your tongue before closing your lips. “there you go, keep them nice and warm, bite if you have to.” she hums, without warning pushing her finger inside of you and close following with a second. you slip down on your seat, your hip bucking up into her palm when she starts to pump her finger in and out of you with a slow, tortuous pace.

the squelching sounds are barely covered by the loud noise the helicopter makes and thank god for jill’s fingers stuffed into your mouth, muffling your lewd sounds. you breathe in and out through your nose, sucking the digits inside of your mouth as much as possible to try to relieve some of the pressure you were feeling from the pressure building up in you.

“jill…” you whined, your hips lifting off of the seat as she added another finger. “i’m g-gonna come, s-stop….” you whimpered, trying to mumble around her fingers but it only came out as incoherent noises, which jill seems to find hilarious because she chuckled lowly.

“what was that? i’m sorry, sweetheart, what did you say?” jill asked as her thumb continued to rub circles against your clit.

you panted, your body wracked with shivers at the sensation of her fingernails scratching against the sensitive flesh on your sex. “w-wait, j-jill…” you begged, tugging at the material of her pants. she didn't reply, squeezing harder on your clit as you felt an intense heat rushing through your entire body.

your arms came up to wrap around her neck, pulling her closer as you tried to press your pelvis against her hand, but she just kept going, keeping her pace slow until finally, finally, she gave you the release that you needed, arching your back as you cried out with your name.

you collapsed back against the seat as your body went limp, releasing all the tension in you as the orgasm passed through you and it felt like you haven't had one in years. you felt her fingers withdraw from you as she pulled away from you, leaning against the cold metal of the helicopter. a low whine escaped your throat as you curled up against the seat, not wanting to move an inch.

your breathing was still heavy as you struggled to calm yourself down, your body sore as hell after your release. your heart started to beat faster and faster in your chest as you felt jill’s gaze on you, but you refused to look up. "you did real good, just amazing baby." she mutters as she glances at her fingers, playing with your sticky heat covering it, stretching and watching it fall like a spider web heavy with water, comparing it with her other fingers that were in your mouth.

"oh my fucking god," you whispered, wiping your forehead as you tried to get yourself together. "did we really just did this?" you asked, a smirk making its way back on her face as she leaned back to sit next to you. "not like you didn't like it..." she mocks you as she opens her mouth wider, putting her fingers in one by one, cleaning them off with her tongue.

you scoff and roll your eyes, pulling your legs up and resting your cheek on your knee as you watched your girlfriend lick herself clean.

you knew she was teasing you but it doesn't make you feel better as your cheeks turned into a bright red shade of blush. she giggled behind her hand, her smile growing wider as she looked at you, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "you know…" she trailed, her voice trailing off as you slowly raised your gaze up towards her and you froze, watching her stare intensely at your lips before dropping her gaze down to your lips.

"uh...?" you breathed out, feeling completely lost at what she was going to do.

“you will have to pay me back, later, i don't take no for an answer."

#📼 › moss tapes #resident evil x reader #resident evil x reader smut #resident evil 3 x reader #resident evil jill x reader #resident evil jill x reader smut #resident evil smut #jill valentine x reader #jill valentine x reader smut #resident evil jill valentine x reader #resident evil jill valentine x reader smut #jill valentine smut

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slay00ryu · 7 days ago

Note

Reader x Ronin, alternate ‘good’ ending where instead of kissing or stabbing Ronin the reader decides to stab themself as a form of dedication to Ronin? He said he wanted a body, and they were more than willing for him to get their heart (literally)

I fear this may be too dark, so please ignore it if you don’t feel comfortable with it ❤️ I understand themes like this can be uncomfortable to write !!

Submitting Your Aorta to The Devil.

☪︎ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

Trigger Warnings

Gore

Blood

Su1c1d3

Spoilers for Ronin ending

Obsession

Ronin™

6 tws? Hah, that's a devilish number...

☪︎ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

This was the day.

The day on which you would meet your beloved Devil. Oh that man who drove you absolutely crazy. The man who made a fool out of you with words alone.

Now here you are, in front of the purgatory, dressed up for that special occasion in your favourite clothes. You put your hand to your heart, the organ was beating so loud, the sound was ringing in your ears.

You took a deep breath to calm you excitement before you stepped into the damned alley. There was gore splattered all over the walls, grafity hidden behind blood and guts, body parts laying on the ground like regular trash. Most people would throw up at such sight, but you my love are far from being like most people, your morality is gone at least most of it.

No normal person would stay in that server and dance with the devil just to end up wrapped around his fingers.

Ronin took his sweet time shaping you into whatever your current form was. He was your muse, but you were his canvas. The canvas he had complete control over...

You didn't have to wait long for him to arrive. You heard the sound of heavy steps from behind and a quiet chuckle, chuckle you know oh so well.

"So we meet!" He said, his voice excited and amused. You turned around and scoffed at his shit-eating grin.

"Always the devil Ronin Beaufort."

"Aren't you a pleasure?" He chuckled at your answer and walked up to you dangerously close. "Gotta say, seein' you in person makes me feel some type of way. An' I wonder how you feel about, well..." He paused and pinned you to the wall.

Mouth close to your ear, hot breath against the sensitive skin of your neck. Oh how beautiful your devilish lover is. You felt the blush creep onto your cheeks, your breath hitching in your throat.

"Do you like me now, darlin'?" His voice dark, full of mystery and fascination, The closure makes the butterflies in your stomach fight to rip it open and fly out of your body in a bloody massacre.

"I do." You replied without any hesitation. Why lie? The devil knows you too well anyway.

"Oh, to speak the truth, the truth, anything but the truth!" Ronin's eyes are full of confidence, and something else, something way darker that is buried deeper, deep enough so unwanted eyes won't see. "Write me a love note, darlin'?" He asked in mocking amusement.

"I know your name , I could end up." Lie. Of course you wouldn't end him. Your lungs are filled with him, your brain can think only of him. You could never call the police on him.

"Hah! Coulda, woulda, shoulda." He started, looking deep into you eyes. "You could end me, you should end me, but would'ja end me?" His whispers filled your ears, caused you to shiver under his gaze.

"..." You didn't answer, didn't have to. It was the devil's speech after all.

"I don't think so! Where are the boys in blue? Why is it jus' us in my favourite gruesome alley? Why is that even after knowing who I am, you still wanna see me?" He paused, moved his mouth closer to your ear. "Some might say you're obsessed, even."

You took a deep calming breath. You couldn't just play his way now, could you?

"Why did you invite me to the server?" You asked in the most collected voice you could get out of your vocal cords.

"I did it for you. You were starving, so i gave you instability. You wanted inspiration, so i became your muse. You wanted love, darlin', so I gave you love. Isn't it everything you ever wanted?" The sound of his voice made your whole body boil. You wanted to do so many things right now. But you needed to listen to him, his words were like some sacred speech that was the most important moment in your entire life.

"I think you always knew. C'mon, why didn't you leave? Call the cops? There were so many... opportunities." Another pause. "If I may... I think you're a little too in love." He sounded like he had the greatest time of his life, just fucking with your head like he always did.

He gave you a new form, a new way of life. Ronin made you feel alive again. Oh but how could you thank him for that? What would satisfy the Devil?

"I told you baby. I'm your little wish fulfilment. I'm what you dream of. Isn't this a story for the ages?" He smirked. "C'mon! Tell me what you want. Do you hate me? Do you love me? Are you gonna kill me? I've got a knife right here. Or are you kissing me, darling? How much do you feel?" These words were what you needed.

Ronin has told you so many times about taking your aorta. He used his threat of slicing your throat open as love confessions. He wanted a body. So why don't you give him what he wants?

You smiled sweetly, innocently even.

You slowly moved you body closer to his, brushing you lips against his. But before Ronin could kiss you back, you snatched the knife away from him and without any second thought you stuck the knife deep into your chest, but far from the heart to avoid the most important muscle.

Ronin backed away in surprise, watching with wide opened eyes as blood splattered around your chest, turning your clothes dark red. He held you by firmly by your waist, shock in his eyes.

"What the hell Y/N?" He asked, voice shaken.

"You wanted a body Ronin, so I am offering my own as a proof of how crazy I am for you. Claim my aorta, steal it while I am still conscious." You had to take deep breaths, mixed with coughs while you spoke.

Ronin's expression was a mix of shock, love, fascination and a small amount of despair.

He chuckled darkly and kissed you hungrily, after all it was the last kiss you will ever share.

"Your wish is my command, darlin'. I will claim your aorta, steal it beating and hot." He whispered against your lips and you could feel him cutting you deeper with the knife, making it easier for him to take what was being gifted to him as a form of sacrifice for his love,

As your mind was somewhere between reality and death you could feel Ronin's skilled hands move inside of your chest, the sound of breaking bone and tore flesh was like the finest song for your sick romance. Ronin's hands were stained with your blood, it looked like every piece of your body wanted to be connected to Ronin to leave a stain on him forever.

Before you took your final breath and Ronin took what he wanted from the depths of your chest, he placed a kiss to your forehead and whispered against your hair.

"Thank you for this wonderful gift, my twisted fallen angel." And with that your heart was kept safe between the devil's fingers, where it was from the very beginning and your lifeless body was gently laid down in the centre of the purgatory.

Oh, what a beautiful love declaration it was.

#killer chat #killer chat ronin #gender neutral reader #cw: gore #tw blood

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ihearnocomplaints · 4 months ago

Text

It’s almost 1am and I decided to write a little DCA drabble just for fun. (Not canon to my AU)

You look around the seemingly empty daycare. It’s dark. Unusual, you think. Shrugging off the unease, you step in.

Why were you here again? Had you forgotten something? You stand there, next to the slide nearest to the exit. Staring at the floor, brows furrowed, you try to retrace your steps.

You had said goodbye to Sun and left. Halfway to the main entrance, you remembered something. What was it? What was it you remembered? Had you remembered that you’d forgotten something? Were you intending to give the Daycare Attendant something? Why can’t you remember?

You groan and drag a hand down your face.

Well, you can’t leave yet, since you clearly came back for a reason.

“Sun?” You call out, glancing around the darkness. No answer. You strain your ears to see if you can hear the soft whirring of his mechanisms or the jingle of his bells. Again, nothing.

Frustrated, you step deeper into the daycare, beyond the light the doorway casts. You walk past the tall jungle gyms, desaturated and cast in an eerie light now that the daycare is dark and empty. And quiet. Too quiet.

It suddenly becomes very apparent that the never ending daycare song is no linger playing in the overhead speakers. Its absence makes you miss it all the more.

“Sun?” You call out again, now standing near the ball pit. You walk the perimeter slowly, dragging your hand across the plastic brick wall that borders it. Where could he be?

You sigh and idly walk to the rainbow bridge, standing at its peak. Maybe that would give you a better vantage point of the daycare.

You strain your eyes, slowly surveying the area before you feel a sudden tap on your left shoulder. You snap your head in that direction but find nothing there. Then there’s a tap to your opposite shoulder. Looking has the same effect as last time. You huff and turn to face the ball pit.

“Sun, this isn’t funny,” You say before turning back to face the daycare. As you turn, you’re met face to face with the Daycare Attendant, hanging upside down from a wire connected to the ceiling. Except this isn’t the Sun you know. This one is darker and night themed. Much more moon-like than Sun.

Before you can even get a word out, they’ve got their hands on your shoulders. They rotate their head 90° and give you a shove as their whispery, raspy voice says, “boo.” Followed by a mischievous giggle.

You find yourself falling backward into the ball pit. It isn’t very deep but it’s certainly overstimulating as you try to flounder your way out. It’s a struggle to even figure out which way is up and right yourself accordingly.

Once you’ve managed to stand, the balls up to your waist, you wade through them and make your way to the little island in the middle of the ball pit. “That wasn’t very nice,” You huff, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling.

There’s a brief glimpse of red that disappears behind a cloud and a familiar giggle that just barely reaches your ears. You frown and look around, trying to decide your best route to the exit.

You really should have waded over to the rainbow bridge instead of the island. It’s going to be a pain going through the ball pit again. But this was the path you chose and you must walk it.

Letting out a frustrated breath, you waddle your way through the balls once more and end up just fine on the other end, if not mildly annoyed at this point. You look to the ceiling once more but find nothing.

“I’m leaving now!” You shout up to the ceiling then mumble to yourself, “I don’t know why I even came back in the first place but, frankly, I don’t care anymore.”

As you walk past the plastic house that’s way too small to fit you, you feel something hit your back. You spin around, frantically looking around for the Daycare Attendant only to see one of the ball pit balls rolling away from you on the floor. You glare at it and then the ball pit.

“Why?” You ask, picking up the ball. You can see the animatronic’s head poke out of the ball pit, that once sweet, now eerie smile tilting as the click, click, click of their head’s mechanism rotate it. You toss the ball back into the ball pit.

“Cuz. Funny.” Is all the Daycare Attendant responds.

You’re still not sure who this is. It’s clearly a moon-themed version of Sun. But if this one is here, then where is Sun? Is this just Sun messing with you? Surely he wouldn’t do such a thing.

You huff and promptly turn away, continuing your trek to the exit. “It’s not funny. It’s mean. I don’t even know who you are and you’re already bullying me,” You say as you walk away. Another ball hits you.

“Rude.” You freeze at that and turn around, about ready to give this animatronic a piece of your mind. Except they’re no longer in the ball pit.

You glance around in all directions, thoroughly confused at how they could possibly move this fast. “I’m not rude!” You say, sounding a lot more like a petulant child than you meant to.

“You are.” The bot says, coming from your left. But when you look, there’s no one there. “Won’t even let me introduce myself.” This time the voice is directly behind you.

You stumble forward and spin around to face the tall animatronic looming behind you. Even when they’re slouched they’re taller than you. You frown and stare at them expectantly. “Well?” You gesture for them to continue.

They tilt their head as they seem to have a habit of doing. “Moon,” They say, placing a hand to their chest. They point to you and say your name. Logically, they’d know your name from the employee database but somehow it’s still a shock to you when they actually say it. Not even Sun has called you your name yet. And you know he knows it. It’s always pet names or nicknames with him.

“Moon,” You repeat with a nod, looking them up and down. “Fitting.”

Moon’s optics seem to brighten with glee and he lets out a little giggle. “Sun and Moon.” He responds with a nod.

“Can I leave now?” You ask, taking a step backward toward the exit. Moon’s gaze drifts to the door behind you before they wordlessly fly up and disappear in the rafters.

You stare up at the ceiling for a while, unsure of whether to leave or not, but when you see no further signs of Moon, you take that as your go-ahead for making a swift exit. And exit you do, practically sprinting to the exit.

You’re not sure why, but something about that whole interaction made your alarm bells ring. There was an odd sense of danger, despite Moon’s overall playfulness. There was danger in those glowing red eyes of his, you think. You can’t be certain, though. Perhaps the dark was clouding your judgement.

#silas writes stuff #1187 words

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yanderes-galore · 8 months ago

Note

Hii!! Could I get Hiccup haddock with your prompts 2, 28, and 33?

These prompts so so interesting because it implies a more manipulative/dishonest Yandere Hiccup... which I plan to have fun writing >:) I have this set to female darling in my notes so I guess I'll just go with it, lol?

Yandere! Hiccup Prompts 2, 28, 33

"It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you!"

"Do you know how hard it is to wear a facade? Just to get people to like you?"

"You ever think of our future children like I do?"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, MATURE THEMES (but nothing too graphic) Takes place after HTTYD 2, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Deceptive Hiccup, Threats implied, Mentions of baby fever, Hiccup wants kids, Strange displays of affection, You're both married, Implications of mature themes, Some graphic kissing/biting I guess, Dubious relationship.

You had a feeling Hiccup wasn't being honest with you. Before you got married he was kind and polite. He cared for you and acted like a partner should.

You were happy to accept his marriage proposal.

Then you started to notice certain behavior from him after all the vows were said and done. Hiccup changed once you were married. Once you were his wife... you thought you didn't recognize your husband.

He was still gentle and kind around you, all smiles and kisses. But soon an uncharacteristic possessive behavior began to brew within him. You could see it in his clouded eyes.

It was easy for Hiccup to intimidate those around him. As Berk's Chief with a loyal Night Fury, safe to say most back off from you with one glare. Hiccup never used to be so threatening before you married.

Yet now you catch his facade slipping at times, revealing a darker attitude underneath his usual one.

Has he lied to you this entire time? Has he lied to everyone this entire time?

You thought you could tolerate it. Maybe he's just stressed due to his new role of chief? Then the yearning for children started.

You notice his touches often drift to your stomach. He leans himself against you and kneads the flesh of your stomach softly while kissing you. You could tell these were all hints.

If you didn't understand it before, he outright told you as you were getting ready for bed tonight.

"Hey..." He whispers to you as you prepare yourself to sleep. "You ever think of our future children like I do?"

The question was expected but still managed to catch you off guard. You glance at your husband for a moment, unsure what to say. Eventually you sigh, you don't trust this new side of Hiccup.

"I don't think we're ready to be parents." You admit, Hiccup going silent at your words for a moment. It's as if he wasn't expecting you to decline.

"What do you mean? Of course we're ready! We're at a good age, I'm chief of Berk... what's making you have second thoughts?" Hiccup asks, standing up from the shared bed.

"It scares me that you haven't noticed." You admit, turning to face the man you once married so willingly. "You've changed, Hiccup."

"Changed?" The viking questions before chuckling softly. "Oh, you poor dear..."

Hiccup's tone takes a noticeable shift. You take note of the darker tone and go to say something, but instead Hiccup wraps his arms around you. You're pulled against his chest, his lips ghosting your ear.

"Do you know how hard it is to wear a facade? Just to get people to like you?" Hiccup whispers in your ear, grip tightening. "I'm tired of playing nice when my wife is having other men talk to her."

He kisses your cheek softly, but you notice his lips travel lower over time. Your breathing picks up, you can't tell if it's due to fear... or if you like what he's doing. This definitely wasn't the Hiccup you knew...

"It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you..." Hiccup continues, nipping your skin occasionally. "I chose you to be my wife, to watch over Berk by my side...."

He pulls down your collar ever so slightly, before shifting his attention to your lips. He adores the blush on your face. Maybe you did like this?

"So why should my wife need to worry about other men? Who cares what happens to them...." Hiccup whispers, kissing your lips deeply. You kiss him back, not noticing Hiccup lead you to your shared bed.

By the time Hiccup pulls away, you're both out of breath and in bed. Hiccup smiles towards you, holding your chin before positioning you into a laying position.

"So what do you say?" Hiccup whispers, kissing you softly.

"Shouldn't we try for children? We'll make great parents."

#yandere how to train your dragon #yandere httyd #yandere hiccup horrendous haddock #yandere hiccup haddock

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romanarose · 1 year ago

Text

If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 3

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader/OC x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Javier goes to see Candy to 'get information', runs into the last person he was expecting.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it.

Additional warnings: References to BDSM and rough sex thats consensual, but consenual under the blanket of prostitution so much that I think I'll put it as dub con due to lack on comfort and ability to say no. None it is shown but the aftermath is, and Javi provides aftercare although he was not a participant. Smut today! The usual smut warnings I'm not gonna detail everything lol it's nothing crazy like my usual lol, there's lots of oral, piv sex, teasing, begging. B

For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.

Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.

Reader speaks Spanish and had hair. I've decided Candy is just latina coded bc she's a sex worker in colombia so this is what I'm doing.

4.3 words, a good chunk of which was written by my beloved Fen. I've been rather burnt out of smut lately, and I wanted this to be good to establish Candy and Javier's connection and chemistry so my dear @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction wrote ALL THE SMUT FOR ME. They write wonderful fanfiction so pleeaasseeee check out their work!!

Support writers! Reblog and comment!

*****************

“And just what do you want to know this time, Peña?” You say, leaned up against the wall under a poster of Farrah Faucet.

Javier stepped up to you, broad frame and tall figure encasing you up against the wall of your apartment. He was anything but intimidating, and he wasn’t trying to be; Javier Peña was a good man, even if he didn’t think he was. You couldn’t help but care for him, blurring the lines of what a hooker and a John’s relationship should be, but you couldn’t help it, and Javi knew. Javi was protective of the women he sleeps with, and you were no exception. In addition to getting you out of legal trouble a few times, he had helped you when you had issues with creepy, dangerous men and had even helped a friend or two.

He was someone you trusted and someone whose time you looked forward to; someone who made you cum, multiple times and hard. But it was more than that. Javier was gentle with you, fucking you hard but never leaving a mark and if he thought you were tired or in pain from previous activities, he’d allow you to take care of him in other ways, even down to a hand job. He loved connection, but he loved your comfort more.

Once, after a grueling bondage session with impact play from another client, you had been left worn, bruised, and in pain when Javi called you for a late night fuck. Sure. You could squeeze him in although you had been looking forward to giving yourself aftercare since clients didn’t pay for that side of things.

Javi had come over in his usual charm, making out on the couch and grinding against you as per usual, touching you sensually to warm you up, but when he slid off your skirt and tried to touch you only to find you dry he stopped. “What’s wrong?”

You had tried to insist nothing was wrong, tried to promise it was fine; you had lube for a reason. When he lifted up your skirt and saw the bruises forming on your skin, he went into a rage.

“WHO THE HELL DID THIS?”

Eventually, you are able to calm him down and start to explain the concept of BDSM to him and he tells you that no one should be leaving marks like that. He gestures to the bruises and the welts

“He pays for it and I let him, Javi. You don’t have to be a hero to something I consent to.”

He begins to settle, tracing the bruises that showed despite your tan skin and the dim lighting. Yeah, okay, maybe they were kinda bad. He’d gotten carried away with the belt, but you had said he could use a belt. Technically, you could tell him to stop, or to go less hard… but this world didn’t look kindly on whores who had rules.

“Where all did he hurt you?” Checking your exposed skin over but not undressing you anymore, Javier’s lips were pursed into a hard line and his eyebrows drawn together in focus. It was mainly just your ass that had taken the beating. Javi carried you to your bed, gently laying you down on your stomach and asked if you had any aloe vera. When you said no, he ran down to the bodega down the street. Javier took care of you that night, providing the after care you hadn’t gotten and held you close the remainder of the time he had asked for. That morning despite not giving sex and thus not expecting payment, you found the money he had promised on your kitchen counter.

“Can’t I just take time out of my day to visit my favorite girl?” He asked, leaning over you with his forearm pressed against the wall above you.

You scoff playfully. “You tell that to all your girls?”

Javi’s lip quirks up, eye squinting in a small smile that crinkled at the corners, showing the early signs of age on his handsome face. Pushing 40 looked nice on him. “I do, but you’re the only one I mean it with.” He solidified his tease with a wink.

“Really?” You raise your own eyebrow in turn. “This has nothing to do with Lorea?”

At that, Javi pushes himself off the wall with a laugh, a genuine and hearty laugh that you love to see. “You’re a quick one, arentcha, Candy?” He crosses his arms, hip popped and takes in your whole body. He wasn’t just here for information on Lorea, after all. He’s never just here for information.

“Gotta keep an ear to the ground, never know when it’ll come in handy, like-” You gently shove him with one hand. “Getting me that visa.”

His playful manner faded but his face remained soft. “If it were up to me, I would.”

You knew that, of course. There really was no reason for the DEA to give you a vida; you’d been helpful, but nothing groundbreaking and there was no reason to believe your life was at risk so you were stuck. There were some days, however, that you dreamed… dreamed of moving to America… maybe with Javi… but those were just daydreams to get you through.

“I know, baby. Now, enough talking” Javi opened his mouth to protest, but you pressed a finger up against those lips. “We can go over what I know and what I can find out while you give me that after-sex massage.” You hook your finger on his collar and start pulling him towards the bedroom.

“Oh, I see” He teases before grabbing your wrist, yanking it and twirling you towards him in order to wrap you up in his arms. “You think you’re in charge, all of a sudden?”

You smile sweetly at him, purposefully batting your eyelashes. There’s a familiar edge to his tone that you recognise immediately. One that just activates every bratty bone in your body.

“When am I not in charge, Javi?” You purr.

He stares at you for a second, his muscles tense as he holds you, that split second of quiet before all hell breaks loose.

And then he pounces.

With a snarl his lips meet yours, all tongue and teeth as his right hand snakes up to grab your jaw and tilt your head up to meet him. The pressure is firm, controlling, but careful. Safe.

He swallows down your chuckle and pushes you back against the wall firmly, moving his left arm to cradle your head from any real force. His facial hair scratches at your skin as he trails sloppy kisses and light bites over your cheek, down to your neck where he’s light enough not to leave a bruise but hard enough to leave you wanting.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tugging at his shirt as he slides his hand to your shorts and pops the top button.

His fingers are warm against your skin and he wastes little time, barely undoing the zip, before he’s pushing his hand under the waistband.

Javi groans, the sound low and deep in his chest as he realises you’re not wearing any underwear. He slips his forefinger over your clit, circling it lightly. His mouth hovers near yours, sharing your air, his hot breath against your cheek as he watches your face.

The second you bite your lip, trying to muffle that first little whine of pleasure, he sinks two fingers into your heat and presses his thumb against your bundle of nerves.

It’s a little awkward at this angle with the tight denim of your shorts still on your hips. He can’t quite sink as deep as you’d like, as you need. But you know he’s doing this on purpose. Working you up without giving you true relief. Wanting to make you beg.

You squirm against him, trying to wriggle and get the angle just right.

“What’s wrong, mi amor?” He whispers teasingly. “Something wrong?”

“Javi…” Your voice comes out in a whine and he chuckles.

“Can’t the princesa ask for what she wants?” He lightly scraps the edge of his short nail against your clit, dragging downwards before falling back into the previous rubbing rhythm.

You bite back a moan, screwing up your eyes as he presses lightly at that perfect spot inside before quickly moving his fingers away. “Please.”

“Please what?”

You glare at him.

“Please what?” He strokes against you again and you gasp, your words falling out in a jumble.

“Please sir.” You spit, shooting him a dark look that you know he’ll love.

He chuckles, pressing the heavy bulge in his jeans against your thigh. “Oh, someone’s in a bratty mood today, aren’t they?” He kisses your mouth, not giving you a chance to retort back. And nips at your bottom lip as you slide your hands into his hair.

He circles your clit faster, grinding against your leg as you scrape your nails across his scalp. “Fuck,” he breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against yours. His eyes screw shut as he drags his thick cock against your skin. How the jean’s button hasn’t pinged open from the strain of the size of him, you’ll never know. The burn of the denim against your thigh is oddly pleasant, the shallow thrust of his hips just punctuating the slick glide of his fingers in and out of you.

The air catches in your throat as you try to hold in your moan and Javi’s eyes snap open. The look he gives you is dark and hungry.

He tuts. “Oh, no, we can’t have that, can we?” He hooks his left thumb through a belt loop and tugs your shorts down over your ass before letting them drop the rest of the way to the floor.

Now, without the material’s restriction, he sinks his fingers deeper into you. Curling them perfectly against your walls, your slick coating his skin. Liquid pleasure flows along your nerves and steals your breath.

You grab hold of Javi’s shoulders, your fingernails digging in as your back arches. “Ah- oh god!”

He shakes his head, a condescending frown on his face. “Shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain. I thought you were a good little Catholic?”

“Javi, please-”

“Not good enough.” He grows in your ear before suddenly pulling his fingers out of you and dropping to his knees.

You gasp, but don’t have longer than a second to lament the loss before his mouth is on you. He sucks your clit into his mouth, pinching the bud lightly between his teeth as he flicks over it with his tongue. At the same time he grabs a hold of your thighs, spreading you wide and hooking your right leg over his shoulder.

He groans deeply, savoring your taste as he sinks his fingers back into your aching folds.

You moan loudly, grabbing onto Javi’s hair for support as he fucks you with his fingers and tongue, pushing up and against you so hard that you have to balance on the tip of your left toes and trust in his strong arms to support you.

The words that fall from your lips are boarding on incoherent, whimpered out sounds of ‘more’ and ‘please’ that barely sting together. Javi knew your body far too well by now and used every single trick he had in fucking you dumb as quickly as he could.

You fight your body’s urge to clamp your legs around his face, even though his forearm pressed firmly against your thigh would stop you from getting too far anyway.

Your orgasm builds dizzyingly fast, just scratching on the edge of your mind. Your hips buck against his mouth wildly, no longer under your own control and instead just following Javi’s tantalizing rhythm.

“Javi, fuck-” This is what you love about having sex with Javi; it felt normal, it was fun, it was good, and you gt paid for it. Win/win.

He growls low in his throat approvingly as you tug on his hair, trying to warn him of how close you are. He thrusts his fingers deeper, pushes his face against you completely as if he had no need for oxygen as he grinds against you.

Heat sparks up from your core and you come against him with a sharp cry, tears in your eyes from the force of it. The ecstasy overwhelms you, so sharp it is almost painful as he pulls your orgasm out from your soaking folds, demanding your pleasure.

He only moves his mouth away from you and stills his hand when he feels you slump a little against him, your limbs turning boneless.

You breathe heavily, almost light headed as you come back to yourself.

When you look down, you see Javi looking up at you with a shit eating grin that makes you want to slap him playfully.

“I think that was the fastest one yet, hermosa?”

You scowl at him, but can’t keep the smile from your lips. “Maybe.” You say finally.

Javi chuckles, pressing kisses to your thigh and slowly pulls his fingers out of you with a wet drawn out pop.

“Hmm, look at what a mess you made?” He raises his eyebrow teasingly as he holds up his fingers for you to see. Your creamy slick covers his fingers, catching the light as he moves his hand before he licks them clean. Purposefully making a show of it.

He waits until you begin to speak before he swipes his tongue through your folds.

“Javi,” you begin to chastise.

“Just cleaning up your mess.” He mutters, dipping his tongue back inside. He hums approvingly, dragging his tongue along your slit and swirling around your clit before diving back in.

“Javi-”

“Didn’t realize how messy you are.” He moans against your core. “Gonna take longer than I thought it would.”

You whine as he curls his tongue inside, pressing against your clit with the bridge of his nose. That familiar heat begins to build between your legs. You worry your lip between your teeth, letting the sensation tighten in your belly until it becomes too much.

You tug on his hair, pulling him away from you. The bottom half of his face shining.

“Tesoro, ” you breath, “if you don’t fuck me now, I’m gonna-”

“Oh, you’re gonna what?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

You pause, then pout. “Cry.”

He chuckles and sighs, getting up. “You sure have me bent around your little finger, bebita.”

“What?” You blink at him in mock surprise, “I don’t know what you mean, you’re the one incharge here.”

“Sure.” He murmurs, lightly taking hold of your chin again to kiss you deeply. He intentionally wipes some of your wetness from his cheek onto yours as he moves back, a cheeky smirk on his face.

You tut, but he quickly kisses you again, wrapping his arms around you and pulling off your top and bra, quickly followed by his own clothes.

His cock is burning and hard as he rubs it firmly against your skin, only breaking contact to grab hold of your ass and lift you up. He presses you against the wall and raises your legs to his hips, which you quickly wrap around him with a yelp and a giggle into his neck.

“Gonna fuck me against the wall, sir?”

“Mmm hmm.”

You grin. “Can’t wait the ten seconds it will take to get to the bed?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Plus I want Farrah to see.” He nods to the Farrah Faucet poster above you.

You snort and shake your head at him. “You’re such a goof.”

He kisses your cheek, rubbing firm circles into your thighs with his fingers as he holds you up. He slowly rubs the head of his cock against you, rocking his hips to make swallow circles.

“You fucking love it.” He mutters against your lips as he thrusts into you.

You moan as he fills you, the stretch of him igniting your deep burn of arousal into a full on blaze.

“That’s it, that’s better isn’t it? Better for you to be full of my cock, sweet thing.” He mutters as he sheethes himself fully inside, the head of him rubbing perfectly deep.

You barely manage a nod before he starts moving, fucking you hard against the wall. His hand once again around the back of your head to stop it from smacking against the plaster.

You hang on for dear life, your fingernails digging into his skin unintentionally as he hits that sweet spot again and again and again, knowing he would take care of you, relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure.

You kiss him hard between your moans and gasp for breath, biting sharply at his bottom lip and whining when he nips you back.

He shifts his weight slightly, pushing forward with his left leg and your back arches as he presses deeper, your legs shaking. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around your apartment. Javi mutters in half broken sentences under his breath, jumbles of words that would probably still be incoherent if you weren’t distracted by the way rams into you. How he hits every sweet soft so perfectly.

Pleasure builds in your stomach, your toes curl as he keeps up his relentless pace. Not giving you a moment of reprieve as your hurtle towards your second orgasm.

You squeeze his biceps, trying to stave off your pleasure for a moment longer, but it’s seemingly impossible with the way he moves in you.

“Gonna make me cum, baby.” You whine in his ear and Javi’s thrusts stutter for the smallest moment, a quiet groan escaping his lips before he recovers himself and focuses all his energy on stuffing himself into you at the exact same pace.

“That’s it baby,” he grunts, sweat beading on his brow, “squeeze my cock, cum for me-oh shit!”

You cum hard against him, gasping as your walls clamp down around his thick length and digging your nails into his skin. For a second it’s like you're floating.

He thrusts twice more before he buries himself to the hilt and cums deep, pressing his face into your neck and he groans and shakes with the force of it.

You hold him for a second as he breathes hard, still pinning you to the wall. Once he regained his own composer, Javi took note of your shaking legs and knew as soon as his body weight was taken off you, you were going to sink to the floor. Always a caretaker, Javi gripped your thighs and hoisted you up; instinctively your legs wrapped around him as he carried you to your bed.

“Rub my back?”

“Happily.”

Moments like this seemed so domestic with him, seemed like you were just a normal couple spending a sweaty summer day in bed. Never mind the fact he had 10 minutes before he needed to get the hell out of here before your next client showed up, lest they ran the risk of running into each other. Always a little awkward, and you always tried to schedule a little time in between clients to prevent such meetings. Nothing but class in Candy’s room.

“What do you wanna know about Gabriel?” Candy asks him, the sun from her open window illuminating golden off the skin of her back. She lazily smoked a cigarette that Javi gave her; it was practically an agreed upon part of payment at this point.

“Do we really have to just jump into it? Feels so transactional.”

She laughed at that. “Well it is a transaction, Peña. I’m not just calling you up on a random Tuesday to talk drug lords.”

“Yeah, okay. What do you know? Apparently enough if you’re on a first name basis.”

She shrugged. “That’s pretty standard. I’m not going to call him Señor Lorea while he’s balls d-”

“I get the picture.”

Candy gave him some information that was useful to start with; where he socializes with other deals and producers (and hookers), how many children he has, and where they go to school (after making him promise the children wouldn’t be involved), and a few other details. Candy said she could find out more with some time, but Javi had to work to get her out of Colombia.

“C’mon, you gotta get going before my next client.”

Javier groaned loudly, not wanting to move away from her. “I’ll pay for any time he’s paying for.”

“That’s not how it works, I can’t just call him up and cancel, this isn’t a dinner date.”

“You’re telling me you don’t have his number?” Javi teased, trailing his finger down her spin, noting the way it was more visible than the last time he noticed. He wondered if she was eating okay, or if this was a by-produce of coke parties.

“Most clients want to stay anonymous, they don’t want me calling them in the middle of the day to play boyfriend-girlfriend.”

Javi gently flicked her shoulder, making her giggle. “It’s for your safety, Candy”

“Oh yeah, I won’t know how to get a hold of you otherwise, I can’t just walk into the DEA office, heaven forbid.”

“Well, you could-”

“Can’t let the whole office know you solicit hookers.”

“I think that ship sailed.”

“Your sweet little catholic boy of a partner would have a heart attack.”

Javi chuckled at that. For his own privacy and everyone’s safety, Javi never told Candy the names of his partners; except for Steve, but Steve had met her several times. He did, however, give them all nick names if they stayed around long enough, and Santi’s was obvious. “Pope turns into a blushing virgin every time we have to go to a- a, uuhhhhh” He hesitated on what to call it without offending Candy.

“A whore house?”

“You said it, not me”

Candy turned over and smiled, shoving at him. “Go, I gotta wipe your cum out of me. This boy is a bit of a blushing virgin himself so I gotta be thorough.”

With an over dramatic groan, Javi rolled over and put out his cigarette and took Candy’s to put it out for her. Still, he stuck around as she went to the bathroom to clean up. He lit up a fresh one as he took a look around the apartment. It was clean, dressed up in an effort to hide how cheap the place actually was; posters covering cracks from age and holes made by angry clients, a carpet covering the scratches from when one shoved her into her side table, curtains perpetually covering a side window to hide the bullet hole and duct tape from when a John’s wife caught them. He wanted better for her, he did. He wanted better for all the women he was involved with, for his community, that’s why he did what he did. But Candy was special. He’d been trying to get her a visa for years, but she hadn’t given anything big enough and her life hadn’t been put in danger on behalf of the government for her to be granted one.

Least he could do was fix her window next time. Let a little sun in.

He looked over the posters. “You got an Aubrey Hephburn poster yet?”

“No, surprisingly.”

“Good, I got you one I saw at a store. Didn’t wanna bring it in case you had one already.”

Candy poked her head out of the bathroom, watching Javi pull on his socks and shoes as he sat on the bed, jeans still unbuttoned. “Javi! You didn’t!”

“I did, hermosa, I’ll bring it next time.”

Grinning, she turned back to fix up her hair in the mirror. “You’re the best, I’m going to give you the best blowjob of your life. Can you hand me some lingerie, baby?”

“Making me pick out what you’re wearing for your next boyfriend, awfully messy.” He teased, but found a red and black bra and panty set.

She dressed as Javier finished smoking his second cigarette.

“Alright! Out!” Candy walked out of the bathroom in a silky, fluffy robe. Javier couldn’t help but smirk at the juxtaposition between how she looked for this new man and him. For him, Candy was perfectly happy to be dressed down with him comfortable, herself. She didn’t have to dress up for him.

As she ushered him out the door, Candy planted a kiss on his cheek before opening it, only to find Santiago on the other side of the door, leaned up against the wall.

“Diego!” Candy said, sounding surprised. “You’re early.”

Santiago, however, was staring wide-eyed at Javier with a strike of fear in him.

“Garcia, what the hell are you doing here?” Javi couldn’t help the jealousy that crept up in him, instinctively trying to wrap an arm around her that Candy shrugged off. What was he doing with her? He needed to be careful, a DEA agent in bed with a prostitute that was frequented by powerful and dangerous men, he was setting her up for harm. Santiago couldn’t protect her like him.

“I… I was going to wait until it-it’s time… I didn’t want… to be… rudeImsorryIllgo” Santi averted his eyes and headed back towards the stairs. He stopped only long enough to stuff his hand into his pocket, pulling out the money he was going to pay her and sitting it on a wide guard rail before descending down the several flights of stairs.

Candy turned to Javi. “What the hell was that?”

Grabbing the money and placing it in Candy’s hands. “My partner.” Javi quickly ran down the stairs, following after the flustered kid. “GARCIA!”

*****************************

CATS OUT OF THE BAAAAGGGGGG

Poor little flustered santi ;-; I love him.

And my precious, protective baby boy.

Also, THERES A PLAYLIST NOW! Please comment songs you think fic the vibe. 70's music but 80's and 60's is okay too, even outside of those decades as long as they fit the vibe or the content (I.e. I have some Lana Del Rey because I think it sounds right, or I have sugar sugar by the archies bc the line "you are my candy girl" etc.)

Gonna take a moment to plus my latest series on my dark blog, Blessed be the Fruit, a Handmaid's Tale AU with Joel (and some Tommy) it is a dark fic so dub con due to the nature of the AU, but not the gaphic horrors of TWW.

Again, thank you thank you thank you for my beleoved Fen for writing the smut!

Comment to be added the tag list!

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