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primofate · 1 year ago

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Genshin Angst Headcanons - Why the two of you broke up

Note: Had an unexpected free day! I haven't written in a while, please excuse the mistakes, if any.

Disclaimer at the end of the post

Warning: Some are pretty predictable. Each of them have their own issues, lore wise, so some are lore heavy. You might not agree with some of them, but its how I see it, so to each their own. Let me know what you think! Some are quite angsty. Some scenes it's you breaking up with him and some are vice versa. Didn't feel like writing Razor, Venti and Xingqiu.

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Bennett, Chongyun, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gorou, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Lyney, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Thoma, Tighnari, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Personal Favourites in this work: Lyney, Itto, Kazuha

Aether

Sister issues. Enough said.

He realized he didn't have enough time to spare romancing with someone.

Somewhere along the way he felt guilt that he was enjoying his time with you while his sister went through some sort of villain origin story that seemingly turned her bad.

Top off all the adventuring, searching, solving problems for other people that he did...Where did that leave you, exactly?

"...I'm sorry, Y/N... I just... I don't think this is the right time for me to be together with you,"

Albedo

Contrary to popular belief it wouldn't be his lack of time or extreme focus on his alchemical experiments that would break the two of you up. He knows how to manage his time.

It was the RESULTS of experiments and his research that would put him away from you.

The possibility that HE or his world, was way too dangerous for you.

How many "Albedos" did Rhinedottir really create? Was there more than three? Perhaps four, five? And what happens when you come face to face with another Albedo?

"I'm afraid...There are far too many dangers surrounding myself... There are answers that I can't find...and perhaps that's the reason why my answer is to part ways with you,"

Alhaitham

Too much of a nonchalant attitude.

He expressed some kind of interest in you...but it's like... once in a blue moon. 95% of the time you're not sure if he's really into you. It almost seems like he's more into that book he reads all the time.

Simply just not good at expressing himself. Like, at all. Hides behind a "whatever works" and "I don't care about what other people think of me" attitude, unfortunately that seems to include you.

Is so straightforward that sometimes it hurts, but he's really just telling the truth through logical analysis.

will act like the breakup didn't hurt nor affect him at all. In turn it hurts you instead.

"I see. So you've had enough of me... And you only spoke up now? Pointing it out earlier could've diverted us from this path...If that's how you feel already I suggest that we stop seeing each other,"

"That's it? You're not even going to try and work it out with me?"

"What's there to work out? You've made yourself clear. You're not satisfied with the way I treat you, and I'm afraid I'm not going to change the way I act just for your pleasure... It'd be more meaningful for you to find someone who fits your criterias,"

Ayato

entering a relationship with a noble was not as easy as one thought.

It's not just about being together forever and feeling lucky because Ayato is rich and your whole life is set, it's also the not fitting in, the etiquette, the whispers from townfolk that you were too ordinary for him, the work that you needed to do if you were to become his wife.

All that was not really a big problem for you, but Ayato seemed not to know of your struggles, he was extremely busy, and when he wasn't, he seemed to think that everything was well and fine, since you were getting all your basic needs met and even more.

"...So I'm sorry, Ayato. This is just... All too much for me. I'm sorry,"

"...I understand. Forgive me, it seems that I've overlooked a lot of things...Perhaps it is as you say, that it'd be better for us to grow apart rather than grow together,"

Baizhu

because he is a ticking time bomb, no matter which way he looked it's not going to end well for both of you.

He either dies early or lives forever. In both scenarios he anticipates that the two of you are just going to be in a world of hurt.

Besides, he didn't mean to get so attached to someone in the first place, he knew his quest for immortality was long and arduous. You didn't deserve to walk that difficult road too.

While breaking up, will conceal the fact that he's only thinking of you and will possibly hurt you in the process.

"I'm sorry, but it's for the best. I ask that you continue going forward without me, there's no space for you in my... ideal future,"

Bennett

We all know it...it's his bad luck. However, it wasn't YOU who had a problem with it, it was HIM.

You understood that his bad luck was just some extended part of him, plus it's not like it was always bad, there were a lot of good times too. Plenty!

But the guilt ate him up whenever the two of you were stuck in a seemingly impossible scenario and predicament, brought on by his luck. He just had enough of it one day.

"I...I can't keep doing this to you every day! It's not fair..."

will be on the brink of tears before he even starts.

"Maybe it's better if you find someone else to adventure with, Y/N, sorry...!"

runs away before you can even get a word in.

Chongyun

Thinks he's not good enough in every aspect. It's really, seriously not about you. He thinks he's lacking in everything. Strength, maturity, experience, confidence.

So badly wants to stay with you but feels like he's not good enough and thinks that you're better off with someone else.

"D-Don't misunderstand... It's not because I don't like you anymore... I just...Please find someone else!"

Cyno

his bad jokes and TCG addiction. just kidding, you're not that shallow.

A lot of people are intimidated by him being the General Mahamatra because he gives importance to justice. While you, who had seen a bit more of him than other people had, it seemed more of an obsession to uphold the Akademiya's law and integrity.

This was not a big problem to you, you liked how he was serious at work.

Until one day when you were accused of plagiarising one of your papers and Cyno was the one sent to give you a first offense warning. The Akademiya knew of your relationship, that's probably why they sent him, to make it harder on the two of you.

Cyno didn't listen to your explanations on how it was an honest mistake, he still gave you the warning that you "deserved"

From then on it had just been different between the two of you, so it was really a mutual breakup. Or so you thought.

"...After that, I just realized that maybe this isn't the right time for us... We're both working for the Akademiya, we both take our jobs seriously...Unfortunately that seems to just be getting in the way of us...I think it's best if we stop seeing each other,"

"...I see." he pauses for a minute, as if tossing your words in his mind. "I...agree. Parting ways would certainly make work easier for both of us...it's the professional thing to do,"

Dainsleif

Has not moved on from his past.

Sure, everyone has their own baggage to carry, their own history to live through...but Dainsleif has heavier things than that. He seemed to wake up every day thinking of Khaenri'ah and the days long past. Was it regret? Nostalgia? Loneliness? You didn't know. You just knew that he wasn't really completely THERE with you in the present. Part of him still lived in the past.

When you explained that you felt like the two of you were not moving forward together and that it seemed like he wanted to go back to the past instead, he got offended.

"...My past is something that I carry forever, you'd claimed that you understood that," he starts.

"I do! But carrying it with you and letting it drag you backwards are two different things!"

He falters for a moment, only to leave you with his last words before turning away from you forever: "You will never understand, the weight that I carry,"

Diluc

is too guarded. You'd been friends for a long, long, long, long time before he decided he could let you in enough and be more intimate with you.

Even then everything was going at a snail's pace, though you were extremely patient with him.

The biggest problem with Diluc was that the two of you would progress one day, take a step forward, and then the next day it was like the two of you took two steps back.

Example: The two of you went out for a simple stargazing excursion late one night, it was nice and he had been incredibly affectionate. The next day he had trouble even meeting your gaze, and disappeared to do his work. It was also a little awkward during dinnertime. This scenario had happened more than once.

Hint: the closer he got to you the more afraid he became, thinking that he would one day lose you too.

"I...I can't. I love you but I...I've waited far too long. I'm sorry. I'm tired of this endless chase for you!"

He couldn't even say a thing. He'd wanted to ask you to stay, to wait for him a little longer, but he already knew how incredibly selfish that would have been. Instead, he grimaced, and looked away from your gaze, trying to find something worthwhile to say. There was only silence for a few moments.

"Goodbye Diluc," that's when you turned away.

Gorou

worships Kokomi too much and your insecurities just kept circling around in your head.

You know its his job. You know he isn't like that but the problem was YOU and not him.

Simply said you let your insecurity eat up the relationship between the two of you.

You couldn't bring yourself to say that you were jealous of the way he admired Kokomi so you broke up with him with another reason in tow.

Unfortunately, you're not a very good liar face to face so you did a butthole move and actually broke up with him through a letter. You just couldn't face him and tell him why.

All you mentioned in the letter was that you needed time to think and be away from him, and told him not to worry because it was your problem, not his.

Poor Gorou reread that letter over and over, trying to understand what went wrong.

Heizou

is just a natural flirt. You're not sure if he's doing it on purpose or not and you're not sure if he's even aware he's like that.

Anyway you'd seen him getting overly friendly (just another word for flirting) with a few other people a couple of times. You didn't let it get to you the first, fourth or even eighth time but you realized that he KNOWS that you're watching him do that.

So you confront him about it, but he claims that it's just his way of gathering information from others. People like to hear good things and some people are more susceptible to flirtatious comments so he resorts to that for his investigation sometimes.

You didn't really completely buy it and even if you did, it's not like this was healthy for your relationship. You just couldn't make yourself comfortable with it.

*You just chalked it up to the two of you being incompatible.

"I'm just not comfortable with that...I don't think I have to say sorry for how I feel but...I'm sorry anyway because I know you're just doing your job... It's probably best if we part ways here..."

"Is there any way to change your mind?" he genuinely asks.

You only give a lopsided smile. "You're a detective, I think you already know the answer to that,"

Yet he didn't stop you from walking away.

Itto

Kept breaking promises because he was too airheaded or too occupied doing something "stupid" with the kids or with his gang.

Pretty soon it just felt like you were an afterthought while everyone else in his life took precedent.

Got a ramen date? Oops, sorry! Got caught up looking for a strong onikabuto in the forest!

Needed his help to move some things? Gah, he was vandalising the bulletin boards, so he's running a bit late!

What's more you didn't actually mind that carefree, airheaded side of him...but it really got to you when he couldn't even seem to make you a priority. Not once.

He only realized that when he came running, late again, and stood face to face with a crying you.

"Hey sorry Y/N, I was just--...Why are you crying?!" is completely dumbfounded and clueless, mostly because when he came late, you had always shrugged it off with a smile on your face, or so he thought. This time you had a completely different reaction.

"I hate you...*hic* I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

Shocked beyond belief. It wasn't like you to just blow up like that, but he couldn't do anything except watch you turn and run away from him after that exclamation.

Kaeya

Sometimes you're not sure if he takes you seriously.

Recently, he's not where he says he is, you don't know why he doesn't just tell you where he is.

He said he'd be working late, but then you find out he's at Angel's Share.

He said he'll be at Angel's Share, but then you catch word from Jean that he's out on a late mission.

He said he's escorting a caravan to Mondstadt but he's actually on assignment in Liyue.

It came to the point where you altogether just stopped looking for him cause half of the time you couldn't find him. It's like he's avoiding you or something, which, actually, seems just about right since he's been so busy with "work"

It reached a breaking point when, for a week, you were unable to bring him the lunch you prepared...because he was not where he said he was going to be. It was starting to get annoying.

"I don't understand why you're lying to me! Why do you have to tell me you'll be at Angel's Share this afternoon when you're not? Do you realize you make me walk all the way there only to come all the way back with nothing achieved?"

"I'm sorry snowflake, that wasn't my intention," though he still chuckles despite knowing full well that you were about to turn away.

"You know what, let me know when you're ready to stop making jokes. Until then, don't bother contacting me,"

He just didn't expect you to actually walk away from him.

Kaveh

Entertains everyone and anyone. Naturally kind at heart, will stop for anyone in trouble...even that flirtatious man/woman who is clearly just pining for his attention.

No he doesn't quite realize this.

The same person had asked for his help at least 4 times now and all 4 times he had been happy to offer a helping hand.

The last straw was when he was invited into the stranger's house, they had apparently needed someone to help them move and re-arrange furniture and he did, working till almost dinner time.

You'd caught him right by the person's door, because Kaveh was actually honest and told you he'd be helping them today, but the person was clearly eyeing Kaveh rather flirtatiously.

"Come again next time," you heard the person say rather happily. Kaveh only replies with "If I have nothing else to do, I suppose,"

"Kaveh, they're coming onto you and you keep letting it happen!"

"I'm not certain what you're talking about...They just needed some help around their house, nothing suspicious happened at all. Even if there was, I won't let anything happen between me and a stranger!"

"Then STOP helping them!"

"There isn't anything wrong with lending a hand...It was a quick move of things, that's all,"

"How would YOU feel if I just went into someone's house and kept helping them "move" things?"

"...I would think that's nice of you,"

You actually threw your hands up. "Oh, forget it! You know what, for someone who LOVES helping others, you're not doing such a great job of helping ME," then walked away and never came back. "Good riddance,"

Kazuha

He's a wandering samurai. You knew what you were getting into but you didn't expect dating him to be so hard.

He was gone for weeks on end, and you were not getting on that boat with him. In essence the two of you were just not ready to follow each other to the end's of the Earth, and that was fair. The two of you were young.

Kazuha kind of saw it coming, whenever he visited you, you seemed less spirited and he had an inkling as to why. The time apart was just too much for you.

It was a rather clean break actually. A real mutual breakup that the two of you agreed on.

"...You could say it's just not the right time for us," you even managed to laugh under your breath and he did the same, though it was barely audible.

"...Mm. There are matters that you need to attend to here...and there are things that I need to do out there," he slowly stood up from his sitting position next to you and still gazed at you rather lovingly. "...Perhaps, in another world, you and I are bound together,"

You gazed back forlornly, "...Just not in this one, it looks like,"

Lyney

because he will always choose his siblings over you. Always.

Though that's not a bad thing because you also think that family is important...somewhere along the way you realized that family is the ONLY thing he had and saw.

Example: Lynette and you had gotten ill at the same time one winter morning. Perhaps it was the cold that was passing around Fontaine. Lyney had been so worried about Lynette, that he seemed to have forgotten about you for the next few days. In fact, Lyney didn't even realize that you caught the cold too. You had only heard from Freminet, who you happened to cross paths with, that Lynette was also ill.

You thought that incident was the end of it, but really it seemed that whenever Lyney wanted to hang out with you, Lynette had to be there too. You tried to understand...after all there's still that mystery of disappearing women in Fontaine.

The breakup was induced when Lyney completely forgot about your birthday, because Freminet's was around the same time as yours. You helped Lyney prepare everything for Freminet, and said nothing about your own.

You realized that there was nothing wrong with choosing family over everything else...but the problem here was that Lyney didn't even have space for you in the first place.

So you left without saying anything. You figured he'd get over it quick. You had even gone so far as to move away from the main city of Fontaine and out into another island, because what would you say if he found you? That you were jealous of his siblings? You weren't going to ruin a family like that and it wasn't right to make him choose...so you just left without a word.

Neuvillette

Had a whole brainrot for this man:

Part 1

Part 2

Scaramouche

surprisingly it's not his anger issues.

It's the way he wouldn't acknowledge your relationship. You wonder how you even got into one with him.

There's no public show of affection, but even behind closed doors it rarely happened.

You knew that he was going to be like that, and so you didn't mind it all that much.

It was getting a bit much though when, out in public, he would walk further in front of you and refused to walk next to you. When he pretended like he didn't even know you. When he didn't stop to help you even when another man had shown interest in you, bordering on uncomfortable.

The more time passed the more you simply felt unloved...but for some reason you still blamed yourself.

"...I...don't know. Maybe you find me undesirable, or just...unappealing. Maybe you're embarrassed of me or...or..." maybe you just didn't care in the first place, you thought to yourself.

There was a long silence. Of you turning your gaze away, of him still piercing into yours. And then...

"Tsk...don't waste my time...Leave if you want to leave, door's open,"

Tartaglia

This one is simple. It's his obsession for fighting plus his complete disregard for himself. It's a constant heart attack for you. At some point the anxiety is just too much for you to handle.

Imagine living every day just wondering if he's safe at the same time knowing that he just loves to look for trouble.

The foul legacy that you know of, he uses it with disregard as well, despite knowing that it wasn't good for him.

And there are even days where you know he was heavily wounded but didn't go to you, in an attempt to shield you from worry.

It's a constant battle trying to stay sane and unworried, until one day it all just becomes too much.

"...Nothing I say will change anything, Tartaglia. This is who you are...This is who you need to be..." you whisper while bandaging his knuckles. He lets out a short hum.

It was silent all up until you finished with his hand, you squeeze it gently. "...I love you but...I can't keep doing this to myself, I'm tired...more so than I have ever been before,"

He lets your hand slip away from his knuckles, and that was the last he saw of you.

Thoma

This one is also simple. He was always taking care of others and running errands for others that he sometimes just couldn't catch a break.

Just a classic case of not enough time for you since he had a job to do for the Kamisato Clan.

He knows it, and feels awful about it. So he's the one who makes the move.

"It hurts that I can't give you what you deserve, Y/N. This isn't it... You deserve more than this but I can't give you that and I'm sorry. Please look for the love that you deserve,"

Tighnari

Remembers everything. Can be critical of things you've done, specially if he thinks there's a better way to do it.

Simply said you just feel stupid in front of him sometimes.

He doesn't mean to, but he sometimes forgets to appreciate or give praise to the things that you do well and even if he does, it tends to be short lived compared to his constructive criticisms.

Pretty soon you felt like he only looks at the bad things you do, and never the good. Though he was really only trying to teach and guide you as an equal.

He in fact feels that you are one of the few people who can keep up educational conversations with him.

The problem is he kind of forgets that you're his lover, and that you would enjoy his praise and affection from time to time.

"Do you... Do you ever have anything nice to say other than 'good work' or 'great observation'?" the words were out of your mouth before you could hold yourself back. Sometimes it was tiring to feel like you weren't good enough.

There's a flash of surprise that crosses Tighnari's expression for a split second, before he recovers. "...Had I not been praising your work enough lately? My apologies... It has a lot of merits, I just thought that you wanted my opinion on how to make it better,"

You opened your mouth to say something, but closed it again right after to ponder on his words. Somehow even that had managed to make you feel embarrassed. It was here you knew that the problem also lied within yourself.

"...Sorry, Tighnari...I think I'll need some time alone,"

He obliges quickly and asks. "That's reasonable. When would you like me to come back?"

"...Let me rephrase that... I need some time away. From us."

Xiao

Unfortunately there's a lot of things wrong here... his lack of affection. His aloof personality. His dedication to his yaksha duties. Despite that he does actually try to be gentlemanly or respectful of you.

The worst of it is that he didn't know how to be in a relationship, in other words he just wasn't ready for one, or perhaps he would never be ready for one.

He didn't understand that humans craved companionship and sometimes touch. He didn't understand that meant having to favour you over others, sometimes even putting you first over his yaksha duties.

Worst of it all was when he shut himself off from you, sometimes for days on end, when his karmic debt was too high. He only really did it to protect you, but never realized how isolated that made you feel.

When you confronted him about it, he felt attacked. Hiding away was the only way he knew how to cope...why couldn't you understand that?

"Let me help you, Xiao,"

"I don't need your help!" his tone would make you wince and just like that he disappears into a billow of smoke.

You never returned to Wangshu Inn after that. If he couldn't let you in, there was no use trying to knock on his heart. Xiao being Xiao, never sought you ought again either.

Zhongli

He had experienced so many things and you had listened to many a tales from him.

This is what caused you to realize that you hadn't even experienced life at all, and yet here you were willing to tie yourself down to him.

It just didn't feel like it added up. Here he was with all this knowledge of the world and here you were who had never even stepped outside of Liyue. By no means were you stupid, but you felt that you could be better not only for him, but for yourself if you learned more.

There was just such a huge gap in life experiences, and though you never expected to get to his level (he was a God who had lived for a long time, you would never catch up to him) you at least wanted to see what was out there with your own eyes instead of through his stories.

He understood that wholeheartedly, and had no qualms in letting you go.

"You will always have a place with me, Y/N. No amount of lifetimes will change that,"

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Disclaimer: Relationships will always have some sort of problem along the way, maybe big, maybe small but I just want to reiterate that breaking up is not always the solution. Communicating is very important. So to those of you who like taking fanfiction too seriously, let it be known that this is just a work of fiction. I don't actually suggest breaking up with someone as soon as there is the slight indication of a problem (Just saw someone commenting on a similar themed post for Haikyuu that this wouldn't happen in the real world if both parties were mature... I mean, sure, but, idk, you must be fun in parties... it's called fiction for a reason...)

#genshin angst #genshin breakup #genshin headcanons #lyney x reader #genshin impact angst #lyney angst #neuvillette angst #neuvillette x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham angst #cyno angst #cyno x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #diluc angst #tartaglia angst #itto angst

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nyancrimew · 7 months ago

Note

when i transitioned i still carried this kinda seed within myself of, like, gender essentialism, on the idea that being attracted to someone of the same or opposite sex necessarily implied cis people, and trans people were largely an "exception." as i entered the dating scene with a lot of baggage i was kinda deliberately looking for bi women under the belief that only they would actually be sexually attracted to me.

flash forward to now and i just kinda... skipped that shit with my new gf. they're a lesbian, very exclusively attracted to women, and that was never a problem. i'm certain i worried about it like some asshole and stayed up all night about it but as i became more comfortable with myself and my relationship and my gender it just kinda... disappeared. i'm a girl. she likes girls. she likes me. no contradiction.

moral of the story is that nobody should try and draw these lines around themselves, especially trans women. the game of love might have been segregated into two clear-cut, regulated teams and a long, exhaustive list of matchmaking requirements and etiquette but each and every one of us, and i mean EACH AND EVERY ONE, has a right to march their ugly ass onto the field and give it a shot. if someone loves you it will be with the part of their body that makes their eyes widen and their breath tighten and their thoughts flutter and float and tie up into butterfly knots, not with the part that keeps a rigorous list of preferred pronouns and gender identities.

yessss ! thank u for putting this into words so well

#confessions #trans #transfem #gender

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erodasfishtacos · 9 days ago

Text

But I Got Wise (You're the Devil in Disguise) || DWD

Prompt: Harry & YN are the picture perfect couple of their suburban little neighborhood where everything is pristine and manicured. It's the 1960’s and they're just like any other husband and wife in this era, right?

AKA The Don't Worry Darling AU I never wrote

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: PLEASE REFER TO BOTTOM OF THE FIC AS IT WILL SPOIL EVERYTHING IF I PUT WARNINGS HERE 🖤

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-3 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2-3 one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here!

Inspired fully by this song

It’s a give and take.

An ebb and flow.

The most skillfully crafted routine of all time.

YN should win an Oscar for her perfectly crafted wide-eyed expressions or shocked gasp that could fool every single person in a room.

Every woman wanted to be YN.

Every husband wishes their wife was YN or something of a clone to her.

YN was the ideal housewife.

The sprawling mansion pristine, the meals delicious, and her appearance was always without a hair out of place or a smeared liner.

The jealousy came from YN’s upbringing, a family with old money, the kind that sent their children away.

YN was raised in a Swiss boarding school, where she had etiquette classes and learned how to be a lady.

At least that was the story that had so neatly constructed.

She always knew which cutlery went on which side, what fork was used for salad versus entree, and never had an elbow on the table.

YN was always polite to their guests.

No matter how standoffish the women were, she only smiled and acted as if she didn’t sense the tension.

When their husband’s make passes at her, she swiftly but always kindly, gently turns them down with a sympathetic look.

Like if she could she would but she can’t, she only cannot because she’s married.

Her acting made these men believe that if it wasn’t for Harry, they would have this chance with her.

And that was part of her magic, in the process of denying these men, it made them become even more interested with her.

YN was private, comparatively to the group of women, and didn’t share any information that the others would willing give away.

No one knew anything about her marriage.

Not like how everyone knew that Barbara’s husband was drunk nearly every night which resulted in whiskey dick.

Or how Rhonda’s expects it every night, even on days where he’s worked twelve plus hours and they’re both tired.

YN listened attentively, pouted empathically when necessary but never add anything to relate to it.

When pushed once by Catherine, YN was graceful in her rebuke when asked how her sex life was with Harry.

Was he a dud or star between the sheets?

They were dying to know.

He was a gorgeous man, the most successful out of the lot, and the only one who didn’t need hard liquor to loosen up.

Harry seemed too perfect, just like YN, to the point whs dimples smile seemed more wolfish and intimidating than welcoming.

When one of these men would hit on YN, Harry would make sure to give their hand a near bone-breaking shake on the way out as a warning.

All with that dazzling smile.

YN had not taken the bait.

She sipped her tea, acting as if she was flustered, and coquettishly replied, “Harry is a good, respectable man. A man with strong morals of how to treat a woman.”

All the women took that as a confirmation that he was a dud, the vanilla type who only knew missionary before rolling over to snore.

In an alarming discovery, the group of women all came to the conclusion that none of their husbands had ever gotten them anywhere close to climax.

YN had stayed mum, when curious eyes landed on her, she only gave a closed-lipped smile, and shrugged delicately, “I don’t speak about such things. It’s not very ladylike.”

As much as the gossipers want to roll their eyes at her holier-than-thou approach, it created wonder in what her life was like.

YN nor Harry ever cracked, never once.

Of course, every couple tried to put on their best faces for dinners and cocktails but they’ve all slipped a few times.

Like when Caroline had huffed at her husband to, “make his own damn cocktail.”

Or when Bart had let it slip that Gretchen threw a glass at his head during one heated argument a few days back.

Not Harry and YN.

Dinner tonight was hosted at the Chamber’s home, though no one would say it, they preferred when the couple hosted.

YN’s food was impeccable, the kind that only really was served at high-end restaurants, and cooked to absolute perfection.

Their house was incredible, expansive and an open-floor plan that was not the norm for house concepts - it was new, innovative.

They got together every other weekend, the neighborhood parents while a few of the teenage girls watched the young ones.

It was a mystery too.

Harry and YN were the only ones who were childless in their neighborhood.

At twenty-seven and twenty-nine years old, it was a bit scandalous that the two hadn't brought any additions to their family.

When bluntly asked once over tea about the issue, asking too crudely about infertility - YN had replied that no, she wasn’t and they just hadn’t wanted to start trying yet.

That her and Harry were happy right now.

Which was a concept that the others didn’t understand, majority hated their husbands, minority could tolerate them.

Children were something that brought joy to an otherwise dull life, to put something between husband and wife as a barrier to interact because every word seemed tense.

The largest house in the neighborhood, with five bedrooms, and none of them occupied by little ones.

It was a yearning to be like them.

YN was perfect down to the delicately painted polish on her fingertips.

The most mild-tempered personality, who seemed perpetually bubbly and not one negative, pessimistic molecule in her body.

Harry matched the same energy to an extent.

He had a temper unlike his wife, he wasn’t boisterous or belligerent like the other men but he was much worse.

It was subtle, passive, and it made the person who was the target of his anger feel like they were walking on eggshells until Harry decided not to hold the grudge anymore.

Harry was not one to mess with.

Once their neighbor Tom thought it’d be a funny prank to do a burn-out in their front yard.

It tore up a section of their healthy, thriving green grass that Harry watered before work every morning.

Mud, dirt, their meticulous landscape was tainted by the ruddy tire marks of the Chevy Impala that resides next door.

It was passive aggressive, Tom definitely had some not-too-secretive envy for his next door neighbor.

Harry had all the things the men wanted.

Top of that was a nice, obedient little wife who smiled and kept their mouth shut when the men were talking.

Tom anxiously peeled out his window that morning, blinds drawn only barely as he watched Harry come out of his front door.

Always at fifty-thirty on the dot, he grabs the hose, and it’s a bit comical because he’s already in his pressed, tailored suit, and shining loafers that YN must polish daily.

Harry…doesn’t give a reaction.

Which makes Tom’s stomach sink for a reason he cannot quite put his finger on.

Harry does not lose his shit like Tom was hoping, goading him into breaking his picture perfect image that they know.

No, Harry simply waters the grass, as always, and only glides over the disturbed soil to not make it any muddier.

His facial expression does not even twitch.

“He’s going to take that out on his wife,” Janet, his wife, frets as she looks over his shoulder, “You know he’s going to go in there and knock her around because he’s angry.”

“That’s not my fault,” Tom retorts defensively, letting the curtain fall back so they can no longer see him, pissed and unsettled.

“Tom-“

“Go make me breakfast before I knock you around, alright? You’re pissing me off,” Tom dismisses her as he grabs his cup of coffee, watching her scurry into the kitchen.

It honestly disappears from Tom’s mind after not getting the reaction that he wanted so fiercely.

But Tom was also relieved that Harry hadn’t come over, banging on his front door, or leaving a nasty message in the mailbox.

Nope.

It’s not until Tom walks out to the driveway, where his brand new burnt orange Chevy Impala is waiting for him, his pride and joy.

Tom sees it right away, his tires, the expensive brand new tires he had just paid an arm and a leg for were deflated.

Not just one, all of them.

And it’s easy to see that they’re sunken and useless because the underside of the car is closer to the ground, and not to mention the massive slash marks.

Tom thinks he’s about to have an aneurysm as his face starts to fluster into a shade of beet red, his hands trembling.

Just at that moment, Harry’s exiting his front door with YN walking behind in, tied up in a beautifully floral robe that ghosts on the stone.

Tom is boiling, if he was a cartoon character, steam would be coming from his ears.

Harry leans in to kiss his wife, this soft peck as she cups his face like she doesn’t want him to go, whispering against his lips.

He indulges her in a few more before she’s letting him go, not before pressing her thumb into the indent of his dimple.

“What the fuck, Chambers?” Tom roars as he storms to the edge of the driveway, staying in his own land but throwing his arms up.

Harry does the same fucking shit as before except the twerk of his lips.

Harry fucking smirks at him but his eyes were as slicing as recently sharpened daggers through flesh, he gets under Tom’s skin.

“Tom, watch your language in front of my wife,” Harry replies back calmly, “That’s no way to speak in front of a lady.”

YN’s lips are tight, eyes not dancing anywhere near Tom’s as she holds her husband’s bicep in concern, the typical over emotional woman.

Harry leans over, must tell her to go inside because she does go back into the house with a slam of the door, a deafening click of the lock in the still sleepy neighborhood.

“This crime is getting out of control for how much my mortgage is,” Harry lets out a breezy laugh, waving towards his front lawn, “First my yard is torn up, now your tires! I thought this was the safest place in the state!”

Tom is flabbergasted, he doesn’t know how to respond because Harry is acting like they both don’t know what is actually going on right now.

“I might have to get a watchdog, a rottweiler or something like that,” Harry’s smirk does not fade an inch but his tone gets deeper, more threatening, “Rip the jugular out of the next person who comes on my property uninvited.”

They both were aware that Harry was talking directly about Tom, threatening him in a subtle but almost more malicious manipulative way.

Tom freezes up, unsure of how to even answer him but he stutters slightly when he says, “Yea-yeah. A Rottweiler, not a, uh, bad idea there.”

“I better get going,” Harry thumbs back to his jaguar convertible, “My employees will have my ass if I’m late. You know how it is.”

Another jab.

They both know Tom doesn’t know how it is because he’s a low-level at his desk job where he makes barely enough and still has to rely on his parents sometimes.

“Yeah,” Tom bleats dumbly, now having to figure out this mess that was his car, “Have a good one.”

“You as well,” Harry returns, his dimples teasing at this point with his wide smile, “By the way, Tom, if you ever curse in front of my wife again. We’re going to have an issue. She’s a fucking lady and you’re going to treat her like one.”

Tom can’t reply because Harry has already ducked into his Jaguar, revving the engine, and peels out of their driveway with a loud squeal of tires.

Tom and Janet continue to come to dinner parties like nothing ever happened.

Harry will still mix his normal Moscow mule with a question about how his work is going, no one but Tom knows it’s a jab when Harry asks how his new tires are doing for him.

YN is cordial as ever.

When Tom takes her aside to apologize, he doesn’t miss how Harry’s eyes lock on him like a bullseye of a target - watching, clocking every subtle movement.

Harry watches the interaction in its entirety as Tom keeps his voice low, “I apologize for my language the other morning. I shouldn’t have cursed in front of you.”

YN let’s out a short, girlish giggle as she pats him arm, “No apology needed. Harry acts as if I’ve never heard the word before. Though I do not hear it often, I will admit. Harry keeps me sheltered.”

“A good husband,” Tom huffs out, she was adorable, and there was something so innocent about her that made not just him but many drawn like a moth to a flame.

“The best,” YN smiles sweetly, squeezing his bicep as she starts to move away, “Now I must check on my pork chops. I’d be mortified if they’re dry. Enjoy.”

And with that, she glided away, eyes couldn’t help but follow.

YN was cutting up the garnishes, the last touch on the dinner that was about to be served, sprigs of cilantro under her fingers.

A few women flocked around her, sipping martinis and gossiping like grade schoolers.

Harry had sauntered into the kitchen a few minutes after, hands finding her hips, and a chaste kiss to her cheek, “I’m starving.”

“Dinner will be ready in five,” YN looks over her shoulder to tell him, knife pausing for a moment.

“Oh, dinner sounds good too,” Harry’s hand slips from her hips to a bit more suggestive position on her lower back.

“Harry!” YN scolds him, a scandalized expression on her face as the other women flush and giggle.

They all wish the had their own Harry, a husband who was affectionate, a bit inappropriate but he made it obvious that he desired his wife.

His eyes never wandered, not even when Catherine bent over at a barbecue and the wind blew her dress over her head - cotton panties for everyone to see.

All the men had nearly drooled at the sight of skin but not Harry, he glanced with a bored expression at his watch and leaned in to kiss his wife’s nose.

“Out, out,” YN shoos him like a dog begging for a bone, giving him a light shove as he snickers, hands up in surrender.

YN’s eyes are glued to the cutting board, embarrassment latent on her face, “I apologize about that. He sometimes forgets he needs to filter his thoughts before speaking.”

The group around her titters, trying to hide how their cheeks feel warm because how does YN even handle her husband saying to her?

They’d swoon instantly if Harry told them that he was starving for them.

The dinner is served on beautiful, imported dishes from Italy - a wedding gift that was treasured from Harry’s parents allegedly.

The spread was as picture perfect as always.

It was because they were picture perfect.

Most of the men, aside from Harry, were drunk or quite close to it after the salad was served.

By the time the pork chops was on the table, they were bordering on something more uninhibited and unfiltered.

“And Marshall’s new secretary,” Henry’s voice is booming, monopolizing as every one gives him their attention, “Biggest tits I’ve ever seen. Natural too.”

The men all let out these crowing, obnoxious laughs out.

Except Harry.

“I bet her ass is just as -“

“Gentlemen,” Harry cuts in smoothly, raising his lowball glass, “This is no type of conversation in front of the ladies.”

“Catherine’s heard this talk before,” Henry tries to brush him off easily, glancing over at his wife who looks uncomfortable put on the spot.

Harry acquiesces with a sip of his drink, raised eyebrow, and nothing more.

It’s silent for a moment before the conversation continues.

It typically doesn’t wander into such raunchy, debauched territory at a neighborhood dinner but something was in the air.

“Janet wouldn’t let me touch for a month after I broke the radio, even after I bought a new one!” Tom complains between loud chews, “No hand or mouth stuff even!”

Everyone is laughing, the women more of an uncomfortable chuckle than anything, and again - Harry’s face was unreadable.

“How long do you hold out the goods when Harry fucks up? Or are you a good girl who never leaves him wanting?” Henry shoots the question towards YN, innocent YN, who looked like a spotlight had just been shown at her on stage.

“Henry,” Catherine hisses with an elbow in the ribs.

“That’s improper to discuss,” YN wipes at the corner of her lip with her napkin, “I do not do anything other than my duties as a wife.”

The tension is starting to creep in like a thick fog, though he doesn’t speak, everyone’s eyes shift towards the head of the table - Harry.

“I am hoping I heard you wrong, Henry,” Harry sits his glass down knocking loudly against the oak surface, “I know you surely didn’t ask my wife about our intimacy, She wasn’t raised in a barn, to talk crudely, or act it. I do not want you tainting her innocence with such filth.”

The way Harry regarded his wife made it seem like she didn't even know what sex was.

Which again, added to the mystery of what they even got up to (if anything) in the bedroom.

Henry flushes, his face pink from the liquor, and he shakes his head, “I apologize, I’ve had too much to drink.”

Harry gives the sarcastic, crooked smirk, “It seems most of you had. Now I wouldn't want to stress my wife out any further with this nonsense. I think it’s best we end the night here. She most likely needs a lie down from these inappropriate discussions.”

This delicate flower, YN, who just wishes everyone a good night without any fuss about Harry kicking out their guests mid-meal.

Obedient.

Submissive.

Innocent.

The perfect wife.

As soon as the last couple is gone, Harry locks the front door, and kicks his loafers off by the front door.

He truly hated his fucking neighbors.

The best part of these dinners was when they left.

YN had sat back down at the head of the table, opposite Harry, and took a long sip of red wine as she watched him walk back in.

“Those men were pigs tonight,” Harry breaks the silence, taking his spot at the opposing end, finishing off his dry whiskey, “I can’t believe the lack of respect around women.”

“Mm,” YN kicks off her black stilettos before she’s kicking her feet up onto the dining room table without a care.

The basket of rolls tumbles to the floor, a gravy pitcher toppling over and starting to drip on their expensive linen tablecloth.

The skirt of her dress rides up, revealing an expanse of her bare thigh, and enough of a peek at her hips to see no elastic in sight - no underwear.

“How do you think dinner went, my dear?” Harry asks conversationally as he pours himself a glass of Merlot from an open bottle.

YN shrugs as she finishes off her own glass, a red drop of liquid chasing down her jawline, throat, and chest - soaking into the white material of her dress.

“I wasn’t paying much attention to any of them,” YN replies honestly, the honey-sweet airheaded tone was gone and a more demure lift was in her words, “I couldn’t get the idea of you fucking me on this table out of my mind.”

Harry grins like a cat who just found a canary, setting his wine glass down, and leaning back in his chair - spreading his legs more.

“My love, watch your tongue,” Harry teases as he starts to loosen the tie around his neck, never taking his eyes off of her, “It’s improper for you to speak like that.”

YN grins sharply, uncrossing her ankles, and bending her one leg, resting her foot on the plush cushion of the chair, the other one the table - giving him an obscene, gorgeous view when she hikes up her dress even further.

“They would be mind-blown, you know that,” Harry’s voice has gone deeper, rougher as his arousal starts to sink into his bones

“Mind-blown about what?” YN switches back on that innocent, friendly tone but it doesn’t match her actions as her fingertips dance near her inner thighs.

“That you’re a fuckin’ filthy little slut for your husband,” Harry rasps as he starts to go for his belt, yanking the leather from the loops.

“That’s not how you speak in front of a lady, Mr. Chambers,” YN scolds with that faux scandalized melody, her fingers were running over her outer folds, gentle and unrushed.

“M’not in front of a lady right now though,” Harry disagrees as he shoves off his suit jacket..

“You’re not?” YN asks in surprise, doe eyes but the foot on the table purposefully knocks over a half-full bottle of wine - splashing on their rug below.

Harry just smiles, teeth gleaming white and wolfish in the low lighting, “You’re the sweetest, most proper little thing in front of company, aren’t you?”

YN blinks at him, her expression unyielding and still playing into this role they’ve constructed over the years -the perfect couple.

“You are,” Harry answers for her, “I make sure no one speaks crudely in front of you. I remind them that you’re pure, unassuming, and delicate.”

“But you’re not delicate nor anywhere near pure,” Harry continues, his hand gripping at himself through his briefs - squeezing for a bit of relief as the sight in front of him was enough to have him come.

“I am,” YN argues weakly, her index and middle finger finally parting her folds, and pressing against her already swollen clit.

Harry lets a loud laugh echo through their now quiet house, only a low static hum from a song playing in their formal living room on the record player.

“You are? It could have fooled me. You acted scandalized when Henry asked if you withhold intimacy to punish me.”

“I was scandalized,” YN lies but it isn’t with conviction, her focus isn’t great as she presses tight circles over her bud.

“I think Henry would have been scandalized if I told him that you’d never withhold it because you love cock so much. Remember when you lasted what, a half-a-day when I came home late to dinner?”

“By bedtime, you were teary-eyed, and begging me even if I’d just give you the tip, huh?” Harry pushes his hand inside his briefs to really grip him up, a hard squeeze at the base to calm himself down.

“Or he’d be scandalized to know what you’re really like when it’s just me and you. How fuckin’ dirty you are. The words that come out of that cute mouth, how cock-hungry you get, how fucking much of a brat you are when you don’t get your way.”

YN bites her lip, trying to scowl but her toes curl and her thigh muscle twitches as she rubs at herself just right.

“I’ll tell him how you sit pretty for me on your knees when I arrive home from work or how you like to sneak my fingers up your dresses under the table at work events. Should I? The list goes on.”

“They wouldn’t believe you,” YN murmurs as she lets her head fall back, showing off the length of her throat as her legs threaten to close.

“Fuckin’ right they wouldn’t because I’m a good husband, aren’t I?” Harry runs his thumb over his sensitive slit, spreading the precome down the length of his shaft.

“I make sure everyone thinks you’re a delicate little thing when you’re nothing of the sort. If only they knew, dear,” Harry tells her, there’s a heavy amount of fondness intertwined with his words.

“Show me your cock,” YN’s head tilts back up, eyes expectant and focused as she slows the friction on her bud, she could have come by now if she wanted to but she’s teasing herself.

Harry makes a show of giving himself a few rough strokes, letting an echoing groan out as all YN sees is movement under fabric.

“Get the fuck over here,” Harry orders with a new gruffness, “If you come on your fingers then you’re done for the night. And I know how greedy you are for your orgasms.”

YN likes to push limits, always, and she doesn’t move from her chair.

Instead she keeps the same sluggish pace before tracing lower to tuck to fingers in, spreading the wetness back to her clit.

“Maybe I’ll go see if Tom can help me out,” YN sighs airily as the tablecloth bunches under her heel, careless when a serving bowl of green beans flips.

Harry barks out a laugh, hand going to the root of his length because YN looked too fucking good, she looked like the definition of a sin, and he gave into temptation every time.

“I think he’d have a heart attack first,” Harry isn’t even exaggerating, “I am certain that our neighbors are convinced that you do not even know what sex is.”

“I barely have a clue,” YN laughs but it’s a stuttering quip because she's actually close to coming, her calf muscles contracting as she braces herself.

Harry’s out of his chair before YN can register it (or notice how he grabs his leather belt from the crumbled mess of his clothes), striding to the other side of the table, and without any warning, yanks her chair by the back hard.

It drags against the carpet but does what Harry had wanted it to do, makes her leg fall off the table, leaving her to grip the bottom of the chair to not fall, and effectively taking her hand away from her core.

“Harry! You fucking prick-“ YN begins to curse because she was close and she full intended on coming in the new few moments.

“Quiet,” Harry leans down to hiss in her ear, his hand coming around her front to cup her throat, not hard enough to it air flow but enough that it makes it more difficult.

“I was about to come,” YN tells him but her words are choppy, like there’s cotton balls in her mouth, and her tongue refuses to move.

“Were you about to come?” Harry mimicked her words in a parroting tone, fingers pressing in only slightly more, “And I didn’t say you could. But you’re not the obedient, submissive wife everyone thinks you are.”

YN bites his bottom lip hard when he tries to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth from behind, that was enough of an answer.

“No, they didn’t realize how hard my job is,” Harry’s voice goes sympathetic, for himself, “How impossible it is to have this needy, bratty slut of a wife who is never satisfied.”

Harry’s lip was oozing, only a drop or two of blood but his hand moves to the back of her skull, knotting in her hair, and brushing their mouths together - smearing it as if it was a blood pact.

YN doesn’t shy away from it, in fact she tries to sink her teeth back into the wound that was already there but he knew her tricks - as unpredictable as she could be sometimes.

It was almost comical, the song that comes on next.

A new one and it hummed lowly in the background, as Harry gathered her hands together behind the chair to wrap together - he couldn’t help but sing the lyrics.

“You look like an Angel.”

“Walk like an Angel.”

“Talk like an Angel.”

“But I got wise, you’re the devil in disguise.”

YN has this cocky grin on her beautiful face, perfectly applied lipstick was smeared to her chin, spotted with his swipe of blood.

Already a mess.

And all his.

With her hands secured behind her back, over the slats of the chair, it is no doubt going to make her limbs ache from holding the unnatural position.

Her chest pushed outwards, shoulders jutting broad as they try to compensate for her wrists being bound together - helpless.

“S’a pretty dress,” Harry compliments with deceiving kindness, the back of his hand running up the bare expanse of her strained arm, “Did it cost me a lot of money, my love?”

He traces the strap of her dress, hooking his finger underneath the fabric before letting it snap back against her skin.

She hadn't seen him pick up the bread knife but she feels the cold of the stainless steel against her skin when he slips the blade underneath the strap.

Sliced through like warm butter, the material falling limply away, and when he cuts through the opposite side's strap - it has his desired reaction.

Not only does the fabric fall away like scraps but it loses all structure and support, and effectively falls towards her belly.

Her tits spilling out, fully on display with the way her back was arched, and pretty nipples pebbled into perfect peaks.

YN has this snark of a grin on her face, trying not to show she's affected by what he just did, how her cunt ached into her whole body.

She loved the fucking games they played, and she flutters her eyelashes at him, “I thought you said I'm worth every penny.”

Harry stands in front of her, stepping on his suit jacket without a care that it took time for YN to starch and iron it that morning - his tie joining after he tugs it down and unknots it.

His fingers go towards the buttons of his dress shirt, the green of his eyes was barely visible but they couldn't pick, spoilt for choice.

From her face, to her tits, to her belly, to her core.

“You're the most expensive fuck I've ever paid for. I gave you my wallet, my accounts, my life,” Harry grunts as he makes her wait, only getting to the second button, his trousers split open by his hips, hanging loosely on his narrow waist.

“You act like-” YN’s words are cut off by a knock at the door, startling her into surprise because who the fuck would be knocking?

Harry peeks around the corner wall of the dining room, getting a clear view to the tall, narrow windows on either side of their front doors.

“It's Tom,” Harry informs her, moving to zip and button his pants back up, shifting them higher on his hips, “I better get that.”

“Harry,” YN stutters in a burst of adrenaline, she can't move from where she's sat - a sitting duck, vulnerable but aware of it, “You can't answer that.”

“I can't, why not, honey?” Harry’s words have this nuance of confusion, artificial and all for show, “It's the right thing to do.”

“What if…what if he sees me?” YN’s chest was heaving with a filthy mixture of arousal and nerves, “He could walk in.”

“I guess you better be quiet then,” Harry walks up to her, thumb dragging her bottom lip down before smearing her lipstick a bit more at the corner of her mouth, “Or he will come to investigate and how on earth would I explain this?”

Harry is walking out of the room before she can say anything else, leaving her alone in a almost-state of undressed with nowhere to look but their wall.

The music is quiet enough that YN can hear the conversation, Tom was naturally a boisterous man without volume control.

“Harry,” Tom greets when her husband opens the door, “I thought it best I come over and another apology for all of my behaviors. Will you grab YN so that I can extend my amends to her?”

YN’s heart seizes, skipping a beat because she wouldn't put it against Harry to push this, prod at her until he feels he's gotten under her skin.

However, YN needs to remember that Harry is already back into his 'perfect husband’ role, he's the Harry now that everyone knows him as in the neighborhood, not the one that was just in front of her.

“YN had to go lie down,” Harry tells him, making sure he sounds disappointed in his friend, “She really is delicate. Your wife may be okay with that kind of fall but she really cannot. It flusters her.”

“How the hell do you get anything from her? Did she pass out the first time she saw your prick then?” Tom chortles, a joke that isn't received well, Harry doesn't laugh.

Harry redirects though, “What was it exactly you wanted to apologize for? I really must get upstairs to check on her.”

Tom’s voice gets lower, still enough that YN can hear but it's their neighbors' attempt at a whisper, “Listen, I know you slashed my tires. It's fucking fair, alright? I got in a fight with my wife, went and got hammered at the bar, and drove home. I was drunk off my ass, I thought I was doing them in my yard. I wanted to piss my wife off.”

Harry’s voice is unsuspecting, casual, “Oh? I didn't know it was you who did those burnouts. I thought it was those teenagers who drive up and down the road at all hours of the night. Apology accepted for the burnouts but I didn't slice your tires. I hate to break it to you.”

“Oh god, I'm sorry for even thinking you did. I just assumed -” Tom begins to babble, anxious because he just accused Harry of a crime that he had no evidence to corroborate said hypothesis.

“As long as it doesn't happen again, you know?” Harry’s tone is still amicable, unbothered but there's an underlying threat that could not be mistaken for anything else, “It really upset my wife and you know how hard it is to control an emotional woman.”

YN rolls her eyes at that but she does admire how well Harry played his part as the stereotypical husband like every other man who lived in this community.

“Can I come in to apologize? I'll be quick, I am so utterly embarrassed,” Tom nearly begs, hoping to not have disrupted their ‘friendship’ with his nonsense.

There's footfall on the marble, YN’s adrenaline starts pumping through her veins because even as she starts around - there is nowhere for her to hide.

Unable to do anything.

Tied to this heavy chair, she couldn't possible move in this awkward position.

Shoulders and arms were already radiating an ache from being held in the same way for this amount of time.

The only modesty she can muster is to close her legs as tight as they can possibly go.

YN starts taking these greedy inhales to try to not freak the fuck out, on displayed with her tits bare and though her legs were closed - it really wasn't doing much to hide the fact she wasn't wearing underwear, skirt of her dress ruffled around her hips.

“She's already gone upstairs to lie down. I was supposed to bring her an adavan and martini to help her relax. I will pass on the message, Tom,” Harry redirects much to YN’s relief, chest starting to not feel as tight.

“Sorry, again. I really admire you, Harry. You just…Every man in this town wishes their wife was half the woman YN is. A true housewife,” Tom means it as a compliment, a disgustingly masochistic banter that insults not only his wife but all women.

“She is wonderful,” Harry agrees wistfully, everything happening in their dining room begs to differ but he acquiesces to Tom nonetheless.

The door closes, the deadbolt clicking, and Harry’s leather loafers were tapping against the floor as he makes his way back.

Harry was observant, in tune with every want and need of his wife, and now is no different as he steps into the room.

Her face must be a dead giveaway.

Harry strides right up to her, gripping her chin tightly enough that her muscle twitches, and he brings his face to hers - eye level.

There's annoyance in his words, the green cutting like sea glass, “You know I would never ever let anyone see you like this. Why the fuck were you worried for even a second?”

YN tries to sound tough, “You don't know! He could have stormed in. You…you didn't know.”

Harry’s fingers move from her chin, to her jaw but end up in her hair.

He knots his fingers in, tugging her forward until their noses bump. “You know as well as I do that I would have fuckin’ slit his throat before he got within view of you. He wouldn't have left this house.”

YN pushes forward, trying to button their lips together but instead of moving backwards, he moves her head back by the roots of hair.

“Apologize to me,” Harry hisses lowly, teeth set like he's resisting to bite her, claim her as an animal would their mate.

YN knows Harry just as well as he knows her.

YN knows that he's upset that she would for a second doubt it.

“I love you,” YN tells him, tilting her neck back so she's leaning into his grip, showing him all the power he truly has over her.

Harry doesn't kiss her lips but instead, the center of her throat, and then further down to her collarbone until he's at the top swell of her breast.

His hand comes to thumb the skin right below her bellybutton, dragging downwards until can fit the whole of her cunt in his palm.

“Wet f’me,” Harry murmurs against her skin, he licks her nipple, smoothing his tongue over one before he’s blowing cold air on it, “I think I'm going to make you work for it.”

“No,” YN whines pleadingly because when he made her work, fuck, he made her really fucking word for it - sweat, tears, spit, and slick.

“I've been such a great husband,” Harry chides as his index finger traces up her seam, ghosting over her bud, “Am I not? Who covered for you? Who always covers for you, my little fucking devil?”

“You do,” YN mashes her back molars together, jaw aching with strain as she keeps her hips planted to the cushioned seat.

“What did I cover for this time? Say it,” Harry middle finger joins his index to split her lips, exposing where she was swollen for him.

His thumb pressed firmly on her bud, rubbing in precise circles, the surest way to get her coming as quickly as possible.

YN can't help her greed, bucking forward into the touch, and riding down on his thumb to get the exact friction she wanted.

“If you come,” Harry’s voice is lulling, a false sense of security, “You won't be able to sit at our next neighborhood dinner because you're ass will ache that fuckin’ bad.”

“Then take your hand away, fucker,” YN bites out, wetting her body lip, it was too good to pull away, and she wasn't far off from an orgasm.

A hand comes to her cheek, not hard but stinging as he smacks it, “Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? You aren't supposed to speak back to your husband.”

YN grins at him, only fueled by the slap, rough was the name of the game, and she sits back in her chair - unbothered.

“Filthy fuckin’ girl,” Harry grunts as he takes a step back, admiring his wife as she keeps her legs spread lewdly - pink and puffy, perfect.

YN flutters her eyelashes, innocent and coy.

“Now answer me, sweetheart. What did I cover for? Why did I have to lie to Tom?” Harry tilts her head, eyes narrowed and tracking her every twitch, “Hm?”

Harry can't help himself, coming closer to the pet at the patch of downy hair on her mound, touching everywhere but her clit.

“Because I slashed his tire,” YN talks through her teeth, willing herself to keep her hips from moving off the chair below.

“That motherfucker,” Harry had growled when he came in from watering the grass, “Tore up our front yard with that cheap piece of shit Chevy. If I wasn't going to be late for work, I would go knock him the fuck out.”

YN had been sitting in their breakfast room, sipping on honey-lavender tea in a silk, lace robe that was a deep royal blue.

“I don't want to see you upset,” YN frowns as she puts her cup down, standing up, and trailing over to him, “I'll call the landscapers today, have them fit us in.”

Harry tugs her into a hug, a kiss on her hair, “Do not worry about me, my love. I'm okay. Just pissed off. I've got more important things than Tom to care about.”

“What time will you be home?” YN asks as she blinks her pretty, twinkling doe eyes up at him, arms around his narrow waist.

Harry brings up his arm to look at his watch but sees that his wrist is bare, “God damn. I left my watch upstairs. I'll be right back.”

Harry pulls away, the tension in his broad shoulders was a tell that he was much more enraged then he was letting on.

His expensive Italian leather loafers clicking against the marble as he storms back up the staircase towards their bedroom.

YN hated seeing her husband upset, she craved to see him happy, and she would do anything for him.

It's why she's not thinking twice before grabbing the sharpest knife from the butcher block in the kitchen, tucking inside her robe, and going out the back door.

YN is quick, eyes darting to make sure that no one has seen her as her bare feet hit the dewy grass between their yards.

YN pulls her arm back, using all of her force to push the sharp blade into rubber, and loves it when she hears the air start to moan out as it escapes.

Fuck Tom.

YN scurried back to the house and hoped that she would be efficient enough that her husband hadn't come back down stairs yet.

That was not the case.

He was standing at the back glass door, observing with pursed smile, hands in the pockets of his dress pants with his watch reflecting off the kitchen light.

YN bites her lip, caught out as he opens the door for her, and ushers her in.

His voice is dry, bleak, “Give me the knife.”

Oh shit.

She's in trouble.

At least she thinks that she is.

Until he kisses the side of her head, opens the back door once again, and strides across the lawns like she just had down.

He makes it appear effortless when he slashed the remaining three good tires, pulling the blade down so that there's no hope of patching the rubber.

Harry runs the blunt tip against his door, scraping off the paint like gum on the sidewalk before he's walking back towards the house.

“Darling, you have to slice when you do it. All four will be at least two of his paychecks, a small price for what I'll have to pay the landscaper,” Harry tells her nonchalantly like they were talking about the weather and not a crime they both committed.

Harry glances at his watch, “Shit. I have to go. I'll see you later, alright? Be good f’me even though you're always such a good girl.”

And it's sincere because that's how twisted their relationship is.

YN committing a crime to seek retribution for Harry’s anger was the most romantic sign of her love that he could ask for.

The first contact that meets her clit is his palm, when he smacks her flat over her bundle of nerves, and it was hard enough to make her jump.

Her legs start to close but he roughly shoved a knee into her thigh to force them to stay open, “What? You're so tough, right? Surely, surely you can take a few hits, my love.”

YN grits her teeth, molars clashing as the residual pain radiates down her thighs, and at the same time, it had her pulsing.

Her wetness was soaking the cushion, there was nothing that got her slick faster than when he wasn't worried about his heavy handedness.

“Can you take it?” Harry drops his hand to her center, thumb tucking up the hood of her clit, pressing tightly against her bud, and it's too much straight on.

Her legs twitch, dying to close because she was throbbing with sensitivity, pinpricks make her eyes feel tingly because it's too much every other second.

When Harry asks her that question, it is rhetorical, he doesn't wants an answer because he would fluidly switch into something softer, more coddling if she needed.

It wasn't.

YN presses her lips together, refusing to give him answer as she bites on her tongue to point she can taste metallic.

“S’funny, most men can't even find their wife’s clit or don't care about it at all. Aren't you lucky you have me?” Harry’s smile is wolfish, mean, and a different version of her husband, “I've found it? Haven't I?”

He accompanies his words with an unexpected smack before his thumb right up again, no reprieve or mercy for her.

It felt fucking amazing and like hell all at once.

She just needs a bit lighter pressure, slower circles, and that would be it.

Harry knows that and is choosing to torture her instead, not concerned about actually getting her off at the moment.

“Is that all I need to shut you up, pet? A thumb on your clit? I'll have my hand up your dress every second of the day then,” Harry chuckles cruelly, pressing and pressing before his fingers are crooked up inside her walls, squeezing at the unexpected, and robbing her of the stimulation on her clit.

YN wants to hurt him, dig her nails into his back muscles until he bleeds on her, sink her teeth into his thigh where no one but her will see the healing bloody marks.

“Fuck you,” YN can't help herself because he's ruthless, finds it funny, and she feels like if she doesn't come within the minute she’ll explode.

Harry withdrawals his fingers, wiping them crudely on her cheek, dragging to her lips before he's parting her lips and pressing down on her tongue.

When he puts pressure there, it causes her to gag and her eyes instantly start to water, and it shouldn't surprise him when her teeth meet his knuckles.

Harry grunts out in pain when she clamps down which causes him to pinch her tongue, she yelps, and it gives him enough time to remove his fingers.

“S’funny, all these men in the neighborhood want you, huh?” Harry asks condescendingly, his hand goes to the back of the chair, and he tips it.

Her reflexes cause her to twitch, trying to find stable ground but she can't because of the way she's tied up.

Harry keeps her on the edge of falling, her heart lodged in her throat.

“But they don't know what a disobedient little bitch you are?” Harry lets the chair come back down with a loud clatter, “Don't listen to a word when you're hungry for cock. They should be lucky their bored wives aren't so needy.”

“I'm not needy,” YN disagrees sharply, they both knew she was lying through her teeth but she couldn't let him just say those things without a rebuttal.

“You think Janet or Catherine bend over any surface for their husband, forgo panties while they clean so that their men get a glimpse of their cunt, or wake up in the morning dripping and soft?”

“You love it,” YN manages to keep her voice steady when Harry swipes his finger through the whipped cream on top of the pineapple upside cake that was untouched on the table.

“I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world,” Harry agrees, momentarily sincere, a break from his character.

He wipes the sweet, tacky fluff on her nipples before going back for more, destroying the dessert as he grabs a handful of the cake.

Harry smears it from her collarbones, all the way down her belly, and it was absolutely fucking messy as crumbs strayed everywhere, the syrupy sauce sticky on her skin,

“Harry,” YN gasps because she's surprised, she hadn't expected him to rub the cake on her, their dining room was a mess, everything was destroyed.

“Can't let this dessert go to waste. You made my favorite cake, I have to try it,” Harry kneels down, shoving between her legs and leaning forward.

He flattens his tongue above her belly button before trailing in up on a straight line, licking off the clumps of cake in turn.

“Mm,” Harry rumbles as he licks up her sternum, between the valley of her breasts, and his hand is digging to her ribs - keeping her still, “I can't decide which tastes better, your cunt or this cake.”

Harry carelessly grabs a smaller handful but he rubs it from below her navel to her mound, stopping right where her folds begin.

YN was dying, watching him, feeling him lick the traces off of her body with no rush, as if he had all the time in the world.

He bites at her belly after he's cleaned off the cake, making YN’s stomach suck in reflexively because it hurts and she is hazy from all the different sensations.

When he gets down to where she's aching, her heartbeat palpable in her center, he lazily cleans it off her mound.

“Sweet as pie,” Harry hums as he spreads her open, licking into her hole but ignoring where she actually needs him, “Or should I say pineapple upside down cake?”

It was starting to get overwhelming, the arousal was all that was plastered in her thoughts, and nobody else wants their husband to fuck then like she does.

None of them are married to Harry.

Her arms are aching, a dull shout from being held in the same position for so long.

“I love when you're all bound up. I can do whatever I please, right?” Harry takes these harsh laps at her clit before pulling back between each, thumb dancing around the seam of her core.

YN can't even bring herself to respond, it was warm in the house as it was, and sweat was beading from her temples.

“That's what Father Matthew said in marriage counseling before our wedding. Do you remember? He said that your body is mine, that you shall offer yourself whenever I wish, for my fulfillment and satisfaction.”

YN nods, she remembers Father Matthew saying that but it had been a part of their personas in the first place to go, they weren't religious, and neither practiced Catholicism.

It was all an act, like most other aspects of their lives, giving off the appearance that they were normal like every other young couple.

YN had sat prim and proper, agreeing to the priest’s misogynistic words as he droned on about how waiting until marriage to have sex was the utmost important.

To prove how wrong Father Matthew was, Harry had encouraged YN to tie him to their bedpost.

She then proceeded to edge him until he was pink, panting, and bruised on his chest, inner thighs from vicious love bites.

Just to prove the point that if her body was his, then Harry was to offer his body in the same way.

“And you're such a good little wife, aren't you?” Harry accentuates his words by pushing two fingers into her, curling towards her plush walls, and finding her spot like nothing.

YN can't help but moan, to finally have something to get her there after teetering on the edge of losing her orgasm because he knew how to keep her there.

“Always so generous with this pretty cunt,” Harry’s thumb comes to rub at her bud, over the hood to dull the sensitivity a bit - how she liked it, “I can't believe it's all mine. For the rest of our lives, baby, this is mine to fuck, eat, and worship. I love this pussy, just like every other bit of you.”

It was actually sweet, earnest words if you filtered through the crude accompaniments because he was loyal, madly in love with her, and always strived to make her happy through the thick of the chaos.

“Sweet thing prepares dinner, entertains our guests, and everyone would be scandalized to know what crosses my mind when you're bringing out dessert,” Harry's mouth finds her nipples, he gets sidebarred for a moment as he wraps his lips around the peak, pulling it hard as his other hand continues on.

Harry knows this is a monologue, her brain is too fuzzy, and all she can think about is an orgasm - all his words are barely registering, like he's speaking underwater.

“All I could think about was knocking it out of your hands,” Harry's breath is cold in her nipple, grazing with his plump lips on every word, “Flipping your dress up, eating your cunt from behind, and making them watch this proper housewife get treated how she likes, how you beg to be my slut.”

“But you can't be, baby. M’sorry to break it to you,” Harry coos as he presses his hand stops, it fucking stops, “Can't be a slut when you're a married woman who only opens her legs her husband.”

There's fat, pathetic tears dribbling down her cheeks because he had tricked her, she had truly thought that she was going to be able to come.

Her chest was heaving, she was panting like a water-deprived dog, and she knew what she had to look like.

Hair frizzed out from humidity and perspiration, her mascara running down her wet cheeks with her lipstick smeared off the corner of her mouth.

And Harry was looking at her like she hung the moon, that she was the most beautiful piece of art in the museum he was visiting.

“Darling,” Harry laughs but it's not mean, it's genuinely as if she's taken his breath away and he's in awe, “Darling.”

“Please, H, please,” YN chokes out unashamed in how vulnerable she was right now, crying because she's aching, and her body is stressed out to the point of near exhaustion.

Harry leans forward, kissing her forehead which was almost obscenely chaste for their current situation as he leans behind her to unbind her wrists.

Her face pressed into his chest as he reaches, her lips founds whatever is close, mouthing at the skin of his pectoral muscle - desperate to taste him, to have him without the game.

YN doesn't realize that she's been babbling, a noncoherent string of pleas, “Want you, please. I just want you. Need you.”

“Sweet girl,” Harry hums as he understands just how floaty she has become, her eyes moony and glazed as she struggles to focus, “You are doing so good for me.”

“Want t’come,” YN’s replies with staggered syllables, blinking at him with heavy eyelids, “M’aching.”

Harry chuckles at her, it's disgustingly fond because he's that in love when he brings her arms to her front, kissing her quiet when she whines at the ache.

Now that her hands are free, she's gripping and ripping at whatever she can sink her claws into because she can't wait any longer.

Harry tries to help, stepping out of his trousers, and tugging down his briefs until he’s exposed again, pretty and thick.

The angry red of the tip, along with the glistening drops of pre-come that were sliding down the shaft were a sign of how turned on he was.

“How do you want it?” Harry asks as he cradles her face, pressing kisses to her cheeks, lips, neck as his fingers tweak her nipple, “Lady’s choice.”

“Want t’ride you,” YN doesn't hesitate, hoping her words came out intelligible because her head was spinning.

YN had a few lousy lays before Harry, nothing to write home about in her teenage years.

She was positive that no other man on this earth could get her even close to the nirvana that her husband drove her to.

It was something she would never be able to regret or explain if she had to write it out - it would be mindless ramblings without true words.

Harry obliges as he helps her stand, wobbly legs as he takes her spot, and huffs out a mean jest, “My arse is wet from your slick. Darling, you're going to have to take my slacks to the dry cleaner. Hopefully they can get out the marks of a naughty girl’s cunt.”

YN doesn't respond, far too focused on straddling his waist, and gripping his around the girth of his base which filled her hand impressively - fingers struggling to meet.

“Hey,” Harry tries to grab her attention but she’s too focused on lining him up to her center, her hands were clumsy because of the livewire that was running through her body, his voice gets firmer when he barks out, “Hey.”

He grabs her wrist, tugging it off of his cock, and wrangles both of her hands into one of his.

Harry holds them against her chest, making her sit back on his thighs, and the tip of his length is brushing right up against the seam of her lips - if she could move forward a little bit, she may be able to get friction on her clit.

YN is far too enticed by trying to wriggle her hips forward, her eyes zoned in on him because he was the prettiest - in all aspects from his eyes to his nose to his arms to what lay in the cradle of his hips.

“How can you go so dumb for a cock you haven’t even gotten in you yet?” Harry scoffs as he uses the grip on her wrists to yank her forward until he is pressing through her folds.

YN has tears tracing down over her lips as she sniffles, her mouth twisted into a sad pout, “Stop being mean t’me. Just want you.”

Harry knows instantly, knows that's her way of voicing that she's hitting a limit, and she was ready for him to be nice.

“Okay, okay,” Harry simpers as he lets go of her wrists, allowing her to find balance gripping his shoulders as he takes hold of himself, “Be patient for me. Always such a good fuckin’ girl. Fuck, I love you.”

YN’s eyes squeeze shut with instant relief when he helps her sink down until her bum is flush against him once again.

“Baby,” YN lets out the mewl, her head tilting back as she begins to move her hips, more like a roll to get the friction on her clit, pulsing and swollen.

“You squeeze me like a dream,” Harry groans as he kneads her hip, allowing her to move how she needed to nudge her spot and give her bud that extra love.

Harry reaches behind, hand knitting in the hair by her nape to pull her back, to smear their lips together as she moves her hips in this crude, self-indulgent way.

“That's it, greedy girl,” Harry goads as his mouth finds her nipple again, sucking at it before pulling back with a audible pop, “S’all yours to use.”

“Only mine,” YN grits out, possessive even when she was floaty, that never dulled- the claim she felt over him.

Harry kisses the center of her center, “Of course, my love. M'your husband, I vowed that it's yours. I'm not like Bart who doesn't take that shit seriously.”

“I'd cut your dick off if you cheated,” YN manages to scrape out between heavy breaths, she was close, and trying to extend the sensations.

“I'd hand you the knife,” Harry agrees as he grips her waist with more firmness, starts moving her hips in these forceful, direct motions, “I don't have time. When m’asleep I dream of you, when I'm working I'm thinking about coming home to you, and when my cock gets hard - your the only reason it does because I'm thinking about this cunt, about the cute noises you make when you feel good. I’d fucking make a deal with the devil if that meant I got you.”

“You already made the deal,” YN let out this devious giggle, ringing through the quiet space of their sprawling home.

A home they had earned from other means than the others in their neighborhood, it was chaos wrapped in a suburbia bow.

A hideaway from their lives outside of this cul-de-sac of rich, over-privileged men with wives who didn't think for themselves.

It wasn't just Harry brings in the money, no, they brought it in together, and no one would be the wiser to it.

Not their neighbors, their family, the police - everyone was clueless to who the most wanted criminals in America were.

The crime duo who had shoot-outs with police, duffels filled with banded stacks of cash, gold bars, jewelry that was so expensive there wasn't an assigned value.

All in their vault hidden in their walk-in closet, where the secrets, the evidence, and the reward was hidden from unsuspecting guests in their home.

“I'd make the deal a million times over,” Harry replies as he leans forward to bite at the hinge of her jaw, “Just to have you squirming on my cock.”

YN digs her nails into the meat of his shoulder, eye fluttering like butterfly rings as they struggle to stay open, and her mouth drops in a moan.

“Harry,” YN throws her head back, her hips rolling into the cradle of his hips with force, keeping her clit smushed to his pubic bone, and there was slick coating the trimmed hair around the base of him.

“Fuck yeah, c’mon. Keep going,” Harry grits out because his balls were throbbing, begging for a release after she'd just squeezed him like a god damn vice.

YN always gets lazy after an orgasm, especially after being edged, and her hips are starting to stall into sluggish, barely there effort.

Harry takes it upon himself to move her how he wants, gripping her hips, and she whines when he digs his fingers into the meat of her love handles.

“If you didn't want it to hurt, you would move your hips yourself,” Harry reminds her as he graciously kneads bruises into the spot, guiding her into a swivel where he's persistently nudging her spot, “Fuckin’ move.”

YN doesn't ever take orders well so instead she slouches forward until she's hugging him, their chests pressed, and effectively putting all her weight on him.

Instead of getting frustrated, it melts Harry, and he wraps his arms around her and pulls her as close as possible.

“I fucking love you,” Harry murmurs against her hair, his feet planted flat on the floor as he fucks up into her with brutal but paced thrusts, “Did so good for me. I want you to give me another one.”

YN sinks her teeth into his shoulder, he doesn't acknowledge it as he angles his hips better to give her clit the stimulation she needs.

“O-oh,” YN mewls when it suddenly sparked a much less intense but still as good orgasm, “Harry.”

“I know, sweetheart. Fuck, you're going to make me come,” Harry assures her as he picks up the speed of his actions, teeth getting, “You take me so well. God, this cunt is mine, yeah? Fucking tell me.”

“Yours, S'yours,” YN whines because her body is tired, starting to ache in all the places he’d dug into with his fingers, had hit, and grabbed.

Harry wraps her hair around his knuckles but he's completely gentle when he goads her to move her head back.

He buttons their lips together, in a kiss sweet enough to make your teeth rot, a contradiction to what they'd just done.

Because despite all the show, they were a love story, and Harry loved YN so deeply that he wouldn't hesitate to take a bullet for her, push her out of the way to take the brunt.

Without thinking he would.

He has shielded her body countless times with his own, was grazed by a slugger to his thigh, and shoulder before.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” Harry grits out through clenched teeth, moving her down harder until she purposefully clenched to get him to come.

“Shit, that's it's,” Harry tilts his head back, smiling when YN starts smudging kisses to his throat in a goading support, “That cunt is a fuckin’ dream.”

YN giggles as he comes down, brushing his hair off his face, going into her normal caring mode as she starts to fuss over him.

He doesn't allow it for more than a moment, despite her pout because it was his job to take care of her, his duty as her husband.

“You're absolutely filthy,” Harry chuckles as he helps her stand up in front of him, sticky, wet, bruised, and his softening cock gives a weak twitch of interest, “Let's get up to the bathroom, quick shower before bed, yeah?”

“The food,” YN motions to the mess around them, everything was a disaster, “I have to clean this up first, H.”

“I'll do it. You did so much today,” Harry assures her because it was true, she was phenomenal, and the least her could do is clean up all the remnants, “I want to get you clean and curled up in our bed. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

“It's Coastal Trust Bank, in Santa Monica, yeah?” YN asks as he guides her towards the staircase, her movements languid and strained.

“I have it mapped out already, we're going to hit it at closing this time. They only close up with three employees at the end of the night. A manager and two tellers, not too many people to wrangle up,” Harry informs her, casually as if they're planning a weekend getaway.

“I want the keys to the safety deposit boxes. I want a Diamond tennis bracelet,” YN grumbles because she has yet to find one that she likes, there were at least seven sitting in her vault that weren't exactly what she wanted.

Harry shakes his head with a laugh, dimples popping as they walk up the stairs, “Or we could just buy you one, darling.”

“S’not as fun,” YN frowns in disagreement, it gave her a sick satisfaction to have someone else's hard earned money on her wrist as they yearned for their belonging back.

“I'll get you the keys to deposit boxes, anything you want,” Harry placates because it will also keep her occupied while he's shoving stacks of cash into the duffle bags he had splayed open.

“God, you're so romantic,” YN hums without any jest, this was their love, their secret, and the life they had created together.

YN didn't get nervous anymore, not when she walked into the bank at six-fifty, ten minutes before closing in a pretty bit plain tailored dress, a purse on her shoulder, and a coat over her forearm.

YN gives a fake name, the name of someone who actually patronizes the business, and asks questions about how to get a loan for a car.

The teller pulls out a binder, rifling through stacks of paper with small print, finger tracing over the page to find what he's looking for.

YN has to play the part when a litany of loud noises comes from the front entrance, all three employees and her look instantly.

Harry was dressed completely in black, covering every inch of his skin, gloves to disguise his hands, and a balaclava to only show the piercing twinkle of his eyes in the fluorescent lighting.

He had straps of artillery across his chest, two guns sling over his back to make an X, and a shotgun in hand as he pointed it towards them all.

“Get on the fucking ground!” Harry roars loudly, booming and frightening as all of them instinctively put their hands up in surrender.

Harry keeps an eye on them while he barricades the front door, he had already done so from the outside for the other exits - no escape.

YN matches the energy of the rest of them, tears streaming down her cheeks as she kneels on the ground until it's her turn.

Harry makes a point of binding her last, with zip ties around her wrists but they both know it's a trick pair - all she needs to do is use a bit of force and they'll break for her.

“Don't hurt the lady,” The manager begs as Harry roughly shoved YN towards the particular door, barking at her to sit back down and don't fucking move.

Harry turns to glance at the manager, “I'm going to kill her unless you open that fucking vault and hand me the money without any trouble.”

YN subtly nudges his foot.

“And the master key to the safety deposit boxes,” Harry facts on because even in the middle of a heist, he's still a doting husband.

warnings: Bonnie & Clyde AU mixed with DWD, mean H, d/s undertones, light bdsm (hands tied behind back), name calling, hitting, blood, guns, crime, knives, edging, overstimulation

I absolutely love this. I put a lot of work into it and it is definitely one of my favorite pieces. I would love to know your thoughts!

#harry styles writing #harry styles masterlist #update #harry styles #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #dwd #dont worry darling

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my-castles-crumbling · 7 months ago

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Hi, guys! Let's talk about fandom etiquette!

👨‍🏫👨‍🏫👨‍🏫

I know a lot of you are young and perhaps have not been part of fandom spaces since the dawn of time (circa fanfiction.net) so let's talk about some dos and don'ts with fandom, so we can keep this a happy place! Please read this and reblog to get this out to people who genuinely may not know!

📕DON'T: Write reviews of fics on Tumblr, Tiktok, or other social media. Fic writers are creating these things for FREE, and did not ask you to review. This often leads to negative discourse and can even cause fic writers to take down their fics. ��DO: Leave kudos and ONLY POSITIVE comments. Talk about only positive things on social media. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all!

Edited to add: YES, EVEN CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISCISM. If the author didn't ask for it, don't give it. Some may appreciate it, but others won't. At the very least, ask permission first.

📕DON'T: Post fic ideas or headcanons on AO3. AO3 is for posting actual fanfiction or fanart and nothing else. (What I mean by this is, I've seen posts on ao3 like "Just posting an idea that someone should write, here it is!" and that's not what ao3 is for). Edited to add: You can also post original works and nonfiction works based on fandom on ao3! 📗DO: Post headcanons and ideas on Tumblr, Tiktok, etc!

Edited to change: Okay, so I feel like there's some arguments over like...what qualifies as metafic versus something that shouldn't be on AO3? So from my understanding (correct me if I'm wrong), people DEFINITELY should not be posting just a title with no work attached, which I have seen a lot lately, nor should they be posting to search for someone else's fic. However, it seems like lists, and similar metafic are okay, as well as original content, and nonfiction.

📕DON'T: Repost entire fanfictions without permission or sell bound fanfiction. Again, this causes writers to take their fics down, and can actually cause issues with fandom because it can cause allegations of copyright infringement. 📗DO: Recommend fics you like to others by talking them up and posting links! Ask permission before you translate!

📕DON'T: Send hate to authors for writing a fic in a way you don't like or not updating enough. Again, authors are doing this for free and sending hate causes serious mental harm to authors because they are people! If you don't like it, don't read it! 📗DO: Send love to authors in forms that they are comfortable with!

📕DON'T: Shame others for their ships/fics/kinks. Fandom is supposed to be a supportive space! Judging people is taking away that safe space! 📗DO: Use the block button! Block or filter out things or people you don't like!

📕DON'T: Use AI to create art or fics. This is detrimental to the creators who work hard to create their work! 📗DO: Try making your own art or fics! Practice makes perfect!

These are just a few of the things that I've seen happening more lately, but keep in mind that if you don't like something, you don't have to interact with it and fanart and fanfiction creators are people who are doing this for free. Please make sure to respect the hard work people put in, or fandom can't exist!

(Feel free to discuss/add things as long as you're being respectful!)

#marauders fandom #harry potter marauders #harry potter fandom #marauders era #fandom etiquette #fandom #fandom things #fandom meta #fandom culture #fandom history #fanfics #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer

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rowan-post · 1 year ago

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RPC self-care

We all get worn down by life and often we turn to RP for rejuvenation. But more than once I've seen people on here that find themselves burnt out on the RP community itself. With nearly 20 years of role playing under my belt, I thought I'd share some of my favourite self-care tricks.

Block people. You don't have to explain yourself and 'weird vibes' is a legitimate reason. You deserve to feel safe and unbothered in your hobby space, and RP is based on consent. Just like with any recreational activity, you can withdraw your consent at any time and no is a complete sentence.

Turn off anon. This prevents anonymous harassment and gives you great insight into who to block or report if you get non-anonymous harassment.

Drop threads. I know RP etiquette suggests you need to tell your RP partner when and why, and sure, if they ask politely you can give it a go - just know that a pre-written variant of 'not feeling it' is good enough. In my humble opinion, I think dropping boring or vexing threads is everyone's prerogative and doesn't require explanation. Again, no is a complete sentence.

Talk it out. If you like the thread but things took a turn you didn't like, it's time to bring the RP into the workshop. Something like 'Hey I really like our RP so far but I'm losing my spark, can we talk about course correcting where the plot is going?'

Make clear rules and revise them frequently. I'd also advise against spending said rules excusing or explaining why you don't like or want a certain thing - I cannot stress enough how your preferences are not up for debate.

Get comfy chasing. A lot of RP is about inviting others to play over and over and over. Rejection is a part of it. See if you can't find some element of self-care in it - taking rejection well is a great skill to practice in such a low stake environment.

Notice and celebrate the good stuff, instead of digging holes about the bad. Tell your co-players how great they are. Marvel at all the hard work you put into your muses and graphics. Admire your own blog.

Stop. Take a break. Check in with yourself. Do you actually need to face something in IRL? Do you need to rest? A snickers? A walk? Don't bother with posts á la 'offline for the day' - leave your options open to reduce guilt or shame if you want to poke your head back in.

Happy writing. 🌿

#rpc #rp resources #rp community #rp #roleplay #self-care #mental health #faerypost // love letter

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kissmetwicekissmedeadly · 5 months ago

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MIDNIGHT CINDERELLA MEMORIAL POST

The Midnight Cinderella app will be closed on Monday August 26th, 2024 (5 PM JST). The English version was actively updated from 2014 to 2021 when Cybird announced the ceasing of operations for MidCin, but the app remained accessible until today. I'm sure I'm not the only one who mourns the loss of it even after all these years of discontinuation, so I wanted to put together a post to properly say goodbye to it. Trying my best not to make it all too sappy - I'd rather look at it as a show that reached its final episode. Some things might be left unresolved but in the end, you remember the cast and the emotions they made you feel more than the actual plot. Nowadays there arguably may be better titles by Cybird out there, but for me, the simplicity of MidCin was what made the details so memorable.

1. VIDEO - POV: You're playing Midnight Cinderella (for 10 minutes)

The 10-minute version (without sound) is accessible via the link above (opens in Google Docs) This one I was really excited about recording! It's just your normal day playing midcin, I'm sure many will find it nostalgic and comforting. You log in, claim your daily bonus (I used the chance to do a present box reveal, 90+ items, many of which you might recognize from route grace checks), play the garden gacha (in my case, I used up all the points I had accumulated, 7800 which equals 39 solos), do your princess lessons, change your avatar, greet your friends, read 1/5 of today's free story parts, check the ranking and your stats, look at your memories directory. The video has no sound, as the game wouldn't let me turn it on (you will see me try to do so throughout the video...) but later on I got it to work so I recorded a one-minute video (the one imported above) of me replenishing stamina just for those iconic sound effects that you either loved or absolutely couldn't stand the volume of, haha.

2. A Midnight Cinderella playlist (spotify link)

While I wasn't there for the early days of midcin, the songs I associated with the game almost always captured this very specifically nostalgic 90s-10s period, you'll see what I mean. Many of those are taken from 8track playlists dedicated to Midnight Cinderella, and if I'm not mistaken you can still look at what is left of them if you search them up. Others are just my very random interpretations of the route stories and the characters.

3. Fic recommendations

We have a lovely community of creatives and there are still so many works left behind which you can check out on the tags! But especially for fics I wanted to list some that truly touched me during the years (all links open in ao3) -

i'm on fire and its NSFW bonus scene bloodstream by a deleted user - words are not enough for this one. It's like it meant more than Nico's whole route for me at one point, and the songs are forever in my heart as Nico songs...

MidCin Works by DBMidCin (SoftSen) - ALL of these. This is my go-to collection of writings for midcin when I start to miss the game, it has a little bit of everything. The headcanon of Giles teaching his girls French for instance is one of the things I still remember reading like it was yesterday!

Bedroom Etiquette (NSFW) by RubyLeeRay - Because this is the dream. Doing something forbidden with your tutor Giles is the ultimate fantasy, I swear. I just love it.

And of course, many, many more. There are currently 166 works on the midcin tag in Ao3, and I'm sure there are a lot of hidden gems here on tumblr as well! Reminder that writers LOVE it when you interact with their old works, it's not weird, you shouldn't hesitate doing so if you find yourself enjoying any of them! <3

4. My own humble collection of MidCin writings on my writing blog @xxsycamore!

Maid, Butler, Chamberlain (NSFW) - Nico x MC with Giles joining them

Grabbles: 💋 Demand for a kiss, right here, right now (GILES); 👔 Stealing their clothes to cuddle when you miss them (BYRON); more coming soon as there are still some in my askbox and I plan on including midcin in future short writings request openings too.

Shared Moments (NSFW) - Nico x Reader - Secret relationship

Ice-cold heat (NSFW) - Byron x Reader - Temperature play

Double the Surprise - Alyn and Leo birthday fic

Leo Crawford having a misadventure with a cat (ao3 link) - crack fic featuring most of the suitors

5. Out of context Midnight Cinderella screenshots

This is a sideblog of mine dedicated to posting out-of-context funny screenshots that I took while playing the routes - @oocmidcin . If you have some of your own that are not on there, you're free to submit them and add to the archive!

6. The perfect MidCin song - The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives

When I first discovered this song back in 2020 I dreamed of making it into a midcin music video with simplistic art and animations... It ended up being just something you daydream in detail about while in the car, but that's alright. I could at least share my vision with you! Disclaimer, this is just an interpretation and obviously it can't fit all characters ideally - In the brackets, I explain how the lyric is related to them and usually it reveals their backstories. Some of the details I've already forgotten, sorry if it's inaccurate.)

Tell me once again

I could have been anyone, anyone else

Before you made the choice for me

(Giles - his family making the choice for him since birth and later disowning him once he failed to become a knight due to his illness)

My feet knew the path

We walked in the dark, in the dark

I never gave a single thought to where it might lead

(Nico - wandering the streets with his mother once they were thrown out of Stein castle because she was a commoner having an affair with Byron's father, the King)

All those empty rooms

We could have been anywhere, anywhere else

Instead I made a bed with apathy

(Robert - the empty rooms of the once flourishing palace of the country that Robert ruled and led to demise, nowadays becoming a mere court painter)

My heart knew the weight

Ten years' worth of dust and neglect

We made our peace with weariness and let it be

(Leo - the years in which Alyn didn't speak to him, after the death of their parents)

The moon will sing a song for me

I loved you like the sun

Bore the shadows that you made

With no light of my own

(Albert - loyally standing in king Byron's shadow)

Name your courage now

We could have had anything, anything else

Instead you hoarded all that's left of me

(Sid - his relationship with his fiance that he agreed upon just to find out more about his parents by getting close to her father)

Swallowing your doubt

Like swords to the pit of my belly

I want to feel the fire that you kept from me

(Alyn - searching for answers about the murder of his family and the fire that burnt down their home)

I shine only with the light you gave me

(I could have been anyone, anyone)

(Louis - being a nobody and MC being his sun)

7. It goes on

I went to read what I could of chapter 4 of Rayvis' route, using my last two chapter tickets as well, thinking it won't make me cry. And then I'm hit with those familiar things.

So let's close this with a word about the things that never change in the universe of Midnight Cinderella.

Stumbling down the grand staircase and right into the arms of somebody. Escaping the palace at midnight with Nico's help. Sitting at breakfast with Giles giving you your schedule for the day. Nico's teasing little smile as he accompanies you everywhere and listens to your relationship troubles. The way he's just a little suspicious at times. Finding Robert painting in the garden of Wysteria palace. Going to the room of your chosen suitor for the first time and meeting a pet there. Leo teaching you history and politics in his office. Dance lessons with Louis. Needing those dance lessons because King Byron is coming to Wysteria and a ball is going to take place. The bureaucrats being unhappy with you as a princess elect, no matter what. Galloping on a horse with Alyn who just protected you from an enemy attack. Getting information from a certain flirty merchant at a bar. Albert bickering with Nico, Sid teasing Louis. Being introduced to Archduke Herneit at Stein castle. King Byron appreciating the night sky. The sight of your yellow and orange princess elect room where on the large bed with its blue bedframe and tall see-through canopy you lie awake and think about the events of the day and how would a wise future Queen of Wysteria deal with the current situation. But ultimately you fall asleep, hearing the melancholically beautiful sounds of a violin coming from somewhere deep within your dream, and leave it all to the following day.

Thank you for everything, Midnight Cinderella!

08/26/2024

#midnight cinderella #midcin #midnight cinderella giles #midnight cinderella byron #midnight cinderella sid #cybird #otome #otome games #midnight cinderella nico #midnight cinderella alyn #midnight cinderella leo #midnight cinderella albert #midnight cinderella robert #midnight cinderella rayvis #Spotify

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larluce · 11 months ago

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Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace Thank you so much for all your love ❤️. As someone who just entered the fandom and whose native language is not english it means a lot 🤧. Prepare yourselfs though, this is going to get dark.

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 (You're here) , PART 10

A little more of "Valiant"

Despite Gaius words and Arthur's protests, Merlin starts his duties as Arthur's manservant just a week after been stabbed in the back. Not that he wants to be careless with himself, but the tournament is coming, which means Valiant will arrive soon. And his magic is finally working properly so he needs to be there for Arthur when it happens. Arthur, of course, reduce his duties significtanly so Merlin doesn't do a lot of effort while still recovering from his wound, but he lets him attend him in the tournament, which is all Merlin needs right now.

Merlin: (putting Arthur his armor on perfectly)

Arthur: You're quite good at this (thinking, confused) How weird, he was disastrous at the beginning.

Merlin: Gwen gave me dressing armor classes when I was still in bed and taugh me about your silly tournament etiquette (thinking) Is not a lie, it was very nice of her, but I need to be more careful, I'm not suppossed to be this competent yet.

Arthur: (looks at Merlin intendly and points the collar of his armor) This needs adjustment.

Merlin: Oh, sorry. (adjusts the collar, so his hands are between Arthur's shoulder and neck and his face is close to Arthur's)

Arthur: Now is too tight, lose it a bit.

Merlin: (nervous due to the closeness and the intensity of Arthur's eyes) Like... like this?

Arthur: (smiles mischievously) Just like that (points the cape with his head) The cape.

Merlin: The cape! Right, the cape. (goes to get the cape and begins to put it on quickly)

Arthur: There's no rush, Merlin. Take your time.

Merlin: (gets lost in Arthur's eyes as he finishes to put the cape on, thinking) What... what is happening? 😳😳 (snaps out of it) Your sword! I almost forgot your sword!(goes to get the sword)

Arthur: (sighs, thinking) Damn Guinevere and her extra classes.

Time skip. As expected, Valiant's snakes are exposed and Arthur kills them and gets Valiant arrested. Since they didn't try to expose him before, Valiant didn't have the need to send his snakes to kill Sir Ewan. So he is alive to be at the trial as a witness too. Before he can be burned at the stake though he's found death in his cell. Apparently he killed himself with a hidden knife.

Uther: Such a coward. "Valiant" was to big of a name for someone like him.

Arthur: Totally.

Uther: But I'm curious. How did you know the shield was echanted?

Arthur: I didn't know.

Uther: Really? Because you didn't seem surprise when the snakes came out of the shield. In fact, it seemed you were prepared for it.

Arthur: I didn't know for sure, but I had my suspicions. He was a knight, I couldn't well accuse him without being sure, much less without proof. Don't you think, father?

Uther: (thinks for a moment) You're right. Well done Arthur. After the display you did at the feast for that boy and then asking me to make him your servant I got a little worried. But I must say that, despite that slip in your behaviour, you've been acting more mature and with more wisdom. Almost like-

Arthur: A king?

Uther: (frowns) I think is too soon to say that. Let's say like a proper heir to the throne. You're dismissed.

Arthur: (starts leaving, but turns around) Father... I need to tell you something... about my nightmares.

Uther: Is this something like Morgana's? You need Gaius to prescribe you her concoctions?

Arthur: No, I don't think is the same. I'm not sure they're actually nightmares, really. I... I saw my mother.

Uther: What?!

Arthur: I don't think is really her, I never saw her. But she's beautiful there, blond hair, blue eyes like mine, and she had the most tender smile. (smiles sadly) She always tells me that she loves me and she would've given her life for me all over again (sombers his expression) But then she tells me the most horrendous things. Like you used magic to get her pregnant and that you were reponsable for her death.

Uther: ...

Arthur: But that's not true, right? It can't be true. You would never do something like that and then lie about it, wouldn't you?

Uther: (forcing a smile) Of course not, I loved your mother with my life. There isn't a day that passes that I don't wish that she was still alive. I could never have done anything to hurt her, much less with something as corrupted as magic.

Arthur: (thinking) Not knownly, not on purpose, now I understand that.(smiles and says) I can see it. You would do anything to get her back.

Uther: Exactly. Don't pay attention to those nightmares. If it keeps going I'll tell Gaius to prescribe you something.

Arthur: Thank you, father. I'm sorry for bothering you with this. It's just... Sometimes I wish I had met her. Just once.

Uther: (smiles, sadly) Me too, son. Me too.

Time skip. Arthur goes to see the dragon under the castle.

Kilgharrah: The Once and Future King. What a surprise.

Arthur: Don't give me that shit. It won't work on me.

Kilgharrah: (analysing Arthur) What is this? Your body is young but your mind is old. I don't know what you did, but magic must be involved.

Arthur: I just came to tell you two things. One, leave Merlin alone. I know you want to manipulate him into setting you free so you can get your revenge on my father.

Kilgharrah: He hasn't been answering my calls. But still, why would I listen to a Pendragon?

Arthur: Because I know were the last dragon egg is.

Kilgaharrah: (surprised) There's a dragon egg?

Arthur: For now it's safe. But I won't tell you where it is if you desobey me.

Kilgharrah: What use is this information for me if I'm still trap here?

Arthur: That's the second thing. I need three dragon scales. If you give them to me, I promise to set you free.

Kilgharrah: Why should I believe your word? You just told me you don't want Merlin to set me free.

Arthur: No, I told you I didn't want you to mess with his head just to get what you want. I know he'll come eventually. Just help him with whatever he needs.

Kilgharrah: Lets say I believe you. You expect me to not take my revenge once I'm free?

Arthur: In fact, I'm counting on it.

Kilgahrrah: ... I don't think I follow.

Arthur: You're not wrong. Magic was involved for me to be here. Twice, if you count the way I was born. Three dragon scales, the blood of 300 hundred man and the corpse of a king were needed for me to arrive, but I need to do the same sacrifice to stay.

Kilgharrah: (in realization) The forbidden ritual of the ancient Kings. Interesting.

Arthur: Do we have a deal?

Kilgharrah: It depends. Which king are you planning to sacrifice?

Arthur: I think you already know.

Kilgharrah: (smiles evilly) Very well, anything else you want to ask me?

Arthur: (with a lump in his throat) When I... when you're finally free... Avoid women and children as much as you can, please. And don't just kill left and right. I just need... (cuts himself)

Kilgharrah: 300 hundred deaths. I get it.

Arthur: (pauses) No... 299.

...

I WARNED YOU! It was kind of planned from the beginning. But I want to read you. Do you think it makes sense for Arthur to turn out like this? 👀

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merlin prompt #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

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sundrop-writes · 11 months ago

Note

Hi! I hope this is okay to send because I’ve sent this type of request to others (and I know that’s normally bad) BUT it’s because I enjoy the different opinions of all the amazing writers!!! It’s not a fic request but just a request for your top headcanons for Spencer Reid.

The things that you’re like “this is canon and I’ll fight you over it” - smut, nsfw, tame, domestic, anything - just your opinions/rants!

(If it’s not okay to ask though please accept my apology!!! I’m still learning the social etiquette of tumblr requests! ) - 🌑

I definitely think this is okay to send to different writers, because you will usually get very different results - usually writers don't like it when you send a request that can only get similar results (asking for a narrative fic with a detailed, similar plot). But I love giving my random headcanons about characters.

Random Spencer Reid Headcanons

And okay, the first one I have in mind for Spencer is so weird.

One of the headliners that I always have in mind for Spencer - he wears tighty whities.

Like - the only kind of underwear that he wears are the classic hanes briefs (usually white, maybe heather grey, never black or any other 'fun' colour) - he doesn't wear boxer briefs, he doesn't wear boxers. Whenever I see a fic saying 'and then Spencer took off his boxer briefs', I'm like: "no, you don't know him like I do".

Spencer is a fucking nerd. Spencer is the type of fucking nerd who would insist on wearing the nerdiest underwear - tighty whities. And people probably write about him wearing boxer briefs because those are the sexy men's underwear and briefs are not like 'hot' to picture men in - but that is exactly why I HC him as wearing them and exactly why I mention that he wears them in every single one of my fics.

Spencer would wear the dorkiest underwear in expectation that he's not going into a sexual situation. He wears his underwear thinking that he's not going to fuck - he's not going to have to 'impress' anyone. Also, over time, of writing several fics about him and thinking about Spencer for 100s of hours a week - I have come to develop this kind of kink for picturing his giant nine inch cock trapped inside the crotch of a pair of briefs, hard and struggling to fit in there. It would be hot in its own way. (Which, Spencer always is.)

Speaking of his cock - you may notice that with a lot of my fics, I take the time to describe in depth what a male character's dick looks like. This is because I take the time to picture and think about what a characters dick looks like and how it is different from other characters (because no, not every characters dick is nine inches, thick and veiny. no) - I call it the Dickscription. And I think it's a very important part of characterization.

Spencer is eight to nine inches (when fully hard) - but he is skinny. His cock is a bean pole, just like he is. You would look at his dick and call it a snake. His cock is very smooth - the skin on it is baby soft and smooth, rather than veiny, and Spencer does not shave his pubes. Spencer is a full bush kind of guy - because he is terrified of putting a razor anywhere near his dick. He would only shave if you helped him and if he trusted you a lot. And he had a very thick, dark bush of hair near the top, around the base of his cock, but it gets more sparse around his balls, which even get soft and fuzzy in some places. (I have thought about this way. too. much.)

He is uncut, and when he gets really needy and teased or if you don't let him cum, then his cock turns a really bright shade of pink or even red, and the colour goes across his whole cock so his cock becomes like this beautiful bright pink rocket - and he leaks. Spencer is a very leaky guy, to the point where he gets everything so wet before he can even cum.

(These headcanons are getting out of control, lets get back to something more wholesome, shall we?)

Spencer is the kind of person to take himself on dates. On the rare occasion that he gets a day off, Spencer indulges in going out alone. It's not necessarily that he likes the solitude, but he's used to it because he spent his entire childhood pretty much alone, and there are a lot of activities that he likes that he thinks no one else he knows will enjoy. So he tries to enjoy treating himself to a day out alone.

He will bring a few good books to a cafe and drink a few expensive lattes (and probably eat a few pastries) and simply enjoy the peace and quiet of reading by himself for a while. He'll go to a book store and browse for hours before finally picking something. He'll go to a naturally history museum and walk around by himself, not tied to the whims of what someone else wants to see.

Hmmm

Maybe some relationship headcanons?

(Because we all love Spencer, lets face it.)

This is something I bring up in Careful (as you guys will see) - but I genuinely believe that Spencer Reid would treat his partner like royalty. He is someone who has spent years reading about romance - especially with his mother reading him so much classic literature, he regards the classics as the bar for romance (and he just hopes that his life doesn't become one of the tragedies where one or both partners die in the end). So he's not the 'Netflix and Chill' type - and he definitely doesn't bring you to the movies to sit in silence on a date.

He is the type of person to hire a violinist to play your favourite song by the table on a date, he will open doors for you, help you with your coat, pull out chairs for you, recite poetry to you (probably in other languages just because it sounds beautiful).

He will always think of the most unique dates to take you on. He'll take you to museums, to an observatory, to the orchestra - he'll take you to a large, elegant library that has rare books and recite lines from those classic books to you while you're there. He would take you to plays or a midnight picnic by a lake. Dates with him would never be boring or typical - it would be like living in a romantic movie.

A lot of people HC that Spencer would not be into PDA because he's too shy, but I don't think that's the case. Early seasons Spencer maybe, but I think that even he would get to a point where he's just so enamoured with you that he needs to touch you in public. But his PDA wouldn't be steamy or smutty, it would be romantic and soft and passionate.

He would keep a hand on your lower back while walking around, a sign that he's right there with you, a gentle signal to anyone around that you're with him. He would lean in close to speak right in your ear - showing that his words are only for you, that nobody else in the vicinity deserves to hear what he has to say, only you do.

He would graze his fingertips right across your arm, causing goosebumps on your skin. He would stare into your eyes with such intense, burning passion. And he would kiss you in public - lingering only long enough to leave you wanting more. And on occasion, he would lean in to kiss your neck or bring your hand up to kiss the back of it - gentle things to show his appreciation of you without giving away too much for prying eyes to see.

Dating Spencer would be like dating a prince from a hallmark movie, I swear to god.

(That's all I have for now, because if I keep thinking about this too much, I may explode because Spencer is not real and I can't actually date him.)

#sundrop writes #requests #requested #spencer reid #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 6 months ago

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50 Shades of Red || Chapter 4

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: Our girls go on a lovely date and there's lots of gay tension.

content warnings: none

word count: 3.7k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Kate’s eyes are curious, roaming over Wanda like she’s looking for an answer to the flush on her cheeks and the small smile she keeps trying to stifle. Her brown eyes meet Wanda’s, a silent question in them as the redhead walks up to the group.

“Hey, you guys,” Wanda says, feeling her blush return when both Vision and Paul look up. “I’m going to head back a little later, but thank you for helping with this photoshoot.”

Vision blushes hotly and stutters as he mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a thank you while Paul just smiles widely at her, his hands moving quickly as he dismantles a tripod. Kate fixes her with a look, before her hand is tight around her upper arm and dragging her towards the corner of the room.

The feeling of Ms. Romanoff’s eyes on them settle underneath Wanda’s skin, the comfortable weight of those dark green irises causing her heart to pound. She’s acutely aware of the older woman’s gaze, but valiantly directs her focus toward Kate’s imploring gaze.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re staying here?” Kate asks, scoffing at Wanda’s attempt to feign confusion. “You hate big cities, Wands. Does this have something to do with Ms. I'm-Super-Hot-And-Intimidating over there?”

“Okay, maybe,” Wanda relents, her head snapping up as she processes. “Wait, what did you just call her?”

Kate waves her off, “That’s not important right now. What on earth did Ms. Romanoff say to get you to stay longer?”

“Oh,” Wanda flushes, risking a glance over at the woman. Ms. Romanoff’s green eyes stare intently back at her, the woman’s posture relaxed even as she crosses her arms, those forearms standing out and taking Wanda’s attention away from the conversation at hand. She coughs slightly, turning back to Kate, who regards her with an unamused look.

“She sort of, kind of… asked me out for coffee?”

“Oh my fucking god, Wanda.”

In retrospect, Wanda supposed that was kind of a big deal. After all, from her hours of research on the woman, she couldn’t ever recall Ms. Romanoff ever publicly dating anyone. Obviously the woman was extremely selective in every aspect of her life, given her all-blonde staff and art pieces she’s selected for her office. Wanda wondered what she had that appealed to the woman.

Shaking off the self-deprecating thoughts that rose around her, Wanda looked back at Kate with a pleading expression. “Please don’t make this a big deal, I'm just… trying something new and putting myself out there.”

Kate’s incredulous look morphed into one of understanding, and she nodded slightly as a spark appeared in her eyes.

“Alright, but I expect a full debrief when you get back home.” She started walking towards the boys again, pushing Wanda towards the CEO waiting for her near the door. “And that includes every detail, especially if you guys make out.”

Wanda doesn’t have time to berate her, the brunette quickly walking away while simultaneously shoving her further toward the door. She quickly steels herself, taking a shuddering breath and forcing her nerves down until they weren’t a pit on her stomach.

She could do this. It was just a date, and Wanda had been on dates before. All those dates had been spectacular failures, of course. But, she knew what to expect and what sort of etiquette was appropriate. Plus, she could be cool and interesting when she wanted to be.

Looking up Wanda made eye contact with Ms. Romanoff again, and stumbled slightly as her gait was thrown off. Yeah, she was really selling the ‘cool’ part of her new act.

Fuck that, Wanda was going to be herself. Obviously it had already started to work on the older woman, and what more did she have to lose?

“Hi,” Wanda says once she’s an arms-length distance from the woman, her voice softer than she’d intended.

“Hello,” Ms. Romanoff replies, her tone laced with amusement. “Are you ready for our date?”

Flushing Wanda lets herself smile as a giddy feeling rises within her. Hearing the other woman confirm that this was, in fact, a date made her unreasonably happy. “Yes, let's grab coffee, I need some caffeine.”

“As do I.” The comment is casual, but Wanda can sense the undercurrent of warmth beneath it. It’s so different from the cold, detached manner in which Ms. Romanoff had spoken to her friends. This tone is friendly and bordering on familiarity. Wanda immediately wants to hear more of it.

They walk to the elevator in an anticipatory silence, Wanda trying to come up with something to ask the woman that wasn’t completely lame. Honestly, it’s not like she could just ask the woman what her favorite color was, that was so… pedestrian.

Wait. Why couldn’t she ask? Because she thought Ms. Romanoff would think her childish or immature for asking such a simple question? Wanda had only been around the woman for a total of around 45 minutes, but she knew the woman wasn’t one to judge on something so simple.

“So, what’s your favorite color?”

Ms. Romanoff pauses, her fingers inches from the elevator button. She seems to shake herself, pressing the button before turning her body towards Wanda, regarding her intently. Wanda feels herself flush, sure that she’s just made a mistake, but holds the woman’s gaze resolutely.

“Nobody has ever asked me that,” she says, her dark green eyes searching Wanda’s for a moment. Then, she smiles softly. It’s genuine and small, but Wanda’s heart swells at the sight of it gracing her lips.

“My favorite color is burgundy, a darker shade of red.”

“Mine is Carmine, a bit lighter in shades, but still red,” Wanda responds, smiling at the wonder in Natasha’s eyes.

“Well, what a happy coincidence. We’ll never fight over color palettes,” Ms. Romanoff says, her eyes sparkling.

Chuckling, Wanda nods. “I’m a fan of dark, earthy tones. If you couldn’t tell from my wardrobe.” She gestures towards her outfit, and Ms. Romanoff’s eyes travel down her green shirt and dark brown pants. They linger for just a second too long to be friendly, and Wanda doesn't find herself minding all that much.

“I’m also a fan of a darker color palette, if you couldn’t tell from my office.” Those dark green eyes are shining with amusement, and Wanda just smirks as she remembers the muted tone of black and white.

“We can work on adding some variety to your workspace,” Wanda counters, and a delighted look springs into the CEO’s eyes at the light-hearted jab.

Those delicious, dark-red stained lips open to counter, but the elevator chooses that exact moment to arrive. The echoing ding startles Wanda, and she blinks as the doors open.

Inside the elevator, a couple springs apart, their lips puffy and eyes wide. The girl’s face is flushed, and the young man next to her has mussed hair and his hands in front of his body, attempting to conceal his reaction to the obviously passionate make-out session they’d stumbled upon.

“After you,” Ms. Romanoff smirks and gestures with her hand, and Wanda flushes at the manners as she steps into the elevator. As the older woman moves into the small space after her, Wanda bites her lip at the smell of cinnamon wafting over her. There isn’t much room with the other couple, and she feels warmth spread throughout her entire body as Ms. Romanoff’s shoulder presses against hers.

The air is still, the atmosphere awkwardly silent. The other couple stares guilty at the floor, and when Wanda risks a glance to her right, Ms. Romanoff has a hint of a smirk dancing on her lips. Unfortunately, the hotel the rich CEO picked doesn't play trashy elevator music, so they descend the floors to the tune of embarrassed silence and smooth jazz.

Wanda struggles to keep a straight face and breathes a sigh of relief as the doors open on the ground floor. To her surprise, Ms. Romanoff takes her hand, lacing her cool fingers with Wanda’s. Pulling her with her, she strides confidently out towards the front door.

“What is it with elevators,” The woman remarks in that low, raspy voice of hers, seemingly oblivious to Wanda’s stunned silence. She can feel her heartbeat racing, warmth flooding through her from where Ms. Romanoff’s hand is clasped against her own. The suppressed giggles of the couple sound out from behind them, but Wanda pays them no mind.

Truly, the most attractive thing about Ms. Romanoff is her quiet, self-assured confidence. Wanda admires the way she walks with her head high, her words sharp but not unkind. She expects the best and doesn't accept any less, and Wanda once again wonders where she fits into the puzzle of the woman’s life.

Outside, the sun is shining, a cool breeze making its way through Wanda’s hair as Ms. Romanoff gently pulls her towards the sidewalk. They walk for a bit, chatting about specific shades that make up the perfect color palette, when Wanda realizes something.

No one has ever held Wanda’s hand, not like this. Ms. Romanoff hasn’t made any moves to remove her fingers, lacing them with Wanda’s as if it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Wanda feels lightheaded with giddiness.

Is this what it feels like to be with someone who’s not ashamed or afraid to show her off?

They reach the coffee shop, and Ms. Romanoff slowly removes her hand from Wanda’s as she opens the door. She holds it open, and Wanda marvels once again at her impeccable manners as she’s ushered through the door.

Stopping a few feet away from the start of the line, Wanda looks around as she attempts to gain her bearings. The coffee shop is large, the menu expansive and the music low as the sound of low voices fills the espresso-scented air.

Ms. Romanoff stops just behind her and Wanda shudders involuntarily at the feeling of the woman pressing against her gently.

“Why don’t you go find us a seat and I’ll order. What would you like?”

Holy fuck.

The sound of the CEO’s low words send a shiver down Wanda’s spine, an unknown feeling pooling in her gut. She can feel warm breath hitting her ear as the woman speaks, and knows that if she were to turn her head, those tempting lips would be mere inches from her face. God, she wants to turn her head, to see if the woman behind her would get just as flustered as she is at the sight of her lips close to hers.

Wanda turns her head, hearing a sharp intake of breath as her eyes find Ms. Romanoff’s. The woman’s body has gone rigid, her eyes locked on Wanda’s lips for a second too long to be a mistake. Then, slowly, she drags her gaze up towards Wanda’s. It’s purposeful and intent, the heat of those eyes sending flashes of electricity shooting straight to Wanda’s core.

Suddenly remembering the question she’d just been asked, Wanda speaks, keeping her voice low. This moment feels too personal, too… intimate to ruin.

“I’d like an iced chai with vanilla, please.”

“A wonderful order,” Ms. Romanoff remarks, her eyes glancing down again, catching Wanda doing the same thing. Her smirk widens. “I’m partial to a hot mocha with cinnamon powder, myself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Wanda murmurs, before she takes a deep breath and brushes her hand against the older woman’s waist. It’s light, her fingers barely applying any pressure, but the daring move has Ms. Romanoff’s eyes darkening and her tongue darting out to wetten those tantalizing lips.

Leaning in slightly, Wanda hears the CEO’s breath hitch slightly. “I’ll go find us a seat.”

Pulling away, Wanda registers the shocked look on Ms. Romanoff’s face and grins to herself as she finds a quiet table near the window. She watches the woman from under her lashes, taking in the confident stance and light flush on her cheeks. A part of Wanda feels immensely proud that she was the one who caused that sort of reaction to the well-put-together woman.

She wants to find every crack in that perfect facade and reveal them until Ms. Romanoff’s truest self is revealed, and she’s found one way to do so. Who knew that the woman was so thrown off by a little teasing?

Wanda muses that Ms. Romanoff probably doesn’t expect teasing in return, given that most of the advances made so far between them have been made exclusively by the older woman. She’s deep in thought when a cup is placed before her, the comforting scent of chai reaching her nose as she blinks in surprise.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Flushing, Wanda racks her brain for an appropriate response. She couldn’t very well say, oh I was just thinking about if you would moan if I squeezed your hip, or if you get flustered when your bottom lip is bitten, or if you’re as controlling in the bedroom as you are in real life. She couldn’t say that, so instead she made something up.

“I was wondering what type of perfume you wear.”

“Oh?” Ms. Romanoff gracefully takes her seat, raising a single eyebrow at her. It’s a silent command to continue, and Wanda chooses her next words carefully, not wanting to accidentally offend the woman.

“You smell like cinnamon, which isn’t a common perfume scent,” Wanda begins, noticing the way Ms. Romanoff sits back in her chair as she regards her with interest. “So I was thinking about what sort of perfume you wear.”

“And did you come to a conclusion?”

“I did not.”

Ms. Romanoff hums in response, smiling as she sips her mocha. She doesn’t offer an answer, and Wanda doesn’t ask further. She’ll let the woman keep her secrets for now.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Wait. What?

“Who?” Wanda asks, confused.

“The photographer.”

Ms. Romanoff’s relaxed pose tells a story of indifference, but the tenseness on her face and the way her eyes search Wanda’s tell a completely different tale.

“Vision?” Wanda shakes her head, sipping her chai as she scoffs. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“I sense derision.”

“Well, he’d like to be my boyfriend,” Wanda explains. “But I don’t…”

There’s a moment of silence, and Ms. Romanoff leans forward. Her attention is solely focused on Wanda, but instead of intimidated, she feels rather comforted.

“You don’t, what?” The words are gentle, and Wanda takes another sip of her chai while blushing.

“I don’t like him that way,” she finally says. It’s not the answer she really wanted to give, but it’s the one she feels comfortable saying. Ms. Romanoff nods once, understanding dawning on her features. She seems satisfied with Wanda’s response and doesn’t inquire anymore about Vision and his obvious crush on her.

“How do you feel about me?” Ms. Romanoff asks, and Wanda nearly chokes on her drink. She hadn’t expected such a straightforward question, but after looking at the serious expression on Ms. Romanoff’s face, she decides to match the woman’s brutal honesty.

“I find you intimidating,” Wanda says, before she flushes and gazes intently at the lid of her chai cup. This cafe uses a strawless lid, one with an extra-wide mouth. She supposes they’re probably doing it for the sake of the environment.

“You should,” Ms. Romanoff replies. “I appreciate the honesty, but please, don’t look away when I’m speaking to you. I like to see your face.”

“I- you… like to see my face?”

“You have a wide range of expressions, it’s cute,” Ms. Romanoff smirks, her eyes glancing pointedly at Wanda’s reddening cheeks. “You’re a mystery to me, Wanda.”

“Oh?” Wanda asks, curious. She leans forward, “How am I the mystery between the two of us?”

Ms. Romanoff smiles at that, setting her drink on the table between them as she tilts her head. “You’re self-contained, you only show the world what you think it wants to see, not what you truly are.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Ah yes, but the difference between the two of us is that I’m a well-known public figure. Having an air of aloofness and mystery is essentially part of the job description. You, however, have the freedom to be whoever you want to be, to interact with the world however you choose. And yet, you remain private.”

Wanda blinks at the assessment, and Ms. Romanoff leans back in a manner that could be read as smug, if not for the gentle smile on her face.

“Do you offer up personal observations like that?”

“Are you offended?”

“No,” Wanda says slowly, considering what she was about to say. “But I have an observation of my own.”

There’s a spark of interest, and a bit of challenge in Ms. Romanoff’s dark green eyes. “Go on.”

“You like control.”

“I do,” she nods, “I exercise control in every aspect of my life, Wanda.”

“Including the part where you haven’t offered to let me call you by your first name?”

“Exactly.” Ms. Romanoff’s tone is far too smug for Wanda’s liking. God, the audacity of this woman. Everything about her screamed that she was in control of this conversation. Why did Wanda find that so hot?

The refusal to let Wanda call her by her first name was just another element of her control. Another way to show Wanda that they were not yet on the same playing field. And honestly, Wanda would’ve cared more if she didn’t find the power dynamic so appealing.

“What does your sister do?” Wanda asks, and judging by the way Ms. Romanoff’s eyebrows fly up, the woman is caught extremely off guard. Ha. Take that, Wanda can ask invasive questions too.

“She teaches a professional martial arts class in New York.” The response is clipped, short. Evidently, Ms. Romanoff isn’t pleased with the personal change of topic.

“I’ve always wanted to visit New York,” Wanda says, and interest sparks in those green eyes across from hers, any signs of earlier irritation long gone.

“It’s beautiful, especially in the fall.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, with Wanda eyeing the long fingers on Ms. Romanoff’s hand as it rests near the center of the small table. It would be so easy to reach over and rest her hand next to it, but Wanda’s never been that bold. So instead, she sits and sips her chai and wishes she had to bravery to grab Ms. Romanoff’s hand the same way the woman had in the elevator.

As they chat about lighter topics, Wanda notices that Ms. Romanoff’s knee is slowly pressing against hers underneath the table. She’s in the middle of talking about her finals when she first notices it, her words halting for a brief moment before Ms. Romanoff tilts her head slightly, prompting her to continue.

It’s infuriating, and Wanda tries to suppress the heat that coils in her stomach with each passing second as she feels the pressure of Ms. Romanoff’s steady knee increase. It’s comforting, it’s arousing, and it’s throwing Wanda off balance.

Well, Wanda can give the same energy right back.

“So do you have a girlfriend?”

It doesn’t work. Ms. Romanoff remains as cool and collected as ever, the only evidence of surprise shown by her raised eyebrow.

“If I was in a relationship, I would not have asked you out on a date, Ms. Maximoff.”

“So this is an official date?”

“It is.” Ms. Romanoff’s eyes sparkle with amusement, and Wanda smiles slightly.

“Just making sure,” she mumbles, finishing her chai. “Did it go well? Did I pass the test?”

“What test?”

To her credit, Ms. Romanoff sounds genuinely confused. Wanda immediately wishes she could take it back, but instead lets her mouth start talking without thinking.

“I just meant… I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been trying to pass some sort of test to be worthy of your presence ever since the interview.”

“Well,” dark green eyes find hers, shining with sincerity. “I’m sorry I’ve made you feel that way. I am genuinely interested in you, Ms. Maximoff. I want us to be on an even playing field as we get to know each other, hence this public coffee shop.”

“Oh.” Wanda doesn’t quite know what to say, but something inside her chest settles. She smiles instead, that giddy feeling rising once again as she meets Ms. Romanoff’s eyes. Fuck, the older woman is so effortlessly beautiful.

Standing, Ms. Romanoff offers her hand. “Shall we?”

Chuckling slightly, Wanda takes the offered hand, blushing at the comforting grip of Ms. Romanoff’s fingers clasped around her own. It feels so natural, her fingers interlocked with the older woman’s, and Wanda finds herself leaning into her.

They walk back towards the hotel, their pace slow and perfectly in sync with each other. Ms. Romanoff’s cinnamon perfume gently wafts toward Wanda, enveloping her mind in a comforting sort of haze. She’s struck with the sudden desire to know everything about the other woman, to break through that outer shell and reveal the complex person she knows is buried deep within her.

However, even Wanda knows that it’s too early to discover the secrets of Ms. Romanoff. So, instead, she turns towards the woman once they reach her car, and leans in.

“I’ll text you when I get home, okay?”

Ms. Romanoff lets out a small huff, her eyes closing briefly to avoid looking at Wanda’s lips, which are about an inch away from her own.

“Ms. Maximoff, please refrain from teasing me.”

“Or what?”

Wanda barely has any time to gloat in the first crack she’s made to Ms. Romanoff’s facade before she’s being pushed backward and pressed against the side of her car. Those strong hands are on either side of her, trapping her between her car and the woman before her. She can see those muscles flexing underneath the silky fabric of Ms. Romanoff’s shirt, and hears her own shaky breaths as the woman leans in.

Her lips are mere centimeters away, and Wanda is filled with the urge to taste them. God, they’re so… fucking… close…

“Or I will have to retaliate until you break and crumble beneath me.”

It’s official, Wanda is fucked.

Next Chapter

---

Dm or comment to be added!

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato @justarandomreaderxoxo @godhatesgoodgirls @snowdrop1026 @maximoffmorale @noturlondonboy @wandaspuppy @xenaizogie @imjustvibingsworld @tobiaslut @subby-lesbian

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suppose-i-was-worm · 2 years ago

Text

Dani A(Clone)

**An Arctic Siren Aside**

***Thank y'all for 200 followers!! I look forward to getting to know y'all!***

Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow of Star City, was not easy to startle. He went through too much training, too much pain to not be on the alert all the time. Letting out a breath, he shot his arrow, hitting his far away target with an ease that he was familiar with after so many years.

“Wow, Mister, you sure have good aim!”

Oliver Queen, when startled, screamed like a goat. He spun, looking for an enemy, but instead was met with the curious face of a young girl sitting on the ground behind him, leaning her chin on her fist.

Oliver took a moment to recollect himself.

“Hello, young miss. Can I help you?”

The girl tilted her head.

“I’m looking for my brother. Are you a hero?”

Nodding, Oliver pointed to his bow with the hand not holding it.

“I’m the Green Arrow.”

She didn’t seem impressed.

“Tell me more about your brother? Is he older? Younger? What’s his name?”

“Stranger danger, what’s your name?”

Oliver paused.

“Green Arrow.”

“His name’s John, in that case. John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith.”

“John?”

“His name is my name too.”

By the glint in the girl’s eyes, Oliver was being pranked somehow and neither child was named John. He tried a different approach.

“What does your brother look like?”

“Like me, but a boy.”

Helpful. He knew he was supposed to be kind and gentle with civilian children, but Oliver almost wanted to pick this girl up and shake her until she had useful information.

There was a crunch on the rooftop behind him, and by the sounds it was Arsenal coming to find out what was taking him so long.

“Oh wow, you’re cool!”

The girl bounced up and darted around Oliver to circle Roy, looking him up and down.

“Now there’s a hero! Baseball cap? Clean shaven? Be still my beating heart!”

Oliver’s only solace was that Roy looked about as off-put as he himself was.

“Can I be a hero? My brother’s a hero, we’d find each other that way!”

Roy smiled at the kid.

“Well, it takes a lot to be a hero, you know? What would your hero name be?”

“Phantom, like my brother. And it’s fine! I’ve got powers, see?”

The girl lifted off the ground, hovering, and crossed her legs underneath her to sit in the air.

“I can do some other stuff too, but the flight is the coolest.”

Oliver looked at Roy, who seemed to be seriously thinking about the girl’s proposition.

“Arsenal, you can’t- What about her parents?”

The girl’s float drooped a little.

“They’re… gone. It’s just me and my brother, and I don’t know where he is. I’m from the Infinite Realms, and I can’t get back without him.”

The Infinite Realms sounded like Justice League Dark shit.

“Let me introduce you to the Teen Titans, then. Phantom, right?”

Phantom lit up, and Oliver stared in shock at his teammate.

Batman would be so pissed at him.

~~~

Dick Grayson smiled at the girl in front of him. Damian had convinced him to come meet her, claiming that she was an ‘integral part of the team’, only a few weeks into her tenure with the Titans.

Phantom smiled back, too sharp teeth on display.

“Hello, Phantom. I’m Nightwing, Robin’s brother. How are you today?”

“Stellar, thanks!” She did a little twirl midair. “How are you, Mister Nightwing sir?”

“I’m doing well. I heard that you didn’t allow for a DNA sample? It would make life in the tower much easier if we had your biometrics.”

She scowled, suddenly dropping to the ground and crossing her arms. She was short, for a sixteen-year-old, but Dick was still a little thrown off by the ferocious look on her face.

“Don’t you Gotham folks know when no means no? Consent is sexy and you are not. I’ve met heroes with better etiquette than any of you.”

He held his hands up in a gesture of peace.

“I won’t force you. Who’s your favorite hero?”

Immediately, as if a switch had been flipped, Phantom was up in the air again, grinning like a loon.

“Phantom Prime, of course! My brother is the strongest person I know.”

Kid Flash looked up from where he’d been assembling a puzzle.

“You met Superman the other day, though?”

Phantom scoffed.

“My brother could kick his ass. Ancients, I'd kick his ass if you guys would let me. He deserves an ass-kicking.”

“Why?”

Dick would admit he was just as confused as Kid Flash.

“Vibes.”

“Vibes? What kind of vibes?”

“Fruitloop vibes.”

“That doesn’t make much sense, Phantom.”

“Sure it does! Hey, Superboy!”

~~~

Kon-el startled at being caught listening in to the conversation. He turned to address Phantom from the tower kitchen.

“What’s up?”

“Is Superman’s secret identity rich?”

“Uh, no?”

“Does he have a lair?”

“Kinda?”

“How is he about clones?”

Kon must have made a face, because Phantom pointed at him.

“Ah-ha! Those vibes! Clone hater vibes.”

Stepping out of the kitchen, Kon tried to downplay the issue.

“I mean, he’s gotten better, but…”

“Nope! He’s still an asshole and deserves an ass-kicking.”

Nightwing held up a hand like a kid in a schoolroom.

“You have an opinion about clones?”

Phantom nodded decisively.

“My brother says that clones didn’t ask to be made, just like any other kid. It’s not their fault, it’s the fault of their creator. He says that the sins of the father should not be visited on the sons.”

Kon stepped closer, curious.

“But. Isn’t it a violation? If someone makes a clone without the donor’s knowledge?”

Phantom looked over at him with big, sad eyes.

“My sister says that’s between the donor and the creator. No kid should be painted as the one in the wrong when they were a victim, too.”

Nightwing spoke up again, sounding a little out of his depth.

“You deal with a lot of clones?”

She grinned, and Kon could tell there was a secret behind the twinkle in her eyes.

“One or two.”

~~~

Dani heard a knock on the frame of her open door and turned to greet her visitor. It was getting late- she was pretty surprised that anyone was still awake.

“Hey Superboy! How can I help?”

“Would you-‘ he looked sheepish. ‘Would you really beat up Superman for me?”

She cracked her knuckles. Someone had said that Kon-el was a clone, but she hadn’t really expected him to admit to it. They weren’t even properly teammates- he was part of Young Justice, not Teen Titans.

“I’d beat up anybody to protect the honor of clone-kind, Superboy.”

“Why?”

Making a split second decision, Dani leaned in close.

“Can you keep a secret, Kon-el?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better. Us clones have to stick together, amiright?”

Superboy looked at her, stunned, and she winked.

“Just don’t tell the bats. Batman has both rich and secret lair vibes.”

#danny phantom #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc #dp x batman #arctic siren au #dani fenton #connor kent #superboy #damian wayne #dick grayson

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howlsofbloodhounds · 3 months ago

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hello howl! do you have any favorite hcs of killer that you or someone else created? do yap if there's a lot, my brain is deprived of killer🥺

Alright, this are mostly about Stage 2 because he’s on my mind. Feel free to add on with yalls own killer hcs.

1. That Killer has ADHD. Probably a stereotype born from fanon killer’s personality, but I like it if it’s done well. (Which i rarely see, but that has been changing recently!)

2. That killer is some degree of blind or in general has a hard time seeing. Makes me think his other senses would be a lot better than his sight—especially his vision worsens depending on what Stage he’s in.

3. That he and Chara did pinky wears and the pink swears were sacred—not capable of being broken or the other has the right to kill or torture the snitch however they want. (My HC.) (Alexa play secret)

4. That Chara gave Killer Asriel’s half of the heart locket/golden locket, the one that said “bffs forever.” Especially if Killer has come to associate it with control, and it’s the only way to gain control over a Killer who has been stuck in Stage 4.

5. That his SOUL is a record player of all his victims dying, fearful, hurt, painted, angry, hateful and frantic words. Or at least Killer thinks it is—as he constantly hears them in his head whenever he attempts to resist killing or hurting anyone in Stage 1, and the constant flood of internal degradation is overwhelming enough to trigger Stage 4. The last part seems be somewhat canon, but the record player isn’t.

6. Cannibal Killer, started by me, holds a little place in my heart.

7. Cathearted and Angelkin Killer. Love it. Angelkin was @justanidiotartist’s idea.

8. Princess Killer. As in there is a timeline where he and Chara overthrew Asgore’s rule and became the royals of the Underground for a time.

9. That a part of Killer’s conditioning and training was being taught royal etiquette by Chara. It was framed and hidden under the disguise of learning something new, and a game— a way to keep Killer entertained and avoid boredom, therefore keeping him stable while implementing further rules and structure—but of course it had its typical violence and the use of Resets was often if Killer ever made a mistake or forgot a single thing.

He was taught to hold himself and carry himself as “something more,” above the others in the Underground, but never above Chara and not as real as anyone else.

His spine is always straight, trying to maintain a composed demeanor even when leaning into his silly behavior and extroverted mask. He eats his food in a very specific practiced manner without conscious thought, using his hands and utensils in a specific way.

He only eats when the “Queen” (Chara, Nightmare) eats, and stops when they stop—regardless of if he’s finished or not. Sarcastic, overly exaggerated bowing and signs of deference towards Nightmare—“Your Majesty,” “Your Highness,” in a deadpan, sarcastic manner.

And this one’s a bit more canon, but he copies and mimics Chara’s ways of speaking in a formal manner— such as how he says “greetings” instead of “hello” or “hey.” Often more obvious when addressing those he views higher and above him, or when stressed.

Maintaining old habits of perfectionism and cleanliness despite appearing outwardly apathetic, as if he doesn’t really know why he does it, he just does. His spaces are to be ordered and clean, all gear and weapons done in a certain way, and it’s probably more than once he’s corrected the others gang members postures and manners of eating or speaking.

One thing Chara never managed to make him stop doing was putting his hands on the table. He did that then and he’ll keep doing it. (Somewhat canon. Bro always has his hands on the table.)

10. Killer has the same fascination with the number 9 that Chara does. My HC.

11. Killer with schizoid personality tendencies. My HC. (Bit more complicated than that.)

12. Killer is subconsciously drawn to heart imagery—especially upside down hearts. He will often absentmindedly trace them on his bones/carve them, or draw on paper. It calms down his body. Especially after having failed some type of mission—both when killing or refusing to kill.

13. He stims. They’re small and not noticeable if you aren’t looking, easily dismissed as something else, but he stims. My HC. (I like to think his whole clasping hands over the soul/chest in prayer gesture is a happy stim and a nervous one. And also finger guns.)

14. He is a romantic. But only in his own head and fantasies.

15. Golden flower tea..yum.

16. He treats his weapons and animals better than he treats actual people or himself.

17. Stage 2 will blatantly ignore you if you try to call him Sans. (Somewhat canon.)

18. Stage 2 is mostly apathetic and indifferent but also distrustful of children. My Hc.

19. Chara and Killer’s relationship has been through just about any type of dynamic you can think of. Creator/creation, parent/child (both have played this role), teacher/mentee, enemies, friends, partners. Anything but equals.

20. He is actually very good at knife tricks. Will only fail when he wants to cut himself on purpose, or wants to make someone laugh.

21. Actually a pretty good caretaker, at least physically. Mentally and emotionally tending to a patient needs some work.

22. GNC fashionita.

23. Believes having no needs will make him invulnerable and free.

24. That a more humanized Killer would have long black hair he styles in many different ways. Also that he has a hooked nose and still doesn’t look entirely human.

25. The idea that he gives himself something like tattoos that remind him of Color in his Good Ending. Gradient flaming heart rainbows like Jinx’s blue cloud tattoos. My HC.

26. Catlike behaviors. Yeah. Including being very petty and causing problems for no obvious reasons.

27. Various forms or presentations of pet or age regression depending on the Stage.

28. Hates feeling too exposed physically. ✨ body issues ✨

29. Would’ve thrown the comfort plushie Color gave to him for when he’s Stage 1 away if it the plushie didn’t have an excellent texture. (Is the reasoning he gives.)

30. Acts of service. Just come to him instinctively. Very parentified eldest daughter coded I think.

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devildom-moss · 2 months ago

Text

May poll story

NSFW - Asmodeus x Solomon x MC

(Asmodeus x Solomon x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (switchy overall but slightly sub!Solomon) (poly/threesome) (no penetration; oral - receiving; handjob - Asmo giving Solomon; dry humping; so much kissing; light praise; bondage; facial; cum eating; photos; lots of teasing; marking/hickeys; "master" for Solomon by Asmo; voyeurism; no reader/MC sex organs specified)

Word Count: +4,400

Asmo was hosting an intimate Asmo Night with his two favorite humans. Some nights, he simply wanted a bit of attention from you both – affection from two people he knew adored him for who he was. Fans were nice, but he wanted to be around someone he had feelings for, and in your case, his love was so intense it almost matched his love for himself. A relaxing sleepover with you and Solomon seemed like the perfect way to get his fill of adoration.

As usual, Asmo was a wonderful host, preparing games, activities, and an abundance of snacks – although the latter was planned, in part, to dissuade Solomon from attempting to cook. If Solomon had brought homemade food, that would have ruined the entire night.

With a long night ahead of you, Asmo sipped his Demonus slowly, fearing intoxication; there would be other nights to get drunk around either of you, but tonight, he wanted to feel in control of everything – to savor every word, look, and sensation that he eagerly anticipated. Asmo wanted to remember the way Solomon’s eyes darted between his body and yours as the two of you danced to music he had put on – the way his gaze felt hungry like some vicious predator in that moment and how Solomon had smothered his desire as the song came to an end, trying not to initiate something so early in the night. He wanted to fully enjoy the warmth of your lips on his neck when you lost the card game that Solomon insisted be made a little more interesting by turning it into a punishment game – no doubt hoping luck would be on his side tonight, especially with Barbatos not in attendance. You were all too happy to agree to Asmo’s – slightly restrained – punishment. All he wanted was for you to leave a hickey on him in a place where everyone would see it. Out of all the things Asmo could have asked for, that almost seemed innocent. Asmo wanted to engrave the praise you and Solomon gave him when he put on an impromptu fashion show. Your words were honey-sweet, pooling on your tongues so enticingly that he could hardly resist kissing both of you and tasting the words in his mouth.

Later in the night, Asmo stretched, letting out a soft little moan, and got up. “I was thinking – maybe we could all take a nice long bath together, hmm~? My bath is big enough for all of us. What do you think?”

Solomon scoffed and shook his head, seeing right through Asmo’s offer. “No thanks. You just want to get us both naked.”

“Well, of course, hun. Can’t blame a demon for trying, can you~?” Asmo winked. “What about you, MC?”

“You’re really going to leave me all alone in your room? That’s hardly good hosting etiquette.” Solomon cocked his head to the side, as if it was a veiled threat. “Besides, if you two bathe alone together, who knows how long you’ll be in there.”

“Ugh, Solomon! You’re such a meanie!” Asmo huffed. “You won’t let me get a good look at that body of yours, and now you want to keep MC all to yourself.”

“By all means,” Solomon shrugged, “leave me to my own devices – unsupervised in your room. Or maybe I’ll go prepare a snack while you two add unnecessary steps to getting clean.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone, Solomon!” you interjected quickly. He knew his cooking was universally considered a weapon, didn’t he? You’d never put it in such harsh words – but he had to understand that, right? “Besides, you’ll only get into trouble if you’re on your own for too long.”

Asmo caught your eyes, silently thanking you for sparing him – and everyone else in the House of Lamentation for that matter. “Anyway~ I’ll be back. Behave, you two.”

As Asmo made a hasty escape, Solomon smirked at you. “You don’t really think I’m so troublesome that I can’t be left alone, do you?”

It was clear to him that you had lied; after all, he knew his adorable apprentice inside and out. There was little that you could hide from him, but his self-confidence and desire wiped Solomon’s memory of his threat of extra-strength food poisoning; the only reason you wanted to stay with him that remained was because you were hoping for some alone time together. Solomon got up from Asmo’s hanging chair and walked over to you.

“Are you not troublesome?” you teased, inching over on the edge of the bed so Solomon could sit next to you.

Solomon chuckled, shook his head, and put one knee up on the bed next to your thigh. “Would you like me to be?”

“Meaning?” You gave Solomon a confused look, but as he straddled your lap and extended his arms behind your head, you knew exactly what he meant. Your eyes unintentionally darted towards Asmo’s bathroom door, worried that he would suddenly return.

“Fool around with me,” Solomon got closer and whispered in your ear, bringing your attention back to him.

“I don’t know, Sol.” It seemed mean to Asmo: making out – or more – with someone else in his bed while he was busy, especially on an Asmo night. If he walked in, saw that, and realized he wasn’t included, you thought, “Asmo might get pouty.”

Solomon’s low, gentle laugh rang in your ear before he began to kiss down your neck. “He’ll like it, trust me.”

Each kiss was slow and deliberate, aiming to leave his mark on you. Perhaps Solomon needed a way to remedy his jealousy from when you gave Asmo a hickey earlier – or perhaps he was simply overcome by his underlying desire to mark you as his own. Either way, Solomon continued to suck and nip down your skin until he was satisfied with his work. His hot breath, saliva, and the sweet moans that escaped his lips as he squirmed in your lap sent shivers up your spine. By the time he pulled away, your heart was racing.

“Oh!” Solomon grinned, took his wand out from his back pocket, and gave it a quick wave. You furrowed your brows; Solomon replaced his wand just as quickly as he had pulled it out. He brought his finger up to his lips and whispered, “had to cast a secret spell.”

“And you wonder why people think you’re shady? What did you do?” you laughed.

“I cast a spell to warm up Asmo’s towels for when he’s done with his bath.” Your heart melted immediately – only to feel jolted as Solomon added, “now, where were we?”

Solomon took advantage of the quickly-fading charm of his sweetness to push you on your back with a grin on his face. He leaned down close but hesitated slightly – waiting for any sign of resistance. “Please” formed silently on his lips, grazing yours in a chaste kiss, touching you lightly like a devotee may trace the outlines of an altar. You were sacred to Solomon; in all his years, he had never met another creature he regarded as so holy. No demon nor angel could have his worship like this. Every prayer that fell from Solomon’s lips was an act of love and devotion. Across all three realms, only you had given Solomon something worthy of divine adoration.

He could only hope that his reverence would translate, transcribed on your hallowed body with his lips and tongue. Solomon’s kisses grew deeper and more desperate, as if he was starved of your affection and intended to gorge himself on whatever love you offered. Nothing could come between him and his communion – not even the demon standing in the doorframe to the bathroom.

Kisses trailed down your neck as Solomon’s hand made its way under the hem of your shirt, teasing your bare skin with his fingertips. When he had buried himself in the crook of your neck, you could tell from his eagerness and attention to one particular area that he intended to mark you. Your brows knit together, but the ecstasy of Solomon’s lips was interrupted by the gentle biting feeling of someone else’s eyes on you, so you turned your gaze to the bathroom door.

Asmo’s eyes were half-lidded, and a seductive smirk sat on his face when he finally caught your eye. He held your gaze intently, as if determined to pull your attention away from Solomon for as long as he could. Only when Solomon panted hotly against your neck and softly, slowly dragged his nails along your stomach so lightly that your skin was as unaffected as a brilliant sapphire brushed over by a raven’s feather, causing you to shiver and gasp, did Asmo feel a compelling tinge of jealousy. His smile dropped, briefly slipping into a pout, before he resolved himself and strutted towards the two precious humans playing around in his bed.

Solomon felt Asmo’s presence, but he refused to acknowledge him until Asmo ran a lovely hand up Solomon’s back with an amused hum. “Just how far were you planning to go in my bed?”

“As far as I could,” Solomon admitted with a chuckle, sitting up and pressing his back against Asmo’s hand. “Problem?”

“May~be~” Asmo sang sweetly. “Depends on whose cute little idea this was. MC?”

“Solomon said you’d like it,” you blurted out under the scrutiny of Asmo’s honey-sweet tone. Solomon feigned offense and got off you so he could get a better look at Asmo, who was standing in a lovely pink silk robe decorated with red spider lilies and blood spatter, along with a matching bonnet.

“Betraying your own teacher?” Asmo hummed. “That’s my MC.”

“Yours?” Solomon scoffed and playfully added, “that mark on their neck isn’t your handiwork.”

You could feel the tension building in the room as Asmo’s affectionate stare turned from you towards Solomon with an inhuman wickedness – devious and sexy in a way that caused Solomon to shiver excitedly. Asmo cooed, “oh, poor Solomon. An appetizer sits in the stomach all the same, doesn’t it? I think MC’s had their fill of you, darling. I’m so gorgeous, I’m obviously the main course and dessert; isn’t that right, MC?”

The sense that Solomon and Asmo were trying to stake their claim on you was muddied by the seductive overtones and lustful stares they offered each other. Solomon was about to sit up and pull Asmo into a forceful, dominating kiss when Asmo snapped his fingers. The vines of roses that adorned Asmo’s bed shot out and quickly restrained Solomon, pulling him back towards the headboard.

At first, Solomon chuckled and weakly tugged against the vines, putting on a show of struggling. When he did, he felt the vines wind around him more – stronger than before. Solomon looked surprised and tried a low-level unbinding spell to loosen the restraints, but it only backfired. The vines moved further up his arms, and one slipped around his waist. Solomon could feel faint traces of his own magic imbued in the vines now, causing the roses to glow a soft pink. Panic flashed in his eyes briefly as he realized what Asmo had done, but it dissolved into amusement and arousal.

“Lucifer has some very interesting books on how to deal with powerful sorcerers,” Asmo giggled at Solomon. “You can struggle, but that will only make it worse. Only the caster can undo the spell.”

“Asmo!” You sat up in protest. That seemed a bit excessive. However, your concern for Solomon melted when he met your eyes with a soft smile.

“It’s fine,” he reassured you.

“Besides,” Asmo interjected, gently turning your head back to face him, “if he was against it, he’d use his pact on me and be free right away. Trust me.”

You did; you trusted them both, and so when Asmo slowly pushed you back down on the bed, you let him. His charm didn’t work on you the way it did with others, but it was so easy to allow yourself to slip under Asmo’s seductive spell. He was so lovely as he pushed your shirt up and slowly kissed down your stomach, brushing his lips over the places Solomon’s fingers had dared to touch. Solomon may have tried to claim you first tonight, but Asmo was determined to overwrite every bit of Solomon’s seduction until the only man you could think of was him; he was the Avatar of Lust, after all. Asmo was programmed to make you come undone at his hands.

Every kiss and puff of air that left Asmo made you tremble and shiver until your hand found his bedsheets and bunched the soft threads against your palm. He heard your movements and giggled, lifting his head slightly and staring up at you seductively. Your body continued to shake under his gaze despite the momentary relief from the pleasure of his lips on your skin. He sat up, removed his bonnet, and chucked it to the floor. Asmo gently loosened your tight grip around his sheets and held your hand briefly before bringing it up to his lips, leaving a lingering, sensual kiss on the tops of your fingers. Slowly, Asmo moved your hand up to his slightly damp hair and guided your hand into a ball until you were gripping it. “Be as rough or as gentle as you need.”

Asmo lowered himself back down to your body until his hair tickled your bare skin, leaving small pools of water where his hair touched you or where droplets fell. The cool sensation of drying water was juxtaposed with Asmo’s hot mouth as his kisses got slower, sloppier, and sexier. He kissed you like he was devouring a dessert with all the lewd sexiness of an adult streamer. The intimacy of it felt overwhelming. Each motion was a clear sign of affectionate dedication. Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust, would go to war for your pleasure and make all forms of perverse, depraved, and beautiful love for your safety. His entire world was you and Solomon in his bed right now, and nothing short of the catastrophic end of all three realms would dare interrupt his blissful peace.

His delicate and thoughtful touches convinced you that Asmo had every intention of unraveling you with his mouth. Even Solomon could sense it as he watched on in amusement. You began to feel self-conscious and needy. Choosing to attempt a diversion, you whined and squirmed away from Asmo’s touch, but he only followed your movements with intensified desire. He knew you were loving this, and if you wanted to pause, you’d have to muster up all your strength and use your words. Whimpering his name, you interrupted his ceremonious flood of devotion. “Asmo, please, wait. I should be spoiling you.”

“Nonsense,” Asmo chuckled, licking a long stripe up your stomach before continuing, “letting me turn you on is spoiling me.”

Asmo pecked your lips lovingly, staring at you with overflowing adoration as he pulled away. It was almost unbearable. He pulled at every defense, like loosening the soft, satin ribbon of a corset, determined to undo your strength and set you at ease. With a heated smirk, Asmo looked up at you from between your thighs. Your clothes were disheveled – pants pulled unevenly around your hips, shirt pushed up to your chest, underwear peeking out over your pants, yet still exposing part of your ass. The only way you could look sexier, Asmo thought, was if he could get you out of those clothes, but he was far too eager and would settle for getting you out of your underwear.

Maintaining eye contact, Asmo slid your pants further down, and you lifted your legs to help him. They were tossed across the room as far as Asmo could manage while he was still fixated on you. He bent down to kiss your bare thigh, tickling you with his breath as he giggled. Mischievous as ever, Asmo quickly swiped his tongue over the wet spot on your underwear. The whimper he pulled from your lips delighted his ears.

“I love you,” Asmo whispered, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh once more. The tenderness in his voice melted your thoughts and stalled your tongue so that his declaration went unanswered – not that Asmo needed a reply when he pulled back and looked at you splayed beneath him. If this was not an act of love between you, then love must be more myth than reality.

Your underwear was discarded on the bed next to Solomon’s thigh – Asmo’s subtle attempt to tease him: leaving your damp underwear in his line of sight, just out of reach. Solomon tugged against his restraints with an annoyed sigh only for the vines to snap right back into place.

In a gentle display of strength, Asmo lifted you and repositioned your body so that you were laying with your head at the foot of the bed. On his knees, he looked down at you again. If only you were wearing my shirt, too, he thought. When Asmo bent down to kiss your inner thighs, Solomon was graced with the sight of Asmo’s gorgeous ass – a show that Asmo was well aware he was putting on, evidenced by the subtle roll of his hips as he moaned against your skin. If he wasn’t doing it on purpose, then he was too sexual for his own good.

The feeling of soft lips, hot breath, and vibrating moans melted every thought in your mind, and just seconds before a plea for more escaped your lips, Asmo pulled away. You whimpered, making an almost pathetic sound. Asmo giggled, thrilled by your cute desperation. “Ready for more, luv?”

“Mhmm.” You looked down at him, catching his burning gaze. He was loving this. In your periphery, you caught a glimpse of Solomon staring at you just as intensely. His cheeks flushed bright pink from the sound of your voice alone, but even the obscured sight of you on your back, waiting for Asmo’s next move so eagerly and obediently, had him throbbing in his pants.

“Good,” Asmo sighed in relief. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Asmo sunk down further than before, kissing you quickly before giving you a gentle lick. You gasped, and he rewarded you by sticking out his tongue, wet with saliva, and leaving it against you for a few seconds as he giggled, allowing you to simply feel the warm slick of his mouth.

Lust – as a pure essence – seeped from Asmo’s tongue. How else could you explain the aphrodisiacal effects he had on your body? It appeared effortless for him to leave you squirming and rolling your hips up against his mouth. Those lovely lips made a mess of you. Loud, needy moans that humiliated all who heard them served as proof of the sexual expertise of the demon between your legs. Your mind clouded. Your breath shortened. Your head lolled back.

You were being so perfect and pretty for Asmo that he couldn’t hold his own need back. His hips lowered just enough so he could leisurely grind against his bed, compounding his pleasure as he continued to taste and tease you. Asmo’s own moans reverberated against you and played as a beautiful accompaniment to your own that drove Solomon wild. Sexually intoxicating you was Asmo’s sole focus – entirely undisturbed until a soft groan from Solomon caught his ear – the sort that indicated a shameful degree of frustration that only made Asmo pull away from you slightly with a giggle. You whined.

“Poor thing,” Asmo cooed quietly, and, for a second, you weren’t sure whether he was talking about you or Solomon. “Should we give Solomon a bit of attention, too, MC?”

As much as you wanted Asmo to keep going, the opportunity to expand your circle of unearthly pleasure excited you – and you knew Asmo would never leave you unsatisfied. Head still hazy, you offered a slow nod as you shakily sat up. Asmo saw your unsteadiness and rose to meet you; a stabilizing hand found the back of your neck as he leaned in to kiss you affectionately. Your taste lingered on his tongue, shared with you through a deepening kiss that was cut cruelly short, the ache of which was only soothed by the adoration in Asmo’s eyes as he stared back at your bliss-stained face.

“My love is too beautiful.” Asmo cupped your cheek and ran his thumb along your lips before prompting your mouth open with it, “and so good, too.”

You bit down on him gently, earning a delighted laugh.

“Fuck,” Solomon sighed, growing impatient and eager for attention. The sight of you and Asmo flirting and being romantic was riling him up, stirring up this dark, predatory aura that dimmed the glow of the roses from a soft pink to a mysterious lavender. Even in the lowered lights, you saw his need and desperation cleanly – compressed and carefully restrained, ready to be made a mess of.

“My poor master,” Asmo giggled teasingly, turning and crawling over to Solomon, leisurely and wordlessly requiring for the release of his thumb – as if he was reluctant to let the appendage leave your mouth without proper attention. Perhaps another time, but at this moment, Solomon’s body called to him. Asmo leaned down, getting a closer look at the twitching tent in Solomon’s pants and running a single finger up it. “Should I give you a hand?”

“Just a hand?” Solomon scoffed. All that teasing and waiting, and the only thing you’ll give me is a hand, Solomon thought, pretty little brat.

“Trust me,” Asmo spoke sweetly enough to appease the great sorcerer, “you’ll like it.”

You and Solomon watched on in anticipation as Asmo undid Solomon’s pants and slid them slowly down his hips. To your surprise, Solomon’s cock sprang up.

“You naughty boy~” Asmo teased, “no underwear~? You weren’t expecting this, were you?”

“You really are a slutty old man,” you chuckled and approached him. Before Solomon could protest, you caught his lips in a heated kiss so intense that his embarrassment leaked from the tip of his cock. Asmo used it to lube up his hand in slow, circular motions around the head before he started stroking Solomon in equally slow motions. A rumbling sigh fed you and died in the back of your throat as Solomon eagerly accepted your kiss. That deep, debauched sound contrasted with the soft, submissive whimper that left his lips as you pulled away and attempted to cling to you.

“Grind on my ass, MC,” Asmo instructed, interrupting your kiss-induced haze.

“What?” you asked, playfully amused.

“Hump me, silly,” Asmo giggled and shook his ass for you slightly – still focusing on pleasuring Solomon. “Let me make you both feel good.”

You pet Asmo’s head gently before you positioned yourself behind him. With a firm grip, you pulled him flush against your hips and started to grind against his soft ass, earning an aroused “oh.” Solomon’s eyes met yours, and despite being bound by vines, he smirked at you, as if he could read your mind. Maybe it was the eroticism of the situation, but as you rolled your hips into Asmo’s, all you could think was fuck, this shouldn’t feel so good. Or maybe Solomon knew what you were thinking because the same thought crossed his mind.

“Do my soft, pretty hands feel good, master~?” Asmo asked, looking up a Solomon with the loveliest eyes – a look that unfortunately went ignored as Solomon watched your face contort in pleasure. Asmo’s only response was Solomon’s desperate attempt to thrust his hips up into Asmo’s hand at the same pace as you were humping his ass; it said enough, and the demon was all melodic giggles.

Was it Asmo’s warm, soft skin, or Solomon’s burning gaze holding you, or the moans of both men that filled the room? Maybe Asmo was using a spell on you? Something intensified the pleasure, and before you could figure out what was getting you so worked up, you were cumming against Asmo’s ass.

Asmo could feel you pulsing as your grinding slowed but refused to stop; a part of you still wanted more – couldn’t bear to separate your body from his. Asmo took advantage of Solomon’s evident excitement at getting to watch you cum and sped up his movements, pulling more lewd noises from Solomon.

“Fuck, please?” Solomon whined mindlessly, “I’m gonna cum.”

“I know~” Asmo cooed. “Be a good master and cum on my face, ‘kay?”

Solomon was so focused on biting back his moans that he couldn’t even manage a nod. Instead, he replied by following orders and spurting cum all over Asmo’s pretty face. Asmo looked up at Solomon; that lovely face that he had made a mess of made Solomon’s cock twitch. Asmo leaned in to kiss Solomon and stretched his arm over to the nightstand, grabbing his D.D.D. and opening the camera app. He pulled away with a seductive smile, turned, and handed you the device.

“Take a flattering picture, luv,” Asmo grinned. He wasn’t going to upload this moment; some things were too intimate to share – but not so intimate that proof of it should stay confined in memories. You snapped a few pictures – some lovelier than others, but one in particular caught your attention as you scrolled back. You showed it to Asmo for his nod of approval. He took his phone from your hand and gently tossed it on the bed so he could caress your face with both hands. “Beautiful.”

You weren’t sure if he meant you or the photo – or maybe you were, but you were too embarrassed to admit that the Avatar of Lust looked at a photo of himself and still turned to you in admiration, in worship. Yet, you, like a disciple, leaned in and began to clean his face with your tongue. Asmo was giddy at your touch, but with each slow trail your tongue traced, fervent arousal grew in him. Even Solomon, confined to watching, felt himself getting hard once more. He was enamored – so much so that he waited until you had cleaned every drop of cum off Asmo’s face before he dared interrupt by clearing his throat.

Asmo laughed and snapped his fingers, freeing Solomon from his binds.

Solomon chuckled, “you sure know how to show a few humans a good time.”

“It’s not over yet, is it?” You glanced down at Solomon’s crotch quickly.

“Of course not,” Solomon got to his knees and kissed Asmo’s forehead sweetly, placing his hand on the base of Asmo’s neck, as he stared at you lovingly, propositioning you. “Let’s give you a fun Asmo night.”

Once again, you weren’t sure who was at the receiving end, but you were certain night would bleed into morning. If the Devildom had a sun, your lovemaking would greet the sunrise in equal beauty.

(A/N: please ignore that this is half a year late and please enjoy the content. Turns out Obey me is almost done, but I'll keep giving you content to make you feel stuff for a while.)

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tired-fandom-ndn · 3 months ago

Note

Is it just me or are people no longer putting fics under read-mores any more? I thought it was basic tumblr fandom etiquette but now I literally don't want to follow 90% of the people who post fic/fic chapters to tumblr because I don't know if I could navigate my dash at all. It makes me feel bad.

It is absolutely not just you, anon, I've noticed it too. I personally don't have an issue with following fic writers (I have the "shorten long posts" thing on) but a lot of blogs have become impossible to navigate, especially if they have infinite scrolling on.

(Hey fic writers? Turn off infinite scrolling on your blogs right fucking now. For the love of god.)

I think part of it may be because a lot of people are becoming aware of how content under read mores can be lost forever if the original blog is deleted or even if the url is changed, but the easy solution to keep your fics from disappearing in that situation is to. . . post them somewhere else. I am still BEGGING fic writers to post everything they write to AO3, even if it's just some ficlets. Make a whole collection of just writings from your blog if you don't want to create individual works for each tiny thing. Just please back up your writing and put it somewhere easy to access, even if it's tiny, even if it's unfinished.

#Anonymous

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manicpixiefelix · 1 year ago

Text

baby, put your back into it {Farleigh Start/Reader/Oliver Quick}

2/2: think about me while you do it [SMUT]

{ masterpost : 2/2 }

Summary: In which Oliver puts you in your place, and makes you beg to be there.

Need to Know: She/Her. AFAB!Reader. Established FWB Brat!Reader/Brat Tamer!Farleigh

Warnings: PWP!! smut; fingering, oral (M receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, lots of arguing, reader is very very bratty, dehumanising language and overall incredibly degrading talk, BDSM, leashes, dacryphilia(crying), reader being treated like a dog, bondage & restraints, creampie, so much begging, sir kink, oliver having the time of his life as a manipulative dom, pet name used for the reader "princess" and being referred to as "good girl"

A/N: 7434 words. never ever as long as i live will i ever write this pairing (farleigh/brat!reader/oliver) again, and not only can you quote me on that, but you can take it to the fucking bank. that being said, i did genuinely LOVE writing this, i think they're dynamic is so incredibly fun to explore, and honestly there's something hot about the mind games they all play on each other. it's just that it takes FUCKING FOREVER for them to do anything because they all hate each other. well, you and farleigh hate oliver and he hates both of you, but you also like to cause problems on purpose which pisses them both off. i love it. i never want to write them again. 10/10 LETS GET WEIRD WITH IT i would love to know what you guys think about this all :) oh also we definitely get heavy on the farleigh/oliver in this as well

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Farleigh has always had these long, delicate fingers that Oliver's been fascinated by since they'd met, since he'd grabbed his thigh - so achingly briefly - in their tutor's office and levelled a grin that surely read as apologetic to the professor for running late, but turned so immediately dismissive the minute his gaze flicked to Oliver himself. For so long as Oliver wormed his way into Felix's life, into his circle of friends, that's all Farleigh had been; dismissive looks and long, enticing fingers poised with cigarettes and disdain like he was a model for Marlboro.

But the coldness in Farleigh's eyes turned warmer, especially over the Summer at Saltburn, and Oliver couldn't deny the heat of his frustration didn't have some kind of want pitting in his stomach. Anger and lust have never truly been strangers, at least not if he was judging by the way Farleigh had been looking at him tonight.

Now, Farleigh was looking at you with that heat in his eyes, looking at your parted lips and breathless smile like he wanted to devour you whole after so readily giving in to Oliver's degradation. Then he's watching the gentle way Oliver caresses your face in the moments that follow, and that heat too turns degrading.

"You really have no self respect," he scoffs; the mood shifts sharply to the left. There's that look in your eyes again like you're on the verge of causing more trouble.

"He said I had no manners!" You protested as Farleigh moved back from you, "my etiquette teacher would be rolling in her grave if she heard that!"

"Etiquette teachers aren't a real thing, are they?" Oliver, genuinely baffled enough to be pulled out of his earlier mood, automatically shuffles back as Farleigh gently pushes you over. You land on your stomach with a humph, hands still trapped at the small of your back, though now Oliver can see the skilled, tight way his belt was binding them. It conjures up images of expensive leather contraptions, restraints, and you on display, desperate for a hungry-eyed academic like Farleigh who'd actually put in the work to study how to best tame a beast like you.

"Do you think she ever stops to think why we call her a princess?" Farleigh scoffs in a brief moment of solidarity as he reclines on the bed. Oliver actually, genuinely laughs at that, much to your chagrin, at least until Farleigh's hand, those beautiful fingers, pushing down the waistband of his own boxers to finally give his cock some sorely needed attention. "Don't think your manners are the most scandalous thing you've been a part of tonight," he adds, turning his head to you with a deliciously sly smile, "your etiquette teacher know you beg like that?"

Oliver had caught sight of the way you were pouting, legs kicking ineffectually against the end of the bed considering how you were trapped in your position, like a little worm. You turned your head to face Farleigh with that same sulky expression, like all three of you didn't know exactly what he was talking about.

"My arms hurt," is all the response you give.

"Good," Oliver hadn't meant to say that out loud, nor had he entirely realised how fucking pleased he'd sounded as he'd said it, but it had seemingly escaped him nonetheless. His focus had been caught on the lazy rhythm Farleigh had been using to keep himself hard, but he still found himself enjoying the sound of your complaints, it seemed.

And your reactions to him; the way your fingers curled, the shiver he could see run down the length of your spine, and how quickly you had to press your face into the mattress, most likely embarrassed by whatever Farleigh would have seen in your expression. It seemed Farleigh himself wasn't even immune, cock momentarily twitching in his hand before Oliver realised how long he'd been staring, and that Farleigh's bright yet smug expression had meant he'd definitely noticed.

"You are taking to this remarkably fast," Farleigh sounds almost pleased, almost proud. You tell him to shut the fuck up, face still pressed against the duvet, but can't kick anyone from this angle, much to his ongoing amusement.

Surfacing, but still rather flustered, you announce sharply that you're not touching either of them until you can use your hands again. Oliver remarks that that's the point, and there's a part of him that's far too pleased about how it makes Farleigh laugh too. Of course this sets you off - he should have known - but it's easy enough for Oliver, sitting on his knees beside you on the bed, to keep you from sitting up too far once you've managed to roll over onto your back.

He knows he's different in this light, leaning over you, everything awash with the blue and silver of the night. For just a moment, it's as if you know you're helpless, his hand flat and warm on your chest, on your sternum, and you can see it in his eyes that he thinks you're helpless beneath him too. The chain around his neck hangs like the sword of Damocles above your own throat, and with the blue, searching, hungry eyes of a man who remembers every last cruel remark you'd tossed at him in the past week.

"Can I at least get some water?" You break the moment, and Oliver almost has to laugh, "it's not funny, I'm thirsty and for some reason," you pointedly rolled your eyes, words dripping with sarcasm, attempting to regain some of the composure you liked to carry yourself with, "I can't move my arms."

"Of course, your highness," Oliver briefly acquiesces, lips twitching into a smile as he made his way to the adjoining bathroom, hoping their was some kind of cup in their. Re-joining the room, he finds Farleigh to be amused, and you to still be on your back, annoyed -

"- not kidding, I'm not doing anything with either of you if you don't take this belt off of my damn hands," you were still insisting. Farleigh just grinned.

"Yeah, Miss Green-Light-Princess, we'll see about that."

Considering how your expression scrunched up to something almost flustered, and you didn't have any kind of comeback, it was safe to say you were still on board, just as Farleigh was delighted to call you out on it. Oliver reintegrates himself, sits himself on the edge of the bed and wears a little smile even as you call him your hero with more bitter sarcasm than he's ever heard from anyone in his life.

"Sit up," so gentle, so opposite of the ways he's been speaking to you just before he'd left; Farleigh is regarding him curiously, but you just roll your eyes. Now that Oliver knew inside and out - pun entirely intended - you were deliciously predictable. Easy to lull into a false sense of superiority.

"I can't."

"Roll over," the sweetness is quickly disappearing. For a brief moment, Farleigh's gaze meet's Oliver's, and he knows exactly what Oliver's doing, even if you haven't clued in. There's a spark of devilish glee that they share in this moment, but Oliver can't let it show on his face.

"What?"

"Roll over, I'll help," Oliver's smile doesn't reach his eyes, but you dubiously agree. Perhaps you think he'll undo the restraints around your wrists. Of course he won't, you should know better than that.

With you obediently on your stomach, Oliver puts the water on the nightstand. One hand goes to your shoulder, the other holds your shoulder.

"Now princess," he murmurs low in your ear, tone oozing condescension, "sit," like ordering a dog when he pulls you upright; you don't even fully notice at first, the pressure from the angle that he pulls your arms makes them ache once more, but then you're sitting up on your knees, and Oliver's lips are inches from yours, leaning into your space with intent, "stay," and you go quiet.

There is fury when he looks in your eyes; your jaw twitches as you bite down on a hundred different retorts. There's something intoxicating about you, the way everything you do in these moments is a war between your cruel nature and your hedonistic desires. You want to kick him, you want him to spit in your mouth, you want to ruin him, you want him to ruin you. All of it is written in your eyes.

You have spent all week treating Oliver Quick like nothing more than a dog; you hate that it turns you on when he returns the favour.

Farleigh is eating this interaction up, watching like a hunter who lay in wait for his prey, content with how Oliver so skilfully toyed with you -

"There's a leash in the bottom draw of the night stand -"

"Farleigh Start, I'm going to kill you with my bare hands when I get them back," you hissed, but Farleigh's comment had piqued Oliver's curiosity. Before you could even look back to give Farleigh a withering glare, Oliver's hand found your throat. Thumb and fingers against your delicate pulse points, not yet cutting off the blood flow, but right where they needed to be.

Ironically it's Farleigh's voice in the back of his mind, a night out at the pub where it had just been mostly guys, and somehow the topic of their sex lives came up. It had been Farleigh who had rolled his eyes and explained - it's here, idiot - reaching over to demonstrate on Felix himself - it's cutting off the blood flow that makes their head spin, not actually choking them to death. Gorgeous fingers momentarily placed on his cousin's throat, Oliver had memorised the placement. Considering what he now knew of Farleigh's relationship with you, he didn't need to guess why he was so sure back in the pub.

"Didn't say speak."

"I'd kick you if I could," your lip curled, even as his grip on your throat tightened. That fire in your eyes was betrayed by the way your heartbeat practically danced beneath his fingertips, "give me my water, I wasn't kidding about that."

There's a long, tense moment where Oliver deliberates. Then, very slowly, he lets you go, and turns, reaching over to the night stand. Out of the corner of his eye there's a very sudden flurry of movement, and of Farleigh moving unexpectedly fast. The water actually shakes with it, spills and splashes several drops onto his thighs, cold in the humid room, before he turns to see the tableaux of attempted rebellion. Farleigh looks still amused, but rather exasperated, like he expected as much, expected to have his hand in your mouth, your teeth in his palm, other hand digging nails into your shoulder as he attempted to hold you back.

"It's like you forgot, Ollie," Farleigh says with a mean little smile, "my dog's the kind that bites," still he plays along, the words coming out lazily despite how he seems to actually have to work to pull his hand from your mouth. Your anger at being thwarted seemed to simmer just beneath your skin; this smile you now wear is laced with malice that hadn't been there before.

"Just having some fun," you practically spat, with both of Farleigh's hands now on your shoulders, holding you in place. This malevolence is it's own kind of fun; your desire to hurt, to wound, to sink your teeth in like a cornered animal betrays you to Oliver. Your pride is starting to win over your desire; your capacity for cruelty is overcoming your desire to be put in your place. Perhaps it was getting to real, perhaps you remembered how much better you supposed you were than Oliver himself. This is exactly how he wants you.

Princess. Collared.

Taking a deep, deliberate breath, Oliver levels a flat, unimpressed look at you. Both you and Farleigh are waiting, watching, letting him lead in this moment, and he does. Water in one hand, he carefully reaches down to the bottom drawer of the nightstand - when you move, the bed moves with you, but Farleigh's grip on you never yields, never lets you lunge at Oliver the way you keep trying. The collar is sleep and simple, padded on the inside, with a leash to match. It even has a little bell, and an engraved tag.

Bitch.

Oliver chuckles a laugh as he reads it, he can't help himself.

"Farleigh thinks he's very funny," you roll your eyes, knowing exactly what Oliver had found so amusing. Farleigh does look particularly pleased with himself over your shoulder.

"It was true when I got it engraved and it's still true now."

But Oliver's moving on again, asking Farleigh to hold the glass of water for him as he fiddles with the collar. He is quiet, intense, arms around your neck as he takes his time doing up the collar; his face is so close to yours, sharing your furious, shaking breathes.

"How is our princess feeling?" Oliver takes the moment to check in, genuine, though it seems to irritate you further, "green light?"

"Do not flatter yourself into thinking I am yet speechless," you spit, "if I truly thought you offered me nothing, and wanted nothing more from you, I am more than capable of making that abundantly clear." You were endlessly fascinating to Oliver; you wanted to maim him, but you wanted him nonetheless. He tightens the collar around your neck. Farleigh still has one hand on your shoulder; his thumb comes to press against the edge of the collar, against your skin meeting the leather as he makes a pleased hum. "Green fucking light, scholarship boy," you give a mocking little smile to Oliver, the bitterness never leaving your eyes.

"Good -" the moment Oliver has latched the collar, has the leash curled at the back of your neck around his fist, you strain forward against it. The bell rings with the movement, a delicate sound for an indelicate moment -

"But I am warning you," forehead pressed against Oliver's, you're straining for any inch, any millimetre more you could get from his unyielding grip on your leash, you practically snarl against his lips with venomous hatred, "about what you will get when you treat me like a dog." Yet Oliver makes sure to remain impassive, perhaps even a little amused, in the face of your threats.

"If I can't make you bark like a good girl, princess," Oliver murmurs, catching your lips in a kiss even as you try to bite him, pulling back with a cold smile, "then I'm going to make you beg."

"Are you going to be a good girl?" Farleigh's voice purrs in your ear, and some of the viciousness about you eases. You sit back, back out of Oliver's space, and watch as Farleigh hands the water back to Oliver's waiting hands, trading him for the leash.

"For you," there's contempt in your eyes as you watch Oliver while addressing Farleigh, "I'll think about it."

Oliver's gaze meet's Farleigh's as he presses his laughter to your shoulder; something in his eyes almost says, well, good luck, I tried. Like Oliver isn't revelling in this chance you've laid before him; like he doesn't know how quickly your body betrays you at every single opportunity.

"If you want some water, you have to ask nicely," Oliver offers. A pause follows, and he watches you change tact.

You relax, letting the fight leave you, pressing yourself back against Farleigh as much as you could. Feeling his face so close to yours you turn, practically nuzzling against him.

"Even if I'm nice, he's going to be mean about it," your voice comes out so sweetly, so transparently manipulatively, "I just want a drink of water, you wouldn't make me beg for a drink of water, Farleigh," you insist, voice plaintive, all doe-eyed and pouting and not looking at Oliver.

"I can and I have and you didn't complain this much," Farleigh saw fit to remind you, giving a wide, mean smile. Your lip began to quiver.

"You're not even fucking me and I'm going to cry," you tried whimpering.

"Funny how none of those sound like any of those safe words," Oliver points out. Your lip stops quivering, in fact, you glare at him out of the corner of your eye as you pout, still trying to be soft and gentle with Farleigh.

"That's because they're not," Farleigh says far too knowingly, far too smugly, muttering into your ear once more, though loud enough for Oliver to clearly hear how sharp and praising it is, "and aren't you pretty when you cry."

"Can't cry if I'm dehydrated," you huff, and finally Farleigh, with a roll of his eyes, gives in with a sigh.

"Give her the water."

You immediately perk up, looking far too pleased to be getting your way, and lean forward expectantly. Oliver will give you this - and only this - before he drags every bit of satisfaction out of you that he wants. So he is careful, doesn't let the water spill, lets you breathe between mouthfuls when you indicate.

"All of it; it's good for you," still he tells you, tone like a teacher, cup insistent at your lips.

"Yes sir," you managed sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you drank more of the water, but something snapped, rewired in Oliver's brain. Farleigh could see it too.

"Oh he liked that," he commented, eyes alight with intrigue, and you frowned as you indicated for Oliver to lower the cup.

"I'm not saying it again."

"The optimism you have about what you will and won't do tonight is adorable," Farleigh tells you, planting a teasing kiss on your cheek, while you tell him to piss off.

"Give me the last of my water, you fuck," you finally manage, and Farleigh finally feels like he can lay himself back down, cackling at your audacity in the face of everything that had just happened. He also drops the leash, at least confident in either Oliver, or his own reflexes, for the time being, "do you want me to drink it all or not? Pick a lane."

Oliver, glass in one hand, reaches between your legs with the other. Immediately, you close your eyes, breath catching, knowing exactly what he was playing at.

"Is that how you think you're going to get fucked tonight?" No response; Oliver's thumb begins moving on your clit, pressing insistent circles as your breathing grows deeper, "are you going to be a good girl?"

"I'm not going to bark for you," you manage through gritted teeth, though after a moment, you half stutter out a moan, "please can you let me finish my water?" Two fingers slide teasingly down your slit, "please, Oliver -" you swallow hard, eyes opening to meet his; he can see this almost pains you, "please Oliver Quick, can I have the last of my water?" Those two fingers inside of you, curling, teasing, pulling a groan from you, eyes fluttering closed, and your voice barely above a whisper, "may I finish my water, sir?"

Oh yes, he did like hearing that from you.

"Of course," Oliver sits back, pleased, licking his fingers clean like a pleased cat while assisting you with finishing off the glass of water. You can't meet his gaze, already embarrassed by how quickly you'd given in. He watches your tongue dart out across your lips, collecting the few drops that had strayed, clinging to the edges of your lips. Beautiful mouth, he's sure he can put it to good use.

"All better, princess?" Farleigh snarks from behind you. Oliver thinks he can see you bite back on a harsh retort, and once again watches you change tact. Shifting away from him, half turning so you were now perpendicular to Farleigh and able to properly look at him, you wriggled your legs out from under you, perhaps a little more comfortable to your side, like a Victorian woman on a fainting sofa, it's an unassumingly sweet pose for the situation. Though it clearly matched the energy you were trying to give off.

"Yes, Farleigh, thank you, Farleigh," without even sparing Oliver a single glance. For a long moment, Farleigh's gaze slides from your innocent act to Oliver, looking unamused and still holding the empty glass. A strange moment of understanding passes between them the minute Farleigh sees Oliver's gaze snap to the leash down your back. So he sits, leans in close to you, and takes your face in one hand. It's clear you're leaning in to this perceived moment of tenderness, but Farleigh stops, a breath from your lips.

"You fucking bit my hand," his voice ice cold, you see there's no humour in his eyes as you pull back and try to stammer out something, anything, genuinely caught off guard, "so thanks won't cut it, princess; you can start with an apology."

"I -" you begin to frown, but then the bed dips behind you, and Oliver's cool hand is grasping at the leash, pulling gently.

"Didn't say speak," he warned, and didn't even give you a moment to butt in before continuing, "show Farleigh you're sorry."

Farleigh, clearly delighted by this turn of events, sits himself up, shuffling back to lean comfortably against the headboard. This confidence becomes him, legs spread in invitation, generous cock resting hard and wanting against the smooth plane of his stomach. For several long moments, Oliver watches Farleigh lazily stroke himself, simply watching you and Oliver through a smug, half-lidded gaze.

"You should see yourselves," the teasing barely hides how his voice is dripping with want. Unsurprisingly, you try to play it off, becoming flustered at the implication of you staring, of how much you knew you wanted him. But Oliver meets Farleigh's gaze, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Farleigh's smile widens.

"Aren't you lucky?" Oliver murmurs into your ear, grip on your leash tight as he keeps his eyes locked with Farleigh's. Though you've gone quiet, Oliver's unsatisfied with your lack of proper response, and gives a pointed yank on your collar.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'm lucky," you sighed faintly, "sir." Farleigh snorts a laugh, and Oliver grins, shuffling himself to sit on Farleigh's other side, by his hip, and looks expectantly at you before giving your leash a tug. At least you seem to be getting into this, considering you actually perk up, scrambling as best you could to sit yourself between Farleigh's legs.

There's something about the gleeful little grin that you give Farleigh in this moment that give away how much genuine joy and anticipation you have to have your mouth on his cock. He too seems at home in this moment, settling back against the headboard with his hands behind his head. It's almost cute, your eagerness, the way you lean down in anticipation before.

"Can I have my hands back now?"

Farleigh goes to sit up, goes to say something, as if he'd realised you'd probably need your hands for the act, but Oliver cuts him off before he can.

"No." And it's too firm for him to argue with. When you look at Oliver this time, there's something there that wasn't before. A moment of genuine doubt, a moment of genuine submission.

"Sir, I think I need my hands for this," instead of argumentative, it's almost pleading. This is the moment he knows he's starting to win. Oliver tips his head to the side, as if regarding you curiously.

"Do you?" He can see the doubt in your eyes grow; it's driving him mad the way he's holding himself back, but good things take time.

"I think so," you don't sound sure.

Oliver moves slowly, deliberately, and makes sure you're following his movements. Farleigh's cock twitches in Oliver's cool hand, but all Farleigh does is let out a low, pleased hum. He starts simply, thumb gliding over his slit, collecting the precum that had been beading there, hand then moving up and down in even strokes. For a moment, he chances a glance at Farleigh, only to see his head lolling back against the bedframe, pleased smile on his lips.

When an actual whimper escapes you, and Oliver feels you tug on your leash in his other hand, he remembers his task at hand. There's lust in your eyes as you wriggle, thigh clenching and rubbing together at the sight of Oliver working Farleigh's cock. This might be far easier than he thought.

"You want this?" Just like a pet owner with their clearly eager dog, Oliver teases you.

"Yes," your practically bark, breathless and eager and embarrassingly fast. It actually seems to catch both Oliver and Farleigh off guard, Farleigh's cock clearly reacting positively in Oliver's hand to your obvious desire, and Oliver giving Farleigh a genuinely impressed look.

"Never seen someone so eager to get their mouth around a cock before; you must've done something special to her."

"Do you want me to teach you or do you want me to show you?" Farleigh's eyes shine as brightly as his smile in the silver-blue glow of the night. Oliver's mouth goes dry at the thought, his own cock aching at the mere thought of what it would be like to look up at Farleigh with his smug approval - knew you could be boy for me, Oliver - and he wants to hate the idea, but he can't. But he doesn't get the chance to respond -

"No, mine," slips from you like a whine, unexpectedly possessive. It brings both boys' attention back on you, however, and you seem to realise your slip up. Mouth opening and closing, you can't even seem to find the words to defend yourself; at least you've learned to shut up.

"Careful princess," Farleigh says surprisingly coldly, slipping back into dominance with practiced ease, "you're lucky, remember?"

"I'm lucky," you nod emphatically, but you're straining against your leash, wetting your lips.

"Good girls get treats," he yanks your collar back to remind you who still holds your leash, "this a treat for you, princess?"

"I do genuinely enjoy it," you admit honestly, seeming a little flustered to be saying as much, looking to Oliver with a sheepish smile, "not with anyone else though," it's actually a very sweet moment.

"Really?" Farleigh seems genuinely flattered, wide, bashful smile on his face as he sits forward a little.

"You seriously don't understand how hot the noises you make are," you laughed a little self consciously, "I came completely untouched once just from going down on you."

"Are we here to stroke Farleigh's ego or his cock?" Oliver rolled his eyes, already tired of this, but Farleigh sat back obliging, while you tried to bend down, but very much couldn't.

"Pick a lane, Oliver," you groaned, before quickly amending, apologetically, "sir." Farleigh snickered. Oliver's gaze grew cold.

"Beg for it."

He pushes his hand between your shoulder blades, forcing you to double over and bend down, but then kept his grip on your leash tight as he held the shiny, plump head of Farleigh's cock just inches from your lips.

"Please," already you were back to playing along, mouth open, breathing heavy, whimpering as you hear an impatient moan from Farleigh himself, "please, sir please -"

"Please what?"

Mouth hanging open, panting like a desperate whore, you beg for Farleigh's cock in your mouth, your throat, to be facefucked and used, whatever - you felt like you were going insane from the suspense. All the words come spilling out from you, begging and dripping with need that Oliver almost gives in right there.

Oliver's hand has been skilfully fisted around Farleigh's cock this entire time, keeping him hard and ready and in the perfect spot to drive you made, just out of your reach. He'd half forgotten he was even doing it, getting him all worked up, leaking, slick, fingers shiny and sticky with Farleigh -

"Oliver -" Farleigh chokes out in a kind of warning tone, as if to tell him to stop playing around one way or the other.

"You think you deserve this?" Oliver finally lets Farleigh's cock go, and you actually whimper. Oliver wipes his hand off messily against your mouth, once more demanding to know if you think you deserve this. You're begging, please tumbling from your lips even as Oliver presses two fingers into your greedy mouth.

"Please, sir," muffled so much that it's almost indistinguishable as your thorough tongue laps at Oliver's fingers, "please, I need him," and the desperate tears are welling in your eyes as he keeps his fingers in your mouth but pushes you back up onto your knees.

"Will you sit for me if I give you what you want?" He pulls his fingers slowly from your mouth. You nod, heartbeat alive when he wraps a firm hand around your throat, "will you stay for me if I give you what you want?" Another nod, lip trembling and breathing so desperately hard. He applies more pressure.

"Anything," you gasp, hips moving again, insistent, desperate for friction; he'd see to that soon, "speak, shake," you wet your lips, "roll over."

Oliver glances over his shoulder to where Farleigh is watching with rapt attention. Good.

"Good dog," Farleigh mumbles, desperately working his own hand up and down his shaft.

Oliver lets go of the leash carefully, and your eyes snap back to him. Just as you promised, you sit, you stay, a good dog, watching him move closer to Farleigh with intent. He hears your breath catch the moment he takes Farleigh's cock in hand, and the desperate chanting of 'pleasepleaseplease' as he lowers himself down. For a moment, he looks to Farleigh, a silent question of permission, but considering he too can hear how desperate and needy you're behaving at the mere sight of this, he realises, at least in part, what Oliver's doing and seems entirely on board.

You were right, Farleigh moans and whimpers like a whore with a mouth on his cock. A wanton melody made all the sweeter for your begging having turned simply to needy noises. What Oliver can't fit of Farleigh in his mouth he continues to jerk off, momentarily slipping down to gently squeeze Farleigh's balls, earning him the most beautiful series of swears Oliver's ever heard. Tongue always moving, caressing, often lapping at Farleigh's slit and the sweet, salty slickness, Oliver works hard to make him feel good - which he knows he's more than capable of, despite his demeanour he's nothing near a virgin in any realm - without getting him to close. He'd still leave that for you.

For a moment he glances up at Farleigh, and the bitterness in his eyes at the edge of the obvious lust, like he resents Oliver for being so good at this, makes it all worth it.

I got you here, Farleigh, Oliver thinks with bitter triumph, everything else is sloppy fucking seconds.

When he pulls away, he makes sure there's a distinctive, lewd slurp before he takes a deep breath.

Looking to you, the fight is back in your eyes, but it doesn't fucking matter; Oliver won. He pulls you in for a rough kiss -

"I hate you," you snarl at him through your intensely frustrated pout, even as his hand grabs your jaw, "interloping little slut, where the fuck do you get off -?" But the minute he pushes his tongue into your mouth you still try to press yourself against him, to kiss him harder, taste all of Farleigh in him that you could. You know you're sloppy fucking seconds to him, and you hate him for it.

"I was thinking it was going to be in you," Oliver says blithely as he pulls away from the kiss. In the back of his mind he knows it's a loaded statement - ha - but he hasn't forgotten the colours if this was a bridge too far -

"Fucking finally you have some common sense," you sneer, as if you weren't still on the verge of tears, "I was going to say that if you ruined my sheets I was going to have you arrested."

"No you weren't," pipes up Farleigh with an eyeroll. Immediately embarrassed you tell him to shut up, "no, I don't think I will; I'm beginning to think you guys are a bunch of fucking teases -"

Oliver gives him a thin smile, handing over the leash, having gotten all the permission he needed.

"Are you going to be good for Farleigh?" He whispered low in your ear, "didn't you want this?"

"Weren't you just begging for it?" Farleigh smirked down at you, lust-filled approval in his voice, "come on, baby," he murmurs as he takes your face in his hands, and immediately you're his, "crying for me?" The teasing starts warm, but as he's wiping the first of the tears from your cheeks, as you're nodding with embarrassment, his teasing turns mean and sharp and smug, "crying like a desperate, little cockwhore," he doesn't even time to let you react before he's giving your cheeks a gentle squeeze; "open up," he orders in that same cruel, loving, smug tone that makes Oliver's hairs stand up on the back of his neck. But you seem to react with relief the moment you have your mouth around him.

There's something that even Oliver finds entrancing about Farleigh in this moment. He'd been leading you both for so long that he'd forgotten where it had all started, the way Farleigh had spoken so early on, and how even in your most vicious or playful, part of you would always refer back to him. Part of Farleigh had earned your respect, and in the end, he had been the only one in the house who made the princess feel like her place was on her knees.

"Now your little power trip is over," Farleigh's voice cuts through Oliver's thoughts like a fucking knife, as always, painful and clean and precise, "do you need my permission to -" but Oliver's done with his bullshit tonight too.

"Shut it Farleigh," he rolls his eyes and starts to move once more. Time he focuses on your bound hands, finally deciding that you'd probably had enough, or at least were willing enough to listen to either Oliver or Farleigh in a way that mattered.

"Oh my god, freedom!" You immediately announced, sitting up to throw your hands in the air with a genuinely delightful glee.

"You see what you've done," Farleigh looked over your shoulder to Oliver, tossing his belt to the side, but you were already using your freedom to crawl up to meet him. Oliver's surprised by how genuine and affectionate you are when you tell him to be quiet for a moment. With one hand still working on him, the other being used to brace yourself up, you kiss Farleigh gently. What surprises Oliver even further is the momentary look of actual love in Farleigh's eyes as he cups your jaw and kisses you back.

Then you're moving back, making sure to let them both know that you weren't kidding about how much you enjoyed going down on Farleigh. However you do give pause, looking at Oliver through narrowed eyes for a long minute where he's sitting by your knees, watching the exchange, not quite sure where he was meant to go from here.

Your foot lashes out at him. Hard. It's unexpected. Somehow, so is the second kick that follows immediately after. The third he anticipates, but by that stage you'd shunted him to the edge of the bed, and though he tries to catch your leg he falls off, unsuccessful.

"What kind of problem do you have?" Oliver is scowling from the floor, his shoulder and hip sore from the fall, while Farleigh is laughing his ass off.

"What are you, a coat rack suddenly?" You demanded, matching his scowl with one of your own, still braced on your hands and knees over Farleigh, "also fuck you for making me beg for water." Careful, Oliver thinks, he's not quite done making you beg.

"Maybe his dick's broken," Farleigh snorted, "which would be a fucking shame; have you had a proper look at it?" Oliver bristled at the implications, though he knew he'd be thinking about the compliment tucked in there for days to come.

"You are both right fucking insufferable," Oliver snapped, getting to his feet and brushing himself off with indignation.

"Yeah, I'll cry about it in the shower later," you could clearly be heard rolling your eyes. There's a few pointedly obnoxious moments where you make a point of gagging on Farleigh's cock before coming back up for air and to add, "fuck me or fuck off - woah, okay, good choice!"

Before you can even finish your ultimatum, Oliver's decided he's come too far to, well, not. Grabbing your thighs with all the strength he could muster, he pulls you almost entirely away from Farleigh, to the end of the bed, half off the bed, causing you to faceplant into the duvet the moment your knees were no longer supporting you. Farleigh's protests fall on deaf ears, however, as all Oliver allows himself to focus on is keeping you stable, bent over the end of the bed like this.

Still, Farleigh shifts down to accommodate your change in position, despite his eye rolling and claims that Oliver's being dramatic, it's overshadowed by the sudden, loud moan that escapes you.

"Never felt someone so fucking desperate for someone they hate," Oliver bites out, almost impressed by how easy it was to bury himself in you. In the moment he gives you to adjust, his hand pressed to the small of your back to which you eagerly arch back against him, he watches Farleigh. It's his turn to be smug.

After a moment, he gives a few, shallow, experimental thrusts. Each time you rock back to meet him, to take him as deep as possible, and each time he hears a faint, pleased whimper. Your body and it's desires has betrayed you at every single opportunity, which is information Oliver gladly keeps in the back of his mind.

"Come on princess," he leans over to you to murmur in your ear where you'd pressed your face to Farleigh's thigh for the moment, attempting to keep going with your hand on him when your body could only focus on the rhythm of Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, "you've got a job to do, don't you want to be good?"

"I want to be good," you keened, before making the effort to prop yourself up, taking Farleigh in your mouth once more.

It's the last moment of care that Oliver affords, however, as he very quickly sets a rough pace, nails digging so hard into your hips that he thinks he might draw blood. But your cunt still clutches at him like it was made for his cock, so slick with how much you need this, need him in this moment, that it's already dripping down your thighs.

The three of you get lost in each other, each desperate moan from your muffled by Farleigh's cock hitting the back of your throat. The sensation soon sets him off and he can't keep his hands off of you. Up on his knees he takes over, takes your face in his hands as you look up at him, teary-eyed with a heady kind of bliss, and he matches Oliver's rhythm as he fucks your face.

Oliver can only imagine the kind of mess you look like right now, but has to focus on sustaining himself, making sure he doesn't leave you with any more excuses to belittle him tonight. So he reaches around, between your thighs, and his fingers find your desperately sensitive clit.

Immediately your stance slips, widens, gives him better access to your clit, and he hears your muffled moan become a choked sob. The beginning of the perfect end.

Farleigh's getting close, his pace is faltering, his hips are stuttering, you're whining and gasping desperate breathes between each of his thrusts, that have turned to wordless, overwhelmed sobs in the past few minutes. Oliver is genuinely impressed that you're able to take all of Farleigh like that; he wonders if he'd dedicated time to training you. He can't dwell on it, not when Farleigh's eyes have fallen closed and he's started mouthing what Oliver can only assume is a string of swear words.

For just a moment, Farleigh looks like an angel. Ethereal. He almost glows. Perfectly at peace and content and not a total, unbearable smug asshole. Then he pulls his cock out of your mouth and lets his legs give out again, flopping back onto your bed with a wide grin.

"I thought Oliver couldn't make you speechless," Farleigh teased, while you had in fact moved past words almost entirely, except -

"Please," you sobbed desperately. Farleigh, who'd never gotten to see you like this from here, lights up, moving back to you. You're shaking, barely able to support yourself, and he finally sees Oliver's hand between your thighs, and puts two and two together.

"Please?" He wears a smile that's all teeth, gently taking your shoulders and the pressure of keeping yourself up. In return you find yourself holding his face, his arms, everywhere, for support as he moved you back to press against Oliver. Taking the hint, Oliver wraps his arm around you, firm against your back, keeping you secure as he fucks up into you.

"Pleasepleaseplease -"

"Words, princess," Farleigh tells you as he brushes Oliver's hand out of the way, letting him focus on the new angle, the new sensation, the way you're trembling and so close to cumming on his cock. Before you can even formulate proper words at first, your head falls forward onto Farleigh's shoulder, sobbing, aching with how good you've been made to feel.

"I'm so close," you choke out, "please can I -"

"Selfish," Oliver admonishes coldly, and the reaction is immediate.

"No, no," you whimper apologetically, something Farleigh's never heard from you before. Lifting your head you lean back, fitting yourself against Oliver further, trying to placate, "please, no I promise- you, I need -" you take a deep, shuddering breath, "Ollie, please, it feels like I'm going to fucking die if you don't cum in me," you blurt out. Farleigh actually laughs, he's never seen you so fucking weak for another person.

Your begging and desperate pleas spur Oliver on, holding you tighter, fucking you harder, until he finally leans forward, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. It sends you over the edge, has you seeing stars as you cry out. Shudder and sobbing with your release, you feel Oliver bury his cock deep in you as it twitches and throbs and paints your inside.

Oliver lets you go, lets you fall onto Farleigh as your orgasm is still quaking through you. Oliver's hands grip your hips, keep you flush to him, keep you from pulling away.

"That's a good girl," Farleigh murmurs in your ear. He's holding you close with one arm, the other gently running his fingertips up and down your back in a comforting rhythm. He doesn't bother sparing Oliver a second glance, Oliver isn't an important part of this equation to him anymore. Not that that matters to Oliver.

It was far easier to pick you apart, to own you inside and out, than he'd ever imagined. He'd brought you to tears, made you beg for every last bit of fucking pleasure including every inch of him and then some. He would leave you aching, leave you knowing that you both knew the truth of where your place is in his world.

Finally Oliver pulls out of you, wiping his softening cock on your thighs before he thinks about getting dressed. He does take a few moments, while you're still half bent over the bed and being supported by Farleigh, where Oliver watched with a detached kind of approval, the way his cum starts to leak out of you, down your thighs with your own shining arousal.

The princess had been collared, cuffed, and his, inside and out.

"Thank- thank you, Oliver Quick," your voice is demure and grateful among your sniffles and whimpers, and Oliver can't help but smile to himself. His pride in you extends only to your final show of submission, though it's pride nonetheless.

"Good girl."

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