#but I never edit my college papers because fuck that

[swampthing07]

It turns out listening to Weezer while writing a paper about the decline of biodiversity and its links to global warming does not lend to a cohesive piece of literature.

Submitting it anyway

[soupbtch]

ummm. my fic is done.

[riovidalupdates]

LAST GIRL STANDING - i.

part ii.

“I’m not asking you to stay. I’m asking if this was ever real?” - Wanda Maximoff

“The issue with time is that it’s endless, yet, there’s never enough. How does it fit with us?” - Rio Vidal

“You were never a priority, but you became one that I can’t lose now.” - Agatha Harkness

pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader, agatha harkness x fem!reader, and rio vidal x fem!reader

summary: you’ve come to learn that you can love more than one person—because you love them in different ways. the problem: they love you in one way. so, who are you in love with and who gets hurt?

warnings: cursing, angst, intimate moments but not sex, and other stuff that i'll add as time goes on.

notes: this one has been in my drafts for a long time. i did a little bit of revision and editing, but i am busy and i do want to get this story going. as it goes on I will be more efficient with the editing. it is also a college au so there is no witches or anything like that, but other works will be! enjoy! chapters will be longer and the writing will get better. It’s been awhile since I’ve actually written a story, but I’ve been working on so many other projects and I had this all planned out before I got my new job.

word count: 1.4k

・❥・

There was never a time where you ever thought you’d be losing your sanity. Months ago, you only ever known the beauty of peace, having full control over your thoughts and emotions with no consequences. Where does the chaos abruptly begin, how does it begin, and why does it begin?

Because fuck all that, why do you have to be involved in a mess that you didn’t ask for?

You stared out of your dorm window, tracing the movement of students below as they hurried between classes. The campus was alive with energy—laughter, chatter, and the constant shuffle of feet on the worn pathways—but it all felt distant to you, like watching life happen through a glass pane. From the outside, you seemed well-adjusted. A few close friends, decent grades, a knack for blending in at social events. But lately, you had begun to feel a quiet, persistent void growing inside, one that friendship, academic success, and even casual flings couldn’t quite fill.

It wasn't that you were lonely in the traditional sense. In fact, you had friends—great friends who provided the utmost support in all that you do. Natasha Romanoff from work, Kate Bishop from short-film club, Steve Rogers from gym (he was also Natasha’s boyfriend), Tony Stark who crashed into your car the first day of move-in (he paid for all damages after you punched him), and Wanda Maximoff, your best friend. Wanda had been by your side for years, a constant source of home. There was so much to your overall relationship with her that it couldn’t be replicated with the others or anyone. Even if you were to try.

But no matter how much you spent time with Wanda, she found her footing in rather quick. And while you don’t want to assume things are going well for her, you could at least tell she was happiest when she was in the arms of her obnoxious, academically skilled boyfriend, Vision. Vision who is ahead of the IT program, the captain of the golf team, and somehow Tony’s coworker at Stark’s Industries (who cares about some intellectual freak? Not you).

Anyway, it felt like there was something missing, some deeper connection you couldn’t quite grasp. Sometimes, you’d feel yourself pulling back in conversations, faking a smile here and there when noticing yourself drifting out of sync.

You sigh as you turned away from the window, grabbing your backpack, and slinging it over your shoulder. Another day of classes to get to, papers to turn in, and your typical routine to follow. It all felt so automatic, like living on autopilot.

Perhaps there was something you weren’t doing. Maybe you were actively doing something to avoid fulfilling that aspect of void?

Your phone buzzed on the desk—Wanda.

“Dinner tonight?” She asks once you pick up. “And I swear if you say no, I am going to drive to your class and drag you out myself.”

 You considered telling her no for a moment but it’s Wanda and because of that you say, “Sure. Just don’t barge in like last time. Felt like I got in trouble with my mother…”  Despite your growing sense of detachment, you couldn’t bring herself to decline. You’ve been avoiding her like the plague. She’s your best friend and has asked to hang out for the last month or so only for you to be nowhere. Questions were beginning to rise, and you weren’t ready to answer any of them.

Her laughter echoed through and you kind of forget that you were falling into a hole of emptiness. “Look, I gotta go,  I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah. See you, dekta.”

Dekta. It was always that.

As you made your way across campus, weaving through the throngs of students, you felt a heaviness settle in your chest. Classes, work, clubs, and repeat. How was it that you could be surrounded by people, involved in their lives, and still feel like an outsider looking in?

You loved your friends, or at least you thought you did, but lately, even that felt like a lie you told yourself. You enjoyed your courses. So what if you have to stay up until 2am for shoots and editing, you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t enjoy it. Actually, you were late to register, and this was kind of a last minute decision.  And you were president for the short film club, but you kind of are guessing why you’re doing this all because you hate people.

The reality is, it’s to avoid facing the deeper truth: that connection, the real kind, the kind that made you feel alive and seen. Not just from relationships, courses, and social life.

Was this what your life was going to be? Always on the fringes, never fully connecting? You wanted more but didn’t know how to get it. Maybe you didn’t even know what “more” really was.

You were good at pretending everything was fine, good at putting on a show of contentment. But deep down, you knew you were waiting for something—or someone—to break through that glass pane that kept you at arm’s length from everyone around.

But until then, you’d keep going, navigating your college life as best as you could, feeling more like an observer than a participant.

・❥・

You sat across from Wanda at your usual spot in the campus dining hall, picking at her salad as Wanda animatedly recounted the latest drama involving her boyfriend, Vision. You nodded along, making the appropriate sounds of sympathy and surprise, but part of you couldn't help but tune out the problem.

“I swear, sometimes he just doesn’t listen,” Wanda continued, exasperation creeping into her voice. “Last night I..." She sighed, looking down at her food. "I told him I needed space and time to collect my thoughts about where this is going, but he kept calling and texting, so we could talk it out..."

You forced yourself back into the conversation. “Sounds like he’s not respecting your boundaries,” you offered, glancing up at Wanda. You couldn’t help the slight resentment that crept in whenever Vision came up. There was always an unspoken tension in your friendship, one that emerged whenever Wanda talked about her boyfriend.

You didn’t know exactly why you disliked him—maybe it was his arrogant demeanor, or the way he always seemed to treat Wanda as an accessory rather than an equal. She would often vent about the small ways in which he let her down, like forgetting their date plans or brushing off her opinions, but then she would always follow it up with some form of an excuse that he cares. You would just nod along, hiding the skepticism behind a supportive smile.

"Tell me about it,” Wanda huffed, shaking her head. “It's a flaw of his and when the time is right, we'll discuss it and how we can better ourselves. Enough about me though, how about you? Anything exciting that requires you to get out of that hermit crab shell of yours? Maybe with...that TA? Angus, right?"

You snickered but also couldn’t help but notice how Wanda seemed to skirt around anything serious about her relationship with Vision (what a prick). There was a glint of something—maybe uncertainty, maybe resignation—in her eyes when she spoke about him. You wondered if Wanda was just as skilled at pretending everything was fine as you were. It made you feel a little less alone, knowing you weren’t the only one hiding something.

Yet, despite your doubts about the boyfriend, you never voiced your concerns outright. The last thing you wanted was to come across as jealous or possessive. Deep down, you wondered if there was a part of you that simply didn’t want to share Wanda—a feeling you quickly buried before it could grow into something more troubling.

Your face flushed at the mention of Agatha, and you quickly took a sip of water to hide the embarrassment. “Her name is Agnes,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes for effect. So, maybe you kind of lied. Only because you didn't want Wanda to track and stalk the girl. "And she's just intriguing..."

"Intriguing, huh?” Wanda teased. “You should talk to her more. Or, you know, talk to her at all.”

“Very funny,” You shot back. “It’s not that simple.”

But maybe it was. Maybe if you could muster up the courage to actually talk to Agatha, you’d feel less like you were floating aimlessly and more like you were taking control of your own life. You could already hear Wanda’s voice in your head, encouraging you to just go for it, to not overthink it, to take a chance.

[schlattslambo]

hot for teacher | schlatt 18+

A/n: this has truly been burning my brain. reader is female presenting. I will work on some more gender neutral stuff in the future I promise!! Please enjoy<3

C/w: spanking, name calling (slut), power dynamic (teacher x student), spitting, use of daddy towards the end

——————————

Why you decided to go back to college to get another degree, you have no idea. All you know is that this class is boring as hell and you aren’t sure why it’s even needed for your degree. The only upside was the fact that it was your first class of the day so you could get it over with. Plus the professor was kind of hot too.

It’s a warm day today, way warmer than it should be for this time of year, so you decide to show a little skin to your writing class. Your skirt is just long enough to cover your ass, and your shirt is low cut and cropped. Honestly, it’s like you’re not even wearing a shirt at all.

You walk into the classroom, plopping down in the back like you usually do.

“Ms (y/n),” Your professor says from the front of the room. “Come and see me please.”

You roll your eyes. Mr Schlatt might be hot, but he was strict. He didn’t allow gum chewing, eating or drinking - except water, of course- and locked his classroom 5 minutes after it was meant to start so nobody who was late could get in. He constantly got under your skin about your writing and your formatting, and was seeming to start early with his criticisms of you today.

“Yes, Mr Schlatt?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“Did you leave the rest of your clothes at home?” Mr Schlatt asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, stupid, this is it.” You scoff.

Mr Schlatt could take a lot, but seeing you like that, acting all defiant and shit pissed him off. He wanted to knock you down a peg or two. His jaw works as he glares at you.

“What do you want?” You ask.

“I wanted to see you because your last essay was all over the place.” Mr Schlatt says. “It had a good foundation, but it could use some work.”

“Did I fail the assignment, or what?” You snap. “I worked hard on that essay!”

“You would receive a 50, which is failing,” Mr Schlatt pauses. “This essay is a large part of your grade, and your grade is already low enough as it is.”

“What??” You yelp. “How could I fail?! This is ridiculous!”

“I want you to redo the essay.” Mr Schlatt adds, reaching into his desk and pulling out a piece of paper and handing it to you. “This is an essay template. I’d like for you to come in during any free time that you have and work on it with me.”

You glare at him. “I’m not redoing that fucking essay.” You growl.

Mr Schlatt’s eyes darken in a way that you’ve never seen before. He takes off his glasses and places them down gently before his eyes go back to you. Your eyes widen slightly at how scary he looks.

“First off, you do not speak to me like that.” Mr Schlatt says. “Second, you will be redoing this essay. It is not a full rewrite, it is just a large edit. If you do not do this, you will receive a zero for it. And that zero would make you fail the class and you will not graduate. Am I clear?”

Your eyes widen. Surely he’s joking. This is college for fucks sake! He can’t have this power over you. Especially over some essay.

“You can’t do that!” You yell.

“I can and I will,” Mr Schlatt says. “Now, from what I’ve learned over the course of the semester is that you typically have some free time around 1pm. I’d like you to come back here at 1 so we can go over this work.”

With that, Mr Schlatt dismisses you. You stomp over to your seat and plop down, taking out your phone. You barely work in the class out of defiance, but catch Mr Schlatt glancing at you. You glare at him and he just shakes his head, leaning over to help another student.

Two classes later, you figure it’s best to just go back to Mr Schlatt’s classroom. You need to graduate. You hate college and want to get out as fast as possible. You barge into the room, making Mr Schlatt look up at you. He heaves a sigh.

You have to be Mr Schlatt’s least favorite student, but he cannot stop thinking about how you need to be put in your place. You are a student, and he is a professor. He deserves respect, and you’re going to give him that respect one way or another.

“Glad to see that you came back,” Mr Schlatt says.

It’s the end of his day and his tie is loosened, his sleeves are rolled up, and his hair is messy. You sit in the seat across from his desk and look at him while he finishes scribbling something down. Turning the paper over, he looks at you.

“Let’s get this over with.” You sigh.

The first few minutes of the edit are simple enough. You sigh and try and add in the notes that Mr Schlatt left for you.

“This is stupid,” You grumble. “Why can’t you just pass me?”

“I want you out of my class just as much as you want to get out of it,” Mr Schlatt says. “But I can’t just pass you because you want to leave. You have to earn that right.”

You sit quietly for a moment, then a smirk breaks out on your face.

“Is there any other way that you could pass me?” You ask, twirling some hair around your finger.

Mr Schlatt’s eyes narrow. “No,” He grits. “Now finish writing.”

Thankfully for him, you don’t notice Mr Schlatt’s pants becoming tighter at the crotch. You’re pushing his limits and if you don’t stop soon, you’re going to be pushed into his office’s supply closet and taught a lesson.

“You’re too hot to be this rude,” You grumble.

“You’re too old to be this defiant.” Mr Schlatt snaps back. “You have two seconds to continue this last paragraph or I’m kicking you out and you can fail the class.”

You look up at him and smirk. “Make me.”

The band holding Mr Schlatt back snaps and he stands up, slamming his palms on the wooden desk.

“Get into my office,” He growls. “Now.”

You jump at the loud noise as your eyes widen. You stare up at Mr Schlatt dumbfounded.

“Did I stutter?” He asks. “Get up and get into my office.”

You stand up so quickly that the chair that you were sitting in nearly falls over. Mr Schlatt leads you into his office and closes the door, locking it. You’re speechless, but the slowly growing puddle in your panties speaks volumes.

With two long strides, Mr Schlatt is inches from your face. He’s so close that you can smell the whiskey that he puts in his coffee to deal with students like you. Your knees nearly give out but you lean against the wall.

“You’ve been pushing me and pushing me (y/n).” Mr Schlatt breathes. “I’m so close to losing control.”

You smile softly. “Then lose control.” You reply.

“You sure about that, dollface?” Mr Schlatt smirks. “I don’t think you’ll be able to handle it.”

“Try me.” You reply.

In a swift motion, you’re grabbed and bent over the wooden desk in Mr Schlatt’s office. He kicks your ankles apart and presses his crotch against your ass, yanking your hair back. You gasp and bite your lip.

“Now, (y/n),” Mr Schlatt breathes. “This is your last chance to back out.”

“No way.” You sigh.

“Stubborn little slut,” Mr Schlatt grumbles, landing a harsh smack on your ass. “Now be fuckin’ quiet. Can’t have anyone hearing what a slut you are.”

Before you can respond, Mr Schlatt’s thick fingers find their way between your legs and to your swollen clit. Your knees finally give out, but thankfully you’re lying on the desk.

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

“You’re already so wet,” Mr Schlatt smirks. “Is this from being a defiant brat?”

You can’t help but nod as he presses against the nub, pleasure shooting through you. You yelp as your shorts and panties are ripped down, exposing your ass.

“I think you need an attitude adjustment, don’t you?” Mr Schlatt leans down, his breath hot against your ear.

You watch as he grabs a ruler off of the desk and you squirm against him.

“No!” You manage. “I don’t need an attitude adjustment!”

Mr Schlatt ignores you and pins your hands behind your back. Your eyes screw shut and you whimper softly. The defiance is gone and your clit throbs as you wait for the ruler to smack your ass.

“Count ‘em for me, slut.” Mr Schlatt says before the ruler comes down on your ass with a harsh slap.

“Fuck!” You yelp. “One.”

Smack.

Smack.

SMACK.

The ruler snaps as tears begin to fall. Mr Schlatt tosses the other piece of the ruler to the side before rubbing a soothing hand on your ass.

“Now, have you learned your lesson?” Mr Schlatt asks, releasing your wrists.

“Mhm.” You sniffle.

“Atta girl.” Mr Schlatt praises. “Now since you took that so well, turn over.”

He helps you turn onto your back and as soon as you’re facing him, he kneels.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Rewarding you, the fuck’s it look like I’m doing?” Mr Schlatt asks, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

His facial hair tickles slightly, making goosebumps rise on your skin. The closer his kisses get to your center, the more desperate you get. You’re nearly dripping on the desk now and can barely take anymore. So, you grip Mr Schlatt’s hair and tug, shoving his face into your cunt. He grunts in surprise but then starts licking.

He switches from soft featherlike licks to harsh sucking. You look down at the man between your legs, and he’s flushed, eating you out like it’s his last goddamn meal. He’s slurping up your juices and the way his eyes are closed and his arms are wrapped around your thighs bring you closer.

“F-fuck, Mr Schlatt…” You moan. “You feel so good.”

Mr Schlatt looks up at you and his pupils are blown. His normal chocolate brown eyes are nearly black as he pulls away from your pussy, a string of juices and saliva connecting the two of you.

“Daddy.” He rasps.

“Huh?”

“Call me Daddy.”

You smile down and grip his hair, shoving his face back where you need it most. The action makes his cock twitch in his pants and precum dot at his tip. A harsh suck on your clit makes you arch your back.

“Daddy, fuck!” You mewl. “Keep doing that.”

Mr Schlatt groans against you, reaching up and probing your wet hole with his thick finger. He slides it in effortlessly and is quick to find the spot that makes your vision blur.

Your thighs clench on his head as you feel the tightness in your stomach. The grip that you have on his hair is like iron as you grind your hips. Your orgasm hits you like a truck, your hole squeezing Mr Schlatt’s finger like a vice. He allows you to ride it out, the noises you’re making only driving him closer to his own orgasm.

With one minor leg adjustment, Mr Schlatt’s cock brushes against his zipper just right and he cums. He groans against you, hips thrusting into nothing. He’s sure he looks pathetic, but he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s got his hottest student’s pussy in his mouth right now.

He pulls back once you’re done and stands up. You gasp as he grips your jaw with a smile.

“Open.” He orders.

You allow your jaw to go slack and Mr Schlatt allows a big glob of spit to land in your mouth. You swallow, tasting yourself.

“Good girl.” Mr Schlatt praises, patting your cheek.

“Am I gonna pass?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

“We might have to have a few more meetings to go over things, but I think you’ll manage a passing grade.”

You leave Mr Schlatt’s office that afternoon and walk off, your clit still throbbing. You’re sure the next few meetings aren’t going to be nearly as boring as you thought they would be.

[tropes-and-tales]

Not Real Just Yet

Day 14:  Breeding Kink (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Breeding kink; the appearance of dub-con but with clear consent discussed; smut (PiV, unprotected); 18+ only. Again, this is a breeding KINK with an element of dub-con (but consensual), so if that isn't your thing, pass on this one.

Word Count:  1513

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person! It was also not edited in any way!

It’s not real. 

It’s not real just yet because Bob is active duty, often deployed for long stretches.

It’s not real just yet because you’re in a PhD program that requires long, long hours:  as you TA for undergrad classes, as you pore over old archived papers buried in colleges across the U.S., as you spend late nights on your thesis.

It’s not real just yet because you and Bob are sometimes just ships passing in the night, and you both hate it, but you’re both committed to each other and see this current pain as paying off in the near future.

It’s not real just yet because Bob, modern though he is, has old-fashioned ideas.  He wants to put a ring on your finger first, wants to carry you over the threshold of a shared home, wants to settle into a nice stretch of married life as a couple before adding to your family.

It’s not real just yet.  It’s just a fun way of playing around in the bedroom, and it’s more about the power dynamics of the breeding kink.  You have an implant, so the risk is minimal, but it’s still fun to pretend.

Bob, the back seater who often feels powerless:  he gets to take the dominant role. 

You, the harried student who often feels like there’s too much piled on your shoulders:  you get to take the submissive role.

-----

It’s not real just yet, but it sure as hell feels real.  Bob is finally home from a tour around the South Pacific, and you’ve finally turned in pages to your thesis advisor.  You each have the luxury of time, for once, and you turn your respective life frustrations on each other in the best possible way.

It’s easy to forget it’s not real when Bob slides inside you, the wet silky heat of your pussy and not a single barrier to stop him from feeling every sensation.  The delicious slickness of your arousal, the molten warmth, the way you bear down when he’s buried in you and whispers in your ear.  He whispers the filthiest things he’s ever said in bed with anyone, and sometimes he’s embarrassed in the morning when he remembers it, but the embarrassment never lingers—because he loves you, because he feels safe to explore this side of himself with you.

I’m gonna breed you, sweetheart.

Just take it.  Good girl, take it.

Gonna look so good, full of my baby.

Gonna make you a mommy. 

Take all of it.

Taking me so good.  Can’t wait to see your belly all round with our baby.

Just lie back and take it like a good girl.

He fucks you slowly, deep, purposeful thrusts that he punctuates with his dirty talk.  He knows it’s not real, but it’s so easy to fall into the fantasy, especially when you whimper at his words, when you cling to his shoulders and whine out your answering script.

Wait, Bobby…wait…

Maybe we shouldn’t…

It’s all a game, of course.  It toes the line of dubious consent but Bob knows it’s all consensual because you never utter the safe word and neither does he.  And sometimes he thinks maybe it’s sick, maybe it’s twisted, and maybe no one else would understand it, but when he voices those concerns to you, you always allay them.  You always cup his face and tell him that what the two of you do in the privacy of your bedroom is your business and no one else’s.

“Besides,” you told him once.  “You have no idea what your pals in Top Gun are into when it comes to kinks.  I bet Bagman is a foot fetish weirdo.”

So he pushes those doubts aside because fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s done, exploring all the weird and surprising twists within his own sexuality and yours.

Your first orgasm is always the strongest—maybe because you pretend to fight it, pretend you don’t want this.  Bob notices all of your little tells:  the way your fingertips dig into the blades of his shoulders until he knows he’ll have dusty little bruises there in the morning.  The way your arousal absolutely soaks his pistoning cock, soaks the thatch of rough curls at the base of him.  The way you whine out no, please, as if your body is betraying you, and isn’t that part of the fantasy too:  that he fucks you so well that you can’t fight off the orgasm he works from you?

“Good girl,” he whispers against your temple.  “Good girl, coming for me.”  He slows his thrusting, savors the spasms of your aftershocks, allows you to recover. 

“Please Bobby,” you breathe out.  “It’s too risky—”

He closes his eyes and kisses your temple, feels the sweat making your hair damp.  “You think too much,” he murmurs.  He shifts his head, nips at your earlobe before he whispers in your ear, “just take it like a good girl.”

“Bobby—”

“You’re going to look so fucking hot, swollen with my baby.”  He says that staring into your eyes, which are wide in mock-fear, part of the game, but he can see how wide your pupils are too, your eyes damned near black, and it’s a reassuring reminder that yes, you are into this game too, you’re enjoying it as much as him.  And sure enough, there’s the answering clench in your pussy, the way you unconsciously bear down on him as he starts to resume his slow, firm rhythm of fucking you.

And now that you’ve come once, he takes it up a notch, ratchets the moment higher.  He gets an arm under your knee and hoists your leg up and out, spreads you out more for him to bury himself in you.  It grants him that extra bit of depth into your pussy, and each time he hilts his cock in you, it draws out a low groan from you, a throaty growl that makes the coil of tension in his gut tighten.

Here is usually where the game falters just a bit.  Bob’s never had this with any other girlfriend before; sex was always a fraught, anxious thing for him.  He always worried about his performance in bed.  Most of his girlfriends before you usually laid in bed like a starfish, limp and unresponsive, and it took Bob a long time to realize that it was them, not him, that was the problem.

But sex with you is always good.  Sometimes fun and playful, sometimes intimate and soulful.  Sometimes, like now, it’s both of you working through your own personal demons—him and his feelings of inadequacy, you and your feelings of overwhelm—but doing it together.  Exploring shadowy sides of yourselves in a perfectly safe, perfectly loving way.

How could he not want to put that ring on your finger, carry you over that threshold?  Bob could travel the world for the rest of his life and never find anyone half as suited to him as you.

And now, your second orgasm approaches.  Now your hands shift from clutching at his shoulders.  Your palms lay flat on his chest and you push lightly against him, the climax of your game timed to the climax you’ll share with him.

“Bobby, please,” you pant out.  “It’s not s-safe.  Pull…pull out—”

But he doesn’t because it’s part of the game, and a beat later, when you arch underneath him, when your eyes flutter shut and you wail out his name, he pushes into you and stills.  He feels his own tension snap, and he comes with a pained fuck, baby, take it, and it’s absolutely perfect:  the way your pussy ripples against his cock, how it pulls the thick ropes of his cum deeper into the confines of your body.

Here is where the game falls apart.  Or, rather, it ends.  Sex is a release for both of you, but since you are generally more stressed and wound-up than Bob, you have the habit of giggling directly afterwards.  Which might make a lesser man wither, but the tic charms Bob, and now he chuckles along with you.

“Oof,” you breathe out once the laughing passes.  You wrap an arm around his neck and pull him down to you.  “That was great.”

Bob is still half hard, so he shifts his weight carefully to avoid slipping out of you.  He leans his weight on one forearm and gazes down at you with a smile.  He brushes gentle kisses across your warm face.  “I missed you.”

You smile up at him.  “I missed you too.  I’m glad you’re home.”

Home.  Right now, it’s just a crummy little apartment near campus, but as Bob settles closer to you, he can already picture the future with you:  a better apartment or maybe even a house somewhere.  You with your PhD, him with his military career.  Each of you with rings on your fingers, vows made and received, maybe a dog adopted from a shelter.

And maybe, after that, you can play at your mutual kink for real.

[juyeonszn]

SWEET

PAIRING lee juyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 4.61k

GENRES fluff ﹒ smut ﹒ minuscule bit of angst

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, boy next door/neighbor au, reader was in a toxic-ish relationship, juyo is so cute and so sweet, until he’s kinda 😵‍💫 yk?, um kevin and changmin appearances, reader being absolutely irrevocably impossibly down bad for juyeon’s hands, so hand kink lol, making out, vaginal fingering, cum eating…. lol, they get a little sappy at the end

SUMMARY maybe this was for the better. maybe it was okay to let your guard down every once in a while, so long as it was always for your flirty neighbor.

MORE i would like to apologize for putting this out a day late… um i was really busy preparing for my enhypen concert so 😭 not a lot of writing was happening since there wasn’t enough brain juice flowing. anyways. ENJOY <3 pls rb if u did! (ALSO THANK U REESE AND @sungbeam FOR BETAING AND EDITING <<<3 i love y’all sm)

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

If there was one thing you took pride in, it was your keen sense of hospitality.

You’d been raised as the type of girl to always be welcoming when a new face arrived, to be that guiding light for them as they adjusted to all the changes in their life. When you were little, your mother taught you to introduce yourself first, because you never knew if that person was shy or not. Of course, there was the usual ‘Stranger Danger’ pep talk, but it differed greatly from the new friend pep talk.

The first time you exhibited this wonderful trait of yours was in middle school when the foreign student in your class was forced to stand at the front of the room. He wasn’t necessarily shy, but you could tell he didn’t really enjoy being put on the spot, hands behind his back as he said his name and where he was from.

Kevin Moon. Age 13. Vancouver, Canada.

The only empty desk in the classroom was the one beside yours, and that was the golden opportunity to become best friends with the new kid. As soon as he settled into his seat and class had resumed as normal, you leaned over slightly and cupped a hand over your mouth to whisper loud enough that he could hear.

“Hi! I’m Y/N!”

He gave you a small smile in return and from then on, you and Kevin Moon were the best of friends.

The second time you proved your kindness was your freshman year of college. It was still syllabus week, but your professor had sent out an email over the weekend with papers that needed to be printed and brought to class. The guy next to you didn’t get the memo, freaking out over already messing things up on the first day.

You didn’t know him at all, but you felt bad that he was so stressed. In turn, you decided to rip up your own papers. He looked at you like you were crazy, maybe because you were. What idiot does something like that?

You give him a warm smile. “There. Now we’re both missing it.”

All he can do is laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m Changmin.”

“Y/N.”

After that, Ji Changmin came to be another one of your closest friends. It was kind of silly that something your mother instilled in you at a young age had become such a big part of your life. It brought you people who you’d cherish forever. But it also brought people you wish you’d never met.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Y/N, babe, we can work through this—”

“Are you deaf?” Your tone raises and your feet carry you to the front door, swinging it open. “I said to get out of my apartment.”

“We’ve been together for three years. You’re not gonna fight for us?” He pleads, clasping his hands as he stands in front of you.

“Why would I? Why should I stay with someone who doesn’t value me enough to stay loyal?” You seethe, your anger growing in size the longer you glare at his pathetic face. The face of a man you thought would love you until death did you part.

“She meant nothing to me!” He tries to rationalize with you, but you won’t have any of it. You weren’t stupid and you sure as hell weren’t blind.

“Do you take me as a fucking fool, Daehyun? I’ve known for months that you weren’t ‘working late at the office’. She even DMed me and showed me screenshots of your messages. Now get out before I call the cops.” You’re so pissed off that you don’t even realize you’re crying, fat tears trickling down your hot cheeks.

“After all I’ve done for you and all I’ve given you? You’re gonna act like a bitch?” He drops the innocent boyfriend act, backing you into the doorframe.

“Leave, Daehyun.” You say flatly. You’re not gonna give him the satisfaction of crumbling beneath the weight of his words. You knew the truth, you knew what kind of person he truly was after all this time.

He scoffs, grabbing his jacket off the hook beside him and finally storming out of your apartment. You cover your mouth with your hand to muffle the sobs that so badly want to escape. You watch as he bumps shoulders with a stranger holding a box, thankfully not looking back at you.

You make eye contact with said stranger, eyes wide like a child who’d just gotten caught with their hands in a cookie jar. His eyes resemble those of your friends’ when you told them you’d found out about your boyfriend’s infidelity. You both stand there for a moment, an impromptu staring contest ensuing.

Quickly, you snap out of your trance, cowering into your apartment. You vaguely remember the elderly woman across the hall mentioning that someone was moving into the unit beside yours. She had never told you a specific date, though. Had you known it was today, you might’ve expedited the dramatic break-up with Daehyun.

How could you possibly introduce yourself to him after he witnessed that? And in your current state; snot-nosed and teary-eyed? There was no way. You’d just have to postpone that for another day. Hopefully he didn’t mind too much.

“Was he cute?”

“Kevin, why is that what you’re worried about?” Changmin’s mouth pulls into a thin line, smacking the slightly older male over the back of the head. He winces, caressing the spot to ease the pain.

“I wasn’t really paying attention to that when I had just shoved my cheating ex boyfriend out of my apartment,” you push around the ramyeon on your plate with your chopsticks. “I do feel terrible that he had to see that though. But how can I face him after that?”

Kevin taps his chin with his index finger, lips pursed in thought. “Why don’t you bake for him? Welcome him to the complex like the hospitable neighbor you are.”

“That’s not a half bad idea, actually.” Changmin nods, shoveling some rice onto his spoon. The Pisces deadpans and reclines in his chair.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Okay, enough bickering you two. I need you to finish eating so I can start planning what to bake.”

The third time you practice your mother’s life lesson, is the next evening when you’re face-to-face with your neighbor’s door.

Your hands have begun to clam up beneath the warm tupperware of cookies you were holding. Were you supposed to just knock on his door like everything was fine and dandy? What if he wasn’t even home? Maybe you should just leave the baked goods with a note and—

The door swings open to reveal the stranger from a few days ago. However, this time he also wears that expression of shock, cat-like eyes widened. Your mouth moves like fish out of water, not sure what you should say or how you should say it. So you don’t think and you just act, extending the tupperware towards him.

“H-Hi, I’m Y/N, I’m your neighbor,” your speech is a little shaky, but you’re too nervous to focus on that. “I— um— I baked these for you as a housewarming gift to welcome you to the complex. As well as an apology for making you a bystander in my messy breakup.”

His features relax as a smile inches its way onto his face, graciously accepting the treats you made for him. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that. And don’t even worry about it, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“N-No, you’re fine, I swear! We shouldn’t have aired our dirty laundry so publicly like that. You did nothing wrong.” You wave your hands as if physically dismissing his words. He lets out a little chuckle that warms your chest.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m glad that you left the dude. He sounded like a total asshole,” your neighbor tucks the tupperware under his arm, leaning against the threshold of his apartment. “You seem too nice to settle for somebody like that. From what I’ve seen, of course.”

You don’t know why that has your heart skipping a beat like a high school girl. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he really was cute. He had a boyish charm to him, but not so much so that it overpowered how handsome he was. Kevin was going to have a field day with this information.

“Uh, thank you. I should be getting back to my place now. I have an early day at work tomorrow. Have a good night!” You clear your throat to kick yourself out of whatever stupor you were about to fall into, bowing. As you’re turning on your heel to make the ten foot trip to your own apartment, he calls out your name.

“I’m Juyeon, by the way.” He grins, waving as you push open your door.

“Now that is quite the interesting development.” Kevin snorts, helping himself to one of the raspberry filled donuts you’d just finished baking.

“If you keep eating my product, I’m gonna have to kick you out of the kitchen and out of my bakery,” you chide, swatting his hands away from the baker’s rack. “And how is that interesting in the slightest? I literally gave him the cookies, apologized, and that was that.”

“He was literally flirting with you, Y/N. Changmin, tell her I’m right. Apparently I’m no longer a voice of reason here.” He says through a full mouth.

“I mean, yeah? Kinda? Calling a girl nice is usually guy code for ‘I think you’re attractive and I could see myself sleeping with you’,” Changmin shrugs, tearing off a piece of Kevin’s donut. “But I also see where you’re coming from. You did just meet each other. He could’ve just been trying to console you in a way.”

“Why am I even friends with men when they’re useless?” You throw your head back, speaking to no one in particular.

Perhaps Kevin truly was overthinking the situation. Juyeon seemed to be a kind person who probably didn’t want any problems with his neighbors. It made sense why he’d side with you after witnessing your break up. Besides, the wounds were still too fresh to even consider thinking of anyone else in such a way. No matter how hot they may be…

You’d just have to wait and see for yourself. Only time could tell what would become of the nature of your relationship with your cute new neighbor.

You look insane with everything in your cart, filled to the brim with baking ingredients. It was around 10 PM and here you were, at the grocery store buying the things needed to make cinnamon rolls. Being a baker with a bit of a sweet tooth meant your cravings got a little out of hand at times, forcing you to make drastic decisions. (I.E. grocery shopping so late at night.)

Even your clothing choice was silly: flimsy pajama shorts with Care Bears patterned on them, a baggy t-shirt, and matching slippers. It’s not like anyone cared anyway. And it wasn’t like you were trying to impress anybody either.

But as you’re walking towards the registers, you start to regret your outfit. You very quickly spot your neighbor with a basket on his arm, waiting in line for self-checkout. You feel all the color drain from your face as you stand there, staring like an absolute idiot.

He’s dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants, a hoodie swallowing his figure. He looks so effortlessly good, it kind of makes you upset. Because how are you just now meeting a guy who’s both kind and attractive? As far as you were concerned, they didn’t exist in real life— they only existed in fairytales.

Juyeon looks up from his phone and catches your eye, his hand coming up to give you a little wave and one of those crinkly eye smiles that he does when you pass each other in the hall.

As the weeks have passed, you’ve seen him more and more than you deemed normal. You’d bump into each other on the way to or from picking up your mail, you’d hold the elevator for the other in record time, and you’d even leave your apartments at the same time. Now it appears you’re running into the guy at the supermarket, too. You tried to chalk it all up to coincidence, that you just both happened to be thinking on the same wavelength.

But shyly waving back to him right now reminds you that divine intervention had crazy ways of working its magic. Perhaps those had all just been openings for you to engage in something more with your cute neighbor. And there was only one way to find out.

You psych yourself up as you walk towards him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Juyeon’s smile grows wider as he notices you approaching. “Hey, stranger. What are you up to tonight?”

“Some late baking,” you giggle, wanting to punch yourself in the face for sounding like a goddamn school girl. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to come over and keep me company? Totally up to you of course! I just thought it might be nice to get to know each other properly.”

Your suggestion is what leads the two of you to meet back up at your apartment after purchasing your respective groceries. You attempt to tidy up as best you can while you wait for the knock at your door, setting out all the ingredients on the counter and preheating your oven.

The soft knock comes moments later and you find yourself practically running to open the door, grinning at the sheepish expression on Juyeon’s face. You allow him inside of your apartment, trailing after him into the kitchen. Part of you felt like you were moving on too fast after Daehyun. As a baker, your kitchen was your safe space. It was where you went when you needed to be alone and in the comfort of what you knew best. Kevin and Changmin were the only ones you trusted to be within that element. For you to let Juyeon in— to let him permeate the walls you’ve never let down before, not even with your ex— was brand new territory.

“I almost forgot you own a bakery,” Juyeon speaks up, fingers tracing along the stand mixer. “But seeing all this expensive equipment reminded me of that. It only makes sense that someone as sweet as you would constantly be around sweet treats.”

You fail to bite back your smile. Maybe this was for the better. Maybe it was okay to let your guard down every once in a while, so long as it was always for your flirty neighbor. He laughs when you nudge his shoulder, grabbing all the dry ingredients for the dough.

“On a scale of one to ten, how patient are you?” You ask, avoiding his eyes as you open the flour. The question was in regards to several things.

“I’d say about an eight or nine. Patience is a virtue, you know. It comes easily if you practice hard enough.” He answers, leaning against the counter and watching you.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in, searching for your measuring cups. Both you and Juyeon begin to measure out the dry ingredients, dumping them into the mixing bowl. You decide to let him take some of the reins, folding in the mixture of milk, egg, butter, and yeast. While he does that, you prepare the cinnamon sugar.

“I think I’m done. What do I do next?” He turns to you, head cocked to the side slightly. You might actually die of cuteness aggression. The duality of man would one day drive you to the brink of insanity.

“Now you just knead it until it’s smooth.” Your back is to him as you say this, putting away any refrigerated items so they don’t go bad. But as you face him again, you wish you hadn’t.

Your eyes zero in on his hands, kneading the dough with careful, nimble fingers. You feel light-headed as you slip into a spell, gawking at how long and slender they are, massaging the dough like an expert. How had you never noticed how big and pretty his hands were?

Maybe baking with Juyeon was a bad idea. You could barely focus on anything but his fingers pressing the under-construction-cinnamon rolls into the counter. Oh how badly you wanted to be that dough— his hands all over you, groping and massaging and kneading and caressing everywhere they could reach.

The veins running up his arms weren’t helping either, instead fueling the fire burning in the pit of your stomach. You feel your lips part, eyes glossed over with that all too familiar lustful intensity. You wouldn’t be surprised if you had to wipe away drool after this.

“Y/N?” Juyeon glances up from the dough, a little taken aback by your reverie. He follows your line of sight, grinning to himself smugly when he realizes what has you so transfixed. He’s finally found your weakness, and he couldn’t wait to dangle it over your head. Patience was a virtue, but perhaps it would be okay for him to dabble with a vice for once.

He pushes out the dough, using his thumbs to spread it into a rectangular shape. He feels his blood pressure rising the darker your eyes get. However, he’s aware that you just recently got out of a relationship. He wants to move at a pace you’re comfortable with. So he won’t take the first step. He has to leave that up to you.

It’s at a certain point that you come to, blinking to force away the dirty thoughts plaguing your mind. You travel your field of vision to his face, where you find him already looking at you. Your cheeks heat up in mortification from being caught red-handed. You were just gawking at the poor guy’s like they were a piece of fresh meat. This was terrible.

You swallow thickly, averting eye contact to grab the bowl of cinnamon sugar. “Uh, we can start forming the rolls now so they can rise. And then— um— and then we can make the glaze.”

The burn of his gaze on your profile has you tripping over your words, cinnamon sugar sprinkling onto the counter space surrounding and the knife almost slipping from your grip when you go to cut the dough. Juyeon catches it for you, wrapping his fingers around yours to guide your movements and keep them steady.

You feel his breath behind your ear, his chest pressed to your back. His hand is so much larger than your own, nearly covering it entirely. He doesn’t make an effort to move either, rolling the dough into swirl shapes along with you. The whole time this is happening, neither of you are saying a word, letting the silence consume you and the air around you.

As the rolls are rising/baking, you set up everything necessary for making the icing. Juyeon watches with hearts in his eyes as you whisk the sugar, cream cheese, vanilla, and butter in a separate bowl. He wonders how many other people you let see you in this setting. How many people get to see you do the thing you love so dearly?

“I’d like to visit your bakery sometime, if you wouldn’t mind,” Juyeon suddenly says, resting his elbows on the counter as you taste test the icing. “I wanna try all of the desserts you bake.”

“I’m opening later tomorrow morning actually,” you smile, humming in appreciation when the sweetness of the glaze hits your taste buds. “You can come with me to try the fresh batches before I put them out? I’ll warn you though, I get there at like six.”

“AM?” His eyes practically pop out of their sockets.

“Yes, AM.” You laugh, lightly shoving him backwards.

“I’ll put like ten alarms so I can make sure I’m up in time, then.” He pokes his cheek with his tongue, tipping his head to the side. The goofy smile on your face remains even after minutes have passed and the two of you are just waiting for the cinnamon rolls to finish baking.

It feels like hours have gone by with the two of you standing there when they’re finally ready. The ding of the oven has you springing into action, putting on some oven mitts and taking out the baking sheet. Juyeon's eyes light up and even though you’d just been losing your mind over how insane he was making you, you find yourself cooing at him.

He laughs as you grab a couple spare icing bags for the cinnamon roll glaze, filling them generously. You hand one over to him and decide to split the rolls evenly, icing one half yourself while he does the other. And for once, you think that tonight might end normally. You think that nothing eventful will happen and you’ll just ice the cinnamon rolls without problems.

But you were wrong, like always.

“Ah, shit—”

You glance up from the roll you were glazing to see what the fuss was about. Juyeon’s icing bag tore somehow, the sticky topping getting all over his hand. Truly, you were no better than a man, with the filthy thoughts inhabiting your brain almost instantaneously.

He brings his hand up to his mouth, licking the glaze off the back of his hand and wrapping his lips around his thumb. You felt dizzy, drunk on the sight of your extremely attractive neighbor doing something so sensual without even trying to. You bite your lip, accidentally dropping your own icing bag due to lack of attention.

Juyeon smirks slightly, relishing in the way it takes absolutely nothing to hypnotize you with his hands alone. He really tried to keep himself contained. He really wanted you to extend the first olive branch, but he knows you’re apprehensive. So just this once, he tells himself that it’s okay to initiate, to give you a little push in the right direction.

He takes a step closer to you, caging you against the counter. You stare up at him with wide, doe eyes, as if you were completely innocent despite the naughty images flashing behind them. Juyeon brings his thumb up to your lips, the pad of it still covered in icing.

“Think you could clean this up for me?” He asks, voice low and husky. You could actually combust with that all on its own.

Just like your formal introduction, you don’t give yourself the time to think, and act, instead, running your tongue along the length of his thumb. Juyeon doesn’t restrain the groan in the back of his throat, holding your face in his hands and pulling you in for a kiss.

You reciprocate immediately, fisting his hoodie like it was the only thing capable of stabilizing you. Maybe it was, with the way Juyeon’s lips synchronized with yours and his fingers tangled in your hair. You thought the ground would swallow you whole and wake you up from this dream. On what planet did someone like Lee Juyeon like a girl like you?

His hands slide down your body, groping everything in their path desperately before cupping under your thighs and lifting you onto the counter. He knocks the baking sheet of cinnamon rolls out of the way, palms rubbing up and down the sides of your legs. You want more, so much more, but you’re afraid to ask. You’re afraid to start something you’re not even sure you can emotionally handle.

Juyeon senses your hesitation, detaching from you momentarily. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want. I understand if you still need time.”

“N-No, I want this— I want you— I'm just… scared.” You breathe, your forehead using his shoulder for support.

“I'm not him, Y/N. I can give you the world if you’d let me. I’d never do what he did to you, that’s a promise.” He holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, kissing the crown of your head.

“Okay,” you nod, smiling up at him. “I trust you, Juyeon.”

You reconnect your lips as his fingers slip beneath your pajama shorts, toying with the waistband of your panties. His lips curl up when he feels you squirm, legs parting to make more room for him in the middle of them. You sigh, body shuddering when he drags his knuckle down your clothed slit.

Juyeon hooks his fingers into your shorts and underwear, hauling them down your legs. You place your hands behind you to brace yourself, a shiver trailing your spine when the cool air of your apartment hits your warm core. He groans again at the sight of you bare for him, using two fingers to spread your lower lips.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he swears, his thumb slowly circling your clit.

You whine, tossing your head back as he applies more pressure. Bit by bit, you begin to lose yourself to the pleasure of Juyeon’s gorgeous hands. Soon the stimulation on your clit amplifies when he adds another finger, thrusting it in and out of your entrance. He curls deep inside of you, like he was reaching for something he’d left.

One finger turns to two, and before you know it, Juyeon’s openly finger fucking you on the counter. He leans over your body to keep your lips together, kissing you sloppily while all his focus is on drawing you to the edge. You can almost taste it, your saccharine release in your field of vision now.

It’s a little embarrassing how quickly he was able to wind you up and trip you over the edge, but you feel too euphoric to care. You pause in your kiss to look down at his handy work. (No pun intended.) It makes your head feel foggy and your vision blurry to see his deft fingers fucking you open, veins bulging, like he’d done this many times before. Your hooded eyes follow them up his forearms, a whine escaping your lips.

A particular curl of his fingers and circle of his thumb have you clenching around him, creaming like you’d never had an orgasm in your life. He doesn’t slow his assault, bringing you down just to put you back up on that summit once again. The overstimulation has you cumming a second time in a matter of what felt like seconds, whimpers becoming voluminous moans.

Juyeon kisses you softly, gently pulling out his fingers to lick them clean like he did with the cinnamon roll glaze. A choked groan bubbles past your mouth, tossing an arm over your eyes. He laughs, towing you to the edge of the counter.

He brushes some stray hairs out of your face, moving your arm to smile dopily at you. “I hope you know I was being serious about the whole treating you better thing. If you’ll give me the chance.”

“I know. I told you I trust you, remember?” You nip at the inside of your cheek. His eyes crinkle up like they tend to do when he’s smiling so genuinely. It forces the wind out of you, because how could you ever get used to a sight so stunning?

“You’re so cute.” He laughs, kissing all around your face and smushing your cheeks together.

“Juyeon,” you mumble. “I’m half naked…”

“Even better,” he grins, pecking the tip of your nose. “Makes it that much easier to do all of the other things I wanna do to you.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[en-hazed]

collect my pages

PAIRING: slenderman!sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE / CW: this is kinda like scary? reader is alone in the woods so you can def guess what’s going on

WARNING: sunghoon doesn’t have some kind of age, so let’s say he’s like 100 years olds lmao, reader is 19, psychological horror (?) kinda, smut, dub-con, sunghoon is fucking big like in all meanings, tentacles, creampie, kissing, angst (?), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), petnames, praising, begging, dacriphilia, size kink, if i missed something i’ll edit this later. MINORS DNI.

A/N: this is purely based on the game and theories about slenderman (not on the movie), so i’m really sorry if there’s something that doesn’t really match the storyline :( also im not rlly good at writing smut

There was something that you found interesting and endearing about walking alone in the woods as a relief. You weren’t the kind of girl to spend much time with friends since you enjoyed more your alone time, even though you’ve heard some rumors about you in college that you were weird for such thing, but it’s not like you really cared, at all.

You never feared the dark as a little child, your mom did think there was something wrong with it since all of the kids usually are scared of it, but for you, it was different. You find comfort in it –somehow– but it wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

Today was one of those days where school ended a little late, and you decided to take a late walk to the woods that was near to where you lived. The feeling of the cold breeze hitting you felt like a kiss, even wearing your big puffy coat, you still could feel it.

Being by yourself had some advantages, such as spending as much time as you want to exploring the deep parts of the woods, looking at little details and also observing the pretty dark blue color in the sky. You always thought that there was something so beautiful about the woods, you didn’t know if it was the pretty trees, the fallen leaves on the ground or everything about it.

Roaming around, you found some weird looking note that was glued to the tree, as you were getting closer, you got goosebumps. You usually didn’t find things in the woods since no one really came here because it’s been kinda abandoned, so it made you feel really curious if somebody came before you and put things just for fun to scare people off.

But the note was really weird looking. Why did the note say “HELP ME” in such a creepy writing? Was there someone here following you all along pranking you?

You definitely felt followed, but that didn’t change the growing curiosity that you had wondering if there were more notes. Walking faster and careful looking through all the trees weren’t sufficient, you definitely needed some kind of flashlight, and lucky for you, you always carry one in your backpack.

Getting the flashlight, turning it on, you started looking for more information. You definitely thought that you looked kinda crazy running around the woods if somebody came by, but there was something so interesting about this that you just couldn’t let it go.

In the distance, you could see a new note attached to another tree, you rapidly went and took it, this one saying “CAN’T RUN”. Adrenaline was hell, you felt like you could explode, were all these notes some kind of puzzle that you needed to complete? How many of them are? Such thoughts were in your mind as you were trying to calm yourself while looking at the piece of paper with the word that has been written.

Taking both notes, you did not wanna lose them, so you put them both in your pocket, and resumed roaming around. You noticed there was some kind of strange road that led you to an ever bigger part of the woods, and also, to some new pages.

This time, there was some kind of tall, really tall man drawn on with some words, such as saying “NO” and “FOLLOWS”. Is this some kind of prank? You just couldn’t step out, you were kinda lost, you’ve never been this deep inside and now, it was kinda scaring you. Your phone didn’t have any kind of connection or signal around, so you were definitely fucked.

Taking this situation lightly wasn’t a great idea at all, you knew your mom was worried since you don’t last that much time outside that much. Anxiety was killing you at this point, what the hell was going on? Also, it was also getting really late, you took a little peak of you clock, and it was almost past midnight.

Running around was simply not helping, you felt like you were stuck in some fucked up maze that didn’t have any kind of exit. You wanted to scream, you really did, but you didn’t want people thinking that you were getting murdered or something. Starting to feel dizzy, everything was looping, feeling like you couldn’t get out was one of, if not, your biggest fear. Without noticing, you fell to the ground, your strength was gone, and your head was pounding.

More than 10 minutes passed since you were still in the ground, until you felt some kind of presence, the goosebumps coming back again. You were too far gone to even try to open your eyes, so if someone tried to kill right there, you didn’t care at that point.

The breeze was getting colder, creaking was louder, and there was something there with you, but you didn’t dare to look. Some steps were getting closer to you, and you almost started praying to God to help you out if he was even hearing your pleads.

Now you were crying, you were the one that started following all of those stupid notes going nowhere, and now you were stuck in the deep zone of the woods. After some minutes of thinking, you had the guts to speak up.

— Is somebody here? Anyone? Please, I swear I’m a good person, I won’t do anything to you, but please, I need a reply. — You stated, trying to look around in the dark, since you forgot where you put your flashlight and also, you lost your glasses.

Nothing, you did not receive some kind of reply, so now you were thinking if everything that’s happening is some kind of hallucination from your mind.

From the distance, you swear you saw something, like some big thing standing there, but you couldn’t even seem to confirm that since your poor eyesight wasn’t helping you at all. But that weird creature looking thing was getting closer this time, and you didn’t have that much space to move, so you had to act fast and start walking from there.

Looking back wasn’t something that you wanted to do, if you did that it was gonna be really scary knowing something was chasing you in the dark. But what you didn’t know, that tall white man could teleport if he wanted to, and now, he was right in front of you.

You froze, what was that? You starting looking up and down trying to figure out if it was human or not. He was wearing some kind of suit, his hands were so pale and white, his fingers were so long and his face, you couldn’t really recognize it. He did have some prominent facial features, such as his nose and eyebrows, and also his hair.

— Are you lost, little thing? Have you collected my pages? — He finally spoke, his voice was… something. Not really deep nor sharp, it was just unexplainable.

— I’m sorry, what? — You asked, pages? Why is that his first thought?

— My pages. They’re all attached to different trees. Have you collected them? — He added, getting a little more closer to you.

Oh, so the notes you were looking for, that now you know they aren’t pages, he was the one who attached them to the trees? Is he crazy or something?

— I lost them. I got lost here and when I ran, they kinda flew away from my pockets. I’m sorry, if you’re gonna kill me, go ahead. — You hung down your head, you were definitely cooked and also getting killed in the woods. How nice!

— Game over then. — He spoke lastly, you looked at him with now, more tears in your eyes. He gave you a smile, his fangs were now shown.

His cold hand went to your chin, making you look up to where his eyes were supposed to be, but you were looking at some faceless man. You got caught in his tentacles, putting you in the air and almost choking you by how tight he was taking you.

— Pl.. please don’t do a-anything.. I swear, I’ll do whatever you w..want! — You tried speaking, but your chest felt so heavy that it was almost impossible to.

— Well, actually I do want something from you, if you don’t wanna get killed. — He spoke, his voice was now kinda deeper than before and it was scarier. You could feel his gaze up and down around your body, as if it was scanning you.

— W-what is it? Please! Tell me! — You replied rapidly, gulping. You were in a situation that defined between you being alive or dead, so you were willing to do anything at this point.

You were feeling already anxious until you felt his could touch in your body, closing hard your eyes, you were psyching yourself up that everything that was happening it was all in your imagination. Tears were staining your face, your cheeks turning red and your makeup all messed up.

His cold tentacles were groping you, touching you everywhere while you were just crying. You couldn’t get out of his grip since he was way too strong and taller than you. He started undressing you, retiring your skirt and leaving your tights on. Was this some kind of kink he had?

— I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, looking like a scaredy cat, crying and without any kind of escape from me. — He said, smiling proudly, giggling. His big hands were taking your head, making you look at him. Somehow, he changed your position, using his tentacles to tie your feet, and also your hands together, that were now resting behind your back.

You felt how something cold was poking your now dampened panties, you were definitely scared but your body wasn’t feeling like that. You closed your eyes harshly, not wanting to see what was about to happen. The cold breeze was now feeling like if death was coming near you, not feeling like something safe.

With no further preparation, he pushed himself inside of you, feeling like your guts and tight cunt were being rearranged by his big member. You couldn’t stop yourself from whining and screaming out loud, you weren’t a virgin sure, but his cock felt like dying.

— Don’t be t-too harsh! P-please! — Trying to speak while he was pounding deeper and deeper inside you was tough and more like a challenge.

He tsked his long tongue in response, not really caring about you and going harder on you. One of his tentacles groping your boobs mercilessly, while the other ones were simply roaming around your body.

Changing your position, now in doggy style, he was going harshly and harder, your body was hurting and your were being treated like nothing but a sex doll. You felt your vision going blurry, your hearing going off and feeling extremely numb. You closed your eyes and that’s where you forgot about everything.

Waking up felt like a nightmare, your whole body felt sore, you were covered in cum and definitely felt how the hot liquid was slipping from your thighs. Trying to look for your glasses or any kind of clothing (since you were naked) looking around. That’s when you saw some random guy, weirdly dressed with a suit and also using some glasses, he was tall and pale.

— Are you okay? Do you need help? — That anonymous guy spoke, looking at you and then your whole body, smirking.

You couldn’t even speak at all, so you just nodded. He helped you get up, he somehow carried things in his pockets such as tissues, that he used on you, trying to get you clean.

Finishing by putting on your clothes, you patted all of your body, as if there were some kind of dirt (there was, everything was all covered in it). You looked again at that weird guy that happened to find you in such condition, what was he doing here?

— I’m Sunghoon, and I definitely can read your mind, I just happened to be here when I found you here all alone, covered in… Whatever that was, no need to thank me. — He finished saying, still smirking and looking at you as if he was scanning your whole body.

As a blink, he disappeared, nowhere to be found. There was some weird vibe coming from that guy that you couldn’t explain, but you felt like you already knew him.

What the fuck just happened to you? You for sure were having some kind of fucking overdose of some fucked up vivid dream, you will never be the same after this.

[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | chapter one

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 2,9k

❱ summary: the chaotic mess of playing monopoly drunk with your best friends

❱ warnings: alcohol

❱ an: the first chapter.. excited for you to read this! This has been heavily edited from my ao3 post soo have fun <3

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER ONE: MONOPOLY

"Oh, would you look at that; you landed on my street. Again."

"What? No fucking way."

"Legolas"

"Gimli"

"Blondie, if I don't see my money in ten seconds I'm cutting your hair while you have your beauty sleep."

"No, you wouldn't dare!"

Across from Legolas, Gimli just flashed him a toothy grin, so wide and full of mischief, before leaning over the multitude of cards in front of him with a challenging tip of his head.

"Try me."

"Fine." Legolas drummed his fingers on the table, breaking the staring contest and waving it off like it had never bothered him. "Don't drag it out any further, Gimli, tell me what I owe you, and let me go my way."

For a moment Gimli pretended he had to look for them, but everyone at the table had noticed how his fingers had twitched for the green card as soon as Legolas had rolled the dice.

"You ended up on Oxford Street, which normally would've only cost you $26, but since I have not one, not two, but three houses, you now owe me a wonderful 900!"

And as in previous rounds, Legolas now quite unemotionally pulled two orange paper bills from his carefully sorted, rather tall, stack and received an already slightly worn 100 in exchange, which he accepted with a bitter grumble.

This exchange had happened so many times this evening that you now only rolled your eyes with a smile at the banter, sipping on your bottle of beer to avoid being drawn into the discussion in the first place.

The rivalry between Legolas and Gimli, playful in its purest form and with not an ounce of real bad blood, had become a permanent part of your life after you befriended the two of them.

Although it had slightly thrown you off at first how they went from harmless conversation to competition in seconds, you couldn't imagine your life without it.

In such a fast-paced modern world as this, you sometimes found it hard to hold on to friendships and avoid losing your grip in the swift whirl of time; in the case of many friendships that were strong at the time, you couldn't even remember if there had been a real goodbye, or if they had simply... disappeared - left behind or run ahead, who knew?

With Legolas and Gimli, however, it was different.

You met both of them on the first day of college, had run into both of them, literally, when you tried to get to your first class on time.

A class with a professor you'd only heard bad things about Visitor's Day. The hushed whispers of scared students, their eyes telling you more than what they actually dared to say on campus.

You were close to being punctual, wouldn't it have been for Legolas and Gimli. The duo stood in front of the closed lecture door, simply staring through the tiny window and looking like they would rather perish than actually open it.

Their looks of fear mirrored yours and it was clear that all three of you had heard the stories of students getting their heads ripped of by Professor Sauron. That man had strong feelings about tardiness– and it was only your first day.

You of course rushed to apologize, babbling that you hadn't seen Gimli, and no, it wasn't because of his size but rather due to your lack of attention, and please could they stay on your side when you go into the hell of public humiliation?

By some wonder the Professor had his back turned to the auditorium to fill the blackboard with the required reading list, as you snuck along the stairs and miraculously dropped into the last three empty seats without getting caught.

And when you had breathed a sigh of relief, the brunette who sat on your right passed you the attendance list he had kept with him a little while longer, as if he had suspected that someone else would be late.

That's how you met Aragorn. The ruggedly handsome brunette added to your trio and was conveniently organized enough to lend you and Gimli a pen for the first week.

From day one, you formed an inseparable unit, whether on campus, in the numerous bars you frequented, or in the parks where you often spent your free time - rarely were any of you seen without the others and you would never hear the others utter one single bad word about the other.

You practically did everything together, from classes, many of which you shared – often to the annoyance of professors and fellow students due to the vibrant and occasionally noisy atmosphere you created– to lunches lounging under the campus's shady trees, with Aragorn reading poems from his literature class, and you occupied with braiding Gimli's long-grown beard while Legolas dozed in the longing stares of bypassers, gossiping and flirting.

On weekdays before exams, you either barricaded yourselves in your tiny dorm room, for it was the closest to the library, quizzing each other up and down the subjects, writing flashcards, most of which you wrote, to give to Legolas and Gimli afterward, and after exams, you forced your way into bar after bar, leaving your marks in benches and stools, squeezing into cramped photo booths in brightly lit clubs.

The first trimester passed swiftly, much like the initial semesters of the second, which you were presently struggling to handle.

It was the college life that everyone probably dreamed of, that every movie romanticized, and even you sometimes couldn't believe how perfect everything was.

Certainly, not every exam resulted in a perfect score and not every day was adorned with rose-colored glasses of happiness perched on your nose.

Yet, be it a poorly performed test, a date lacking sparks, or a random low point, your boys stood steadfastly by your side, offering unwavering support.

Today was no different.

The day had started with you waking to the sun and not your alarm clock and getting your ass handed by Professor Sauron.

It continued with some pretty demotivating feedback on an essay you'd worked many late nights by your Herbology Professor Baggins.

He did offer you a pat on the back that probably meant to cheer you up but felt condescending considering the amount of red ink staining the essay you'd crumbled in sweaty hands.

Adding that to Professor Sauron's embarrassment of you in front of the entire class sank your already low spirits to the basement.

Not even Aragorn's consoling hand, which remained steadfastly by your side throughout the day, guiding you from one class to the next, mumbling soft words and trying to cheer you up with soft kisses to your forehead, could lift you out of this emotional abyss.

How you survived that day was a mystery but after eight hours of you pouring out bad energy like radioactive waves, Legolas must've had enough of your moping and the grim expressions you fired at anyone who shouldered you in the hallway.

With a determined, "We're going to my place," the blonde had put his pep talk plan consisting of a trip to the liquor section of the supermarket and an order from the delivery guy into action.

It was this very plan that had gotten you into your current situation.

Slightly drunk at the kitchen table of the House of Oropherion.

A Monopoly board in front of your nose, around it several empty beer bottles. Pizza boxes scattered on the countertops and bags of all sorts of sweet stuff that Legolas had sweepingly pushed from the shelves into the shopping cart, blowing pink bubble gum bubbles.

The guy seriously had a snack-problem and a spending habit that surely made for a good intervention.

Within a few hours, you had turned the otherwise pristine and tidy kitchen into a battlefield that looked a lot like the one in your dorm.

Whereas the one in the dorm was used by twenty young women and many of their partners, and this one just by four.

Just as in the dorm, loud laughter echoed through the entire house, accompanied by your shared playlist.

Legolas had set it playing on the expensive stereo while preparing his snack bowl.

It was a chaotic mix, Legolas pop music, Gimlis folk metal and Aragorns indie rock while you sprinkled in a few classical songs or added whatever else was missing.

Quietly, you hummed along to the hottest chart song of this summer.

Your spirits had risen by now, thanks to your best friends, even if it did look like they were about to go for each other's throats over a denied exchange of a road.

"My Lady," Aragorn interrupted the rising argument between Legolas and Gimli and held out his hand with the dice to you, "Please stop this madness and continue the round so we can finish this eventually.. hopefully today"

Grinning, you accepted the dice, "I will do my best, my lord," while Gimli muttered into his beard, "Not my fault Barbie isn't giving me what's rightfully mine."

As expected, the idiots fell silent as soon as you gave the dice a quick shake in your closed hands and then tossed them across the table with a clatter.

Of course, in the face of eventual earnings, everyone immediately calculated where you would end up and who might rip off what little money was left in front of you.

Two threes.

And everyone groaned in annoyance.

Only you grinned as you dragged your silver dog figure across the Park Lane and Mayfair field decorated with a few of Legolas hotels, right over GO and landed on your own field.

Another round where you survived on the 200 notes from pulling over GO, anxious not to land on one of the hotel fields from the others.

Because, unlike the others, greedy little hoarders who acquired your properties, swindling you with meager donations, you possessed only the two modest brown streets, yielding little profit.

With each move of yours, the others hoped you would finally end up on one of their plots and finally be eliminated, but as if fate would have it, you seemed to be avoiding it just fine.

"And she lives another round," Aragorn raised his beer bottle in your direction and winked "Any bets on how many more you'll survive?"

You snorted as you shook the dice in your hand again. "You're not getting rid of me that fast."

The dice clattered across the board, two ones and loud rumbling from the boys, you moved to the community chest square laughing.

Reaching across the board, you grabbed the top card of the cards and dramatically pulled it up to your chest.

To your left, Legolas drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, and even though Aragorn has so far stayed away from the competition between Legolas and Gimli, he too now nodded his chin questioningly at the card.

At an almost agonizingly slow pace, you turned it over, keeping eye contact with your boys for a while, though, before looking down, skimming the printed text, and laughing out loud.

"What does it say?" Legolas inquired, trying to lean toward you, dark eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Geez, tell me it's a bad card."

"You can decide that for yourself, Gimli," chuckling, you held out your card in such a way that the three of them almost bumped heads, so fast were they bending to the center.

"You've got to be kidding me," Aragorn slumped back in his chair with a moan, and Gimli slammed his hands flat on his thighs, cursing a string of words that in their pure filthy form would make anyone else blush.

You were only spurred on by them, and laughter burst out of you, loud and full of glee.

"I'd like a hundred from each of you right now, it's my birthday after all," you smirked, holding out your hand.

Aragorn was the first to put a bill on it, and even Gimli, though he stressed that he would get it back before you ran out of laughter, handed over something from his well-guarded account.

"Laaas, what am I waiting for? A birthday song?" you asked.

Legolas raised a perfect eyebrow and slid you a bill looking so bored that you almost bought it, "You can wait a long time for a song."

"For the chance to hear your voice dedicate a song to me, I'd wait a thousand years," you sang, winking with a sugary smile on your lips.

"Or I'd just watch the recordings from last night's karaoke, I'd even get a love song from you as a gift," dramatically you grabbed your chest with both hands and threw your head back

"And wouldn't that be oh so romantic?"

"Please," he scoffed, "If I'd really tried you'd be on your knees in seconds. Babe, I have charm."

For a moment you manage to pulled yourself together, looking into Legolas' eyes, holding his challenging gaze from which you didn't know to interpret if he truly believed his statements himself.

Then you heard Gimli's dirty laugh.

The redhead hands hit the table so hard that several of the hotels flew in all directions, and with them your composure.

With a rather unfeminine snort, you threw yourself backward in your chair, your head craned back and your arms folded in front of your stomach; there was no saving you from the laughter that bubbled out of you like hot water on a stove.

"Your charm?" you gasped, trying to blink away the tears in your eyes.

Unsuccessfully, because when you saw Legolas stand up indignantly and toss his blond hair over his shoulder, the tears flew unstoppably down your cheeks.

Sure, you were aware of what a charming man Legolas could be; you were teasing, not blind.

It took nothing to perceive him for what he was, and that was a flawless beauty. That angelic face, long blond-gold hair flowing over his shoulder, and eyes ever so gentle, marked him a natural beauty and unfortunately, you couldn't deny that what came out of his mouth most of the time made most men and women's hearts swell.

You were friends with him, though, and the idea of being even remotely touched by his charm made you laugh beyond control.

And you heard all the bullshit the guy yapped about when there was no one around he wanted to impress.

"What?" Legolas asked, and in his voice, a challenge that, voiced by the beer, didn't bode well, "I don't want to sound too arrogant" –snickering from the three of you– "go fuck yourselves, I'm charming! I'm sure, oh I bet, that you would fall for it!"

And before you would have objected much, he took a big swig from his bottle and slid down from his chair.

Right in front of you.

Onto his knees.

It was the look of firm conviction in his eyes, the way he reached for your hand and gently held it like it was made of cracked glass against his chest, that made your laughter turn into a silly giggle.

Legolas, even though he was swaying a bit and his words were no longer flowing too loosely from his tongue, was a sight you wouldn't any time soon. "My darling friend, whose attention I do not deserve–"

"Now that's what I call true words," grunted Gimli, who had also leaned back in the meantime and received a punishing look from Legolas before the blond turned back to you.

"–whose attention I don't deserve and that yet has me blossoming, like the first flowers reaching out to the sun, for you are the light in my life. Everything that connects us tugs at my heart, it cries out for more and I'm afraid I can no longer remain silent about my feelings"

Ironically, at that very moment, he paused, seemed lost in thought and stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

Not that it helped him really.

But you waited patiently nonetheless, letting Legolas continue to play the role of the poet.

He looked back at you from the far distance in which his gaze had become playfully entangled, and you saw the twitch of his lips, the sign of a cheeky grin he tried to keep down.

It didn't matter what words made him fight the grin, though, Legolas didn't get to say them.

Thanks to the music, which had faded into the background but still sounded through the sound system, as well as your group's silly fooling around and never-ending laughter, you hadn't heard the front door unlock, or the footsteps in the hallway.

It wasn't until an amused-sounding "Oh, am I interrupting?" rang out in a very familiar voice behind you that you became aware of the new presence in the room.

Immediately, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, the deep voice rolling over your entire body like sweet honey.

You heard Aragorn laugh, a murmured, "You've lost your girl, Las," and the blonde in front of you groaned as he struggled to his feet.

"Great, wow, I was literally so close to getting her around. Thank you so much, Ada," Legolas scoffed.

You followed his gaze, eyes falling onto the man casually leaning against the kitchen counter.

And your heart jumped inside your chest.

taglist: @mushroomemeralds @mssuguru @solartoge

[thecapricunt1616]

Hello everyone! I am truly sorry for not posting as of late. I’ve been dealing with mental health stuff, also my laptop got broken :( So it hasn’t been as easy to write. I do have my iPad/wireless keyboard, but it just isn’t as comfortable to write on / I worry that the format will look like shit. I do feel poorly though because all of my moots have been writing a lot lately, and my blog has been so dry! I am really trying to get my mental health in check so obtaining a job will be easier and in turn, my work will probably be (somewhat) better. I hope this suffices, though, for the time being. I promise I’m trying to get a new laptop just as soon as I can <3 I appreciate all of your patience with me :) I have never written for our darling prince Lip Gallagher before- but he has been making me fairly crazy lately, so I wanted to give my go at writing for him, I haven’t watched the college Lip ep’s in a while so I hope it’s alright - sorry if it’s not fully canon! Tell me how I did if you’d like! xoxo - Capri <3 :)

(Warnings - smut choking (consensual) unprotected PIV sex, not very edited or proof read bc im tired ❤️❤️❤️)

”Hump my fuckin leg one more time, I swear to god. If you don’t just sit in my fuckin’ lap, and behave y’not gonna like me. I told you, I have 3 more fuckin’ papers to grade- like a cat in fuckin’ heat” he grumbled, not looking up from the homework assignment he’d been grading for the professor he’d been working under.

You pouted, squeezing his thigh that you had been straddling and working your way up to fully dragging your swollen, needy cunt across his worn out denim beneath your flower printed panties. A frustrated huff leaved your lips, before connecting them with the warm, tobacco scented skin of his neck and planting a gentle kiss. “Wanna feel good, Lip. Y’bein mean” you said, voice quiet and laced with the neediness he couldn’t quite ignore, or deny.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Fine, Need a smoke anyway. But you want it so bad, you can fuckin’ get y’self off” he walked over to the dorm window, pushing it open to let out the smoke out and put a cigarette to his lips, lighting it and plopping down on the bed, popping the button of his jeans. You were sat there dumbly, jaw dropped at the fact that he didn’t put up more of a fight. ”You have until the end of this fuckin smoke. You gonna come do somethin’ er sit there lookin’ like a goddamn trout?” He teased.

You quickly got up, pushing him to lay down and tugging his cock just enough out of his jeans and boxers, spitting in your hand before beginning to stroke him quickly, thumbing over his sensitive tip and he grunted softly, smoke plooming out of his nose as he plucked the cigarette from between his lips. “see that fuckin wet stain you left on my jeans? Such a needy whore f’me yeah?” He mused, watching as you pumped him faster, mouth dropping slightly as he hardened in the pressure of your palm until he was throbbing.

”Only yours -“ your jaw falls slack as you ran the tip of his cock through your wet folds, gathering your arousal and using his tip to rub over your clit. His eyes nearly rolled back, putting the cigarette between his lips and taking another large drag. He looked down as you rutted your hips back and forth over his thick now throbbing length.

“Only half a cig left, kitten. You gonna get y’self off with it er’ just fuck around, ‘eh?” He asked impatiently. You rolled your eyes sassily, aligning him with your entrance and sitting back, a whimper leaving your throat since you hadn’t the time to get yourself fully ready for him and the stretch he provided was never anything you could adjust to no matter how many times you took it.

A small grunt left his throat, hips rutting up into you subconsciously a gasp left your throat as he shifted his hips forward, rutting into that most sensitive and spongey spot inside of you that made white stars form behind your lids and your thighs shake. You whine as your head fell back, hips trembling as you lifted yourself up and down over his cock. “Jesus- so fucking big….” You manage to get out, bringing a trembling hand down to play with your puffy, throbbing clit.

”Finally feel good? Hm? Little fuckin’ brat. Shoulda fucked your face instead mm? Bet you’d love that shit” he reached over and put out his mostly gone cigarette on the ash tray and you began furiously rolling your hips, worried he was gonna pull you off and tell you that it was time for him too get back to work.

”Yes- yes daddy, such a brat- your brat. Please- please let me finish- feel so good- please” you rambled, voice needy and begging. He huffed a nearly mocking chuckle, grabbing you by the throat and pushing you down onto the mattress. It wasn’t painful, it just cut off your blood flow just right to where there was this sweet, fuzzy feeling in your head, causing your vision to go slightly hazy around the edges.

“I’ve created a fuckin monster - huh? Addicted t’my cock now. Can’t even go 12 hours without gettin’ filled up.” He was practically speaking into your sweaty, flushed skin of your temple, His voice a gruff row grumble. He used his other hand to rut up your tshirt, palming your tit roughly and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You squeaked out, hips jerking at the motion which urged him deeper and made your eyes roll at the overstimulation.

”shit - like that, huh? You like that? When I pound you this fuckin’ deep?” He snapped his hips faster, short, sweet little ah-ah-ah squeaks being torn from your throat with each nearly punishing thrust. You nod quickly, looking up at him in awe stricken lust as you clench around him.

“Ohh are you gonna cum? Is my little fuckin brat gonna cum? Mmm? You gonna cum around my cock?” He taunts in the shell of your ear, the hand that was playing with your nipple sliding down to play with your clit as the other stated wrapped firmly around your throat. Your hips jerk, feet planting on the bed as your back arches while your body tries to escape the oncoming tidal wave of pleasure that was threatening to take over.

“Mmhmm. Y’gonna cum- feel you fuckin’ milking my cock- go ahead baby - let go” he goads as he stroked your twitching bud faster. You let out something akin to a sob, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and breath hitching as your vision blurs out momentarily, body going slack other then your trembling thighs, and nails that were slapping and clawing at Lips back as he drives you through it, his thrusts becoming sloppier and harder at the feeling of you pulsating around him like a second heartbeat and your creamy white arousal seeping around him and covering his cock with each thrust.

“That’s fuckin it- that’s it kitten” he groaned, spreading out your pussy with a slack jaw, watching as his cock punched in and out of you, rutting against your g spot each and every time - in turn causing pathetic pleas for you weren’t sure what coming from your throat.

“Please what, baby- want me to fill you up? Hm? Need my cum drippin outta’ you after I fuck you to sleep here so I can finish my fuckin work in peace?” He coos mockingly, tugging you by your hair forcing you to look at him.

You sniffled, tears seeping from the corners of your eyes pathetically and drool dribbling down your chin from how he was fucking you so good your tongue had nearly fallen out of your mouth like some kind of puppy - “s-sorry- jus’love your- your cock” you hiccuped an over stimulated sob as he used his thumb abuse the nub further which in turn caused another strangled moan to leave your throat and head to fall back to the pillow.

“Awww I know Angel. You take it so well- like a good little toy” he mumbled into your skin, his words causing you to clench and dribble around him slightly, the raspiness of his voice mixed with the praise doing something to you you couldn’t quite explain.

“So good- so good daddy m’so good” you cry out as he fills you up, cock twitching and pulsing between your walls in the most delicious way. You gasped in delight, wrapping your legs tight around his hips and tugging your pelvis’ taut and comfortably, enjoying the feeling of being filled up to the hilt.

“Got shit t’do as much as I wanna live in your cunt, baby. Gotta get back at it” he kissed your forehead, grabbing a T shirt from his laundry pile and tossing it to you to clean yourself up as he fixed his jeans and went to sit back at his desk, leaving you well satiated

All be it a little sore and wanting post sex snuggles,

You win some, you lose some.

[starkerhowlter]

Performative Dom

Ship: Starker Rating: E Contains: Language, Blowjobs, collaring, Lingerie, Dom/sub, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dubious Consent (But corrected by Tony to give Peter the right to consent), Objectification (Not by MCs), BDSM Posing, Collar pulling, Coming Untouched, Daddy Kink, Peter Parker is 18, leashing Initial prompt: @starkerfestivals Valentine's Day exchange prompt 1: Peter is a sub but they won't let him go to college without a Dom sponsor.  Tony thinks he's too brilliant for those dumb rules to ruin his life so he takes up the role only to fall in love with how beautiful Peter looks on his knees. Words: 5426 Summary: Peter needs a dom. And the perfect candidate is right in front of him. But what if they fit better together than either of them ever expected?

AKA: Five Times Tony realized this was a mistake, and one time he embraced it.

Gift for: @the-mad-starker

Read Below or on AO3

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY MADS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you so much for this prompt and for giving me the opportunity to write it! I hope you love it and I hope this does your prompt justice! Also I hope you love the bonus moodboard I custom built for you! A number of the images were made just for you ♥♥

Also also, hi Starker fandom! It's been a minute since I've been back! I've been on a "fandom tour of the world" recently and joined 3 fandoms since July. You haven't gotten rid of me yet!

This was edited by one of my fave humans @starkerkitty! Thank you so much, Jacy!! <3

note: any underlined words are links

The entire thing had been a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Peter bursts into the lab seething, and Tony's met with a fire he's never seen in the younger boy's eyes. 

Tony's brow furrows as he kicks his feet off the desk, "Peter?" 

"I thought we were past this as a society," Peter shouts, dropping the envelope on the desk in front of him. He continues pacing the length of the garage, stepping onto the walls to pace across the ceiling.

"What? Acceptance letters?" Tony smirks, raises an eyebrow and picks up the envelope. He pulls the paper out, reading. "’Dear Peter Parker, you have been accepted to MIT.’" Tony murmurs, "I mean that was expected..." He continues, "blah blah blah... Orientation is on Monday.. blah blah blah... ‘Unfortunately, we can't allow you to enroll in classes until you present a Dom to sponsor your journey with MIT to allow for you to be enrolled and to keep you accounta’-- Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me," he scoffs, tossing the paper on his desk. "They're really holding you from a degree because of *that*?! Just because of the little pink heart on your license?! Maybe I can call my associates, surely they know I'm the one who recommended you. They can't possibly be holding you for anything at all." He scoffs, "I'm going up there. If they want to play this game, we'll play this game."

"Or..." Peter starts, hopping down from on top of one of the server towers.

"Or?" Tony asks, arms crossing over his chest as he looks up at the boy. 

"Never mind."

"Peter..."

He sighs, "I have a plan. But you... you have to trust me, Mr. Stark."

-----

"Peter, we can't do this. I mean, I'm all about fucking over tradition, but you do realize they do checks. And not just one. They do them throughout the entirety of your time in the program." Tony stares at the younger man from behind his sunglasses, frowning, "We can't possibly make them believe that I'm your Dom."

Peter's shoulders fall, "You don't want to..."

Tony scoffs, reaching over to clasp a hand over Peter's shoulder, "Now when did I say that? I'm just worried because you're just a kid. I don't want to be preying on you because you're vulnerable."

"You're not. You're just helping me to get into a prestigious university. Speaking of, we need to go get some supplies."

"Supplies?"

Peter shrugs and nods, "Y'know... A collar, whatever outfit you think fits your standards, Mr. Stark. If you feel it's appropriate, you can even pick it." 

At the mention of an outfit, Tony's mind fills with images of Peter wrapped in ensembles of his dom's choosing. He considers a suit but settles for something more casual. And Peter in his mind looks stunning. 

This is a mistake.

"Oh. We can uh... go tomorrow, deal?"

Peter nods, "Sounds good, thank you, Mr. Stark! Goodnight!" He skips out of the penthouse, leaving Tony alone with less-than-appropriate thoughts about his young mentee.

_____

There are a few times in Tony Stark's life when he knew he is well and truly fucked before the consequences happen. 

This is one of those times.

Before him, Peter’s standing on a fitting platform presented for Tony. 

"Now, Mr. Stark, what collar are you thinking for your sub? Have they earned a lock? Have they leveled up to a buckle, or is he still in training where they haven't earned more than a snap? As you know, your sub must earn a place beside you."

He allows himself a few deep breaths, glancing at Peter to confirm he's okay with this. 

Instead of a nervous disposition, Peter looks almost comfortable. His eyes are glazed, lips parted as he waits for Tony -- his dom-- to decide what he's worth. 

"I think he's earned a lock." Peter's chest shudders at the words and Tony smirks, "And let's put my name on it. He should bear my name since he belongs to me."

The worker nods, hanging on to Tony's every word. "Done! Give me just a few minutes to get the collar together for you. We can cut it today and size it so you can walk out with the piece before you leave the mall today!"

"Sounds good. I think my sub and I are going to do a few other errands but we will be back. If you wouldn't mind giving me a call?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Stark. I will start on your piece immediately." The worker takes the black metal card from him, disappearing into the back room to swipe it and get his receipt, but Tony isn't interested in the receipt. 

He turns towards Peter, hands resting gently on his arms, "You alright, kid?

Peter nods, mutely, and takes Tony's hand. "Do we need to... show our status while we're in public?" 

"It's probably a good idea. What are you comfortable wearing?"

"Whatever you'd like me to wear... daddy?" Peter tacks on the title as an afterthought and Tony fights the urge to react visibly. 

"I think that they will believe us more if we put you in a lingerie set and then dress you in a nice outfit on top of it. We can pass it off like I picked the outfit to match your collar, and if you are comfortable, some harnesses latch onto the type of collar I picked for you. But honestly, it's whatever you--"

"Mister Stark? I apologize for the interruption. Here is your card back and your receipt."

"Oh! Thank you!" He takes the card, putting it back in his wallet before taking Peter's hand and leading him out of the shop. 

Holding Peter's hand feels far more natural than it should as they walk through the mall. No one gives them a second look, and Tony wonders if they pass as a couple. 

"Follow me," Tony states, leading him through the mall toward the lingerie store. 

"Mr. Stark..." Peter tries, voice cracking with nervousness, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. If you aren't, we don't have to do this. But I will tell you from experience, they are going to want proof."

"Okay..."

----

This was a mistake.

Peter's standing in the middle of the store, surrounded by a rainbow of lace and tulle, and staring at Tony with wide brown eyes.  

"What is the-- um--" His voice cracks and Tony's heart melts. 

This was a mistake.

"How about we start you in a simple lace playsuit? Do you have a favorite color?"

"I... You should pick." 

"Alright, deal." Tony approaches one of the racks, sifting through the outfits to pick out a couple of styles in various colors. "What do you think about red?" 

"L-like Iron Man red?" 

"I mean... If I'm going to be 'owning' you, it'd make sense to have you wearing my colors," he replies, "Just seems appropriate."

Peter nods and follows after him, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. 

"Your clothes are in there," he states, pointing into the third fitting stall, pulling the purple curtain back. "I'll wait for you out here. If you feel comfortable, I'd love to see how you look in the outfits... baby" 

Peter's eyes widen at the title, but he steps inside the booth before he can splutter out a reply and begins stripping off his hoodie and jeans, dropping them onto the gaudy cheetah print chair in the corner of the stall. 

Tony hadn't held back. 

The pieces before him held no semblance of modesty, yet would show off every curve and muscle of his body. One’s black and frilly, another’s pastel silk, and behind them is a hot rod red harness and lace playsuit.

"Holy--" He whispers, running his hand over the black, lace, off-shoulder negligee, pulling it gently off the hanger. The piece weighed next to nothing, but it felt like it'd shatter into a million pieces if he wasn't careful. He lifts it, pulling it over his head and down over his body.

It wasn't a piece of clothing so much as one long-sleeved lace sock, in Peter's opinion.  The bottom of the negligee touched just beneath his ass, and the sleeves pulled down over his hands to leave just his fingers bare. 

The lace covered nothing. His nipples and boxers were visible through the lace and at that second, he felt very, very exposed. 

"M-Mr. Stark?" He ekes out, peeking his head out of the curtain, keeping his body covered. 

"Yeah, Peter?" 

"How's this look?" Peter pulls back the curtain, revealing his lithe muscular form wrapped in the delicate lace dress. 

Oh... Tony fucked up. 

The kid - the one he had told himself he wouldn't drool over - was standing before him in a skin-tight lace bodycon dress, and Tony wanted nothing more at that moment than to devour him. 

"You look-- The lace and-- and your figure... um..." He clears his throat, "You look good. Can I see the next one?"

"Oh! Of course!" Peter replies, rushing back into the room. 

Back in the room, Peter removes the lacy garment and picks up the silky one. It doesn't even make it off the hanger before it's dropped to the floor. 

"No on the silk."

"No?" Tony replies from outside the door, "Just don't like the color or...?"

"Texture," Peter replies bluntly, picking it back up to hang it on the hook. "I can't do it."

Tony huffs what sounds like a laugh, "That's alright, sweetheart." 

The title slips out, and the younger man blushes as he picks up the next piece. 

On the hanger is a lacy bright red harness playsuit. Bands cross along the back and front, over where his midriff would be, and he shivers slightly at the intricacy of the piece. He steps into it, slowly pulling it up over his thighs, hips, and stomach, spreading the lace over his form. 

He turns towards the mirror and the sight of himself catches him off guard. Peter's breathing hitches at the sight of Tony's colors, his red, stretched over Peter’s pale skin. His hands ghost down the front, and the feeling causes him to shiver.  

"You okay in there, kid?" Tony calls, shattering the moment, "Didn't get tangled did you?"

"Uh... no!" He calls out, turning away from the mirror and towards the curtain. "Did you want to see this one? It's a bit... much isn't it?"

Tony gives an affirmative noise, and Peter pulls open the curtain, revealing himself to him. 

"Holy shit..." Tony whispers.

"That bad?"

"Look at you..." He steps forwards, and reaches for his hips, but stops just a few inches shy. "I-- Sorry." Tony inhales and steps back. "You can uh.. get dressed. I'll meet you out front."

He is so fucked.

---

A few days later, Tony's sitting on the couch next to Peter, reading paperwork on his tablet. "Okay, kid, we need a game plan for this Thursday. I mean... how are we planning on convincing them?" He swirls the bourbon in his glass, sipping it slowly. "Are you just thinking you'll sit in my lap or was there something else you thought might work better? What's the move?"

"I figured I'd sit on your lap, um... maybe we can have me wear a button-down shirt so they can see the lingerie and collar you picked? Just... basically... um... what do people usually do?"

'Fuck.' Tony's brain unhelpfully supplies.

"They tend to use less... orthodox methods. Some bring their subs in on leashes or feed them from their hand, make them sit down on the floor at their feet... It really depends. All I know is that when the day comes, I need to know what program you are going into and why so that I can vouch for you. Because as much as I hate it... in that room, you have no voice."

Peter shivers at the implication and nods. "Noted. Would you like me to uh... put on the outfit again so we can practice? I don't think it'd do us well for either of us to be stumbling and shy the day of."

'Oh, fuck, please put the outfit back on...' Tony thinks. 

"Good idea. I expect I will wear a usual suit, so there really isn't any need for me to change, right? I mean the entire thing is just a meeting. Nothing major. What's the worst that could happen? I mean, it's just an interview."

-----

This is a mistake.

Whatever they'd planned for, it wasn't this. 

"M-Mr. Stark..." Peter whispers, eyes wide as he's led into the room, feeling small in the cavernous space. Their shoes thud against the floor as they walk, and he takes note of many famous art pieces along the walls as they're led to the office. 

At the last second, they'd decided on a leash, and now Peter realizes that may have been a mistake. The skinny chain is connected to the D-ring of his collar, and the other end is held by a wrist strap in the same metallic red leather as his collar. The weight of the piece creates a heady feeling at Peter's core and he finds himself thinking of taxes, his grandma... anything to keep the bulge in the front of his pants minimal.

Tony pulls on the chain, leading Peter through the halls, following a woman with a tight black bun who's talking far too fast for Peter to keep up with. 

"This school is one of the most prestigious in the country, you're not going to regret sending your sub here. We do offer a few check-in options if you want him to live on campus, but at the end of the day, it's about whatever works for you, Mr. Stark."

He replies with a simple, "As you know, I was a student here when I was younger. I think I want Peter here to have the same experience. Back then, we knew I was going to be marked a dom, just as my father was, and I didn't need any sort of sponsor. I'm not quite sure how this process works." Tony's entire being exudes confidence, and it puts Peter's racing heartbeat at ease. "Do you need to verify my 'status' or is that just understood?"

"I will need to verify your designation when we get to the office, but at this time it's not a major issue." She gives him a tight smile, not sparing Peter a second glance. "Oh, I should remind you, there will be a confirmation test before the meeting begins, will you be needing supplies for it or have you brought your own?" 

Tony scoffs dismissively, "What the hell is a 'Confirmation test'? You don't believe that I own my sub? That's ridiculous!"

"I do apologize, Mr. Stark. We've had a recent spike in subs acting as doms to get into college or having others of different designations pretend to be their dom to try and bypass the system. Therefore we've had to implement a check. There will be an agreement signed by all parties present if you're worried about it being leaked."

Peter blanches at the concept, heart racing when he hears that others have tried and failed to do exactly as they are. 

"Ah, that makes sense. We won't be needing supplies, my sub here is trained well enough to take it no matter how I give it." He shrugs, "Well then, where should we wait?" 

"Just through here," she replies, ignoring the snark in Tony's voice. 

He sends her a fake smile, pulling Peter closer to him to wrap his arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter's racing pulse presses against his wrist. With a whisper, he soothes Peter, "It's okay. I've got you, baby," putting on the facade of a doting dom, much to the woman leading them's approval. 

"My dom is the same way when I get nervous," she muses mindlessly, opening a large white door to lead them into the office. "Have a seat over here." She leads him over to one of the plush velvet chairs sitting before a large wood desk, "Your sub can wait by the door." 

Tony frowns, "Absolutely not, he stays with me. No questions asked." Unconsciously, his hand tightens around Peter's leash, keeping him close as though someone would steal him away. "He'll sit at my feet." 

"If that's what you choose. Mr. Donahue and Mr. Arroyo will be in soon. Would you like any coffee while you wait?"

"I think we're alright. Thank you." She nods, leaving them alone. 

"Hey, kid, are you okay?" Tony asks, helping Peter to sit comfortably on his knees by Tony's chair.

Peter nods, shifting slightly to ensure Tony's shirt parts over his chest to reveal the lacy bodice of the lingerie. 

He runs his fingers through Peter's hair, "You look good. I don't know what this 'confirmation test' is, but we'll get through it together."

"I trust you. We can do whatever we need to to get through this. I want to go to MIT so bad, Mr. Stark..."

"I know, Peter, and I will do whatever I have to to make it happen. Even if it means lying to the panel at my alma mater." He smirks, ruffling the younger man's hair, "We will get through this... together."

Before long, the large door at the side of the room opens and two men walk inside. 

"Good morning, I presume you're Mr. Donahue and Mr. Arroyo?"

"Yes, and is this..." He lifts his clipboard, "Peter Parker?"

At the mention of his name, Peter looks up from his place on the floor. 

"Yes. We're here to get Peter set up in the program for biochemistry and chemical engineering."

The two suited men before them snicker, "That's quite the program... Are you sure it's for him?"

Tony frowns, chewing his cheek to keep from mouthing off and blowing it for the younger, "He's actually quite brilliant. But let's be honest, any sub worthy of me would have to be more than just a pretty face." 

His words pinken Peter's cheeks, and he blushes, leaning against Tony's leg. 

"If you're sure, we can progress to the next part of the meeting. Before that though, I have this sheet of terms and conditions for you to read." 

The man on the left hands Tony a sheet of legalese. 

It's a basic NDA, nothing he really needs to worry about because he's sure he could break it with a check and some lawyers if needed. Rolling his eyes at the places saying that he and his sub consent to the test, he moves to sign it, and then hands the pen to Peter, but notices at the last second there's only one line.

"Oh, we don't need his signature, your signature of consent is enough."

"Yeah, well I want his signature of consent next to mine." Tony glares, pointedly dragging the pen along the paper to create a line for Peter to sign. "Baby," he summons, snapping his fingers.

"Yes, Mr. Stark?" Peter replies, just as practiced, "How can I service you?"

"I need your signature on this NDA."

Peter obediently rises to his feet, leaning over the table to sign the paper. 

"You don't even need to read it?" The man on the right asks.

"Of course not. If my Sir read it, I trust him to know what's best for me." 

Clearly, that was the right answer, as Tony's hand wrapped around his hips, pulling Peter back to sit on his lap. 

They hadn't discussed this.

Tony smiles softly at him, left hand running up his chest, and under the shirt. 

Neither of the men before them seem bothered by the display. If anything, they're pleased. 

"Before we begin, I need to see your IDs. Just to confirm your designations." 

"Of course." Tony nods, pulling his wallet out to produce both of their IDs from the pocket they'd tucked them into the day prior.

The men look over their ID cards, confirming the black heart on Tony's and the pink one on Peter's. They hold them up to the light, confirming the words etched beside the icons aren't forged. 

When they seem satisfied, they stand at the desk, handing Tony back the cards. 

"Now, for the next part of this process, we're going into this room next door. There will be some equipment for you to use, should you need it. Essentially, we just need to see how you and Mr. Parker interact to confirm that you are actually in an agreement."

"Sounds like a plan. Let's go," Tony replies calmly, following behind them and leading Peter into the room as well.

---

The giant room is simple, with dark red walls and black wood flooring. There’s only a few pieces of equipment Tony's never seen outside of an obscure sex club he frequented in '05 in the room. 

"When you're ready Mr. Stark." They take a seat on the black couch in the corner of the room.

Tony nods, "Alright. Peter, I want you to strip out of my shirt and head to the display platform over there." He unclips the leash from his wrist and the chain falls against Peter's front. 

"Yes, Daddy," Peter replies obediently, unbuttoning the shirt the rest of the way and allowing it to fall off his shoulders. He folds the garment, setting it on the floor next to him. Silently, he steps onto the circular acrylic platform and waits at attention with his head down and arms behind his back. 

"Inspection," Tony states, crossing his arms, and standing just off to the side of the stand. 

Without a second thought, Peter raises his arms behind his head, spreading his legs to wait for his next command.

Tony walks behind him, circling the platform as the world shrinks to just them.

"Service."

He nods, dropping his hands in front of his crotch, patiently eyeing Tony for the next word."

"Good. Nadu."

'Fuck.' Peter thinks, dropping to his knees. He kneels back, spreading his thighs just enough to place his hands palms-up on them, eyes trained at the floor just before him. 

It feels like the room has suddenly grown 800 degrees hotter as Tony watches the younger man drop to his knees from just his command. He fights the urge to respond. To go over and take control and ownership of Peter, but instead, he coughs and delivers the next command, "Collar."

Peter lifts his head, presenting his throat as though Tony were to place or pull on the leather wrapped around his throat. 

"Humble."

He drops forward, chain hitting the ground with a dull thud as his nose touches the floor, arms sliding before him, and his ass pushed out into the air for Tony or any passerby to inspect him.  It wracks shivers down Peter's form as he lays there. 

Tony's eyes widen.

This was a mistake.

Had Peter's ass always looked that good in those jeans or was this position just stretching the light fabric over his form? He clears his throat, glancing over at the suited men writing notes in the corner. 

"Ready position," he commands, snapping his fingers to grab Peter's attention.  

Peter pushes up, pulling his hands back towards himself, sitting on his knees with his lips slightly parted. The chain of the leash runs down his body as Peter raises his gaze to just above where Tony's face would be if he stood over him. 

The thought fills Tony's head with more visuals than he's prepared for, and he feels himself going lightheaded. 

This was a fucking mistake.

"Last one, Peter..." he states, "Captured."

Gracelessly, Peter rolls onto his back, spreading his arms and legs to present his body to Tony, inviting him to take control. His breath leaves his lungs. If it weren't for the jeans obstructing his view, Peter's cock, hole, and balls would be on display for him. 

Tony chokes out a simple, "R-Released." Clearing his throat, he adds, "Good job, Peter." He offers him the button-up from next to the platform, helping him put it on, but stops him before he can button it. 

"Thank you, Daddy, I'm glad that I could please you."

He presses a gentle kiss to Peter's temple and reattaches the chain leash to his wrist. 

One of the men interrupts the exchange, catching Tony's attention, "Well, Mr. Stark, I can say that we are thoroughly impressed with you and your training of your sub. If you wouldn't mind having a seat with us over here, we can sort out his schedule for this semester." 

"Gladly." He leads Peter over, dropping into the white chair across from them, and pulling Peter into his lap.

----

Two hours later, they arrive outside with one sheet of classes for Peter to begin in a week. 

"We did it!!" Peter squeals, wrapping his arms around Tony in a tight, celebratory hug. 

"We did, kid! You are now officially a student of MIT," Tony replies, "Congratulations! Wanna head home?"

"Please..." Peter replies. 'Just a little longer.'

----

The air in the penthouse is thick as Tony drops his keys on the counter in the kitchen. 

"Now what? I expect you want to change into something more comfortable?"

'Please do, before I eat you alive,' Tony thinks.

"Um... I thought..." Peter walks around the counter, standing before Tony, "I thought I might stay in this a little longer. If that... I mean... If that's okay?"

"Fuck, kid... Of course it is," he murmurs, hand reaching out and stopping just before Peter's cheek. Peter's breath ghosts across his wrist, crushing the last of Tony's reserve. He places his hand on Peter's jaw, running it down toward his throat.

They'd removed the leash once they'd gotten in the car, and Tony mourned its loss, but instead reached for the ring at the center of Peter's collar. 

"Is this okay?" 

"Please..." Peter whispers, eyes falling to Tony's lips before flicking back to meet his eye. 

"Fuck, kid..." Tony grabs the D-ring with his right index finger, pulling him forward into their first kiss. It grows heated almost instantly, as Peter presses his body back against the counter, caged in by Tony's left hand. 

Peter whimpers against his lips, licking into Tony's mouth. 

"I've wanted this so badly... For so long," he murmurs, sharing breaths with the older man, "Please, Mr. Stark, let me have it?"

"Of course, you can have whatever you want, Peter. Anything." He kisses the younger again, reveling in the soft whines slipping past Peter's lips. "What do you want?"

"Can you... Tell me what to do again?" His voice cracks, nervously and Tony smirks at the sound. 

"Of course I can. You can say stop at any time. I won't hold it against you and it won't affect me sponsoring you for college, okay?"

Peter nods, waiting for his first command as soon as Tony lets go of his collar. 

"I want you to go into the living room, strip out of your outside clothes, and pick one of your kneeling positions. Either Nadu, Collaring, or your Ready position. I will be there in a moment. Also, you will call me ‘Daddy.’"

"Yes, Daddy." Peter rushes out of the kitchen, and into the den, stripping and kneeling in his ready position, just like he was trained. He watches the kitchen door, patiently waiting for Tony to come through. 

Tony pushes open the door to the den, and there in the center of the floor is Peter kneeling in the Iron Man red lingerie Tony'd picked a week prior, waiting patiently for the older man to claim him for his own. The red elastic bands wrap diagonally around Peter's center, and the lace at his crotch and chest stretches over the skin perfectly. 

He looks edible.

"Fuck, look at you..." Tony gasps. "I swear it took everything in me earlier not to step up on that platform and kiss you earlier." 

As if imagining it, Peter shivers. Tony smirks, and runs his fingers through Peter's hair. "I have a feeling you would have liked it if I had, baby." 

The title makes Peter's eyes widen and he blushes. 

"Noted." Tony chuckles, "How far do you want to take this?"

"All the way. I just... I want your cock so bad, Daddy..."

"Fuck..." he groans, "Yeah, we can... we can make that happen. Fri, lock down this floor, make sure no one gets in." 

"On it, sir," she replies.

"You have my full attention, Daddy," Peter whispers, shyly, "Do what you think I am worthy of."

"Honey, you've had my full attention since I put my name on your neck. And as for what you're worthy of? I think you've earned being spoiled on my cock until you're begging. How does that sound?"

Peter shivers and nods, "Please, Daddy... Make me yours."

He chuckles and unbuttons his slacks, watching as Peter tracks every single motion of his hands. "Desperate?" 

The younger man blushes, and lowers his gaze to Tony's shoes, not replying.

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

"Can we just... Can I--?" He raises his hands to Tony's belt.

"Fuck, of course you can, Peter." Tony nods, pulling his cock through the front of his boxers. "It's all yours."

Peter pushes forward, taking the tip into his mouth with practiced ease. 

"Have you done this bef-- Oh fuck there..." Tony groans, hand falling into Peter's hair.

"Never kiss and tell, Daddy." He winks, licking along the side of Tony's length, sucking kisses into the skin. 

"Fuck, Peter..." His hips jump when the younger man takes the crown into his mouth, sucking slowly down until he's buried the hilt of Tony's cock in his mouth. "How... did you... get to be so good at this?" His chest rises and falls as Peter watches through a hooded gaze. "You're so good for me, Peter..."

He pulls off, lips swollen and pink, "Say it?"

Tony runs his fingers through his hair, catching on the curls, "So good for Daddy." 

Peter whimpers, taking Tony’s dick back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and suckling sloppily. Slowly, Tony's hips push back against his sucking, creating a slow rhythm. 

"Can I fuck your mouth, baby?" 

He nods as much as he can, dropping his jaw to allow for space. 

Experimenting with a thrust, Tony pushes his dick further into Peter's mouth, reveling in the tight heat surrounding him. He pulls back, repeating the motion a few times, gasping when Peter's gurgles vibrate around his length.

Releasing his hold, he allows Peter to pull off and catch his breath, watching as the younger man wipes drool from his lips, and tears from his eyes. 

"Again?"

"When you're ready, sweetheart. You're doing so good for Daddy, baby. I'm going to go a little faster."

As promised, he speeds his rhythm up, thrusting into Peter's mouth, each breath carrying a desperate moan. "Fuck, Peter..." He tangles his hands in Peter's hair, pulling Peter's head in an opposing pattern to his hips, "Just a little more, sweetheart... And then I'll make you feel good too."

"Don't... Don't have to." Peter croaks, pushing his hips down against the ground. "'m good."

"Are you getting off on this, Peter? Enjoying me using your mouth? You enjoy being used by Daddy?" Tony purrs, tangling his hands in Peter's hair, pulling him forward again, "Good. Because Daddy loves using your pretty mouth." 

Peter whimpers, sucking Tony back into his mouth, licking the beads of precum off the tip and down the side. He shivers, fucking his own mouth. 

"Fuck, sweetheart... Can't... Can't fucking do that, I'm too close." 

Tony swears he sees Peter's eyes sparkle when he says that, but he couldn't be sure. Not with his head falling back in a louder-than-necessary moan. 

Peter shivers at the sound, and the vibrations of his own moans are what brings Tony over the edge. 

He shouts Peter's name, bucking sloppily into his mouth, groaning loudly. "Fuck, so good for me baby... So fucking good." 

Peter swallows around him, licking the remnants away, pulling off with a soft pop. 

Tony tucks himself back into his boxers and sinks next to Peter, "God... Why haven't we done this sooner?" 

Peter shrugs dazedly, head falling against Tony's shoulder. He wraps his arms around Peter, kissing him softly. The man tastes himself, and he smiles against Peter's lips. 

"As for you..." he reaches down, slipping his hand into Peter's lingerie, and is met with a wet spot, and Peter's hypersensitive cock. "You-- You came untouched?"

"Mhmn.."

"Fuck, kid..." Tony gasps, "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Everything," Peter whispers back, nuzzling closer, feeling completely owned.  Just as he should be.

Thank you so much for reading!!! Likes, Comments and reblogs are MUCH appreciated!

[aqupistau]

— ☕️ⸯⸯ : g-docs chatroom﹙bbh﹚

warning: profanity

genres & trope: fluff, crack, and university!AU

pairing: byun baekhyun x gn!reader

word count: 0.89k (edited)

synopsis. an anonymous chinchilla has accessed the document.

An Anonymous Chinchilla has accessed the document.

"Who the actual fuck is with me in Google docs 3 in the morning?" You spat out loud, hair put up in a messy bun, and your wrists feeling like it would joint out of its socket any minute now. Being in the last years of high school wasn't lax like what you think it would be. Pressure of choosing the right course for college, financial plans for the future, you were in between the joys of high school and the dreaded phase of adulthood.

Currently, you were doing final editing and proofreading of the research paper of your assigned group, a work done by the group leader. Your group was a bit decent based on participation and team dynamic compared to others in the class, so there were times you suffered and times that you were a-okay, but they were never like you in terms of work ethic. You were active at night, you loved that everyone was asleep in the house, everything was quiet, and you could do anything without being spoken to in the middle of the night so who is this anonymous chinchilla in your document?

You brush your hands from the crumbs of your midnight snack and type on your keyboard on the chat room in the document.

Y/N: Who are you?

Anonymous Chinchilla: hi group leader! ( ≧∀≦)ノ

Their message and yours are sent at the same time and you flick an eyebrow up in curiosity. Emoticons? Who uses emoticons these days? Was it the assistant group leader? Or the one who hasn't finalized their part yet? No, that's too unlikely.

Anonymous Chinchilla: oh right, i'm baekhyun hehe. sorry, i didn't use my university acc to open this document (・＿・; i'm currently outside so i'm only using my phone (^人^)

Oh, it's Byun Baekhyun. That class clown, that noisy guy from the back rows of the classroom. He was, thankfully, a decent guy in your research group. Had a lot of questions, participative, consulted for your thoughts on his works, and would do their parts before their assigned deadline. Basically, the dream groupmate, but he never struck you as someone who was a night-owl. Although the more curious part of this is why would he be outside? Like outside of your house stalker scenario or outside of his house?

Y/N: …Why are you outside at 3 in the morning?

Anonymous Chinchilla: buying and eating midnight snacks hehe. i typically do this like 3x a week? but i'm currently frequenting the convenience store nowadays bcuz of research (||￣^￣||)

He's the oversharer type. How cute.

Y/N: Oh, I understand.

Anonymous Chinchilla: u're so stiff when you talk group leader just like irl ㅋㅋㅋ

Y/N: Sorry, I like my spelling and grammar right.

He takes a while to answer, and the three dots of him typing finally appear.

Anonymous Chinchilla: r u attacking me rn group leader? (;´д｀)

Y/N: No, please, I didn't mean it to insult you. It's just my habit when writing.

Anonymous Chinchilla: huhu, that's good. i thought u didn't like me or sumn but you can still understand my slangs right? i want to talk to u properly (ノ∀≦。)ノ

You snicker, a bit of your fatigue disappearing from your new entertainment. He's a fun guy, at least, and a good groupmate too. You haven't had a real conversation with him, nor anyone in your group too, so this was really fun and new for you.

Y/N: Your choices of emoticons are funny|

You take a while to send your message, contemplating if you should add emoticons just like what he does, just because. You decide to pick an emoticon that you can still remember.

Y/N: Your choices of emoticons are funny. XD

Anonymous Chinchilla: what is that…

Anonymous Chinchilla: is that the ancient laughing emoticon?

Anonymous Chinchilla: you're using boomer emoticons group leader HAHAHAHAH LMAO

How dare he. You were trying your best to make him feel included and he compares you to a boomer.

Anonymous Chinchilla: sorry, that was rlly cute. (≧∀≦*) i just had to.

Y/N: Yeah, right.

Anonymous Chinchilla: OH NO.

Anonymous Chinchilla: PLS I'M SORRY GROUP LEADER

Anonymous Chinchilla: I WON'T MAKE FUN OF YOUR CHOICE OF EMOTICONS AGAIN PLS DONT BE MAD !! ヽ(illﾟдﾟ)ﾉ

Anonymous Chinchilla: (*´Д`*)!! (⊃ Д)⊃≡ﾟ ﾟ(ﾟДﾟ≡ﾟДﾟ)ﾞ?

"Pfft—" You let out a laugh, no signs that you'd even be done any minute now. You hold your stomach as it starts to ache to the point your body warns you of the lack of oxygen and too much air coming out of your lungs, your hand smacking anything it lands on and claps enthusiastically like a happy trained seal. "Seriously, his choice of emoticons are hilarious. It's almost like I can hear and see him talking," While you were laughing your ass out loud and trying (yet failing) to calm yourself down, Baekhyun spams the chatroom anxiously.

Anonymous Chinchilla: group leader :"<<< im sorry pls forgive me. i just wanted to talk to you for once since you were always so occupied when i see you (/o＼)(/´△`＼) ○|￣|＿○|￣|＿ o(；д；o)

Anonymous Chinchilla: group leader?

Anonymous Chinchilla: group leaderrrr????

Anonymous Chinchilla: y/n??? (T0T)

You wipe tears of joy from your eyes and cheeks, exhaling out a sigh as a finale for your fit of laughter, and finally put your fingers on the keyboard, typing—

Y/N: I'm sorry for not replying. I had a hard time typing because you're so easy to tease HAHAH

Y/N: Thank you for making my night though =) You're very funny, Baekhyun.

And he takes a bit longer to reply after your message. What's wrong? Was he already on his way home? Was there no service in his area already? But he's still in an active status in the document.

Anonymous Chinchilla: what…what was that group leader… stop it, you're making my heart flutter (*/□＼*)

"This guy, really." You chuckle and take a bite of your bowl of chips beside the keyboard. You wondered why you haven't tried to have a real interaction with him before? You weren't aware that you didn't act approachable as a person, but you knew you were very hands-on as a leader.

Anonymous Chinchilla: oh! i have to get home now, group leader! are there any things you would like me to work on the research today? im willing to sleep late tonight even if we have classes later

Anonymous Chinchilla: (*・・)σo(ﾟ▽＾)ﾉ

Y/N: Nothing at the moment. We have a peer evaluation later with other groups from other classes in the afternoon so…

Why not be friends with him?

Anonymous Chinchilla: sooo????

Y/N: Are you fine if you can tag along with me later?

Anonymous Chinchilla: oh. my. god.

Anonymous Chinchilla: YES OFC

Anonymous Chinchilla: PLS LET ME ACCOMPANY U \( ´∀`)/~~

Anonymous Chinchilla: I WILL DO MY BEST GROUP LEADER (^–^)＼

He's very likable, you thought. Very easy to read and also expressive, for what you've seen. There are some cases where online and real-life people have different personas, but this didn't mind you. Unlike you, who has the same personality both online and in real life, you don't know if you'll be encountering the same Baekhyun you chatted right now. Even so, this conversation was enough for you to have the courage to approach him and befriend him later. You sincerely hoped you could be good friends with him.

Y/N: Okay. Have a good night, Baekhyun. Go back home safe =)

Anonymous Chinchilla: you too, group leader! good night ( ^-^)ノ∠※。.:*:・'°☆ wishing you a good sleep hehe

Anonymous Chinchilla: see you later in class! (^o^)／~~

The Anonymous Chinchilla has left the document.

© aqupistau. all rights reserved. ↬masterlist

[betterbooktitles]

I had a system for writing papers in college: 1 page = 1 hour. It takes a half hour or twenty minutes per page to spew out all your thoughts, and 30-40 minutes to edit. “Editing” meant proofreading it once. No need to go overboard with those secondary drafts. These were undergrad college papers, not high criticism I was hoping to have reviewed by the Pulitzer committee.

My English Lit III professor was one of the many Humanities and Literature department faculty members who drew me away from my original major at Bard College: Film. I wanted, more than anything else, to impress this woman. I was interviewed by the Bard Free Press and was quoted insisting that I would marry the professor one day. In retrospect, her seeing that in print might have tipped her off to the fact that my ideas weren’t always grounded in reality.

I felt a tingling on my cheeks as she passed back our 8-page midterm papers on George Eliot’s Daniel Deronda. Sitting at the wide wooden table, I watched her serenely slide each stack of stapled paper to my fellow students. I watched several of my peers sheepishly collect their papers and grimace at the notes. My first paper on Wordsworth received an ‘A.’ The only note appeared on the last page and pontificated on how hard it is to “relate the sonic values of a poem” while writing about the language in an academic essay. Less a critique and more an observation. She was simply sharing her thoughts! It is hard to mimic the sonic implications of words when people are reading those words silently. My writing was near-perfect save for the fact I couldn’t quite express the mouthfeel of Wordsworth’s poetry while analyzing it. That first paper was enough for this professor to ask me to walk her to her office so I could talk about my goals, my high school education, my life up to that point. We walked in the orange glow of the evening sun past boisterous students excitedly marching in big groups to the cafeteria for dinner. 

In that first office meeting, I felt like she was trying to adopt me. I never in my life had someone show such a keen interest in my mind. Until then, my teachers had a vague sense that I was going to squander whatever potential they saw in me. It felt like they were preemptively disappointed. This professor wanted to talk to me. She liked hearing my thoughts, and we had a great rapport in those office meetings. It didn’t hurt that she was a gorgeous 20-something woman with thick black curly hair, a slight lisp that made me look at her lips whenever she was speaking, and she wrote poetry about her bike seat inadvertently making her come when she rode it. I know I wasn’t the only person on campus who found her ethereally sexy because a male faculty member came up to me in the cafeteria holding the student newspaper in his hand, pointed at my quote, and said “she’s a force of nature” which is a smart adult’s way of saying “this lady fucks” or “I wish I could say more but I’d get fired.” I was smitten and ready to give up my film degree if it meant visiting this office every week to stare at her Velma glasses and the bright orange baubles she wore around her neck that called attention to where the neckline on her sweaters ended.

Read the rest here.

[eggtrolls]

my enemies are working against me; I was strongly tempted by dark forces to make a completely nuance-free statement like "dear christ I hate the wiki education foundation so fucking much it's such a terrible idea" but instead I will be SO strong and make a post with way too much nuance about a niche step in the sausage-making of wikipedia

backstory: when the world was young in like...2010, some wunderkind realized college students use wikipedia for their classes, ergo college students in classes can be harnessed en masse to be use FOR wikipedia! if you're taking a class on, say, the Punic Wars, wouldn't it be an excellent educational experience to teach others (via wikipedia) about the Punic Wars to develop your own research and academic (okay, academic in tone) writing abilities! the kids will contribute! wikipedia gets a new crop of editors who HAVE to do this unlike the rest of us morons editors who voluntarily toil under the endless wheel of the open internet! yeah!

and that's not like. the WORST idea I've ever heard, for all that it's not really a good one. Because on the surface, there are a lot of similarities to writing a humanities-esque college paper and a wikipedia article. you are assigned a topic; you research the existing scholarship; you compile a bibliography and summarize the relevant literature IN YOUR OWN WORDS; your sentences are cited, your perspectives are balanced, and you check your bias (as much as you can) at the door.

two major, one minor (but no less annoying), issues with this :

(major) wikipedia editing is not the same as college essay writing. for one thing, coordinated editing in groups on one topic like this is uhhhhh strongly discouraged on wikipedia because it's very fucking easy for a cliche of editors to make massive changes and sideline other editors who disagree with them. wiki editing is an iterative process where articles are refined and improved in the forges of a Socratic circle of topic-proficient grammar nerds.

(major) a lot of you are really bad writers!!! you are not good at writing at a college level on the first go and, as far as I can tell, none of you are using the blessed Sandbox feature that every single registered editor gets in order to test and try out the big, blocks of text edits y'all are adding to these shivering, unsuspecting articles who are getting t-boned by 19 year olds adding sentences that are just comma splices on comma splices.

(minor but lol it's the largest one because I'm petty) the rest of the editorial corps of wikipedia, to say nothing of the READERS, who are unaware of that this fuckery is ongoing, are not in your college class. I'm not taking Fall 2024 ENG 2201 at [Random Ass] University and the articles that I keep an eye on didn't sign up to be shoddily edited by a bunch of novices who have no understanding of, let alone respect for, (among other things) the Wikipedia Manual of Style, editing norms and best practices, how to not plagiarize whole-cloth, and how not to regurgitate propaganda. the rest of the internet is not standing still while you make unsourced claims about dead Emirati sheikhs being "visionary leaders" with references from Emirati governmnet websites. no!!!! there's never enough oversight from the professors and Wiki Ed Foundation people and then when I undo most of the shit-tier edits they're like ummm hi sweaty sorry but I'm reverting you (triple-revert-undo-block guideline violation but go off I guess) so I can see my students' edits for their grade (despite the fact that the history features keeps a record of every single edit) sooooo yeah just leave this horseshit on Hedy Lamarr's internet for 8 weeks until the semester is over :) and I'm like no. die perhaps.

'so why does wikipedia keep doing this if the student editors suck so much donkey dick' - again, a few main reasons.

I'm bitter rn because I've been dealing with a particularly stupid batch of student editors editing particularly badly. most of them are much better and have supervision so they can't suck THAT badly. it's generally an overall benefit to have anyone edit....ever. so this is still a positive, either from the edit itself or that it prompts other editors to go take a look at what these kids are doing and clean up both the new mess and the preexisting mess that has been stagnant since 2012.

WIKIPEDIA NEEDS NEW EDITORS SO BADLY. you know how the premise of Game of Thrones is that there's all this seemingly really important but in fact petty fighting happening between the houses or w/e but the actually, huge issue is the ice zombies about to fuck shit up? people are freaking out about ChatGPT and other LLMs but the reality is that won't matter very much if there's no one to do the actual editing. Wikipedia is STARVING for editors as people move on, get older, get new responsibilities, get fed up with bullshit, sometimes die, etc. multiple college classes of dozens of students (worldwide! so doubly great if it helps with countering the American/Western-centric bias!) who are under 25 is like a blood infusion for a hemophiliac to Wikipedia. I cannot emphasize enough for much they (we) want YOU to go edit. I will help you, I will take your hand. they want you, personally. and imho that's why there's the willingness to put up with these pretty solidly mediocre editors - the odds that one or two per every 50 will stay and turn into a relatively active editor.

[callsignfate]

College Laswell x Reader.

Involves: Kate Laswell and John Price.

(This is set in an early college time frame. Also, yes, I put you all in the same college at the same time. I don't care if it doesn't match up with the time frame of when they actually met or anything in the game of when they met. It's just a fun thing to write, I also wrote this offline on my phone notes app, I didn't edit or refine my writing at all, so this is basically what my writing is without any editing or refining of any sort so let me know if you like this style of writing or the more edited versions.)

May contain or discuss 18+ content or themes viewer discretion is advised!

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

Price was an absolute fuck boy in his late teens/early 20's, the catch? Kate is his friend through the whole phase. Poor Kate. She watches these girls fall head over heels with him and his accent over and over, not to say he isn't a gentleman and transparent about the whole thing.

Kate watches these girls willingly throw themselves at him after he says the same thing he's said to every woman coming his way "I'm not looking for anything serious, dating isn't something I have time for or want to do."

Kate only knows this because of a few different ways. Mutual friends, rumors, and you. Kate always thought you were interested in John because you hung around him and often spent time with him if you'd get the chance. She just assumed you weren't going to say anything to her or anyone about it. That you were waiting for a time when he was interested in dating, for your chance with him.

She always wondered what you were doing when you went over to his dorm room because he had no roommate, meaning you two were alone and he's a playboy. Kate did playfully ask a few times if you were or had fucked John, you always had this shocked face and always said no almost immediately.

John, when asked by Kate, always winked or found a way to escape answering her questions. Kate, because of that, believed that you both had at least once or even twice in your many room visits.

Today, again, you were headed to go to his room alone. Kate had texted you asking if you were free after her class to go get lunch, you replied, sure, and you'd be at John's room, so to meet you there instead of yours.

Kate's chest felt heavier after reading your text. She had tried to take a deep breath and shake it off, but the feeling didn't budge. Her class that she actually had liked had become an immovable object in her own way. She watched the hands on the clock move slowly, making her frustrated and antsy in class, shifting and moving in her seat as she tried to focus.

To no avail, Kate left class fifteen minutes early, her mind buzzing and aching with her questioning her own feelings and reasoning for leaving class early. She hovered her finger over the text to tell you she was on her way to John's room before she sighed, put her phone away, and sped walked her way over, fidgeting with straps on her backpack as she walked.

She was thankful she was taller than the average woman, taking the stairs two or even three at a time easily. She stopped before his door, listening to hear if she could hear any sounds her mind pleaded she wouldn't.

She heard nothing but small whispers, a small signature John chuckle, She opened the door without knocking, which was unlike her but something you and John often did to each other. Kate had learned her lesson with not knocking before going into John's room once, and she never wanted to do, or see that, again.

She watched as you grabbed something and shoved it behind your back. She couldn't see or read the writing on it. It was too light and far away for her to even try. She noticed you and John were both sitting on the carpeted floor of his room comfortably. Her mind was buzzing again when she noticed you were sitting close, her thoughts running rampant on how comfortable you looked and were sitting near him.

You gave her a soft smile as you hid the paper behind your back, John looked as casual as ever as he rolled his eyes at you hiding through paper so obviously.

"Kate, you're here early, class end early?" John already knew the answer. It didn't. His friend took the class and hadn't texted him back or came over to his room yet to do their plans.

"Yea, I thought I'd head over since it ended early." She muttered, shooting him a confidant glare. She could see his cocky smile and the glint in his eyes that he knew she was lying. She just hoped he hadn't known or noticed why.

"Lunch?" She walked over and held her hand out to help you up from the sitting on the floor. You took it with a soft, happy smile and gave a quiet nod. You had tucked the paper into your back pocket and grabbed your backpack before you stood up and glanced back at John and motioned for him to take the paper from your pocket before Kate would try to take it.

He did quickly before tucking it into his own pants pocket quickly. Kate watched and observed most of this without you noticing she was watching this take place, although you were trying to hide it, obviously.

"Ready?" You asked with a small smile as you took your hand out of hers. You wanted to hold it longer but didn't want to make her uncomfortable. You shifted your bag strap on your shoulder as your bag was loosely slung over one shoulder uncomfortablely. You said goodbye to John, who gave you a smile 'see you later' before the door closed.

The lunch went as normal as every lunch you had with Kate. She talked about her classes, studied, and ate before you both parted ways for your next classes separately.

Kate knocked quickly, her head looking around quietly as she hoped no one would notice or see her at the door. She felt an arm yank her in immediately before she glared at him.

"What was the paper- What did it say?" Kate practically demanded before Price could say a word she always already looking for it. He laughed and sighed as he shook his head at her.

"Why don't you ask her?" He taunted, knowing she couldn't, or wouldn't dare ask you.

"Very funny, just tell me what it was." She said again as she looked and moved different things around his room without even looking his way.

"Kate, seriously, she'd kill me if you found out." John muttered as he was already considering giving the paper to her so she'd stop messing up his room, and so he could sleep for his morning classes.

"Well, what if I promise she won't find out?" Kate said finally as she turned around and held out her hand for the paper with a knowing smile.

"Fine- fine. If she finds out, then it's on you, I'm telling her you looked for it when I wasn't here and found it." John muttered as he pulled it out of his pants pocket and practically slapped it in her hand with a playfully frustrated sigh.

Kate's hands couldn't move fast enough as she unfolded the paper. She needed to know if you had actually had fucked John, she needed to know everything that was making her mind plagued with thoughts and questions. It was giving her a near constant dull ache in her chest.

The paper was filled on one side of little doodles of her looking different ways, focusing on papers or studies, looking out a window. She could tell the doodles were yours. She had seen you doodle on your work before, she smiled at them before she turned the paper over.

"Is- is this my likes and dislikes, a plan to ask me out, and places I might like to go out to?" Kate asked in shock. It was all little information that she had given to John from their years of friendship, and to you when you had asked her a question.

"Kids been trying to ask you out, I was just helping her as much as I could." John admitted with a small shrug and a smile.

"You knew she liked me?" Kate paused as she looked over the paper and information as her mind began to fill and become overwhelmed with endless questions and thoughts. "..and you knew I liked her back. You've said nothing?!" Kate whisper yelled at him as she scoffed at his amused smile.

"I've known, I wanted her to do it on her own, and I liked to fuck with you. I tried to offer her a chance to sleep with me a few weeks after she joined our little friend group. She said, and I quote, "I'd never fuck you if we were the last two people alive, no offense and all but I swing the other way, if you catch my drift." John said with a small laugh as he was reminded of the early months of your friendship. He had already knoticed your eyes, always watching and looking at Kate, how willing you were to walk, eat, or do anything you could to spend time with her.

"I can't believe you fucked with me, you made me think you had fucked, or were fucking." Kate hissed out in slight irritation as her eyes were glued to the paper gripped tightly in her hands intently.

"Yea well, payback for all of the times you told girls I was terrible in bed." John said as he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Fair enough, I'm going to go see her." Kate, basically declared as she began folding the paper back up and putting it in her pocket.

"Woah, woah, you can't take that." Price muttered as he tried to reach for the paper to steal it back.

"I'll tell her I found it, like you said, don't worry." Kate muttered as she gave him back a tone, mocking his and a smile.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

(If you want more of this, just let me know, I left it at a sort of cliffhanger and I have more written it's just that it gets "spicy" in the next part when Laswell goes to your room.)

[imtooscaredforthis]

So Two Murderers Walk Into A Room…

Chapter Three: The Truth Isn’t So Bad

Mentions of: Murder, Homicidal Thoughts, Knives, Homicidal Tendencies, Mental Illness, etc.

A/N: I was super sleepy while editing this so please forgive grammar/spelling errors

Tags: @vandeaad @dead-bxxxtch-walking @moonshineinasippycup @stwbwwychan @mama-miya

He was right. You hate to admit when you’re wrong, but boy were you wrong. You truly are in some sort of fucked up dimension. And that entity thing, you saw it. After you sacrificed all those survivors. It was real.

In some strange way, you felt connected to it. Like it was controlling you. You shouldn’t want to be controlled. You never want to be controlled. But you like how you feel.

You get that familiar blissful feeling whenever you kill, but multiplied by ten. Right now, you feel amazing, the buzz and adrenaline running through your veins. You feel better than you’ve felt in a long time. Honestly, you wouldn’t mind doing this for eternity.

“Boo.” A voice suddenly whispered in your ear, making you shriek and turn on your heel, waving your knife around. A gloved hand caught your wrist, stopping you before you could do any damage.

It was that masked freak from before. He chuckled to himself lowly, and you could feel the smugness emanating from him. “Seems like I caught you red-handed, Sweetheart. You finally ready to confess?”

And just like that, your mood soured. Sweetheart. Who does this condescending prick think he is?

“Don’t call me that.” You hissed poisonously. “And I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“You don’t, but I’m sure I can get it out of you. You do have quite a bit of blood on you after all. Cute. So how many did you get? Two? Three?” He examined the knife in your hand, before releasing your wrist.

“Four, actually.” You corrected him, doing your best to stop your smile as you felt some sadistic pride grow in your chest. What are you doing? Why are you trying to please him?

“Ooooh, four. You got them all?” He asked. “Yeah, not like it was hard or anything. I was a district champion in track in High school, and I did gymnastics in college. So I have some extra skill when it comes to the hunt.”

You can’t help but find yourself getting sucked into this conversation with him. No one’s ever talked to you about murder before. It’s such a taboo subject, and yet, you’re here, talking to this man and treating it so casually. It’s so…freeing.

“See? Isn’t it nice being able to be yourself? Your true self? I knew you’d admit it eventually.” He remarked.

“Okay, you might’ve been right about some things, but not everything. Who are you, anyway?” You asked, realizing he never told you his name.

“Mmm, I go by a lot of things, but most people know me as Ghostface.” He said.

You repeated the name to yourself, before giggling. “You’re so weird.”

“Laugh all you want, but that name terrified anyone who heard it, especially those who read my name in the paper. The stories of what I did kept countless up at night, and I would’ve scared you too.” He stated in an irritated, almost threatening tone.

“Oh really?” You challenged him. “Yep. I’d have you changing your locks and everything. Maybe I’d even get you to move.”

“Well, you’re wrong, Ghostface. Because I’m not a pussy. I’m not scared of anything.” You replied, gesturing at him with your knife in hand, a big grin on your face.

He was oddly quiet for a moment and stood as still as a statue. Still, you could feel his eyes following your movement. Then, he spoke. “I have a feeling you and I are going to be good friends.”

Huh? Just when you thought you got under his skin, when you thought you finally deflated his huge ego, he bounced back immediately. Seems like you can’t push his buttons like he can push yours.

“Now, there’s lots for us to do. I need to show you around to the other realms and have you meet the other killers. That’ll be fun.” He remarked.

“Other killers?” You repeated. “Yeah, you didn’t think it was just us, did you? Now c’mon, let’s go.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, leading you out of the woods.

–

It didn’t take long, just a little more walking before finding the other killers. There were around eleven, all grouped up together, waiting for another trial, you assumed. Many had more monster-like features, but others appeared to be human.

You weren’t afraid, but you were intimidated, and curious. Why did they look the way they did? Did they always look like that? Or did something change them? Do you look like that?

It’s been a while since you looked in a mirror, but you don’t think you do. You hope you don’t. One of the few things you pride yourself on is your looks. You’re beautiful. You know you are.

Not only is it nice to be pretty, but it’s good for sex, and it’s also easier to lure in your prey. That’s how you’ve killed and gotten away with your murders.

“Hey guys, welcome our newbie, _______! Isn’t she just the cutest?” He pushed you against him, before reaching up and squeezing your cheeks. Glaring at him, you smacked his hand away, slipping out of his grip.

Feeling all the attention on you, you glanced at the group, suddenly feeling shy. “Uh, hi.”

It’s strange, being around people and creatures that all now know your secret, even though you’ve spent your whole life hiding it. It’s even weirder knowing that they’re just like you.

Well, not just like you, but they obviously have to have some involvement with killing to be there.

“Well, hello there.” A lilac-haired man purred. He approached you quickly, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. You blinked at him, processing his actions.

Okay, now some guy dressed in what seems like a ringmaster’s outfit is hitting on you. Not that you minded. He was quite good looking after all, with a pretty face, and a toned upper body. Great abs too.

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m-”

“Fuck off, Trickster. She’s mine.” Ghostface interrupted, shoving him away. He said something to him, you weren’t sure what because it was in another language, but whatever it was didn’t sound nice.

You opened your mouth to object to Ghostface’s statement, but the next thing you knew he was ushering you away from the killers. “You’ll get to know them later. Let me show you around.”

[fromkenari]

A mass of fools and knaves

The full email exchange between Alex Claremont Diaz and Prince Henry Fox Mountchristen Windsor from Chapter Nine of Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston. Put here for my best friend to read.

A mass of fools and knaves A agcd@eclare45.com��               8/10/20 1:04 AM to Henry H, Have you ever read any of Alexander Hamilton’s letters to John Laurens? What am I saying? Of course you haven’t. You’d probably be disinherited for revolutionary sympathies. Well, since I got the boot from the campaign, there is literally nothing for me to do but watch cable news (diligently chipping away at my brain cells by the day) and sort through all my old shit from college. Just looking at papers, thinking: Excellent, yes, I’m so glad I stayed up all night writing this for a 98 in the class, only to get summarily fired from the first job I ever had and exiled to my bedroom! Great job, Alex! Is this how you feel in the palace all the time? It fucking sucks, man. So anyway, I’m going through my college stuff, and I find this analysis I did of Hamilton’s wartime correspondence, and hear me out: I think Hamilton could have been bi. His letters to Laurens are almost as romantic as his letters to his wife. Half of them are signed “Yours” or “Affectionately yrs,” and the last one before Laurens died is signed “Yrs for ever.” I can’t figure out why nobody talks about the possibility of a Founding Father being not straight (outside of Chernow’s biography, which is great btw, see attached bibliography). I mean, I know why, but. Anyway, I found this part of a letter he wrote to Laurens, and it made me think of you. And me, I guess: The truth is I am an unlucky honest man, that speak my sentiments to all and with emphasis. I say this to you because you know it and will not charge me with vanity. I hate Congress—I hate the army—I hate the world—I hate myself. The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you … Thinking about history makes me wonder how I’ll fit into it one day, I guess. And you too. I kinda wish people still wrote like that. History, huh? Bet we could make some. Affectionately yrs, slowly going insane, Alex, First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 239-241). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Re: A mass of fools and knaves Henry hwales@kensingtonemail.com                8/10/20 4:18 AM to A Alex, First Son of Masturbatory Historical Readings: The phrase “see attached bibliography” is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me. Every time you mention your slow decay inside the White House, I can’t help but feel it’s my fault, and I feel absolutely shit about it. I’m sorry. I should have known better than to turn up at a thing like that. I got carried away; I didn’t think. I know how much that job meant to you. I just want to … you know. Extend the option. If you wanted less of me, and more of that—the work, the uncomplicated things—I would understand. Truly. In any event … Believe it or not, I have actually done a bit of reading on Hamilton, for a number of reasons. First, he was a brilliant writer. Second, I knew you were named after him (the pair of you share an alarming number of traits, by the by: passionate determination, never knowing when to shut up, &c &c). And third, some saucy tart once tried to impugn my virtue against an oil painting of him, and in the halls of memory, some things demand context. Are you angling for a revolutionary soldier role-play scenario? I must inform you, any trace of King George III blood I have would curdle in my very veins and render me useless to you. Or are you suggesting you’d rather exchange passionate letters by candlelight? Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I’ve just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all? I think perhaps Hamilton said it better in a letter to Eliza: You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any thing else—you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream—and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness. If you did decide to take the option mentioned at the start of this email, I do hope you haven’t read the rest of this rubbish. Regards, Haplessly Romantic Heretic Prince Henry the Utterly Daft

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 241-243). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Re: A mass of fools and knaves A agcd@eclare45.com                8/10/20 5:36 AM to Henry H, Please don’t be stupid. No part of any of this will ever be uncomplicated. Anyway, you should be a writer. You are a writer. Even after all this, I still always feel like I want to know more of you. Does that sound crazy? I just sit here and wonder, who is this person who knows stuff about Hamilton and writes like this? Where does someone like that even come from? How was I so wrong? It’s weird because I always know things about people, gut feelings that usually lead me in more or less the right direction. I do think I got a gut feeling with you, I just didn’t have what I needed in my head to understand it. But I kind of kept chasing it anyway, like I was just going blindly in a certain direction and hoping for the best. I guess that makes you the North Star? I wanna see you again and soon. I keep reading that one paragraph over and over again. You know which one. I want you back here with me. I want your body and I want the rest of you too. And I want to get the fuck out of this house. Watching June and Nora on TV doing appearances without me is torture. We have this annual thing at my dad’s lake house in Texas. Whole long weekend off the grid. There’s a lake with a pier, and my dad always cooks something fucking amazing. You wanna come? I kind of can’t stop thinking about you all sunburned and pretty sitting out there in the country. It’s the weekend after next. If Shaan can talk to Zahra or somebody about flying you into Austin, we can pick you up from there. Say yes? Yrs, Alex P.S. Allen Ginsberg to Peter Orlovsky—1958: Tho I long for the actual sunlight contact between us I miss you like a home. Shine back honey & think of me.

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 243-245). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Re: A mass of fools and knaves Henry hwales@kensingtonemail.com                8/10/20 8:22 PM to A Alex, If I’m north, I shudder to think where in God’s name we’re going. I’m ruminating on identity and your question about where a person like me comes from, and as best as I can explain it, here’s a story: Once, there was a young prince who was born in a castle. His mother was a princess scholar, and his father was the most handsome, feared knight in all the land. As a boy, people would bring him everything he could ever dream of wanting. The most beautiful silk clothes, ripe fruit from the orangery. At times, he was so happy, he felt he would never grow tired of being a prince. He came from a long, long line of princes, but never before had there been a prince quite like him: born with his heart on the outside of his body. When he was small, his family would smile and laugh and say he would grow out of it one day. But as he grew, it stayed where it was, red and visible and alive. He didn’t mind it very much, but every day, the family’s fear grew that the people of the kingdom would soon notice and turn their backs on the prince. His grandmother, the queen, lived in a high tower, where she spoke only of the other princes, past and present, who were born whole. Then, the prince’s father, the knight, was struck down in battle. The lance tore open his armor and his body and left him bleeding in the dust. And so, when the queen sent new clothes, armor for the prince to parcel his heart away safe, the prince’s mother did not stop her. For she was afraid, now: afraid of her son’s heart torn open too. So the prince wore it, and for many years, he believed it was right. Until he met the most devastatingly gorgeous peasant boy from a nearby village who said absolutely ghastly things to him that made him feel alive for the first time in years and who turned out to be the most mad sort of sorcerer, one who could conjure up things like gold and vodka shots and apricot tarts out of absolutely nothing, and the prince’s whole life went up in a puff of dazzling purple smoke, and the kingdom said, “I can’t believe we’re all so surprised.” I’m in for the lake house. I must admit, I’m glad you’re getting out of the house. I worry you may burn the thing down. Does this mean I’ll be meeting your father? I miss you. x Henry P.S. This is mortifying and maudlin and, honestly, I hope you forget it as soon as you’ve read it. P.P.S. From Henry James to Hendrik C. Andersen, 1899: May the terrific U.S.A. be meanwhile not a brute to you. I feel in you a confidence, dear Boy–which to show is a joy to me. My hopes and desires and sympathies right heartily and most firmly, go with you. So keep up your heart, and tell me, as it shapes itself, your (inevitably, I imagine, more or less weird) American story. May, at any rate, tutta quella gente be good to you.

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 245-247). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.