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bandgie · 4 months ago

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Little 'Lix

warnings! mdni18+, smallcock!felix, pussy job, v slight pussy play, squirting, Felix is self-conscious, blow job, handjob, semi-erections

notes! I've wanted to write a tiny penis fic for a while but I also haven't updated in a while so I might be rusty :(

2.2k words

Felix would hardly call this a lie. It was simply never brought up, or as he’s telling you right now…

“You never asked.” Felix shrugs, his back slumped against the couch with his arms folded over his chest as if extremely uninterested in your current ministrations. His pants are down to his ankles with his cock - if you could even call it that - barely peeking through the slit of his boxers. He’s not hard, can’t be when you’re looking at him like this: eyes wide with shock, mouth open with the same emotion as you look upon his crotch.

You don’t mean to be so flabbergasted. “I just- I had assumed- Well, cuz your voice is so deep and…” you’re babbling. None of your reasons explain why you thought Felix would be hung and now you feel so stupid for believing his vocal cords would play a role in his size.

He would never tell you, but he’s hurt. You can tell by how his jaw tenses and his eyes water. “It’s fine. I know it’s small. Just forget it.”

“No!” You put a hand on Felix’s wrist to stop him from tucking his flaccid cock back into his boxers. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He gives you a look that makes you further go into panic mode. “I swear! I was just…surprised, but it doesn’t matter to me! I swear on everything, Felix, I’m not upset or disappointed or whatever.”

And it’s true. Maybe your reaction says otherwise, but you’re beyond willing to do what you promised your best friend - to make him feel good.

Felix is understandably hesitant. After seeing your initial shock and his anxiety surrounding his size, he isn’t sure if he can get half-erect. It’s the apologetic eagerness that he sees in your eyes that makes him nod. “O-okay. But I don't even know if I can get hard.”

You’re already scrambling on your knees, hands on his dainty thighs that you smooth over with your palms. “That’s okay, it’s cute just like this,” You plant a gentle kiss on his cock, moving your hands so you can tug his boxers off until his little cock is completely exposed.

It’s so limp. No guy would ever let a girl see them in such a state. It makes you feel almost special that Felix would give you such privilege. His dick is no bigger than your thumb. The head of his cock is covered by skin that you stroke with three fingers up and down.

Slowly, of course. You know that moving too fast would only cause Felix discomfort. He’s already on edge as it is with his fisted hands at his sides. As much as you want to feel him harden on your tongue, you satiate your mouth by peppering kisses on his thighs. His skin feels soft against your lips and tastes slightly metallic against your tongue. Your fingers change from stroking to caressing, the tips of your digits tracing against his veins before you circle his covered tip.

Felix hums. The first signs of feeling pleasure. Your stomach pools with pride and arousal, underwear dampening. You playfully bite down on his milky thighs, smiling up at him as he grins back at you.

“You really like my legs, hm?” He asks. You nod, but then stop moving your head to answer with words instead. “They’re so pretty. Everything about you is so pretty.”

Despite him looking away, you can see the blush creeping up to his cheeks. He pinches his lips together bashfully while you giggle. Felix is always so endearing, so innocent even with his tiny cock barely hardening against your fingers. You take the opportunity to finally place your mouth where you want it.

You hear him sharply inhale when you wrap your lips around the head. It hardly peeks from the skin, but it’s enough for you to swipe your tongue gently on his tip. His fingers restlessly uncurl and curl. You think he’ll take the initiative to thread them through your hair, but he keeps them planted on the couch. With one of your own hands, you grab his wrist to place it on the back of your head.

Even with his small hand now in your hair, he doesn't push you down. Felix doesn’t so much as tighten his grip, content with you setting a pace. He doesn’t shove you deeper when you focus on his tip. He doesn’t yank on your hair when you harshly suck on it. You almost feel like you're sucking on a dildo rather than a person with how pliant he’s being.

He has to break, you’re sure of it. Felix’s cock can somewhat stand up on its own now, though you can tell he’s not at his full hardest. Testingly, you dip your head lower. Lower until his pubes tickle your nose and your lips touch his pelvis.

Felix groans, hips just slightly bucking as you easily swallow him whole. You hollow your cheeks and suck, barely bobbing your head up and down so his cock has friction. His fingers curl around your hair, and as if he realizes what he’s doing, he forces them loose again. You groan on his cock, accidentally stimulating him further.

Then you pop off his dick almost annoyed.

“Why are you holding back?” You ask, keeping one of your hands on his thighs while the other hand has a few fingers stroking him. Felix has a certain glaze over his eyes, his face tinted with a pretty pink as he blinks at you. It takes a few seconds for your words to register before he says, “Huh?”

You lay your head on his lap, trying your best to look cute and not just a little bit irked. “Like, you can push my head, ya’ know? You can move me how you want to. I don't mind.”

But your tricks don’t work. Felix looks somewhat guilty as his thumb strokes the back of your head soothingly. “I- I dunno. I’m okay like this.”

“Are you sure?” You can’t help but press. “We can do anything you like. I want you to feel good.”

Your words aren’t working, not when you see the aroused look turn nervous. His cock would have completely gone soft again if it wasn’t for your spit-soaked fingers continuously stroking him. “I am feeling good, but I want you to feel good,” he counters. “I’m just so fucking small. I would never be able to-”

“Stop,” you sound firm. “You’re perfect. Nothing about you is too big or too small. And f.y.i, I am feeling good.”

That seems to stop him in his tracks. Felix looks at you confused, “You are?”

“I am,” you confirm, but you know words aren't enough. Not when Felix is thinking about what he’s lacking in the back of his mind even with you sucking on him off. You lift your head and raise to your feet, unbuttoning your shorts and tossing them on the couch along with your underwear.

Felix’s eyes latch to your core, but you don’t give him a good view as you set both of your legs on either side of his thighs to straddle. Your arms wrap around his neck and you hover over his cock that’s beginning to stir awake again.

With your face this close to his, Felix has no choice but to look into your sincere and determined eyes. “How about I show you, yeah?”

He gulps, large Adam's apple bobbing as he regards you. “I-I-I’m not hard and-”

“And you can leave it all to me. You don’t gotta worry your pretty little head about anything. I got it.” There’s a slight hint of authority in your voice that Felix listens to immediately. He shuts up and braces his hands on his couch, again, as you place your cunt on his cock.

Your clit drags on him, slowly grinding yourself up and down as a warm-up. It feels more like a hot, big finger rather than a dick, but it gives enough pleasure to grip Felix’s shoulders and rub just a little harder.

It gets easier to slide within seconds, your arousal coating his thighs and shy cock. Felix’s timid hands finally find purchase on your hips, hardly applying enough pressure to set a pace, but enough to let you know he’s enjoying what you’re doing.

“Like that?” You ask, a smile on your lips that Felix so desperately wants to taste.

He nods, “Yeah. Yeah. It’s so warm.”

Of course it’s warm, any body part would be, but pride still swells in your chest and your cheeks color pink. “Mhm. It’d be warmer in me too, if you want.” You add the last part like a second thought, knowing that Felix’s self-consciousness hasn’t completely gone away yet. He hums, leaning close to brush his nose against yours and sighs. “I like it just like this. I wouldn't mind a kiss though.”

You giggle, nodding and letting him close the distance with gentleness. Kissing Felix is nothing new, but having his cock between your cunt lips while you hump it is. His lips are sweet as always. You’ve once said that kissing him felt like a hug for your mouth and that’s true even now. You feel nothing but comfort when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip, sucking on the flesh until his teeth take hold of it.

For a split second, you forget about his little friend until he presses you harder on it. His hands aren't scared when he’s focused on your mouth, going as far as to gently rock his hips with you. You moan in his mouth, working your lower body to match his pace eagerly. His cock doesn’t feel as limp. It doesn’t slip and slide as much as before, now able to stand on its own with little help from his thighs.

He already told you he wouldn’t be able to get fully erect. Not even with his groans and love bites, but you don’t mind. It still feels good to rub on him just like this, clit catching his head and dragging down to his balls before you do it all over again. The pace gets rougher, quicker when you feel the subtle, familiar feeling bubble in your stomach. Touching your clit always makes you cum fast and having his cock the perfect size only makes you aching to go faster. The back of your thighs clap against his when you start to bounce.

His cock can only reach so high and he was so sure that you wouldn’t be able to cum like this, but he’s proven wrong when you start grinding on his pelvis. Maybe he should feel just a little ashamed that his cock can’t even be long enough for you to fully grind on, but he finds himself loving your wet pussy sliding on his tummy. Felix digs his fingers deeper into your hips, pulling you closer so that you can use his body how you like. It doesn’t matter if he can’t finish. To him, the only orgasm that matters is yours.

Properly kissing Felix is near impossible with how much you’re moaning. He’s doing all the work by keeping your lips near and reaching his tongue to run against them.

A deep giggle from him sends shivers down your spine. You match his smile but whimper when one of his hands moves to the space between you to stretch your cunt in a v-shape. Now your clit is completely exposed to his dick, his hips rutting just perfectly against your nub.

“Fuck. W-Where did you learn that?” Your hazy eyes look for an answer in his own.

Another laugh. Felix shakes his head so that his blonde hair slightly covers his face. “Turns out there’s a lot you don’t know about your best friend.”

Apparently not, but ignorance is bliss. You’re more than willing to let your closest friend use his hidden techniques to make you cum. Felix brings you closer when his thumb stretches to directly touch your clit. It’s almost too much, too overwhelming for you to be played with.

But it works. Especially with Felix swallowing your moans and coaxing your sounds onto his tongue. His tiny fingers alongside his tiny cock work their magic sliding against you. Your orgasm builds until you feel yourself shaking, head tilting back so that Felix can suck your throat.

The combination of his soft mouth kissing your skin and how he works your lower half finally sends you over. His tongue lavishes the side of your neck just above your shoulder. You shudder and gasp, cunt clenching around nothing and hands grasping his upper arms with force.

“Felix! FelixFelixFelix, I’m cumming.” You groan out. Your body stills but he keeps his hips moving. His thrusts slow, feeling your pussy pulse against his cock from your orgasm. He moans at your whimpers, the way you chant his name. Felix doesn’t think you could get hotter until he feels a wet splash on his tummy. He pulls away from your throat to look down, eyes widening to see your cunt leaking with clear fluid that lands on his tummy and cock.

Strong, but lean arms hold your steady while you tremble. Curiously, Felix flicks his thumb across your clit and gasps when you squirt more on him. You tilt your head down and look at him pleadingly. “D-don’t be mean.” He looks up at you and grins. Turns out there were a few things he didn’t know about you either.

#smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #skz #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #skz lee felix #skz felix #skz yongbok #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix smut #felix x reader #lee felix #stray kids felix

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edenesth · 9 months ago

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The Way to His Heart [15]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 14 | Fic Masterlist | Part 16

"I still don't understand why you had to creep around instead of just approaching her and introducing yourself properly," Jongho remarked, rolling his eyes as Wooyoung clicked his tongue in frustration, "Oh, come on! Can you blame me? She's so beautiful, I got nervous, alright?! I've never had to talk to her before, and I just... I panicked!"

The assistant squinted at his friend, "You do realise if the general catches wind of any of that, you'll be out of a job. Don't tell me you have a crush on our mistress..."

"And you don't?!" The private investigator squeaked, eyes widening in disbelief as Jongho shook his head, unamused, "That's inappropriate. Don't you ever suggest such a thing again."

Wooyoung kept his mouth shut, realising that his friend would be the last person interested in hearing him gush about how pretty he found you. He was fully aware that you were his employer's wife and therefore off-limits. Still, it wouldn't hurt to indulge in the innocent fantasy of being a secret admirer.

Besides, he still valued his life, and it wasn't as if he was actually in love with you or anything. Deep down, humans are all visual animals, and he found his tiny crush on you completely justifiable.

Turning serious, Jongho inquired, "So, what did the mistress need help with? She's been secluded in the study ever since Prince Yeosang's departure and hadn't spoken to any of us until you showed up. Something must have happened."

With a smug nod, Wooyoung responded, "Ah, it seems I already know more than you. How does that feel, senior assistant Choi?" His grin disappeared when the younger man did not react as expected, only staring him down intimidatingly, as if daring him to continue with his playful shenanigans, "Ugh, fine, sheesh. The fourth prince invited her to his birthday banquet happening next week. She's really anxious since it's her first royal event and without General Park. She wants guidance on dealing with the royals."

Head shooting up at the revelation, the assistant knitted his brows together in concern, "The fourth prince... invited her to his birthday banquet? Did he say why?"

The private investigator shrugged, a hint of nonchalance in his tone, "He mentioned that since General Park is away, he hoped Lady Park could represent him this year."

A troubled expression clouded Jongho's features as he processed the information, his mind racing with possible implications. The idea of His Highness extending such an invitation seemed out of the ordinary, sparking unease within him.

Noticing the younger man's troubled demeanour, Wooyoung nudged him on the shoulder, concern evident in his voice, "Why do you look so bothered, man? What's on your mind?"

Jongho's stomach churned as he mulled over his thoughts, his voice tinged with apprehension as he responded, "I wouldn't have been surprised if it had been any of the other princes. But Prince Yeosang? He hasn't hosted a single birthday banquet in years. And besides, his connection with the general is minimal at best. So... what do you think he wants with our mistress?"

That revelation made the private investigator sit up straight, suddenly grasping the complexity of the situation. If what his friend said held true, it meant the fourth prince was plotting something. A surge of protectiveness for you washed over him, wanting to ensure your safety and not let his role model down.

Turning to the assistant, he asked, "Damn, I don't like the sound of that. So what's our move? Should we warn her?"

Jongho shook his head adamantly, "Absolutely not. She'd panic, and that's the last thing we need. I'll fetch the dressmaker; he's one of the general's closest friends, and along with Physician Jung's help, we'll try to figure this out."

"Oh, one more thing!" Wooyoung interjected, grabbing the younger man's attention, "Lady Park did mention that it would be great if she could somehow get in touch with Royal Secretary Choi. It seems she believes he's the only one who can offer helpful advice for navigating the royal event."

Pondering this information quietly, the assistant nodded, "Fortunately, I've corresponded with him on behalf of the general several times. I should be able to reach him easily."

Jongho furrowed his brows, noticing the unsettled expression on the investigator's face, "What's bothering you now?"

Wooyoung sighed, his expression clouded with uncertainty, "The lady also expressed her doubts about whether the royal secretary would even consider helping her. She's unsure if someone as busy as him would take the time to assist her."

Shaking his head, the assistant offered reassurance, "Don't worry. Royal Secretary Choi is genuinely one of the kindest people you'll ever meet. He shares a friendship with the general and will certainly lend a hand to our mistress if she needs it."

That would soon be clear to them all when San arrived to grace everyone in the general's estate with his presence in just a few days, leaving Hongjoong, Yunho, and Wooyoung in awe as they watched the handsome man with an exceptionally fit physique—perhaps a little too fit to be a mere secretary—walk past the three of them, who were sitting in the living hall, with a respectful nod and courteous smile.

Jongho exchanged knowing glances with them as he ushered the royal secretary into the estate and towards the study, where you awaited his guidance with your studies.

"Am I the only one who thinks that guy seems more suited for the battlefield than the royal office?" Wooyoung quipped, prompting a reluctant nod from Hongjoong. For some inexplicable reason, he found the private investigator mildly annoying, almost like a younger brother, "As much as I hate to admit it, you're right about that. He does give off that vibe."

Yunho, known for his wisdom and maturity, offered a shrug in response, "We shouldn't judge someone solely by their appearance. Perhaps the royal secretary excels in matters of intelligence rather than physical strength."

Rolling his eyes, the dressmaker fired back, "Obviously, we're just joking. Lighten up a little, Yunho, or you'll never find a wife with that boring ass attitude."

The physician pursed his lips at the jab, while Wooyoung watched with amusement as the banter between the two friends unfolded, "Says you? You're older and still single. Perhaps the problem lies closer to home."

Hongjoong scoffed in disbelief and placed his hands on his hips, "Excuse you, I'll have you know there are plenty of women vying for my attention every day. It's not my fault I have standards."

"I could say the same." Yunho retorted.

Before the banter could escalate, Jongho intervened with a heavy sigh, "I leave for a minute, and you're already arguing. How is it that all of you are older than me?"

"I agree, assistant Choi. Their behaviour was rather immature," The investigator remarked, feigning innocence when the doctor raised an eyebrow, "You're the one who instigated the whole thing."

Just as Wooyoung opened his mouth to defend himself, the assistant rubbed his temple wearily, "Oh my god, enough. Let's not forget why we're here today—to figure out the intentions of Prince Yeosang regarding our mistress."

"Is that the purpose of this gathering?" Eunsook queried as she appeared by the entrance of the living hall.

The four nodded in confirmation, and the head maid sighed before joining them, "If that's the case, I believe I may be of help. I was with the mistress in the palace on the day the master discovered he had to depart for war. Something happened with the prince while we awaited the general's return from his emergency meeting."

As she recounted the incident at the cherry blossom garden, a dawning realisation settled over all of them. Suddenly, it all clicked into place: why Yeosang, known for despising his own birthday due to its reminders of his painful existence, was now planning a celebration and extending an invitation to Lady Park, of all people. It was clear to the group that the prince had set his sights on the general's wife, and this elaborate scheme was likely his attempt to lure you away from Seonghwa.

"I understand we're all concerned about what His Highness might attempt to win over our mistress, but I believe we should have a little faith in her. Her devotion to General Park is undeniable. I don't think she would easily forsake him after all he's done for her." The physician suggested, hoping to ease the tension in the room.

As the others visibly relaxed with the reminder, the dressmaker appeared to be the only one still troubled, "Yeah, about that..." The dread in the room heightened at Hongjoong's uneasy expression.

"What is it?" Jongho inquired cautiously.

With a frustrated expression, the eldest man among them ran a hand through his hair before recounting the recent encounter with Jinjoo, your stepsister, and the doubts you were starting to entertain about your husband, "I'm sorry, it's all my fault."

The elderly woman's stomach sank at the revelation, but she shook her head to reassure the dressmaker, "No, Hongjoong, it's not your fault. You couldn't have known her stepsister would be there. No matter how much we deny it, the truth has a way of surfacing. We can't hide it from her forever."

The others nodded in agreement, though filled with worry at the implications. They knew Eunsook was right. Eventually, you would likely discover the truth. They just hadn't expected it to happen so soon, especially with Seonghwa away at war. The thought of you being possibly swayed by the fourth prince's charms sent shivers down all their spines.

Well shit, that's not good at all.

"San, you're an absolute lifesaver. Thank you so much." You expressed with gratitude after the lengthy crash course he had just given you on dealing with royal figures when attending such events, offering a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Returning the smile, the royal secretary noticed the fatigue and stress evident in your expression. He sensed there was more to your distress than just the fourth prince's sudden invitation to his birthday banquet. Perhaps his close relationship with his elder sister had sharpened his perception of women's emotions.

Observing your troubled expression, San gently inquired, "Are you feeling quite alright, Lady Park? If you're worried about the general, I can assure you that he is being partnered with only the best military strategist in all of Joseon. They have yet to lose a single battle thus far, I'm sure this time would be no different."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you at his words. On one hand, you appreciated his attempt to ease your worries about your husband's safety. On the other hand, a nagging curiosity gnawed at your mind, Jinjoo's words still lingering, urging you to delve deeper into the mysteries surrounding your family's punishments.

San's position as the royal secretary and his close friendship with the general made him an ideal source of information. Surely, he would know the intricate details of the case and could provide you with the answers you sought. However, the thought of uncovering the full truth filled you with trepidation.

What if reality's more than you could bear?

You wrestled with your inner turmoil, unsure of whether to broach the subject with Royal Secretary Choi. Part of you yearned for closure, to finally understand the events that took place without your knowledge. Yet, another part hesitated, fearing the potential consequences of unearthing Seonghwa's carefully buried secrets.

As you glanced at San, who was patiently awaiting your response, you grappled with your decision. Would you dare to confront the shadows of your fears, or would you continue to dwell in uncertainty, afraid of what truths lay beneath?

To hell with it.

Taking a deep breath, you responded, "Thank you for your reassurance regarding my husband's capabilities. However, that's not precisely what's weighing on my mind..."

He arched a curious eyebrow, intrigued by what other concerns could possibly be bothering you besides Seonghwa's safety, "I'm all ears, my lady." He offered, inviting you to share your thoughts.

Lowering your head, you recounted your recent encounter with your stepsister and the unsettling doubts it had stirred within you. Then, with a hesitant tone, you inquired, "May I seek clarification from you regarding my husband's role in the Jang family's punishments?"

San maintained a composed smile, betraying no hint of shock at your revelation. With a calm demeanour, he laced his fingers together before him, "I empathise with your concerns, Lady Park, and I want you to know that they are valid. While the details of the case are confidential, I can offer some clarity to ease your worries."

You held your breath as he continued, "The truth is, His Majesty was responsible for determining your family's physical punishments, but the general took charge of overseeing the entire process."

So, it's true.

Your heart sank at the confirmation.

"Understandably, you may find his involvement frightening. However, you need to know that this has always been the nature of his job. If you think him cruel, remember that every drop of blood shed was in service of this nation's security. He's doing what only a few have the guts to do. And in this case, it's out of love for you that he was determined to ensure that those who harmed you and your mother faced justice. My lady, can you truly fault him for that?"

His words struck you like a boulder, and you realised he might be onto something.

The royal secretary grinned as he observed your expression, knowing his words were making an impact, "Besides, you've been here long enough to witness how good he can be to those he cares about. That includes you, all the staff in this estate, as well as his loyal friends currently seated in the living hall. Surely, there must be a good reason why these people choose to remain by his side, wouldn't you agree?"

Noting your silence and contemplative expression, San understood that you needed time to digest everything. While he hoped he had made a valid point, he knew that your conflicting emotions wouldn't dissipate so easily. Nevertheless, he had done his best to encourage you to keep an open mind and speak the truth.

Ultimately, the next steps were up to you.

"As much as I'd like to stay and chat, I have another appointment scheduled in an hour, so I should probably head to my next destination." He announced, rising from his seat opposite you.

His words snapped you out of your reverie as you got up after him, "Ah, yes, of course. I can't thank you enough for everything, San."

As you escorted him towards the exit, he smiled warmly at you, "You're most welcome, Lady Park. Don't fret too much about the royal event next week. I'm sure you'll do splendidly, especially considering you've already managed to impress the fourth prince. He's not an easy royal to handle, so that's quite an achievement."

Prince Yeosang is... not easy to handle?

Before you could ask him to elaborate, the royal secretary was already boarding his carriage. With a defeated sigh, you waved at him as the vehicle began to pull away.

Heading back inside, your mind reeled from his words. His Highness had never seemed difficult around you, so you struggled to comprehend what San meant. Besides his slightly playful demeanour, you didn't find the prince hard to handle in any way.

Before you knew it, your head began to throb with the endless thoughts swirling around. Eunsook rushed over in concern when she saw you swaying, your hands pressed against your temples.

"Mistress! Are you feeling alright? Oh dear, you look exhausted," She exclaimed, her worry evident in her voice, "That's enough studying for today. Go and rest. I'll bring you dinner when it's ready."

Throughout the rest of the week, Jongho and the others couldn't bring themselves to warn you about the potential advances of the fourth prince. They noticed how visibly stressed you were, dedicating all your time to refining your ladylike etiquette and practising formal speech with the head maid. Your determination for perfection in your debut at a royal event was clear as day.

After receiving all the help you needed, you were finally ready for the banquet. Standing before the mirror, you inspected yourself, admiring the delicate red flower the dressmaker had once again helped you paint on your forehead, perfectly complementing your new hanbok, "Are you pleased with the look, Lady Park?"

You nodded enthusiastically, "Absolutely, Hongjoong. You never disappoint, and you know that."

With newfound confidence, you departed from the general's estate, accompanied by Jongho and Eunsook. Mentally reviewing the list of potential royals in attendance, you appreciated Wooyoung's efforts in the past week as he assisted you with retrieving specific books from the public library and studying the royal family tree.

The private investigator lingered near the estate's entrance after seeing you off, his jaw slightly agape. He had always found you pretty, but seeing you all dressed up and with the flower on your forehead, he was struck by your ethereal beauty. Just as he was about to entertain the thought that Seonghwa must have saved an entire country to deserve someone like you, he realised that might actually be true.

"Excuse me, Jung Wooyoung. That's not your lady to be ogling like that. Behave yourself, or I'll have to whoop your ass on behalf of the general." Hongjoong warned, rolling his eyes as the younger man pouted before sulking back inside the estate.

As your carriage approached the familiar high palace walls, Jongho and Eunsook exchanged determined glances. They had agreed to stick by your side at all times, wanting to protect you from whatever schemes Prince Yeosang might have planned for the event.

"We've arrived, mistress." The assistant announced as the carriage came to a stop.

With the head maid's assistance, you stepped down from the carriage with slightly less ease than when your husband carried you, feeling a pang in your heart as you were reminded of him. Despite your complicated feelings, you couldn't deny the longing for his presence. You hoped he was safe and well while you attended the birthday celebration of another.

Approaching the grand entrance of the hall hosting the fourth prince's birthday banquet, you noticed that the palace staff responsible for announcing guests had recognised you immediately, sparing Jongho the need to introduce you. As you reached the entrance, the staff announced in a loud voice, "Miss Jang, eldest daughter of the former Minister of Military Affairs, has arrived."

Your shock was palpable as the announcement rang out, your eyes widening and your stomach sinking at the unexpected introduction. The last thing you wanted was to be associated with your father, especially not at such a prestigious event. You had been specifically told by the prince that you were here to represent your husband. So why would they announce you like that, using your past title, when you now held a new and official one as the general's wife? The discrepancy left you feeling uneasy and out of place as you stepped into the grand hall.

What's the meaning of this, Your Highness?

« Preview of Part 16 »

"General Park! Letters for General Park!"

The messenger's urgent cry echoed through the camp, drawing attention to the main tent where Seonghwa typically conducted his affairs between battles. Bursting into the tent, the messenger gasped for breath, his eyes darting around, "Sir, may I enter?"

"Come in," A deep voice replied, but it wasn't the general's. Officer Song, the military strategist, sat alone inside, his gaze fixed on the newcomer, "General Park is uhh... preoccupied elsewhere at the moment. What brings you here, soldier?"

Handing over the stack of letters he carried, the messenger answered, "The general has received a few missives, one from his assistant and another from His Highness, the fourth prince."

Mingi's brow furrowed in confusion, "The fourth prince?"

The messenger nodded vigorously, "Yes, His Highness mentioned it's regarding an urgent matter and should be delivered to the general as soon as possible."

Officer Song nodded in acknowledgement, "I see. Leave it to me, soldier. I'll ensure it reaches him as soon as he's available."

As soon as the messenger departed, Mingi's curiosity overwhelmed him, and he unfolded the letter from Prince Yeosang. His breath hitched as he absorbed the concise yet weighty message. The prince started off by conveying gratitude for Seonghwa's service to the nation and extended well wishes, reassuring him not to worry about returning.

However, the content took a surprising turn with his final paragraph.

'Out of respect for you, I am writing to inform you that I will be proposing to Miss Jang. I believe she deserves the freedom to choose her own husband. Perhaps what she needs is someone who can remain by her side and not cause her any worry. If you truly care about her happiness, you would understand.'

Once again setting the stage for the main event HAHA sorry for the (sorta) filler chapter, but I promise there will definitely be drama in the next part.😈

Also, thank you so much for 1.3k followers! As always, thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts! <3

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#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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cherienymphe · 1 year ago

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Southern Charm (Rafe Cameron x Reader x Chase Andrews)

Warnings: NON-CON, stalking, underage drinking, crossover

➥ you don’t have to be familiar with Where The Crawdads Sing to follow along with any characters in this fic. Just know that he’s a 1960s version of Rafe with a domestic violence + attempted rape charge

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @firefly-graphics

summary: Privileged assholes always want what they can’t have. Or, alternatively, you turn down the wrong guys one too many times.

Chase Andrews was one of the proudest men you ever knew. He was also one of the most determined, so, in truth, you didn’t know why you expected anything less when you turned him down more than three months ago. You hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest. He was a simple guy asking out a simple girl, and the rejection shouldn’t have been any more complicated than that.

You’d forgotten that you were dealing with Chase Andrews.

If you hadn’t been so determined to get home before your mom threw a fit, you might’ve paid more attention to the way his face had fallen. You might’ve noticed the slight tightening of his jaw, the way he pulled his lip between his teeth, or the way he’d completely faltered altogether as if your refusal had been the last thing he’d expected. You might have even noticed the glint that passed through his eyes, signaling less than friendly thoughts as you tossed him a quick apologetic smile.

If you hadn’t been in such a hurry, you just might have noticed the way he stared after you, half in disbelief and half affronted.

You hadn’t though, and so you’d made your way home none the wiser to the dark thoughts brewing behind a familiar face. You’d greeted your mom with a quick hug before hurrying to your room. You plopped your purse down onto your bed without another thought spared towards Chase Andrews. After all, he was a simple guy who’d asked out a simple girl that only resulted in an equally simple rejection.

What had there been to linger on?

You hadn’t even brought it up to Kie, that’s how insignificant it had been to you. You told your best friend everything, and somehow, it really had slipped your mind that pretty rich boy Chase Andrews had asked you out on a date. It was only weeks later when you were forced to think on it some more did you realize that deep down, you’d written the whole thing off as some cruel dare.

It seemed like something right up his alley, pushed into it by equally troublesome friends.

You didn’t grow up along the rougher areas of the island, but that also didn’t mean you’d spent your time growing up around guys like that either. Guys like Chase grew up with everything and anything they could want, unfamiliar with the word ‘no’. You grew up fortunate, that you would always admit, but you hadn’t grown up like people like Chase. You hadn’t been raised to walk through life with the assumption that anything—and anyone—was yours if you wanted it.

So…maybe that was why you hadn’t anticipated any of it.

The sound of your name being called made you slow to a stop, and when you turned, the face matched the voice. Dark, almost black looking, hair and steel blue eyes contrasted against fair skin that looked like it barely saw the sun in spite of how much you always saw him out and about. Before you’d felt nothing at the sight of him, apprehension now gripped you instead.

Chase Andrews was a determined man.

“You heading home?”

It was a silly question.

He knew you were.

“Yeah,” you evenly told him.

He replied before you could give him some halfhearted reason as to why you needed to hurry away from him.

“Well, let me walk you…”

It was tempting, even if just for the sake of placating him. After all, maybe if you gave him a crumb, he’d be satisfied for the time being, but you wondered what kind of effect that deep southern drawl had on other women in town. You saw the way they flocked to him and hung off of his every word. There was something about that face that was disarming, you had to admit, but you didn’t make a habit of hanging around guys like Chase for a reason.

You were just about to refuse him, the umpteenth rejection within months, when it was his turn for his name to be called.

The familiar voice had contrasting reactions from you both, a slight frown between your brows while the dark-haired man sported a teasing grin when he turned around. You took the opportunity to take a step away from him, glad that he was too distracted by the sight of his cousin to notice. Dealing with one spoiled rich boy was one too many, never mind the presence of two.

Rafe Cameron was just as tall, just as pretty, just as rich but far more entitled than his dark-haired counterpart. He was an impulsive short fuse compared to Chase’s icy disposition. Where Rafe got into fights on the beach brought on by a coke fueled rage, Chase got drunk and harassed any unsuspecting less fortunate inhabitant who crossed his path. It had been years ago, but you could still remember the sound of his voice as he threatened to have some kid’s dad fired for simply bumping into him.

Rafe was proud to be an asshole while Chase liked to pretend that he wasn’t.

On their own, they were bad enough, but once together, you shuddered to think of what they could—and had—accomplish.

You only glanced over your shoulder once more as you quietly escaped what could’ve been another awkward encounter. Chase was already grinning at the dirty blond, an excited lilt in his voice as he talked about some party happening this weekend. In your efforts to make sure you were getting away unseen, your own gaze connected with a familiar blue one.

Rafe’s expression was even as he drank you in, nary an emotion flitting across it as he somehow both listened to the other man and kept his attention on you. A soft North Carolina breeze blew by, ruffling the few strands that grazed his forehead, and when his blue eyes lowered, straying from your own gaze and to parts of you you’d rather they didn’t, you finally turned back around.

Rafe Cameron, years ahead of his cousin, had asked you out once in high school. You’d been bolder then, less mature and lacking more than half the patience you carried now. You hadn’t just rejected him, but you’d told him in no uncertain terms that you didn’t like guys like him. You’d long suspected that he never really got over that, and you didn’t need to look over your shoulder again to confirm that he was still looking at you.

You could feel the heat of his gaze pressing down onto your back.

“Just give me five more minutes and then I’ll be ready,” Kie promised you, briefly touching your arm before hurrying into the back of her family’s restaurant.

The place was pretty packed today which made her parents’ decision to let her take off all the more surprising. Sarah Cameron was in the corner somewhere with her boyfriend Topper, the blonde throwing you a friendly smile when you came in. She was a lot closer to Kie than she was to you, and in truth, that was more so your doing than hers.

Rafe just wasn’t someone you wanted to interact with if you could help it, and considering that he and Chase were joined at the hip more like brothers than cousins, the desire to steer clear was doubly so.

You had just pulled out your phone to check your messages when a shadow passed over you. You didn’t pay it much mind, but the feel of their body heat mingling with yours clued you in on the fact that whoever they were, they were too close for comfort. You were both surprised and resigned when you heard a familiar voice.

“Picking up for Cameron.”

You tensed at the sound of that smooth voice, shrinking in on yourself as you continued to look ahead. Rafe knew that you knew he was there, and you could feel his eyes on you as you stared in front of you, waiting for Kie to return. You heard the blond next to you let out a small sigh, and you only glanced at him when he dared to move closer.

“You know,” he slowly and softly began, leaning in just a tad. “…you’re kind of hurting my cousin’s feelings.”

That was the last thing you’d expected to come out of his mouth, and you looked at him with a deep frown. There was a small smirk dancing on Rafe’s lips, the corner of his mouth quirked up just a tad, but there was an earnestness in his eyes that hinted at some truth in his words.

“Is that so,” you murmured, looking away. “I doubt that.”

You heard Rafe chuckle, but it was bitter, dry and lacking humor.

“He really hasn’t been anything but nice to you…and you treat him like garbage.”

Rafe’s voice had lowered some, an edge to it that forced you to look at him again. His expression wasn’t so mirthful, a smile or anything close to it nowhere in sight. Despite the volume in the restaurant, you felt like you and Rafe were the only ones in the place, and you swallowed.

“…and how do I do that? By politely turning him down?”

You kept going before he could intervene.

“How else should I do it? Or…would you be happier if I just didn’t turn him down, at all?”

You watched Rafe’s jaw tick as he ran his eyes over you, an iciness creeping into them that made you shudder. He stared at you just like that for what felt like a long time before finally speaking again.

“What’s your problem, Y/N?” he slowly wondered. “You think you’re too good for him or something?”

Such a thought was a great sin to guys like Rafe.

They had money and looks and influence, and so, that put them at a place where no one was off limits. The mere thought that you might think you were too good for his cousin Chase had his eyes flashing…because it wasn’t just about the dark-haired man. If you thought you were too good for Chase, then you thought you were too good for Rafe, and with just one look into a familiar blue gaze, you could tell that Rafe was transported back to senior year when you told him quite plainly what you thought of him.

“I don’t like guys like Chase,” you evenly told him.

You paid no mind to the way his expression hardened as he looked away. Rafe sniffed, pulling his lip between his teeth before meeting your gaze again, his own challenging.

“…and what is Chase like? What are guys like that…like…?”

Rafe was almost daring you to say it, to insult him and his family, and foolishly, you were glad to.

“Spoiled, entitled…guys who lose their temper when they don’t get their way,” you told him, holding his gaze despite how uncomfortable you felt. “You know.”

You pushed yourself to your feet just as Kie returned. She was in the middle of apologizing for the holdup when she cut herself off, coming up short at the sight of Rafe beside you. You were already walking away and urging her to follow before she could even acknowledge him.

“Was he bothering you?” she sternly asked the second you both made it outside.

“No,” you lied with a sigh. “Just Rafe being…Rafe.”

“Good,” she said with relief. “He’s been hanging around here a lot more, and as long as he isn’t causing trouble, who am I to tell him where he can and can’t go, but if he was bothering you, I’ll get my dad to ban him, I swear.”

A laugh was caught in your throat when her words registered. You frowned a bit as you followed her to her jeep, confusion filling you as you hopped inside.

“He has?”

“Yeah, him and Chase,” she groaned, starting the vehicle. “Neither of them gave that much of a fuck about my parents’ place before…”

You clicked your seatbelt with a frown, looking out of the window.

You told yourself that it was just a coincidence. The thought was laughable because when it came to guys like Chase and Rafe…there were no coincidences. You really hadn’t taken Chase seriously when he’d asked you out all those months ago, and the sentiment had held anytime he tried to approach you after. It was exhausting to keep turning him down, politely at that, and to ignore your increasing discomfort.

Chase had a way of crowding you, making you feel so small and at his mercy. The kindness in those blue eyes of his was never genuine, and you never had been fooled by that smooth baritone of his. He always had a look on his face like he was in on some joke you’d just never get, and to make it worse, he made you feel like you were the butt of it.

Truthfully, you didn’t know what Chase wanted with a girl like you, anyway.

You weren’t the partying type, so you’d definitely be no fun for him, and you’d never been eager to stroke his ego and tell him that he was even prettier than he believed. You came from money, sure, but not the kind that would make his mom satisfied. The woman had been convinced that some poor harlot was going to trap her son and swindle him for everything he had since he was a kid.

You really didn’t get what he wanted with you.

Both him and Rafe, to be honest.

Both were about as deep as a kiddie pool, but Rafe had always had a type, and you certainly weren’t it. You saw the kind of girls he hit on at parties, the kind of girls he walked around with, the kind of girls he slipped some free coke to. Rafe was nothing if not consistent in that regard, which made that moment in high school all the more confusing.

What made it even more confusing was that Rafe was obviously still hung up on it years later.

Unlike Chase, however, one hit to his ego was one too many.

“Chase…what are you doing here?”

It was hours later when you found yourself standing on your steps. No one had been more surprised than you when your mom announced that Chase was here to see you. Your dad’s pinched face was burned into your memory as your mom forced him to mind his business.

The dark-haired man before you let out a chuckle, but it sounded…off. It didn’t sound like a laugh born from amusement, but one bred from confusion instead.

“I’m wondering the same thing,” he told you, although his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You must have rejected me about…seven times by now.”

He laughed to himself again, his white button down pulling as he leaned against the porch post.

“I guess I just want to know why.”

His expression was polite, but his eyes told a different story, and you didn’t need to study the blue of them to know that he’d talked to Rafe. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, crossing your arms over your chest as you briefly glanced away. You could feel his unwavering gaze, both studying you just for the hell of it and because he wanted to know what you were thinking.

“I’m sure Rafe told you why,” was your remark.

When you looked at the dark-haired man, his own jaw had tensed some, face taut, and he nodded with a glance towards his feet.

“Look…I’m not the kind of guy you think I am,” he finally said, perfect teeth winking at you as he grinned, like the thought was laughable to him. “I just…”

He exhaled.

“We’ve both grown up here, and went to school together, and I don’t see the point in pretending like I don’t notice you,” he drawled. “I like you…and I’d like to take you out.”

Truthfully, you couldn’t tell how genuine Chase was, but your familiarity with him had your response on the tip of your tongue before he could even finish.

“Guys like you don’t like girls like me, Chase,” you’d started, turning to go back inside. “At least not for anything more than one fun night.”

When your eyes met his from the other side of the screen, they didn’t look so warm, now. The blue of them seemed darker, although you preferred to write that off to a trick of the light. He looked like he wanted to say more, but you continued just as he opened those pink lips of his.

“Go home, Chase.”

You didn’t wait to hear any kind of response.

You really hadn’t anticipated any of it.

Chasing you down on the sidewalk or approaching you in the street was one thing, but Chase showing up on your doorstep one evening had spooked you, and it was why you’d had no qualms about being straight with him and telling him to just go home. His determination to have you, despite your visible discomfort at the thought, had made it hard to sleep that night, but you’d hoped that your point had gotten across.

…and while Chase hadn’t made a move on you again, you still found no relief.

He and Rafe hung out at The Wreck more often than they ever had, and while they kept their distance, the feel of an oppressive gaze was hard to ignore. You told yourself that you just imagined the sound of a familiar truck driving by your house in the dead of night. It was a small town, and just like before, you’d run into a familiar face often. That was nothing new…

Chase Andrews wasn’t trying to wear you down for a date anymore, but you still felt no peace.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Kie wondered one day, voice heavy with concern. “…and here I thought that they’d developed a taste for my mom’s cooking.”

“I thought he was joking at first,” you confessed. “…and then he just kept asking…”

You felt almost embarrassed to admit how wrong you’d been. After all, you were way too old for childish dares, and when Chase Andrews wanted something, he got it. He was a lot like Rafe in that way, something you’d always known, and yet…you hadn’t anticipated any of it.

From either of them.

“Just stay over at my place,” Sarah Cameron had offered one night.

It was a party that you’d been the one to drag Kie to, but your inebriation was something that took both of you by surprise. You’d felt too bad to stay and didn’t want to cut Kie’s night short too. The blonde girl had been concerned when she convinced you to let her drive you back to her place.

“I know how your mom can be sometimes.”

Almost everyone did, and you’d thanked her.

You’d been grateful.

Sarah residing in the same house as Rafe hadn’t been a concern of yours. Nor the fact that he might not be alone. You’d only been concerned with drinking lots of water and laying down to keep your head from spinning. When you woke up in the middle of the night, you were a lot more sober, and the trek to the bathroom wasn’t one filled with stumbling.

Your shower made you a lot more alert.

…and you were wide awake when you almost bumped into Rafe Cameron. He didn’t look as shocked to see you in his house like you’d expect, only mildly surprised. You did flinch at the sight of him, and you didn’t miss the way his blue eyes ran over the length of you, lingering on your legs and the shirt that kissed your knees.

He didn’t say anything like you expected, and you only forced out a small apology before hurrying back to the guest room.

It had never occurred to you to lock it.

Rafe was annoying and insufferable and an asshole. The oldest Cameron was a lot of things, but there were even some things you’d put past him. So, waking up in the early morning before day by the sound of the guest room door opening was something you hadn’t predicted. The oldest Cameron chewing you out, with blown pupils you might add, was something you hadn’t predicted.

“Do you know how much shit I could’ve put you through?”

You glared at him, but inside, you were shaking. The blond had taken it upon himself to air out his grievances with you, and you were wholly aware of just how unstable he was when he had any drug in him.

“You walk around this island like you’re too good for me,” he murmured, reaching up to touch his chest. “Like I’m just the scum you find on the bottom of your shoe…and instead of being grateful I didn’t make your life a living hell…”

He threw his arms out.

“You turn your nose up at me…like you’re so much better than me.”

You swallowed, torn between wanting to placate him and get him out or treating him like the asshole he was.

“Rafe, you’re high and…”

“…and what?” he leaned in, tilting his head at you. “What?”

Your breathing was uneven, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, taking a step back from him. The blond followed, and you worriedly looked towards the door.

“You think Sarah’s gonna save you? You think I care if she sees what I’m going to do to you?”

His words had you frowning, and your gaze was stricken when you looked at him again.

“That’s not funny, Rafe,” you breathed.

He chuckled to himself, running his hand through already unruly hair.

“…and what makes you think I’m joking…?”

The silence between you was loud, thick, and you furiously blinked.

“You walk around this damn island like I can’t have you…when truth is, I was just being nice,” he sneered. “…because it’s actually so easy for me to do this.”

His hand completely enveloped your chin, fingers harshly pressing into your jaw as he pushed you back. The action made you stumble, and your heart skipped a beat when you landed on the bed behind you. Rafe chuckled to himself at the sight, like he genuinely found it funny, and any possibility that he was being cruel in his humor was gone when he grabbed the ankles that kicked out at him.

“Rafe, stop,” you gasped, pushing at his chest and trying to back away.

He did pause in his movements, but he kept hold of you, head tilted to the side as he studied you.

“…and why would I do that…? I don’t want to,” he slowly told you.

Movement behind him caught your eye, and relief filled you at the sight of a familiar face. It was strange that in all these months, you never thought your eyes would land on Chase Andrews in relief. Rafe, clearly having noticed your line of sight, glanced over his shoulder.

“What?” he distractedly wondered, looking at you again. “You think he’s going to save you?”

His tone was cold, and his words had your relief quickly dying out. Rafe chuckled at the sight of your falling face, heart sinking as the worst finally occurred to you.

“You think he’s not going to watch and get off on the fact that the girl he’s wanted for months is getting what she deserves?”

Rafe’s grip was firm as he pulled at your shirt, the fabric tearing in the otherwise quiet room. You fought against his hands through teary eyes, but it was like they meant nothing at all to Rafe.

“You don’t think he’s just waiting for his turn?”

Your hand connected with Rafe’s face then, but it didn’t deter him.

In that moment, it seemed like all of Rafe’s pent-up anger towards you was finally coming out. His teeth grazed your skin as he held you down, his other hand digging into your hip. Rafe seemed to take delight in your fight, your fear, and when you turned your head, your eyes connected with a blue pair that was much darker than the ones before you.

Chase didn’t look gleeful at the sight of Rafe forcing himself on you. He just looked…satisfied, and you realized then that the blond was right. Chase was scorned, he felt slighted, and you knew that he really did believe that you deserved this.

When Rafe pushed himself into you, your head pressed into the bed as you gasped in shock. His dirty blond strands were kissing your forehead as he leaned over you, pushing his cock into you almost lovingly. One hand was so tight on your wrist that it was a wonder it didn’t break, and despite how much you fought it, how much you didn’t want to give either of them the satisfaction, you weren’t able to hold in a sob.

“What’s that my mama used to always say…” Chase wondered, finally speaking. “Stop crying before I give you something to cry about?”

He was moving towards you both, and through a tearful gaze, your pleading eyes connected with his own emotionless ones. He ran them over you, taking in your naked frame and the abuse that Rafe subjected it to. In truth, Chase didn’t even look like he was enjoying himself, his hands in his pockets as he looked down his nose at the scene.

“Chase,” you tearfully begged him, trying to push Rafe off with your free hand.

“No,” he drawled, moving closer. “You don’t like guys like me, remember? So, don’t go begging for my help, now.”

When he leaned over from behind you, one hand taking yours before he did the same with the other, more tears fell. His grip was tight on your arms as he held you in place for Rafe, the blond using the opportunity to run his hands over you. His mouth left open mouth kisses to your neck and chess, and you blinked for half a second before Chase’s lips met yours.

The kiss was oddly gentle, so out of place, and a sob caught in your chest.

“That was all I ever wanted,” he murmured. “It didn’t have to be like this.”

Rafe’s cock stretched you out in a way that had you whimpering. From pain or something else, you didn’t know the answer, and you were too embarrassed to linger on it. When he lightly bit your chest, you arched into his mouth, and his hips curved into yours.

“I thought you were too good for me, Y/N,” Rafe mocked into your skin. “The way you’re gripping me says differently.”

You squeezed your eyes shut at that, and Chase chuckled.

His own teeth found your neck, and you tried to move your hands again only to hiss when he tightened his grip. The room was mostly quiet outside of your heavy breathing and the occasional moan that would escape against your will. Chase had your arms and Rafe had your legs, holding your thighs apart for him to drive himself into you without abandon.

When Chase did finally let you go, you felt no relief.

You could hear him getting undressed, and when Rafe finally came inside of you, emptying his cock and forcing you to milk him, he looked up at the other man with a chuckle. You were free for all of six seconds before Chase grabbed you and roughly threw you onto your stomach. His hand at the root of your hair forced your head down against the mattress, and if you’d doubted his motives before, they were all too clear when he finally spoke again.

“I was polite…wasn’t I?”

His lips were at your ear, but a whisper as he seemed to want something from you other than sex tonight.

“I asked you out nicely, made sure you got home safe…didn’t I?”

You reached back, pressing your nails into his skin as your tears soaked the sheets.

“Didn’t I?” he wondered again when you didn’t answer.

“Yes,” you sobbed.

You heard him take a deep breath, and his free hand curved into your hip. When he pulled you back onto his cock, you let out a whine, eyes squeezing shut at the feel of him fitting snuggly inside of you.

“…and this is how you treat me?” he wondered out loud, hips snapping against yours.

His thrusts weren’t as gentle as Rafe’s, and you gasped with each one. Rafe’s anger at your rejection was a lot calmer. It was something that had been brewing and festering for years. He’d had time to come to terms with it and just live with it, you supposed. Chase, on the other hand…

The dark-haired man had been after you for months, putting his pride and ego aside to make his intentions clear over and over again. His anger was new…fresh, and he hadn’t quite had the time to process it like Rafe had. All Chase wanted to do was take out this new anger on you.

…and that he did.

Your nails clawed at the sheets as he pushed into you, the sound of his cock thrusting into you so embarrassingly loud in the room. His grip was tight in your hair, so bad that you swore you felt a few strands pop. He was talking to you—or Rafe—but you couldn’t make it out. You were too focused on the pain in your scalp and the fire deep in the pit of your stomach.

“You think you’re better than me? Hmm?” he spat, the hand on your hip pushing your lower half down onto the bed. “You think you can just treat me like any of these second-rate assholes?”

It was clear that he wanted an answer.

“Huh?”

“No,” you sobbed, trying to push back against him to no avail.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? You don’t sound sorry worth a damn,” he harshly whispered, the bed shaking from the force of his thrusts.

“She’s not,” you heard Rafe add, and you trembled.

“I am,” you sobbed, finally cracking. “I’m sorry.”

You sniffed, trying in vain to get Chase to loosen his hold.

“I’m sorry,” you tearfully told them again, toes curling at the feel of his cock plunging into you and sliding against your walls.

“Nah,” you heard Chase drawl, leaning down to press his face into your hair. “You’re not sorry…but I can promise you this.”

He forced you to turn your head, and his soft lips gently brushed the corner of yours.

“You will be.”

tags: @aniquas @softcoreparadise

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #chase andrews #chase andrews x reader #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #where the crawdads sing #crossover

2K notes · View notes

sitp-recs · 4 months ago

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Hey, again love your recs! I'm completely in love with Drarry because of these lovely stories. Wondering, an recs with a rugged Harry/ Draco ( as in manual labour), and always sweet and smutty is always a win. I appreciate your time, thanks a bunch!

Thank you anon, I’m happy to hear that! Ohh very interesting ask, here are some E-rated fics for you. You might also enjoy this list with buff!Draco ��

Hot Metal by @bafflinghaze (E, 5k)

Harry Can’t Deal with the vision of Malfoy hot and sweaty at work in his blacksmithing forge. Meanwhile, Draco is entirely perplexed with Potter’s odd behaviour.

Heart to Hearth by @jtimu (E, 7k)

It should perhaps not have been a surprise that the repairman on his front step came not with coveralls and a toolbox but instead with a sardonic stare and a raised eyebrow. Harry stood in his open door and shut his mouth with an effort.

Wield Me by @tackytigerfic (E, 10k)

Draco Malfoy, blacksmith, is renowned through the magical world for his skill and exquisite creations. He could quite easily spend the rest of his days making pretty trinkets for the fae court, and being handsomely rewarded for the privilege. But why take the easy route when instead he could get involved in a dangerous mission with Unspeakable Harry Potter (who also happens to be Draco's... well, he's something, isn't he?).

Hippomancy for Beginners by khalulu (E, 11k)

When Draco desperately insists on becoming a Centaur Liaison, he doesn’t know what he’s getting into, especially with that annoying hero-turned-hermit Harry Potter living right at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest. Not to mention foreign unicorn women, slavering three headed beasts, bitter brews, unexpected friendships, and the consequences of a very cocky vocabulary.

Voices From The Fog by noeon (E, 13k)

After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

One Floo Over the Lovegood’s Nest by Nattish (T, 14k)

Harry is not terribly surprised that there are magical plumbers, chimney sweeps, and pest control men. He is surprised that one of them is Draco Malfoy. And that he’s bloody hot in a jumpsuit.

Phoenix Repair Services by carpemermaid (E, 20k)

Draco hires a suspiciously private wizarding handyman to fix his kitchen when he returns home to find it destroyed. He expects a middle-aged wizard with greying hair and a pudgy gut to show up. Instead, he gets Harry Potter—with a utility belt and a charming smile—who is more attractive than he has any right to be.

Here Be Dragons by birdsofshore (E, 21k)

Harry doesn’t want to waste his time investigating illegal dragonhide trading, whether it involves a fetish club in Knockturn Alley or visiting a remote island in Wales. Why the bloody hell does Malfoy always have to be up to something?

Kept in Cages by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 77k)

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he��s been working there for five years now, after all.

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography.

#asks #anon #drarry reclist #rugged drarry #manual labor

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jackdelroys · 6 months ago

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errmm.... Doctor Fearless x Reader

You accidentally stumble upon his spooky castle when hiking and find the most pathetic and lonely vampire wearing a party city wig living there... what do you do....

sighs. you give him crazy insane good head. what else. anyways here's 1.6k words of just that

warnings; nsfw!!! holy shit. sorry.

YOU weren't sure how you got here, but you managed to. Actually, it was almost amazing how fucking lost you'd gotten, impressive even. How you'd managed to end up so far off-track from your supposedly soul searching hike was a mystery to you, and a dead phone and therefore no gps could attest to that. But hey, maybe the looming, creepy castle in the middle of the woods would offer help, you hoped, or at the least an outlet to plug your charger into.

You stood at the foot of the staircase leading to the mansion. It towered above you, but maybe it was just the rain making it seem like such a climb. You took the first step cautiously as to not slip, and after successfully making it approximately three stairs in, you found yourself facefirst with the concrete, and minus one healthy ankle.

You yelped in pain, regretting now not prowling the premises for an outdoor outlet first.

You took a deep breath, pushing yourself up from the ground and hobbling, now drenched, to the front door. You stare at it for quite some time before your clothes become uncomfortably sticky from the rain, heavy and cold and you came to the conclusion that this whole situation sucked. You still hadn’t rang the doorbell.

I mean, how would you even explain yourself?

‘Hi, I was creeping around your incredibly off-putting home to hope to siphon some electricity to charge my phone. Unfortunately, it seems like I broke my ankle instead! May I spend the night?’

You settle for knocking.

The door creaks open soon enough, beyond which you cannot make out much besides a looming darkness. At least it's out of the rain.

You take a cautious step in, and when you do, the distant fireplace lights, casting a low glow over the weathered hall. You follow the rug through the foyer until you're met with a grand staircase, at which point you're finally met with your gracious host, high above you.

He's awkwardly posed there, one hand on the bannister, the other holding his draped cloak close to himself. But that wasn't the oddest part, no, it was the strange way his matted-down hair was kept slick to his head, bowl-cut and all, terrible uneven bangs included. You dared not laugh at the fangs that hung over his bottom lip, or gothic eye-makeup worthy of a serious MySpace profile picture. He looked like an overgrown fusion of Bunnicula and the Berries and Cream Lad, and it nearly had you in fits until his booming, clichéd voice reverberated off the walls.

“Welcome to my humble abode, dear stranger. Come freely, go safely, etcetera, etcetera. And who might it be that I am so privileged to host this dark, dreary evening?”

You avoid stating your name plainly, eyes shifting around at the strange demeanor. Perhaps this was some kind of weird sex roleplay you stumbled upon. Yeah, that's probably the case, right?

“Well, they call me…Doctor Fearless!”

“...Huh?” your even more puzzled expression almost caught him off guard. He seemed to falter for a moment, but then he was back, cape pulled close around him and head tilted back to look down at you.

“Ah, but what brings such a pretty young thing to my doorstep in the middle of the night, unless it is a death wish?”

Your brow furrows, squinting confused (or was it cautiously?) at him. Your reply was slow, and deliberate.

“I twisted my ankle trying to climb the steps to ask for directions…”

He stares at you, disappointed; Clearly, he wanted you to play along. Oops.

“So, you wish for safe lodging while the storm passes and your injuries heal? Perhaps that can be arranged…for a price,” the thunder conveniently struck at that moment, for dramatic effect you assume. At least someone out there was on his side, because looking over the awful, choppy bangs he wore, it certainly wasn't mother nature and her ugly stick.

A price? Your heart sunk. Of course there was a ‘yes, but…’ what else could you expect? And what the hell was his price anyways? Though, the way his grin grew, enough for those goofy fucking fangs to poke out and the way he pushed his cloak beyond his shoulders as he descended the stairs to meet you gave you a decent idea.

Whatever. You were way too fucking tired, and in way too much pain for this. And he was far too pathetic and weirdly hot to not fuck, really.

You're on your knees before you know it, grasping at his belt and tearing the buckle free. He sucks in a breath above you, still looking down on you, expression falling dark. Like he's observing some kind of animal...Hot?

You're testing the waters at first, adjusting your kneel so that your ankle isn't fucking screaming at you to please god stop, oh christ, and your palm is finding its center at the crotch of his pants, gently at first but then, at the faintest feeling of twitch you press down harder, grinding your hand against him as he lets out a grunt that sends shivers through the rest of you.

He's grabbing your wrist soon enough, and shoving down his pants to free his cock -- which to no surprise has already hardened, tip glistening from where his precum’s been smeared across the head in the rush to push aside his underwear.

He's panting before you even begin, and so when you take your time in spreading your tongue across the underside of his shaft, he's nearly weeping. Agonizingly slowly, you give the same attention to the length of him, more than once until the almost sweet taste of him is dripping onto your lips and he's tossed his head back, one hand easing itself into your hair.

How was this so exciting?

His mouth falls open, just for a moment, then he's biting down onto his cheek hard with a strangled moan as your own fist around his dick spreads evenly your spit until you're ready to take him now fully into your mouth. You start with the tip, tongue running over his slit with a low groan, for someone so fucking strange, he tasted oddly good, almost as if it was on purpose.

You carefully move down, taking as much of him as you can, which is to say all of him, and steadying yourself before you choke. He curses under his breath, and you almost gag there from laughing, but you compose yourself when he scowls, and jerks the back of your head, shoving your face into his hips where he holds you before pulling back.

You got the idea.

You're bobbing your head at a leisurely pace for your own comfort, but as you pull far enough back, you're sure to swipe your tongue across the sensitive spot on that underside vein each time. You're rewarded with a grunt and the feeling of him throbbing in your mouth which, all in all, was a fairly decent exchange. Though, after a few minutes, it seems to catch up to him, especially when he steals glances at the way you're rubbing your own thighs together, fingernails digging into the back of his legs and happily working his cock with your mouth. He takes your face and forces you down, faster, harder.

It's then he's realized he hasn't a clue what to call you, which makes for quite the awkward interjection, hands on either side of your head pulling you back just enough to meet your eyes, and you somehow manage to spit a rather garbled, muffled version of your name. He gets the gist, and quickly shoves you back down onto his dick, narrowly avoiding the worst of your gag reflex as he pants a butchered version of your name, at least.

Your throat’s quickly getting sore, and with a few whines if your own, and some particularly sinful noises he's properly fucking your face -- having forgotten completely about that friendly, goofy demeanor clearly chasing his own end, punctuating each movement with some sort of expletive, and you're almost worried for a minute he's one thrust from a “gee whillickers!” until he pulls at your hair again, harshly now. Your face is buried into the cold, bony frame of his abdomen as deep as he can go as he finally cums, warm and thick down your throat without hesitation. The moan he lets out is absolutely fucking delicious (much like everything else, if not a bit salty), and he breathes your name alongside a string of curses.

“Fuck,” he gasps one last time, finally releasing your hair. He sounds…normal. No faux accent. Just human.

You look up at the voice, hand now frozen from wiping the corner of your mouth.

“...What the fuck?”

“You know, I was just going to ask to split takeout if you wanted dinner, but shit.”

His chest was still heaving, and you only now noticed that at some point, the plastic fangs he'd been wearing were taken off, and the wig had fallen to the wayside, enough for him to rip the thing off and toss it to the floor adjacent to you both. Save for the awful makeup, he looked…strangely normal. And in a way, a little less attractive like this. But still very attractive, you correct yourself.

“...Fearless?”

“Dwight,” he breathes, “It's fucking -- Dwight. Jesus.”

You nod, knees sore as you stand again, with his help. He's rushing to shove himself back into his pants, nearly tripping on the belt still dangling to the floor as he motions behind himself for you to follow; He's leading you further into the castle now, presumably towards your room for the night, giving you support for your still aching ankle.

Smallest price you've had to pay for an overnight stay, honestly.

#: |#doctor fearless #<- how the fuck i even tag this.?#this ones too embarrassing for the main tags sorry boys .

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coolmayordamien · 1 year ago

Text

A little Darkstache songfic for @willywarfy

Song is The Midnight Crew, Eddie Morton

"Dar-dar-Darkiplier," a monotonous, glitchy voice stammered tonelessly, breaking right through the entity's concentration. Dark scowled down at the paperwork that he had finally had a second to take a stab at, took a deep breath, and then trained the scowl on the android that was loitering in the doorway to his office.

"Wilford is ha-hav-having a malfunction," Google informed him, seeming completely unconcerned. "He is in the stud-d-dy, screaming and waving a gun-"

"Is anyone else in there with him?" Dark interrupted, hurriedly organizing the papers before him as he spoke. While screaming and waving guns around were honestly pretty typical behaviors for the man with the pink mustache, if Google said that the man was having a "malfunction", that could really only mean one thing.

"No one else was with him at the time," the android answered promptly, and Dark was relieved to know that Wil probably hadn't had much of an opportunity to hurt anyone in the midst of his crisis.

"I'm going up there. Don't let anyone else near that room until I say otherwise, do you understand?"

"I un-understand," Google nodded, his suspicious gaze following the grayscale man all the while. He wondered what Dark did to stop these attacks. It was probably something so horrifically violent that the android shuddered just thinking about it.

Dark heard Wilford before he saw the man, heard the bangs and crashes as it sounded like the madman was going out of his way to destroy the room that contained him. Heard the agonized cries, heard him scream in fear and anger and confusion as he tried to remember things that he wasn't supposed to remember, as he called out for friends that he would never see again, and for help that would never come.

Dark was going to have to do, instead.

He cautiously opened the door, observing the damage that had already been dealt. Discarded papers drifted through the air, gently fluttering down to land on a floor that was littered with shredded books and broken glass. It seemed that Wilford had shot out at least one window in his panic, and gotten almost all of the lamps.

Wilford, who had backed himself into the corner furthest from the door at Dark's arrival (the most secure position in the room, of course) and who was watching the entity with a sharp, unhinged gaze. His hands were shaking as he pointed a gun at his friend, his breathing rapid, his voice high as he rambled.

"Wh-who…Damien?" the hopeful note in his voice would have pierced right through Dark's heart, if he'd had one. It confirmed his suspicions about what kind of breakdown they were having here, though, and while it was one of Wilford's more emotional kinds, it was also the easiest to deal with.

"No, no, no, you're not Damien," the Colonel corrected himself, his grip on the gun tightening. "He doesn't look like…he's not…what are you?! What sort of awful place is this? First the robot, now a prime example of homo necrosis! I assure you, sir, that I am well up for the privilege of putting down a walking bag of bones such as yourself!"

The wild glint in his eyes became even sharper and more disturbing as his voice lowered with the intensity of his emotions.

Dark sighed lightly, hating what he was about to have to do. Wilford had better really appreciate him for this later.

He turned his back on the gun-toting lunatic as if he were completely unphased by him, humming under his breath as he began to unbutton his suit coat, hanging it primly over the back of the most intact chair.

"What the hell are you doing?" William cried, enraged. "Keep your damn clothes on, you fool! Tell me where my friends are! Tell me what you've done to them!"

Ignoring the questions completely, Dark said loudly, "I hate a moral coward."

The silence that followed his declaration was tense with shock and confusion, and that was enough to encourage the entity to continue, spinning on his heel as he offered his old friend a big, vaudeville smile.

"One who lacks a manly spark," the entity continued, pantomiming a challenge to fisticuffs as he loudly tapped a heel against the wooden floor.

"Are you out of your mind?" Wil demanded, lowering his gun. Dark ignored the irony of that question, an act that he decided was so damn altruistic that he probably deserved a medal.

"I just detest a man afraid to go home in the dark," he said cheerfully, trying to work up a bit of a song as he slowly made his way closer to his unstable companion.

"Well…I mean, don't we all?" the gunman agreed, unaware of the fact that he was holstering his weapon as he spoke.

"I always spend my evenings where there's women, wine, and song!" Dark sang happily, inching ever closer amidst his wide, friendly gestures. He was beyond pleased to see a flash of recognition in Wilford's suspicious eyes at the familiar old tune.

"But like a man…" Wil trailed off, confusion overtaking the fear and anger that had fueled him only moments before.

Delighted, Dark threw caution to the wind, gently tossing a friendly arm around his old pal's shoulders. "But like a man, I always bring my little wife along!"

The Colonel laughed; a lovely, hearty sound as he swooped Dark into a hug, the force of which threatened to crack the entity's spine like a twig. It was a nice feeling, that hug, but it wasn't a Wilford hug.

"Damy, you silly blighter, why didn't you just tell me that it was you in the first place?" William chortled, waving a condescending finger as he lectured, "I could have shot you!"

Before Dark could respond, Wil had him in his arms again, orchestrating the pair of them both in a silly, friendly, affectionate dance that didn't fit the tune or theme of that song at all, and it never had, and it didn't matter how many times Damien had complained about the awkwardness of trying to slow dance to a vaudeville tune, it had never mattered one whit to his fun-loving friend. This sort of thing was madness, after all.

"I'm a member of the midnight crew!" William laughed, spinning Dark quickly as the entity struggled to follow along.

"I'm a night owl-"

"And a wise bird too!"

Together they sang, breathless with laughter and dancing, "Home with the milk in the morning, singing the same old song!"

Chuckling, they collapsed into each other, holding on tightly as William tripped over the mess that he had caused, dragging the pair of them down into a giggling, teary-eyed pile. The hysteria bubbled up inside of them both, dragging the moment out so long that it exhausted Wil. Dark knew the exact moment that the emotions reached a crescendo in his friend, felt the difference in the grip the mustached man had on the entity's middle, heard the difference in the way that the two sides of his friend breathed, and knew that he had done his job.

"Dark?" Wilford asked softly, breathless with laughter from a joke that he didn't even remember being a part of. "What are we doing here? Isn't it…isn't it late? I thought that you were doing paperwork. And I was supposed to…to go to bed, right?"

That was exactly the case, and Dark finally let himself wonder what exactly had occurred during that process to set Wilford off. It didn't really matter right now, though. After he finally got his old friend to bed, he'd go over every inch of this room to see if anything in there could have possibly triggered Wil's memory.

"Nah," he said casually, forcing himself to his feet. "Early to bed and you'll miss all the fun!"

Eyebrows furrowed as he allowed the entity to help him to his feet, Wilford asked, "Is that from a song or something? It sounds a little familiar, but I'm not sure…"

Dark forced himself to laugh a little, reaching for his suit coat once again. "Just something that an old friend and I used to say. Come on. Let's get you something sweet, and then it's off to bed, I think."

Dark loved Wilford, he really did. Wouldn't trade him for the world. But it had been nice to spend a little time with his old friend.

#markiplier egos #who killed markiplier #wkm #wilford warfstache #darkiplier #wkm the colonel #the colonel #songfic #the midnight crew #darkstache #darkiplier x wilford

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mlsofh · 10 months ago

Text

Vivziepop Criticism

Hello Wayward Sinners!

I wanted to do a full on post about the criticism of Viv because a lot of the things I see people raving about with Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss usually are just very hateful. I'd like to take a moment to address the fact that Viv isn't the sole creator of Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel, and giving her all of that hate is honestly unfair to her. She is a director and producer, yes, but this does not mean she had all creative liberty. This doesn't mean she isn't to blame but it's also not on us to solely blame her for the possible problems of both respective shows. As a person who wants to be an indie animator and even a director myself, I know the effort it takes to make a production. It's a lot of people! We have to remember that as a society, we have bias pushed onto us. We have subconscious bias to be more disrespectful towards women in media who are successful. That's because we're brought up to think women are lesser or aren't competent, but I'd like to remind everyone that Brandon Rogers is equally a producer and director of Helluva Boss. And lets not even forget that Hazbin Hotel is a whole production with multiple writers, artists, and so many more. A professional company decided Viv's designs weren't bad which means it's likely intentional. I also want people to remember that humans aren't a linear species. We aren't linear, we have learning curves. Give other humans the benefit of the doubt. If you're going to send hate then rethink why you're sending that hate. If you're criticizing I'd like for everyone to remember to criticize the whole production/direction (Not including Voice Directors. They have no say) staff who works on this production. Stop sending only criticisms to Viv, and instead send them to overall staff. It was written by Vivienne. The story is by Brandon, Vivienne, and Adam Neylan. Just because it's directed and produced by her doesn't mean she has all creative liberty. A good director takes others opinions into account when the creative process happens. I personally think it's a little ridiculous all the shit she gets for her writing skills. She gets quite a bit of shit for the "one dimensional" nature of Millie, Loona, and Stella for Helluva Boss. To which I say you're not looking at the character's bigger picture. Millie clearly deals with self worth issues, Loona deals with deep trauma that comes out in little hints, and Stella grew up in a very privileged position. Millie is incredibly well written if you look at her from her own standpoint. She doesn't talk about her deep past because she has a good relationship with her parents, didn't have a poor childhood overall, and is emotionally stable mostly. But we know that she got outshined by her sister, Sally may, frequently! She needed to be validated by teenagers for her physical skills. Millie sacrifices a lot for Moxxie, but that doesn't make her a supporting character to him. I'd love to have another episode about Millie: we all would. But she’s actually a well written character.

Don’t get me started about Loona either! Loona is very true to how people work. She is standoffish, and pretty rude in the start of most new interactions. She’s a traumatized young adult. As a traumatized young adult who has/had friends who are traumatized young adults, one of them acts like Loona! She’s really standoffish but incredibly sweet and needs lots of thoughtful attention. Loona has had lovely character development. I think even Stella being one dimensional is like how Striker is one dimensional, but I do not see a single criticism for Striker. I don't see criticism for arguably the worst written character in the series: Crimson. People want to call out when women aren't portrayed as inherently vulnerable. But what have we gotten that's good, that is so downplayed in modern media? Men being vulnerable. Men being abused, physically(implied by Stella’s interaction with Stolas.) So, yeah. Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel aren’t bad and we give Viv way too much overall flack. Give flack to all creators.

Anyway that’s all I have,

What do you think?

Stay tuned for more!

#hazbin hotel #helluva boss #helluva Millie #helluva Loona #helluva Stella #helluva blitzo #helluva boss theory

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annwrites · 2 months ago

Text

—pink champagne

let me love you like a woman. let me hold you like a baby. let me shine like a diamond. — sugardaddy!oc x sugarbaby!oc ; ⋅˚‧ ୨୧ ‧˚ ⋅

John glances across the bar and catches sight of you—an attractive young woman idly stirring her drink with glazed over eyes, as if you’ve gone away somewhere else.

Eventually, you glance up—shaking yourself out of it—and slowly turn your head, feeling a pair of eyes on you.

An older, heavy-set man with short white-blond hair and a soft smile raises his glass to you.

You smile in return before nervously stirring your drink that you haven’t touched in a handful of minutes, returning to your thoughts.

“Excuse me,” calls a deep, quiet voice to your left a moment later. “Is this seat taken?”

You turn, meeting eyes with the man who’d previously occupied a stool at the opposite end of the bar just a moment ago.

You shake your head then, giving him a kind smile. “No, it isn’t.”

“Do you mind?” He asks with a raised brow.

You smile wider. “Not at all.”

You hope he doesn’t turn out to be a creep.

It’ll just be nice to have someone decent to talk to for a little while, instead of continuing to sit and wallow in self-pity.

He sets an armful of paperwork upon the bar-top before sliding atop the stool next to you, and you watch appreciatively at the way it settles beneath his weight.

“John,” he says, extending a hand to you.

You slide your own along his palm, fighting against the warmth you feel bloom in your cheeks at the contact.

God, you truly are a pathetic, lonely creature, aren’t you?

“Y/N,” you reply quietly.

“So,” he says, turning back to his paperwork—which you try to get a peek at, but promptly look away, not wanting to seem nosy. “Don’t tell me a date stood you up?”

He glances to you with a small smile.

You shake your head, taking a sip of your drink. “No, I’m in town for my friend’s wedding. It’s the day after tomorrow.”

He nods. “I see. Bridesmaid?”

“Yes. A few of us are staying here. We got into town a bit early to help with any last-minute arrangements and what-not.”

He scribbles on the paper before him before looking at your drink. “I’d worried you were simply a pretty young woman drowning her sorrows at a hotel bar.”

His eyes flit to yours then and you shift in your seat.

He clears his throat with a nervous chuckle.

“I’m sorry. I’m not…” He shakes his head. “I think I might be a bit out of practice here. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I think I was just trying very poorly to make conversation.”

He grins. “And a bit of light flirting, perhaps.”

You smile warmly down at your drink. “No, it’s not… You didn’t. Make me uncomfortable, I mean. It’s just nice to receive compliments. I don’t always know how to take them, though.”

He turns slightly toward you. “Shy?”

You nod, taking another sip.

You look once more at his paperwork, then back to him.

“Ah, this,” he says, gesturing to it. “I’m in town on work, myself.”

“What do you do?” You ask, turning, resting your drink in your lap, idly stirring it.

“I am an architect,” he says with a sigh. “I think I’m just starting to feel a bit burnt out on my current project and I’m looking for a way to procrastinate.”

“You build houses?” You ask with interest.

He bobs his head from side-to-side. “I can. But, I primarily deign skyscrapers. Tall buildings. Like this one.”

Your brows raise.

“You must be really smart to do that,” you mumble. “I bet it’s exciting: seeing your creations come to life. Watching other people work, and live, and stay in them.”

He likes your enthusiasm. Appreciates it, even.

“Perhaps at one time. Don’t get me wrong—I love what I do. But I think the excitement wore off a long time ago.”

You grow silent, taking another sip.

“And you?”

You glance up to him.

“What do you do for work?” He asks.

“I work in an office,” you reply flatly. “I get the thrilling privilege of staring at a computer screen all day while pushing paperwork.”

You turn back to the bar and he watches as you down the rest of your drink.

“I think I came down here to try and distract myself from how lonely the rest of this weekend is going to be for me,” you say, changin the subject, while providing explanation for your sudden want for further alcohol.

He pushes his paperwork to the side and rests an elbow on the bartop, then rests his cheek against his fist while staring at you. “Don’t tell me you’re going to the wedding stag.”

You look at him and he smiles.

“I don’t know what the female equivalent of that term is. Doe?” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t sound right.”

You laugh lightly, and he’s glad he could accomplish at least that.

“I am,” you say, nodding to the bartender that you’d like another.

“Put it on my tab,” John tells him.

You smile gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“So, why alone?” He asks. “Boyfriend couldn’t get time off of work?”

You take your drink between your hands again, returning to stirring it. “There’s not one to speak of.”

You take a drink. “I think, maybe, I’d hoped to get drunk enough tonight that I’d stop thinking about it: how yet another one of my friends is getting married and taking that next step in her life while I’m just…”

Tears sting your eyes. “I see those my age—some younger, even—getting married or engaged, buying houses, having kids, and I’m left feeling like I’m a dozen steps behind. Like…everyone is going on ahead, while I missed the turn-off somewhere. And I’m trying desperately to catch up, but I can’t seem to find my way back. And the more I try, the more lost I get. I’m just…sitting in the dark in an idling car, and the tank is almost on empty, and I don’t know which way to go.”

Your eyes flit between his own for a moment before you shake your head and wipe the budding tears from your eyes. “I’m sorry. That was…”

You set your glass down. “I can be a sad drunk sometimes, I think.”

“I asked,” he says, leaning toward you.

“How old are you?” You asks.

“Twenty-five,” you reply.

He chuckles, and rests a hand atop your own. “Sweetheart, your life is just beginning. You have plenty of time, trust me.”

You shrug. “My parents were already married by my age.”

You pause. “Then again, that ended in a nasty divorce. So maybe I shouldn’t use them as the pinnacle to strive to get to.”

He grins. “Getting married young doesn’t always give you the fairytale ending the movies try to sell you. The one your parents got is more often the way it goes. At least in my experience.”

“You were married?”

He nods, then holds up his right index finger. “Once. Then again, I think I was already married before her.”

Your brows furrow.

“To my work,” he explains. “I was never home. And when I was, I was working. It was what I chose to dedicate myself to. So it cost me the death of my marriage.”

He takes a drink of his whiskey. “She remarried some time after. She has three kids now, last I heard. And I imagine a couple grandkids, at least. I’m happy for her.”

“You don’t…ever get lonely, then?” You ask hesitantly.

You can’t imagine—rather, don’t want to—yourself being middle-aged with no family to speak of.

His eyes meet yours.

“Sometimes,” he says with a nod.

You grow quiet, stirring the liquid in your glass again.

“Do you want to go to this wedding alone?” He asks.

You shrug. “The reception is going to be the miserable part. Sitting there and eating my cob salad while everyone else dances with their dates.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“What if you had someone to go with you?”

John guides you back to your seats, and he takes one of your hands between each of his.

“I’d like to make you a…proposal of sorts. Perhaps offer is a better word...”

He trails off for a moment, and then his eyes flit to yours.

“I hope you don’t take offense to this, because I in no way mean for it to be disrespectful. In truth, I’ve never made an offer like this before. I’ve never thought to. Not until meeting you.”

You brows furrow while you wait for him to elaborate on what it is, exactly, he’s trying to ask.

He chuckles nervously. “For lack of a better term for it, I’d like to…”

He pauses and his lip twitches. “It’s such a ridiculous term, but I’d like to be your sugar daddy.”

You snort and burst out laughing.

You cover your mouth with your free hand, but as you stare at him and see that his expression is unchanged, your laughter slows until it stops altogether.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

He grins and shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I realize how much it sounds like a joke, but I assure you I’m completely serious.”

“We’ve…known each other for only two days—”

“I know. And there’s nothing to say this offer even goes through. On either of our ends. But, if you’re willing to consider it, I would have a few stipulations, if you’re willing to hear me out?”

Out of pure curiosity, you remain silent, waiting for him to continue.

“For one, before things would go anywhere, I’d want for you to get tested. Not that I think I’d have anything to worry about. But it would be simply for my peace-of-mind. I would give you the same in return. Because, if you did agree, I’d expect for this relationship to have an intimate aspect to it. And on top of that, I’d also expect for you to be faithful to me. I’d grant you the same in return, simply because I don’t have the time, nor patience, to go looking elsewhere for something you’ve already promised me: yourself.

“In return, I’ll give you my time, my attention, and my money. I’ll pay your bills, tend to travel expenditures when I ask you to come somewhere with me for work, and generally spoil you.”

He reaches for a glass of champagne and takes a long drink before giving you a nervous smile. “I…know I’m old enough to be your father. And I’m not exactly in my prime anymore—”

Your brows knit together and you squeeze his hand. “I don’t mind either of those things. I… I like that you’re older.”

Your eyes trail along his body—liking the way his gut hangs over his dress slacks—and you flush.

“I’ve never been a fan of six-packs,” you state.

You gaze into his eyes. “I… I would need to think about all of this, but if I did… Your body-type would just be an added bonus.”

You shrug slightly. “I’ve always had an appreciation for heavier-set men. There’s comfort in it. Safety. At least for me.”

He smiles a toothy grin. “So, you’ll consider this, then?”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “You understand I would need to bring my work with me, right? I can switch to remote at any time. The only reason I haven’t is because… Being in the office is better for me than spending even more time alone than I already do. But I guess with this arrangement I wouldn’t be so lonely anymore.”

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I understand. I in no way would wish to control you. And things can be discussed further, and at more length,” he says, looking around the crowded dance-floor before glancing back to you, “But maybe at a more appropriate time.”

You nod. “What if…you come to realize that you’ve made a mistake in offering me this? Maybe you come to figure out that I’m not what you’d hoped for. That I’m not smart enough, or pretty enough, or interesting, or—”

He cups your cheek and brushes his thumb along your lips. “That’s something else I’d like to work on, too: your low self-esteem.”

You wrench yourself away, staring anywhere else but at him.

He slides a hand atop your knee. “I’m not trying to insult you, sweetheart.”

You slowly turn back to him.

“I think you’re beautiful. And kind. And you have a good sense of humor. I’ve gauged as much in two days, at least.”

His lip twitches. “I’d like to find out what more there is to discover in time. If you’ll let me.”

After a chance meeting in a hotel bar with a middle-aged man by the name of John Whitland, for the first time in a long time, you open up to someone about just how lonely and wishing for something more that you are. Something more that you don’t even have a name for. Marriage? Family? Settling down, perhaps?

It’s only once he makes you an offer to be your—for lack of a better term for it—‘sugar daddy’, that you come to realize it was simple companionship that you’ve been craving.

So, he flies you from city-to-city to be with him and keep him company while he works. And, despite trying to keep it shoved in a cage, you begin to open your heart while you enjoy the newfound feeling of freedom you’ve found at his side.

headcanons:

my fancast for john is the late philip seymour hoffman.

this story will be romanticizing the body of a fat man. if you don't like that, don't read; it's not for you.

#annsideas

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ashley-foster-13 · 3 months ago

Text

Imagine if Thomas was a mortal in Faerie

[1]

They swept across the room, eyes glued to each other, small smiles playing across their lips.

"What would you do if I hurt you?" Teresa asked, her skirts swaying behind her in a cloud of deep purple. "Isn't that a test of love?"

Thta wasn't the first time Thomas notice something off about her. Sure, he was attracted to her. Her long brown curls, her thin lips like a pale rose, her ocean eyes, that sly glint in them. Her fragile, gracious figure. Her not so fragile character.

Yet something wasn't quite right.

"Would you cry?" she asked as they turned another circle, "Would you kill? Would you bleed for me, Thomas?"

Yes. Definitely not right.

"If you hurt me," he began carefully, weighing every word, "I wouldn't cry. I would hurt you back."

He didn't mean it as an insult but, judging by the way she looked at him, Thomas might have put some cautiousness in his voice that made her uneady.

[2]

"Time to change partners," a voice from behind startled them both but in Thomas it awoken a different kind of anger.

Newt.

Since the beginning, he's been mean to Tom. Always mocking, kicking, humiliating. Doing everything to show him that he was nothing. A mortal.

"Oh, did I steal your line?" the blond prince asked as he placed his hand on Thomas's waist and caught his other arm, clutching a bit harder than necessary.

Sometimes, Thomas wondered if he was mistaken in them both.

[3]

Thomas barely held back a gasp as Alby's fist connected with Newt's jaw.

He stumbled backwards, falling on his back. But Alby wasn't finished.

Alby was the first of the princes and, apparently, the only one who agreed to take care of the youngest one. Although "taking care" is far away from the truth, he did give him proper clothes and enough food and a decent bed, not to mention other privileges. It had to count for something.

And wine. Lots of wine.

Alby straddled Newt, holding some sort of wooden sword. Thomas had a weird urge to reveal himself and shove Albert off of the prince.

What a weird thought.

Newt was so cruel to him. Part of Thomas wanted some sweet revenge.

But when the sword hit Newt's leg over and over again, making him yell in pain, Thomad felt strange sympathy towards the guy.

He didn't deserve that much of a punishment.

[4]

Minho, Thomas's older brother, met his mortal life love.

Minho wasn't technically his brother. They had different fathers, so the guy was magical. A Faerie.

Thomas did get jealous of him a lot. He never got to be thrown in ragwart horses poop at lunch. Twice that week.

What surprised Thomad was that Harriet, the girl he met, willingly excepted every weird thing about their family.

For example, Janson, their Faerie father, the bloody redcap.

Thomas was pretty sure Minho used glamour on her. He didn't approve of it, but it's not like he had any say in that either.

[5]

When Thomas was introduced to the Court of Grievers, it was rather surprising.

There were three of them. Jorge did most of the pickpocketing. Brenda brewed poisons and, occasionally, antidotes. Aris taught him slyfooting.

All of them served to prince Gally. Generous at times, but mostly strict. Once, he made Thomas shoot his own shoulder to prove himself. The wound still stings.

Also, Thomas discovered mithridatism. he would inject himself Griever Serum every night. Weird visions came to him at night, depriving of sleep. It was worth it, though.

[6]

Newt: by you, i am forever undone

Newt: kiss me again. kiss me until i am sick of it

Newt: my sweet nemesis, my darling god

Newt: to all betrayers and rule breakers, i offer my husband's hospitality. the hospitality of guns

Thomas: i hate you. i hate you, i hate you i hate you.

Thomas: the true king of elfhame

Teresa: isn't that a test of love?

Teresa: let me run more tests!

Minho: I'd offer our king some tea instead of wine, but I'm not sure which one will suit him best.

Jorge: he'll look gorgeous with both

Brenda: Thomas. Thomas suits him best. Serve both.

#tmr incorrect quotes #tmr preferences #tmr fanfic #tmr books #tmr #tmr newt #tmr thomas #tmr minho #the cruel prince #tmr imagines #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar

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maria021015 · 6 months ago

Text

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 29 AHEAD!

Just over two hours later they were just driving through Sacramento and they’d made it through the entirety of Zaida’s 80’s playlist, which had left them with the same issue as before - finding a common ground. Zaida was in the mood for some chilled-out vibes, maybe some Coldplay and One Republic. Stiles, on the other hand, had stumbled across her ‘Shaketh Thou Apple Bottom Trousers’ playlist and refused to listen to anything else. Zaida was not opposed to the music itself (it was her playlist, after all), but she didn’t find his mocking amusing.

“What is this?” He laughed as medieval tavern ambience with a lute and harp played.

“Okay, you know what?” She’d had enough of his jabs and disconnected her phone, plunging them into dead silence - apart from the engine humming and the wind rushing past them.

“Oh, come on, I’ll stop. I’ll stop, I promise.” He backtracked, but she crossed her arms stubbornly.

“Nope, you’ve lost your music privileges, Stilinski.” Zaida set her jaw and reached back to pull a bag of lollies from an external pocket of her duffel bag.

“Oh, can I have some?” He perked up at the sweet smell of the candy, peering at the bag from the corner of his eye.

“How about you earn them?” She suggested, remembering a fun game their family used to play on long road trips. “It’s a game, like ‘Never Have I Ever’, except instead of drinking when you lose, you get to eat a lolly when you win a round.”

“Okay, sounds easy enough.” He yielded. “I’ll go first. Never have I ever…had a sibling.”

“Oh come on. Are you really going to play like that?” She rolled her eyes and handed him a pink snake. “Fine then, never have I ever had a restraining order filed against me.”

“Ooft, low blow, Zaida.” He winced but she hummed in satisfaction as she took a strawberries and cream lolly for herself. “Never have I ever discovered I had superpowers.” Zaida handed him a dinosaur bitterly. “Hey, I wanted the purple one,” he complained.

“Too bad, you get the yellow one.” She smirked at him. “Never have I ever crashed a car.”

“You don’t even drive!” Stiles protested as she popped the purple lolly he’d been eyeing off into her mouth, confirming that he had indeed crashed the Jeep before. “Never have I ever…kissed someone.”

“You’re not very good at this game, are you Stilinski?” She snorted smugly and ate another grape-flavoured candy.

“Wait, seriously?” He became momentarily distracted. “You’ve never kissed anyone?”

“Don’t look so surprised. Neither have you.” She got defensive, debating taking another lolly for that.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, it’s just…well, you’re a pretty girl and you’re relatively popular. You and Isaac never-?” His brows scrunched into a curious frown.

“No,” She interjected before he could continue, clearing her throat uncomfortably, swiftly changing the subject. “Never have I ever fallen in love.”

Stiles hesitated for a moment, not knowing the answer to that question. His feelings towards Lydia were strong, sure, and he’d often simplified it by saying he was in love with her but now that he honestly thought about it, was he actually in love with her? “I don’t know,” He responded in a quiet voice.

“How can you not know?” She questioned him sceptically. “You’re not just lying so you get a lolly, are you?”

“No, I’m honestly not sure,” Stiles admitted. “How do you even figure out if you’re in love or not? I’ve always thought that when it happens you just know, but maybe it’s not that simple.”

“Are you forgetting that was my ‘never have I ever’? I’m not the best person to be asking that.” She snorted, but after a moment of him not replying she realised he was being serious and tried to think of a proper answer. She dug deep into everything she’d always imagined it would be. “...Well, I guess… it's not just when you know someone, but it’s when you want to keep learning everything there is to know about them, and when you want to share everything with them. Like, not only acknowledging their flaws and quirks, but appreciating them. It shouldn’t be forced or difficult, it should be easy and effortless - natural. It’s wanting to always be around them and be there for them. It’s not being able to get them out of your mind, not being able to see yourself without them, and always putting them before yourself. They should make you a better version of yourself, and you should bring out the best in them. It should feel like safety, and comfort, and home. Everyone else should fall away in comparison.”

Stiles’ eyes wandered away from the road ahead as she spoke, finding himself getting lost in her words. How could someone who’d never been in love describe it so…perfectly? There was an awe behind his honey-eyed gaze as he looked at her, and she felt a flutter in her stomach, tearing her own attention away from him and out to the world blurring past her window. “That’s what it’s like in the books and movies, anyway.” She cleared her throat.

“No,” He spoke softly after what seemed like a long silence.

“What?” Zaida frowned, confused by what he meant by saying that. Did he disagree with her assessment?

“No, I’ve never been in love.” Stiles clarified. What he felt for Lydia couldn’t be described by that. He did care about her, and he wanted her to give him a chance so that they could get to know each other better, but it wasn’t an effortless or natural connection. They didn’t have that bond that Zaida described at all. Really, it made him realise just how little substance there was between himself and the redhead. How could he be in love with her if he barely knew her or interacted with her? The conclusion he’d reached was that he couldn’t.

“Oh,” Zaida didn’t quite know where to go from that. Something made her heart beat faster at the knowledge that he wasn’t in love with Lydia. Luckily Stiles stepped in as if they hadn’t just fallen into a deep conversation so suddenly.

“Never have I ever dated a werewolf.” He grinned mischievously and she tilted her head.

“Hey, technically, we were dating before he got turned.” She defended, picking on the details to avoid having to hand over her candy.

“No cheating. You didn’t officially call it off until after you found out.” He pointed out and held his hand out expectantly, waiting for her to give him what he wanted. “And I want the purple one, just to be clear.”

“You don’t get to make requests,” She argued but gave him a purple snake anyway. “I have the power here, Stilinski. You remember that.”

Many ‘Never Have I Ever’s’ and small spats later, they were finally out of lollies. “That was the last one,” Zaida crumpled up the packet and shoved the rubbish into her bag to be disposed of when they pulled over at a petrol station for their next bathroom break. “What now?”

“More Celtic music?” Stiles turned to her with a sly smile and she flipped him off.

“Not a chance,” She shook her head fervently, not willing to go through that again. Her muscles were starting to get stiff from sitting in the same position for three hours, so she stretched out, twisting to crack her sore joints.

“Wanna play truth?” He suggested and she hummed positively in confirmation. “Okay, what’s a weird food that you love?”

“Vegimite on pancakes.” She pursed her lips in admittance and he gagged at simply hearing the combination. “Hey! If we’re going to play this there needs to be a zero judgement rule.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” He reeled himself in. “It's your turn.”

“If you suddenly won a million dollars, how would you spend it?” Zaida asked. She’d heard a lot of answers to that question - throw a legendary party, buy a mansion, buy an expensive car - but Stiles’ was not what she was expecting at all.

“I would hire people all around the world to get up in public and dance at the same time to Rick Astley’s ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’, simultaneously creating the world's largest flash mob and Rick-roll.” He replied without skipping a beat.

“What?” She choked on her own snort at the absurdity of his answer and the speed at which he’d generated it. “Okay, I take back the ‘no judgement’ rule.”

“Why, what would you do?” Stiles questioned.

“Probably put it into investment properties around the world that I’d then rent out.” She shrugged.

“Oh come on, that’s boring. Pick something better.” He encouraged.

“Okay…uh,” She thought of what else she’d blow that much money on if she had the chance. “Maybe I’d use it to travel around the world.”

“Where would you go?” Stiles prompted the girl.

“I’d go on a Europe tour - Greece, Italy, Rome, France. Then I’d go to England, Ireland, Scotland, Iceland…New Zealand. I’d see all of the ancient sites, the architecture, the natural wonders, the food…” She gushed, her mind travelling to all of the places she’d love to visit one day. Stiles watched that wonder in her eyes as she spoke about it.

“Now that’s a much better answer. Not as good as mine,” Stiles teased her and she rolled her eyes at him. “But still better.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” Zaida shook her head fondly, thinking of another question to continue their game. “What was your biggest childhood fear?”

“The dark,” He answered simply. “I had an overactive imagination and to my eyes, anything and everything looked like a monster in the dark. What was yours?”

“As a kid, I was obsessed with the ocean. Any shark movie you could name, I’d watched it. I had books upon books of the stuff and I was convinced I was going to be a marine biologist one day. Unfortunately, it also gave me this completely irrational fear that there would be a shark in literally every body of water. I could never swim past my height at the beach, or in pools with dark tiles, and I always had to check the toilet to make sure nothing would jump up and bite my ass off.”

“Oh yeah, and I’m the weird one.” He huffed in a chuckle and she opened her mouth to protest but he held up a finger to silence her. “Before you say anything, you revoked the ‘no judgement rule’, so that was fair game. Okay, what’s your most embarrassing moment?”

“There was this one time in sixth grade when our class went to a water park for an excursion. I was one of the only girls in sixth grade with boobs, and I’d forgotten to pack a bra to change into afterwards, so I just kept my swimmers on and put my top over it. I didn’t realise why everyone was pointing at me and whispering until a teacher came up to me and offered me a towel to cover myself. There were wet patches through my shirt just in two big circles on my chest. The girls spent the rest of the year teasing me and trying to get the boys to stare at my chest to make fun of me. Little did they know, the boys probably were looking for different reasons.” She shifted in her seat to face him, watching him in eagerness for his answer. “What’s yours?”

“How can I choose one?” Stiles recalled the multitude of mortifying memories. “Scott showing you that ‘Wannabe’ video has gotta be up there. Then there was that time Jackson pantsed me in the playground in front of like the entire class in fourth grade. Oh, and the time that I accidentally stapled my fingers together.”

“How do you accidentally…?” Zaida interjected but decided to let it go, brushing it off. “You know what, never mind.”

“What’s the largest amount of things you’ve ever collected?” Stiles moved on to the next question.

“Probably my coin collection now, but I had the hugest shell collection as a kid.” Zaida found herself smiling broadly as she recalled it. “Every year when we’d visit the beach house, I’d collect buckets of shells. There was nothing special about them. Most of them looked the exact same, I just thought they were pretty. Mom would always try and throw them out on the walk back to the house, but Dad would find me more. I’d make him dive for the really pretty ones in the water. He’d always come back with big twisty turbinate or scallop shells because they were my favourites. When I got older, my fascination with shells sort of dimmed, but Dad kept finding them for me and I never told him I’d lost interest.”

“It sounds like you made a lot of great memories there,” Stiles noted in a gentle tone.

“Yeah, we did. But my worst memory was also made there.” She pointed out, leaning her head against the window and staring at the buildings of San Jose that passed by.

“Zaida?” Stiles whispered as he gently shook her shoulder, trying to nudge her awake. The sound of his voice - combined with the silence now that the rumbling of the Jeep’s engine and the sound of the tires travelling over the road had ceased - roused her into consciousness. She hadn't even registered when she’d fallen asleep, but there was no doubt in her mind that they had arrived. The chirping of the birds and the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks and sifting through the sand was so familiar. It was as if no time had passed at all. With a start, she realised this had been exactly how she’d arrived last time. Only back then, Xander had been the one to wake her and she’d been covered with sand and saltwater residue. The eerie similarities made her anxiety rise as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched, her joints cracking and popping.

Zaida turned to pull her luggage out only to find that Stiles was already waiting for her at the front porch, carrying both of their bags. With a smile she pulled at the handle and opened the car door, slipping out until her feet hit the hard stone paving of the driveway. She made her way around the Jeep, taking in the front garden, full of trees, short grass and bushes. The brown brick facade of the house with the white-painted shutters and beams loomed over her dauntingly. She followed the stone paver path to the front porch. Her boots thudded lightly against the steps as she climbed them, facing that heavy white wooden door with square frosted glass panels. The same door that had haunted her nightmares for four years. Slipping her hand into her jacket pocket, she pulled out the keys she’d stolen from Xander’s room. They had been easy enough for her to find, hidden in that box at the back of his closet. Her hand was halfway to the lock when she froze, dread coiling in her stomach like a serpent about to strike.

“Do you want me to do it?” Stiles offered in a quiet tone, but she shook her head slightly, pushing forward to slide the golden key into the matching lock, hearing it click as she twisted it.

The door creaked slightly as it swung open on its hinges, the light streaming through half-opened shutters and giant windows to illuminate the space inside. It was a short corridor pretty much immediately opening up to the living, dining and kitchen areas. She stepped through hesitantly, stopping just before the dark grey couch that faced the flat-screen TV against the right wall. It was exactly where she’d stopped almost five years ago to the day, her snorkel and flippers clattering to the floor as a bloodcurdling scream filled her ears. Her scream. Her parents’ bodies had laid on the floor, right there beside the couch. Her mother’s body had been closer, collapsed in a twisted, mangled heap - she’d gone down swinging. Her father’s body had been a few paces behind, lying on his front with his head to the side, face torn open by claw marks - as though he’d been running to help. A choked sound escaped her throat, but her words got stuck halfway up.

There was nothing there now. The clean-up crew had done a good job. Not a single drop of red stained the brown-grey floorboards, where crimson had once run like a river. There was nothing left to suggest anything had happened here. Nothing but the scream trapped in Zaida’s throat and the pain twisting in her chest. As she inched closer, it was as though she could feel them, like the way you could sense someone as they stood behind you. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as goosebumps rippled across her skin and a sick nausea swirled within her stomach.

“It was right here,” She explained, swallowing that lump within her throat and forcing it back down. Last time she had made it only this far before Xander had come barging in, scooping her into his arms and hauling her back outside to sit on the front steps, shaking and crying until the police arrived. Xander wasn’t with her now, but Stiles was. The boy reached out, fingers brushed down the skin of her arm to her hand, where he entwined his fingers with hers in a reassuring gesture. Feeling his larger palm encasing hers was a grounding sensation, and it pulled her back from the edge she was about to slip over. She remained teetering just a few steps behind that cliff face, peering down into the dangerous and steep descent. That sensation that ghosted across the back of her neck spread all around her, intensifying. After a moment, it was as if they were right there…as if their blood-soaked faces were screaming at her once more, wailing about how she had caused this. Now she knew that not to be true, and blinked the image away from her mind’s eye. “I think I can feel them.” Her voice came out in a low and dry whisper.

“You’re okay. There’s no one here.” Stiles consoled her, giving her hand a squeeze. She knew he was right. There wasn’t anybody here - not now. But there had been, and the remnants of what had happened remained. It was as if the violence of the murder had imprinted itself upon the space around it, waiting for her to discover it. An echo of them grew louder and stronger, and the barriers within her mind crumpled a little bit at the brush of the familiar presence. In a way, it was comforting to feel them again, but that didn’t last long. A sharp pain bloomed across her face, and her free hand flew to her cheek.

“I can feel what happened to them, Stiles. I can feel what they were feeling.” She gasped audibly at the shock of the blow. Pushing past the physical pain, she felt their emotions. A palpable fear gnawed at her. “They were so scared, but not for themselves. For Xander and me.”

“You need to stop. Focus on your blocks,” Stiles urged her, drawing her away from the spot, retreating backwards into the open doorway. Zaida’s eyes were still glued to that unmarked place on the floor. “Hey! Zay, come on, you need to focus.”

But Zaida could barely hear him over the sound of white noise in her ears, and that growing sensation of panic - theirs, not hers - drove her heart rate upwards. Another slice of pain embedded itself deep within her abdomen. She could feel the sharp claws tugging on her organs as they ripped past, shredding the flesh messily.

“Zaida!” His faint voice broke through the blur. She only managed to disconnect when he physically tore her gaze away from that spot on the floor. Reality came rushing back in only for her to find that his hands were cradling her face, his amber eyes staring at her with worry etched into his creased brow. She only now realised that her chest was heaving and she was clutching her stomach, almost doubled over as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“We should…” She mumbled through laboured breathing as she struggled to calm her racing heart, wiping the moisture from her face hurriedly. “...Probably keep going.”

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded in agreement, watching her warily as he picked up the bags he’d dropped at the entrance, closing and locking the front door behind them.

She forced herself to step past that magnetizing force and further into the open living area. “Want a tour?” She asked, not waiting for his response. Her voice was still shaky as she pointed out all of the areas of the house, trying to distract herself. “The bathroom is right there behind you, and just through the right of the living room there, you’ll find a library space. The laundry is through the kitchen to the left, just beside the walk-in pantry. Just past the kitchen, there is the back patio, and those bi-fold doors in the dining area open up to a barbecue and fire-pit. Upstairs is this way.” Zaida turned to the left and walked past the dining table to where a staircase led upwards along the wall.

“Zaida…” Stiles tried to catch her attention, knowing that she was deflecting. Nevertheless, he followed along behind her and they cleared the top steps to find another open living area with double doors opening to a wrap-around balcony that faced the backyard and overlooked the beach through the trees.

“How many rooms are in this place?” Stiles gawked at the multiple shut doors and off-shooting corridor, his attention momentarily diverted. There was even a grand piano towards the back of the open area, with a pool table beside it.

“There are four bedrooms. The main room is straight ahead to the back of the house on the right. The one immediately at the front here is Xander’s. Next to it is the office,” Zaida led him down the corridor that ran between the office and the main bedroom. “There’s a spare room on the right, and the bathroom is on the left. If we turn right here…that’s my room all the way down the end.”

“Zaida…” Stiles tried once more to get her attention. The girl walked ahead to her bedroom, pushing open the door to reveal a spacious area with a bay window running along the left wall, bathing the room in orange light from the golden sunset. A queen-sized bed with floral-textured white sheets, flanked by two bedside tables lay straight ahead. The girl stood just within the doorway, staring at the place that held so many memories, transfixed by the items she hadn’t seen in five years. Stiles dropped the bags down on the floorboards beside the door, right next to an ornate golden coat stand. “Zay, do you wanna talk about it?” He asked in a tentative tone, gently reaching out to touch her shoulder, breaking her out of her trance.

“I…” She cut herself off with a sniffle, her hand flying to wipe her red nose and teary eyes as she struggled to keep herself together. “It’s really hard being back here, especially because it all happened just downstairs. I already knew what they went through and that was bad enough, but feeling it…it’s different. It makes it more real, in a way.”

“You’re allowed to cry, you know?” He told her, taking her hand once more and leading her over to sit on her bed. “No one here is going to judge you. Except maybe me,” He jested.

“Everything here reminds me of them. There are memories everywhere in this house.” Zaida yielded, stretching across the mattress to lay on her side and rest her head in his lap. The boy stilled beneath her for a moment, likely surprised by her actions. Or possibly uncomfortable, she realised with a pause. Truthfully she hadn’t really thought about it, but now she was second-guessing herself. For some reason, it had just felt normal to do so, but now that she thought about it, it was a relatively strange boundary to cross. She was about to get back up when he finally relaxed, fingers coming up to brush loose tendrils of her hair out of her eyes.

“Tell me about them.” Stiles requested, and so she did. She told him all about the dent in the hallway beside the bathroom door, where she’d thrown a hardcover copy of ‘The Goblet of Fire’ at Xander as he fled after waking her up one morning. She told him about the scratch in the stairs where she’d dropped her favourite snow globe, and it had smashed everywhere. The replacement her father had bought her still stood proudly on her dresser that they both were facing. She spoke about the countless times they’d roasted marshmallows in the fireplace of the upstairs living area, and the early mornings they would spend feeding the Western Scrub Jays, finches, and sparrows seeds and fruits from the upstairs balcony. She talked through memory after memory, until the reason why they were truly there seemed to fade away into non-importance. She harped on and on until her voice grew hoarse and her eyelids grew heavy, the room growing dark around them as the sun dipped lower and lower. The repetitive patterns of Stiles’ hand brushing up and down her arm soothed her into a deep sleep she didn’t even realise she was falling into until…

#teenwolf fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fanfic #teenwolf #teen wolf #stiles x oc #stiles stilinski #stiles #female oc #female original character

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pink-strawberry-kissess · 2 years ago

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I'm don't dive deep into the fandom because I've had enough with toxicity so I get all my news secondhand, but now that you reminded me that ID exists, I'm just so uncomfortable that cl*eon shippers will scrutinize every word that comes out of Ada's mouth but Claire and Leon literally had a disagreement that ended their friendship and the shippers just gloss right over that like it didn't happen.

I did see one tweet that was wanting Claire to be Leon's partner in RE6 instead of Helena and I'm pretty sure Claire was either super far away or busy at the time so I don't know how that would even work or why she would be there to begin with. Just seems like nostalgia and people ignoring the development these characters go through. Like, no one is the same person they were in RE2. IDK, I'm rambling, sorry.

for sure the fandom is extremely toxic in certain spots.

i think that's always going to be an issue with a growing fandom, as well as a younger newer fandom joining as also. lots of opinions and theories that have already been talked about and a lot of misinformed opinions because they're new to the lore. there's nothing inherently wrong with having a new misinformed or uninformed opinion- but just don't get angry at people who come back at you with facts from the canon because they've played all the games already.

i can immediately tell if someone has ONLY watched/played re2make because they usually end up saying some dumb shit because they don't know anything else about the rest of the games. again, nothing wrong with that, it's just a misguided opinion.

i really do believe that cl*on shippers use the canon whenever it's convenient to them. not to say that other shippers don't do the same. but there's such a formula to how they ship leon and claire. it hardly deviates from this formula. and if you "attack" it in any way. well you're a hater or automatically an ada stan or something or "a supporter of a manipulative bitch"

"oh so we support manipulators. okay"

a lot of them use tactics to try and argue their way out of it, the only problem is that i can see through it.

i don't need to go over the obvious points already. leon and claire are no longer friends in the canon. and he has specified that he sees her and treats her like a kid. he does not view her as a romantic partner. they seem to gloss over this.

no one (NO ONE) has EVER said that leon and ada's relationship is HEALTHY. but as adults, we realize that relationships are much more nuanced than that. not every single relationship is wholesome and pure, and if that's what you strive towards in real life, then that's gREAT.

people like the aeon ship for a multitude of reasons. because it's canon/interesting/captivating/a nice play on and reversal on the whole "damsel in distress / strong hero man." but no one has ever claimed that the relationship is healthy. so let's get that out of the way.

when you ship cl*on and you SPECIFICALLY do things where you mod ada out, and replace her with claire. you are SPECIAL PLEADING. you are choosing to allow claire these special privileges. and the reason why people tend to call cl*on shippers racists or misogynistic, is because you are FALLING into these thinking patterns.

if you NEED to "call out" ada on her sexuality. or compare her to claire in a way where claire is placed on this "pure wholesome" pedestal, and ada is a "slut or whore," you are catering towards misogyny.

that women who are sexual in nature, are automatically not worthy.

and YES YOUNG GIRLS ARE PERPETUATING THIS IDEA.

when you replace ada with claire in re2make, and you play out all these ada scenarios with claire's face, but ada's voice, and ada's narrative and mannerisms. but you ALLOW these things to be "okay" then you are BEING RACIST. boil it down. you are replacing ADA's FACE with a white girl's face. and suddenly everything she does is okay? all these scenes with ada previously, where she was "so manipulative" and "evil," they're suddenly okay now that it's claire's face?

explain to me why.

explain to me why in cl*on fics, ada is portrayed as an "asian whore."

tell me why these things are OKAY in any way shape or form.

sorry on HUGE TANGENT

lots of people have already stated that in the canon, claire was nowhere near them in re6 time, so they couldn't have had her in it. helena was written instead and it actually makes sense to have her there. leon and helena's campaign is entirely helena's story with ada popping in occasionally to help them.

i understand that people like claire. it's an easy character to like, and she's very much a self insert. and that's how a lot of the resident evil characters are written.

what i'm not going to tolerate is when people use misogyny and racism to back up what they think is appropriate discourse on characters. i'm not going to take misinformed opinions as truth, and im not going to entertain delusional ships that i do not personally enjoy. and in that being said, i do need feel the need to shit on characters to get a point across.

being in the fandom for this long, all i've seen are toxic shippers, and people being racist and misogynistic. some of the good ones are the ones that i follow and keep up with. and i try to allow myself to some discourse occasionally to ensure that i don't rely on an echo chamber of thoughts and opinions.

don't ever feel bad about rambling. i literally ramble all the time. i have so many drafts filled with random rambles

#ask heart #heart answers #aeon #shippers #cl*on

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independentzaun · 2 years ago

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For Sevika: That entire situation where Jinx used Raluca as a foot stool, except now you are in Raluca's place. How would that make you feel? (for the whole hot scenario rate, I mean come on, I had to use it!)

send me a hot scenario and I will rate it ♡

(Okay this is… actually a touch complicated so I’ma write something here)

Going through her mail Sevika rolled her eyes seeing one of “those letters” addressed to her, and started to open it. Grabbing a drink she took a sip right as the envelope dropped onto the floor, and she read the brief message. The sip turned out to be a mistake as she did a spit-take just barely managing to turn her head so the liquid didn’t coat the paper. “What… who sends these and why would I answer this?” Shaking her head she tossed the paper onto the counter, and sighed taking another sip.

“Look I don’t bottom often, and very rarely do I actually sub. I’m not saying I don’t see the appeal of the scenario...assuming, that is, that Jinx doesn’t intend to kill me afterwards. I’m assuming this is in the realm of fun times together. Anyways when I do sub it’s not an easy thing, and it’s not just taking a knee and offering myself. At my easiest it’s me being an extreme brat and going “make me” and at my most difficult it’s something a lot more primal and instead of “make me” it’s “force me” with the understanding that neither of us will go past a certain point. In short on the very rare occasions I sub it’s with someone I’ve been with before, and I have full faith that they know what they are doing. I’ve also never been in a relationship long enough with someone else that had a taste for being dominant for any kind of dynamic to develop that might lead to that. I… have had thoughts before if I was in a relationship long enough with the right kind of person…” Clearing her throat Sevika muttered. “That’s not what was asked.”

A sip of her drink and she shrugged. “As of right now I wouldn’t really be interested… However what I would find interesting is someone else under Jinx, and Jinx and myself sharing that person. Don’t misunderstand me I fully get that Jinx has a certain predisposition to not sharing someone she cares about, and that’s fine. The person submitting doesn’t have to get the privilege of touching me, or pleasuring me or anything else. However using someone else as a kind of teaching object almost to introduce Jinx to how many different possibilities exist for pleasure, and pain both that people are willing to agree to and enjoy would be rather interesting. It’d be fun seeing the person squirming, and whimpering, and moaning and giving themselves over fully to us while knowing that they will never get to touch us. That if anyone touches me it’ll be Jinx. That’d be a lovely mix of pushing someone deep into their own skin and sensation while utterly refusing to allow them to reach out in return.”

Lost in thought for a moment Sevika frowned remembering a particular detail. “Raluca was tied up…” Head tilting a bit she turned it to try to loosen her neck. “Jinx tied me up once or twice. Left me hanging from a ceiling with her paint over my face, and clothes. The word “liar” painted on me in multiple spots. That was humiliating when Silco had to get me down…” Voice more contemplative than anything she rubbed at her cheek before shaking her head slowly. All of a sudden whatever small bit of eroticism Sevika had seen in the idea of being in Raluca's position had utterly vanished. “No. No I don’t think I’d want to be in her position.” Blinking Sevika grinned.

“All the same. Sharing some pretty thing with Jinx, and making them submit to the both of us? Now that could be a fun alternative if Jinx was willing to have a playtoy to share for an evening.”

#I was almost done writing this and suddenly remembered Jinx and Sevika's past and didn't want to go full angst but I DID want #to acknowledge that past and how it might effect Sevika's feelings about Jinx and rope at present #sexualmuses

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wingedvow · 2 years ago

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sorry if this sound a random question but how do you feel about Odette and Adam (Beast) as a potential ship? I think is fascinating, because Adam's whole storyline is centered on the theme that "beauty is found within" and his own despair that no one would love someone like a "monster" as him. Odette on the other hand with her line "Is beauty all that matters to you?" clearly follows that theme introduced in Beauty and the Beast, and her own curse that also can be broken with a vow of true love makes me think of a very rich and deep relationship between the two of them: both cursed and waiting for true love to break the spell, he who is hopeless that nobody would love him because his appearance and she wanting more than being seen only for her beauty. Ngl it's just intriguing for me! But what are your thoughts?

Thank you so much for the question! It's a captivating one, as I've actually dedicated a lot of time to Gaston/Odette as a ship, but never Adam/Odette. Both present such fascinating possibilities...honestly, I could see her in either situation, since I think she'd be more effective in the tale than Belle would for a few reasons?

While the film builds Belle up as being intelligent for being a reader (which Odette is, too), Belle is also a pretty poor communicator. She'll have a smug comment for someone that she thinks will insult them, but it'll go over their head entirely which kind of defeats the purpose. This is most evident in her dynamic with Gaston where she never actually voices her stance, but instead confuses him with sarcastic lines like "I just don't deserve you." Odette, on the other hand, thrives with effective communication and Derek's inept ability to express what he likes about her verbally is what brings her to leave him, ultimately.

Odette brings more nuance when it comes to magic. She can't speak to humans as a swan, so she's more reserved in certain moments and knows when to attack in others. In contrast, Belle goes to the West Wing when everyone tells her not to and almost touches the rose. She even shows the magic mirror to the town, revealing the Beast's hiding spot, and putting his life in jeopardy. I think Odette would create more interesting story because she's more privy to the ins and outs of magic and what could compromise someone else's safety and what would be okay to share with a crowd versus what would best be kept to the chest.

Belle gives her life in exchange for Maurice, but leaves the castle the minute the Beast yells at her for breaking the rules and then, later, when Gaston asks for her hand in marriage to free her father, Belle flatly refuses. So, she doesn't really stand for anything...on the contrary, Odette would occupy a similar role within the plot but she actually would have something to fight for, as we see her refuse Rothbart's proposals time and time again to protect her father's kingdom.

Odette works so well with both Adam and Gaston. Imagine Adam as the Derek insert- a Prince she's betrothed to, that can't see her value or beauty until it's too late and he has to go through a journey of his own??? They spend every summer together for him to learn this lesson and at the end of the ten years, perhaps his inability to change is what curses both of them??? Idk still in workship but the genesis of their relationship provides so much.

With Odette and Gaston, I feel like she'd pull her weight way more than Belle would. Belle, at best, is a passive consumer, while Odette fights and wrestles and hikes, etc, so I could see her pulling her weight on their farm or in the tavern, instead of being privileged enough to just sit and read and choose not to engage with anyone. Plus I have a headcanon that Odette would definitely be capable of picking Gaston up and carrying him on her shoulders, so there's that lol

#- sure as the dawn brings the sunrise /#ask #anonymous #indie rp #indie fantasy rp #fantasy rp #thank you so much for asking something!#this blog never gets any love

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versatiletwink · 8 months ago

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Self control

Thanks to @mangosmoothiepussyv3 for the inspiration on this one! Tags/CW: edging, denial, (gentle) femdom, implied bondage, trying not to cum, orgasm control, choking, bratty (boy) sub, some light CNC, some degradation.

---

"You mean, you'll let me fuck you this time?"

Sean was already rock-hard with excitement. If he was ever lucky enough to be graced with Angel's pussy, it was only ever while securely tied down, unable to do anything but watch and writhe as his girlfriend of now 1 year rode at her own pace, mocking him for getting desperate and laughing as he begged for his orgasm.

It was certainly hot, every single time, but Sean was starting to get new urges. A desire to change things up, flip the switch on his more dominant side, and claim Angel's body as his toy for once, instead of the other way around.

"Not quite, all I said is I'd let you be untied" his girlfriend giggled, tightening her favorite belt around Sean's neck. "This is a test, to see if you deserve other privileges."

Removing her robe to reveal black, crotch-less lingerie underneathe, she let Sean catch her eyes staring hungrily at his length. Six inches of manhood that was the perfect fit for her, and always so sensitive to the touch.

She knelt down and smiled, biting her lip deviously, still staring at the cock now just inches from her lips.

"What are you to me when you're naked?" she asked in a low voice, before slowing taking the tip into her mouth, staring back up at her boyfriend's eyes as her tongue played across his tip.

Sean took a deep breath, letting the sensation wash over him, before replying with the practiced words she'd drilled into his head.

"I'm your favorite dildo, ma'am. Just a toy and nothing more."

Angel hummed approvingly, sliding her mouth slowly down and up the shaft before speaking again, holding her boyfriend's dick so it brushed against her moving lips.

"That's right. Now kneel for me, like a good boy."

Sean felt every dominant thought leave his body as the leather tightened around his neck, forcing him to his knees. He watched with hungry lust as his girlfriend got on all fours, pushed her ass seductively into the air, then leaned back to slid his cock into her warm, wet folds. He'd never seen Angel take his dick from this angle before.

Her body looked so inviting. He could just reach out and grab her waist, and all of her curves would be his for the taking. He wanted it so bad. He needed it so bad.

He started to rationalize the thought. Maybe this was Angel's way of letting him take her. She said she wasn't letting him do the fucking yet, but maybe she wanted it to be a bratty thing, where she pretended to fight back?

Fuck, she felt so good on his cock. He reached out and grabbed a handful of her hips in each hand, ready to plunge himself in to the hilt and-

"Hands off," Angel snapped.

Sean stammered. His arms reflexively flew behind his back and his face grew hot with embarrassment. Had he fucked up? Did he fail the test? Would Angel ever let him take charge?

He breathed a sigh of relief when she seemed to forgive him, moving on from the moment without anger in her voice.

"Good toy. I know you want to take me so bad baby, but I need to make sure you can control yourself first," she said breathily, clearly enjoying the dick she'd taken almost all the way, although she'd notably left about a half inch of wiggle room between her hole and Sean's base.

"I'm gonna use you to cum, just like always, but you'll need to be on your best behavior," she explained, relishing the feel of Sean's pulse through his dick. "Since you're not tied up, you'll need to focus very, very hard, on being a good toy. Don't move. If any part of you besides your pretty dick touches me, you get a strike. Three strikes, and you fail the test.

"...and that was strike one."

She turned her head to see the switchy boy's face, warm with excitement and arousal and perhaps a little residual embarrassment.

"Nod if you understand, toy."

Sean did.

"Good boy."

Angel flipped on a vibrator, and reached beneath herself to press the device against her clit. She gasped as the sensation shot through her sensitive bundle of nerves, waving her backside seductively in front of Sean.

He took a deep, shaky breath.

He could feel the gentle buzz of Angel's toy through her body, resonating across his cock with a pleasant hum. He could also feel her warmth squeezing and shifting as the pleasure made her body ache for stimulation, and in turn led her move up and down his rod.

Sean clenched his hands together to keep them behind his back. She felt so good from this angle, and without her touching anything but his cock, there was no distraction from the sensation of pleasure between his legs.

The man tried to focus on his breathing instead, drawing deep, measured inhales and shaky, careful exhales as Angela writhed with bliss in front of him.

His next few minutes felt like hours as Angel upped the vibe's power, her wetness shifting and squeezing as she let the pleasure wash over her body from her clit. Sean felt the same intensity as his girlfriend's hole leaked around his length.

A stream of "oh" and "oh god," and "baby I'm gonna" and "FFFFUUCK"s later, and Angela was cumming on his cock. Her warmth clenched down, milking Sean for all he was worth, and he felt her creaming on his shaft.

He couldn't help himself. Before he knew what he was doing, Sean let out a deeply intimate moan and involuntarily bucked his hips, his pelvis slapping against Angel's ass as he thrust himself deeper.

"That's strike two" Angel teased between gasps for air, her arousal building once again as she pushed the vibrator back between her legs and carefully rode the rest of her boyfriend's rigid cock.

"You'd better be careful, or you'll never get to take charge," she moaned, before smiling wickedly to herself. "Not that I ever thought you'd pass. You've never had much self control, have you? Just a simple fucktoy that only knows how to cum. And if you can't control yourself, how are you supposed to control me?"

She let herself moan louder for a performative flourish, riding the top half of Sean's cock faster and teasing him as she heard him stifle another moan.

Angel glanced back over her shoulder and saw her beautiful boyfriend still knelt obediently behind her. She locked eyes with him, and felt butterflies as she registered utter desperation in his eyes, big brown circles pleading with words he knew he was forbidden to speak.

She made sure to hold his gaze with theatrical pity as she spoke again.

"I could stop the test right now. I already came, you were so good while I did, maybe I should just let you off easy, see what you're like when you're dominant. It'd be so easy, all I'd have to do is stop fucking you."

Sean knew better than to hope for mercy. But his eyes betrayed a glimmer of it all the same as he felt his partner's vibrator power off. Angel placed her now free hand on the ground in front of her for balance.

"Too bad you're just a dildo for me. You exist for my pleasure alone. And dildos. Don't. Deserve. Mercy."

Now on all fours, Angel became cruelty incarnate, virtually twerking on the top half of Sean's aching cock.

She knew full well what she was doing: penetration wouldn't make her cum very quickly in this position, it was too shallow and too fast. But it would stimulate Sean's tip much faster than she had been, and before long, he'd blow his load.

And after that, he was fucked. He'd have to endure Angel's post-orgasmic ride on his cock without flinching, without pushing her away. At best, he'd manage 30 seconds after the creampie before the overstimulation grew too unbearable.

Sean knew it, too. Angel was certain. She knew how long it took for him to start begging for mercy when he was tied down and unable to stop her, just as well as she did.

Drinking in his gaze of unspoken pleas, Angel turned her head back to the front to focus on the sensation of the moment: the power she had over Sean, the heat of his cock impaling her from behind, the slippery friction as she moved her slit from the head of his member to roughly halfway down the shaft, then down and up and down and up, again and again, over and over.

Satisfied in her control, the dominant woman decided to gloat, offering her victim a prize they both knew was just out of reach.

"You're so hard when I ride you like this baby. Fuck. I promise if you... oh god... if you can make me cum like this, you'll pass the test."

Sean was no longer managing to contain his moans.

He was far too close to the edge.

"Angel," he pleaded. "Baby I'm gonna bust. Please slow down, just a little. Please baby. Please. Please!!! Fuck just a lit-"

Angel interrupted him with more taunts.

"Then cum for me, pretty boy. Fill my pussy with your hot cum, and then fail my test. You'll be a fucktoy for the rest of your life. Just a personal cock I ride when I want to. That's all you're fucking good for baby, you're just a cock that makes pretty noises when I fuck it. You'd be better off accepting that before you fill my pussy with cum."

She couldn't see any more, but Sean's eyes now betrayed panic. He was going to cum, it was now an inevitability, seconds away at best.

And if he came, he would fail.

Which meant failing was an inevitability.

Which meant... he had no reason to keep following the rules.

Panic became an angry, primal lust in Sena's eyes as he unclasped his hands. One snapped to Angel's hip, squeezing it hard, as the other clenched her gorgeous black hair, pulling it painfully in his grasp.

"Strike Th-Sean what the f-?!?" was all Angel managed to say before he pushed her face against the floor,

"Shut the fuck up," he snarled, and began pounding her pussy with all his might.

"Who's the toy now, you fucking slut?" he demanded as his clapped against Angel's ass. "Hows it feel to get pounded, knowing you're about to be my fucking cumdump? How's it feel to be a fleshlight I fuck hard and fast and deep?"

"Sean-" Angel gasped, cut off with another gasp as he squeezed her hair harder.

"That's not a fucking answer," he spat, a smile crossing his face. "I don't need to here it from you. You must love getting your brains fucked out, you certainly haven't tried fighting back!"

Angel was silent for a half second. Her arms had collapsed hastily under her head when Sean shoved it into the ground.

"That's what I thought. Put them behind your back."

She did, clenching her hands the same way she'd taught him to do, and breathed a sigh of relief when her boyfriend released his death grip on her hair.

A sigh that was cut short when he grabbed her neck instead, using it to lift her upper body in front of him as he continued to plow her from behind. Angel was frankly surprised he still hadn't blown his load.

"Now answer me. Tell me how much you love getting your hole used."

Angel tried to draw breath but couldn't with the grip around her neck. She could only sputter her next words.

"I... c... cccccumming," she rasped.

Angel's moans died in her throat as she orgasmed once more, again looking into Sean's eyes as he blew her back out. But this time she saw a look she'd never seen before.

Complete, dominant glee. He was in complete control, and he knew it.

"I fucking knew it," Sean said with a wicked grin, holding Angel's gaze as his cock erupted within her, pumping a load of cum deep into her pussy then fucking it deeper. "I knew you'd love being my fucktoy."

letting a boy slide inside of me, but not letting him move. then i use my vibrator to make myself cum while he squirms and trys not to fuck into me, begging me to let him move

#my writing #cnc k!nk #nsft concept #nsft writing #nsft brat #fdom #male sub #bd/sm switch #d0m/sub #cnc free use #edging kink #0rgasm control #0rgasm denial #choking #fem sub #femdxm #fem domme #gentle domination #degradation k1nk

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