#there will be no more cliffhangers in this fic

[nadvs]

cam girl (part ten)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe degrades you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.

» masterlist

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Rafe is on your mind constantly. At this point, you’ve accepted it. There was something about the way he looked at you in his car last night. Possibly. Hopefully.

You stand in a quiet aisle, eyeing merchandise while you hold the charm on the necklace he gave you, the metal warm under your fingertips.

You’d never been in a sex shop before. The guys you hooked up with before Rafe were nowhere near as kinky as him and you bought all the stuff you needed to be a cam girl online.

But seeing all the possibilities makes your stomach twist with excitement. You want to try absolutely everything with Rafe.

You’ve been thinking about coming here throughout all your classes today with one thing in mind. Rafe loves to use toys on you, but you’ve never used anything on him.

With Rafe’s need for control, you assume he won’t be all that open to using a cock ring, but you want to do something special for him. Maybe you can introduce him to something for a change.

You find a vibrating ring that you know will fit him, then decide to send him a photo of the toys in the aisle behind you and text him: this is a great place to meet guys.

Before you’re even at the register, your phone buzzes.

Rafe: dont joke like that

Rafe: buying something for yourself princess?

He sends you $100.

You reply: something like that :)

You check out at the register and head home, already looking forward to tonight. Your phone buzzes again.

Rafe: when can i come over?

You smile at your phone.

You: what about our cam session?

You get a notification that he sent $1000. The alert makes you wonder if he thinks you’re just doing all this solely for the money and gifts.

You’d do it all for free.

Rafe: i won’t wait that long

Not just can’t. He won’t.

You reply: like 8ish?

Rafe: ok

It starts to rain close to 8 and when Rafe arrives at your place, his hair is wet and his face and jacket are peppered with raindrops.

“Is the valet not working today?” you joke, knowing full well he had to find street parking on your busy road.

He breathes a chuckle, stepping into your apartment with his usual ease. You’ve noticed that he walks into every room like he owns it.

Rafe shakes off his jacket and places it on the back of one of your kitchen table chairs while you grab a clean hand towel out of your hamper.

“Sorry this towel’s not a million thread count,” you tease, meeting him to dab the towel over his face.

His blue eyes search your face with a hint of something new. Confusion?

You realize you didn’t even think about it; you thoughtlessly started to dry him off. It was such a mechanical response. Your impulse is to take care of him, make him comfortable.

It’s official. This man is not just a fuck buddy to you anymore.

“What?” you ask, knowing you need to crack a joke to break the tension. “I’m just drying off my seat.”

“Oh, my God,” Rafe groans, trying to act annoyed, but you know he’s not. You laugh and lower the towel, squeezing the cotton in your hands.

“What’d you buy?” he asks, clearly eager.

“I’ll show you later. I wanna hear what you have planned,” you say. “You always have something planned.”

“You first,” he says.

“Rafe,” you whine, dropping the towel to rest your hands on his firm shoulders. “Can’t I surprise you for once? What do you want to do to me tonight?”

“I wanna see what you bought,” Rafe solidifies.

You suck your teeth in frustration, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“Please?” you breathe. “I’m always the one waiting. Why don’t you wait for once?”

Rafe’s jaw tightens and he shakes his head in disbelief like he can’t believe he’s giving in, but he gives in.

“You ever been tied up?” he finally asks, his voice so deep that it reverberates through you. The air is suddenly thick and any impression of humor that was floating between you has been dismissed by his words.

“Like… bondage?” you say in a short breath, mulling it over as blood rushes to your cheeks. “No. I haven’t.”

He closes the already minuscule distance between you, cradling your jaw in his cool hand.

“I want your hands tied up while I fuck you,” he says. Your mouth goes dry. Just when you think he can’t get any fucking hotter.

Rafe’s hand drops and you hear his belt unbuckling while his hot breath spreads across your cheek.

“Why the fuck are you still dressed?” he rasps. You’re reeling as you strip down to nothing but the necklace he gave you. You hear the clang of his belt buckle falling onto your kitchen table beside you.

Rafe’s hands drag over your hips, pinching down when he turns you to face the other way. He’s still in his boxers, his cock jabbing against your ass. His warm chest is pressed on your back, rising and falling.

“You’re always the one waiting?” he mutters. The belt buckle drags off the table top, and when you feel him roughly grab both your wrists and wrap the thick leather around them, the familiar need for him between your legs aches.

“You’re always waiting,” he repeats with a scoff. “I’m the one who’s always fucking waiting.”

You want to know what he means, but the belt is suddenly tight around your wrists, your chest jutting out. Rafe pushes you by the back of your neck so that your front is down on your table, your cheek flush against the hard plastic.

“Spread your legs,” he orders.

The muscles in your thighs are strained and your hips burn against the hard table from the way he has you bent over. He couldn’t even spare the few seconds to go to your bedroom.

You feel his tip press against you, making you wonder which hole he wants to fuck.

“Beg for it,” he orders. His fingers tighten around the back of your neck. Your arms are already burning from being bound like this.

“Please fuck me,” you moan, lips flanged from how hard your cheek is being pushed against the table.

“Say my fucking name,” he tells you.

“Please, Rafe,” you obey. He groans in response, hands settling on your hips.

He stretches your cunt out so fucking slowly that you want to scream. You push back against him, and you swear, he laughs at your desperation.

Rafe finally bottoms out in you, his hips against your ass. He puts his hand over your bound wrists, starting to drag out again.

“This pussy is fucking mine,” he says. As if you need the reminder. He owns you completely.

When he picks up the pace, driving into you, your breath hitches. With every thrust, your hips grind against the hard table, making you ache in pain.

“Ow,” you snip before you can stop yourself.

Rafe immediately pulls out of you, making you writhe in frustration.

“What hurts?”

“Nothing,” you lie, wanting him more than you want the pain to stop. “Keep going.”

“What hurts?” he repeats sternly.

“My hips,” you admit. “I’m fine, it’s just ‘cause of the table. Please just-”

“I’m not making you cry again,” he snaps. He cups a hand on your shoulder. “Go to your bed.”

“Rafe, it’s fine.” You feel oddly ashamed, like you’re not doing your job pleasing him how he wants you to.

“Go,” he mutters. His hand pulls you up and you have no choice but to let him push you into your bedroom.

Your wrists are still bound at your lower back when he bends you over your bed. You sink onto your stomach, feeling Rafe’s fingers spread you open before driving his cock into you again.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he relentlessly pounds in and out of you. Your arms strain against the constrictions of his belt, the sensations so fucking perfect.

“Shit, I’m…” he groans, and you know he’s close, so you try to tilt up your hips so he can get as deep as possible.

Rafe shakes through his orgasm and you think how you could never tire of this feeling, of being the one he finishes inside of and reaches this feeling with.

He’s panting when he pulls out of you. Your wrists burn against the belt as he loosens it. His hand smooths over your ass before he spanks you and collapses beside you.

“Show me what you bought,” he says. “It better make you cum.” You tilt your head to meet his gaze.

“Have an open mind, okay?”

“Damn, what the fuck is it?” Rafe asks with a curious laugh.

You’re sore as you get up on your knees and shift to grab the white ring you already took out of the packaging and placed in your nightstand.

When you settle back on the bed and hold it out in front of him, his brows furrow.

“Is that…?” He can’t finish the sentence, his tone apprehensive.

“It might feel really good,” you say with a small smile. “I got a vibrating one.”

Rafe sits up, glancing down at your purchase before looking up at you again.

“Come on,” you laugh. “You surprise me all the time. I can’t surprise you?”

He clears his throat.

“I don’t know,” he says simply, blinking fast. It sounds like a hard no.

“Oh,” you say. You’re shocked he’s not at least a little open to it, considering how kinky he is. “Okay. Sorry.”

You turn to put the toy away, but his next words stop you.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Fine.”

“Really?” you ask, meeting his eyes again.

“You just look so fucking sad,” he groans.

“You don’t have to do it.”

“Let’s just try it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “After everything I do to you…” You smile in response.

Rafe sits up against the head of your bed frame and you straddle him, dipping your head to kiss him. It’s strange how with him, making out feels more intimate than sex does. As good as the sex is, nothing gets your heart fluttering quite like when his lips are on yours.

Your hands settle on his shoulders and you tug at the ends of hair as you kiss him passionately.

Rafe smiles under the kiss, your lips molding together, his tongue tumbling with yours. You feel him getting hard again.

You pull back to slide the ring down his cock and he sighs in a way that tells you he can’t believe he’s actually doing this before he takes you in to kiss you again.

Rafe’s hands roll over your ass, squeezing and kneading as you sit on his naked lap. This is the longest you’ve ever kissed. It feels crazy to realize that, considering everything you’ve done together.

“Shit,” he shifts beneath you. His cock is growing, the ring starting to squeeze around him.

“How’s it feel?” you ask.

“Good,” he breathes, eyes low. It makes your heart swell with pride. “Ride me.”

You sink down on him slowly, feeling the ring against you once you’re fully seated. You find the button at the top of it to turn on the vibration.

You both exhale in pleasure at the same time. He skims his hands up to your waist, looking at you while you grind on top of him.

In the dim light of your quiet bedroom, the toy buzzing against your clit, how deep he is inside you, the way his eyes are locked on yours… it’s all so perfect. Everything with him is so fucking perfect that it can’t be true.

The fact that you ended up here all because of a part-time cleaning job and a cam website feels insane.

Your palm is against his hot chest. He looks down at it and his dimples dip into his cheeks as he smiles smugly.

“Your hands are so fucking cute,” he teases. The non-sexual compliment sends you into a tizzy.

“Yours are huge,” you retort, trying to keep cool.

“What else is huge?” he asks.

“Your ego.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs.

“Okay,” you tease, starting to sit up so he’ll slip out of you. He roughly pulls you back down by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Rafe mutters. You laugh and start to fuck him faster, your hips rolling in circles.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tilting back. “I… Fuck, I need to get on top.”

You shift to let him settle over you, your head resting on your pillow. Rafe’s hand runs up the side of your bent leg and he grabs your calf to pull it towards him, silently inviting you to wrap your legs around him.

You hook your ankles together, your entire body hugging him.

You fuck for at least twenty straight minutes, both of you sweating and panting and shaking. You knew he’d last extra long with the cock ring tight around him, but this is unbelievable.

You cum twice underneath him in the span of the session, earning a string of “good girl”s from him. By your third orgasm, he starts to tremble, too.

When Rafe cums inside you, his name tumbles out in his groan. Not princess, not baby, not good girl, but your name, and it gives you a knotted feeling in your stomach that you haven’t had with him yet.

Maybe it’s because he’s elated over coming down from a new level. Or maybe it’s more.

He pulls out, still dripping.

“So… you like my present?” you ask when he falls in your bed next to you.

“Fuck,” Rafe groans. “That was…” He doesn’t seem to have the words, but neither do you. How do you even begin to describe something this unreal?

“I need water,” you say, unsure of how you’re going to even stand up. “Want some?”

He shakes his head in response.

You stand at your kitchen sink, leaning against the counter and swallowing down cold water. On your way back to the bedroom, you notice a lit up screen on your kitchen table.

Rafe must have left his phone here before you moved to the bed. Through pure instinct, you look at the screen. By the time you realize you’re accidentally snooping, it’s too late.

You don’t see the contact name in time, but you do see the message.

bro where are you? too many bitches here for just me lol

A chill rushes through your body. It must be one of his buddies waiting for him at a party.

Of course. It’s a Friday night and you’re pretty sure all the rich people on the island have to do is party.

You feel like an idiot. Expecting exclusivity from Rafe in the arrangement you’re in was ridiculous. Of course he’s fucking around on the side. Someone like him, with his sex drive, can’t be satisfied by one girl.

At this point, you just want him to leave, so you collect his clothes off the kitchen floor.

Thankfully, Rafe’s already sitting up in your bed when you reenter your bedroom. Surely eager to go.

“Here,” you say coldly, handing him his jeans and t-shirt. You don’t look at him when he takes his clothes from you. “Are you gonna head out?”

You realize when you ask the question, it’s like a secret test you’re putting him through. If he stays, he gives a shit about you. If he leaves, he doesn’t.

“Yeah, I should,” he says. He should. Yeah, he really should go look at and flirt with and fuck other girls.

“‘Kay.” You start to collect some clean clothes from your dresser, covering your body with them, feeling strangely insecure around him now.

“You pissed off or something?” he asks behind you as he gets dressed.

You clench your jaw. Honestly, you’re more hurt than anything. But are you even allowed to be? Just because he acts like your boyfriend sometimes doesn’t mean he is.

“No,” you reply. You swallow down the painful feelings and turn to look at him. “Just tired.” You think back to your texts yesterday about how often you’ve hooked up. “Lost count, right? I might need a break.”

You don’t mean it. At this point, you’re just defensive. Wanting to hurt him like he hurt you.

Rafe’s face flashes in displeasure.

“What - why? What the fuck happened in the last fucking minute?” he asks.

“I’m not allowed to be tired?” you respond.

He dips his head, nodding as he buttons his jeans. He seems silenced by his own anger. Your eyes sweep down his muscled body, wishing he’d just hug you and ask you what’s wrong one more time and reassure you that you’re more than just sex to him.

You can tell he’s pissed off and you know you’re not being fair, but you let him leave without any more words exchanged between you.

After a long shower, you lie in bed and wish Rafe didn’t leave his smell on your pillow. You browse your phone, trying to distract yourself.

You tell yourself you’ll go to sleep in five minutes over and over again. You’re working at the estate tomorrow. You need to get up early. But you know the moment you close your eyes, you’ll be trapped in your thoughts. You don’t want to think about him.

It’s nearing midnight when a text comes in.

Rafe: princessssssdsssss

You look at your screen in confusion. Is this a drunk text?

Rafe: ur mean

Rafe: but ypur pussy is sooo niiice lol

Yeah. He’s plastered.

Rafe: ans you have cutehands

Rafe: you akwyas smell good how the fuck is fhat possibke

You hate that your heart warms at the fact that he’s clearly fucked up but his instinct is to text you.

You reply: i think someone’s drunk…

Rafe: yes iam

Rafe: idk what i’m gona do with yiu loool

You: what do you want to do with me?

You get an alert that he sent you $69.

Rafe: that

Rafe: looool

Sex. Of course.

You: are you going to make me do every position?

Rafe: you’r efreaky as fuck. i know youd like it

You: true…

Rafe: lowkey ur all i think about

Goddamn it. Your heart is pounding at this point. You try to play it off.

You: oh only lowkey. cool

Rafe: don’t be maddd

You: i’m pissed

Rafe: we should fuck aboutt it :)

You know the answer to your next question, that he sees you as a booty call and that’s all, but you know the confirmation.

You: is that all you want to do rafe? fuck?

Rafe: YES

Rafe: what if i come over again tonigjt lol

You: i work tomorrow. i need to sleep

Rafe: you need this dick

You: omg

Rafe: do you likw this skng

Rafe: song

You: ??? what song

You can’t stifle your laugh at how shit-faced he is.

Rafe: irs good

Rafe: u should giveme a lap dance

You: you’re drunk as hell. i’ll see you tomorrow, ok? goodnight

You think back to the way he looked when you snapped at him earlier and decide to send one more message.

You: sorry i was mean

He doesn’t reply. Maybe it’s better that way.

Your body is heavy the next morning. You barely make it to the Camerons’ estate. You don’t see Rafe at all in the morning. You’re guessing he crashed at whoever’s party he went to.

You wonder how many bitches, as he and his friends say, he talked to last night.

When it’s time to turn over his bedsheets, you take a moment to take in the familiarity of his bedroom. When you pull over a new fitted sheet, you realize just how exhausted you are.

There’s no reason for another maid to come into this room. It’s on your list only. And Rafe is gone.

So, what’s the harm in lying down to rest, just for a little bit? You’ll do a better job when you’re not exhausted.

You won’t close your eyes.

You lie on his pillow. Okay, maybe you can close your eyes for a minute. You’ll count to sixty then stand back up.

The numbers quickly melt away and you slip into a slumber.

When you wake up, nuzzling your face into the pillow, Rafe is in bed with you, his back to you.

It takes a moment to remember where you are. You sit up and he notices the movement, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

{ read part eleven here }

author’s note: shoutout to my readers for being so creative. thank you to this anon and this anon and to another reader (you know who you are) for your contributions to this chapter! ILY!

[rintoki]

when you sleep at night

characters: kafka x dom!reader

tw: somnophilia, dubcon, nothing too crazy actually relax

a/n: i guess this can be considered a second part to my first kafka smut, its like the exact same setting and dynamic.

MINORS DNI

the door opens easily as kafka steps into the entrance way, slipping out of her heeled boots and quietly making her way through the dark living room. all the lights in the house was out and it was eerily silent, through the dim lighting kafka strains her eyes to check the clock hanging on your wall.

11:37pm

you couldn’t possibly be sleeping this early yet. but, alas, you proved to be unpredictable to her once again as she turns the knob to your bedroom, pushing it open to reveal your sleeping form on the bed. her feet padded softly on the floor; taking slow, deliberate steps closer to the bed that you laid on.

kafka clicked her tongue, a tinge of annoyance blossoming in her chest when she sees that you were indeed fast asleep and not just pretending to mess with her. not that you were the type to do that anyway. she felt her finger twitch unconsciously, standing foolishly by your bed as she is once again reminded of how little you cared for her. despite her now regular visits to your residence, you never once welcomed her, nor have you ever made any type of accommodations towards her.

the woman breathes deeply, your familiar scent permeates the room and her body is quick to react to it. reminded of all the late nights spent together, how warm your body felt next to hers, and how good you made her feel. kafka shuts her eyes for a moment, deciding on what to do now. part of her knows that the right thing to do is to leave and come back another time, preferably informing you beforehand like you had asked of her.

but instead she remains in her spot; unmoving as she watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, your soft breasts hidden underneath the thin material of your pyjamas, and how easy it would be to simply unbutton it right now. kafka finds herself getting lost in her thoughts, eyes raking over your body as she thinks about everything she could do to you now. but more than anything, her purple eyes finally land on your hands; the same hands that brought her orgasm after orgasm. the very ones that hugged and caressed her body, how she wanted to feel them again.

and as if in a trance, kafka pushes her jacket off her shoulders, letting the expensive coat fall to the floor without a care. normally unheard of with how much she loves her coats, but now there’s no one here to see that. and there’s no one to witness as she peels off the layers of her clothing, her belly tightening with every passing second and soon the woman stood in nothing but her panties.

kafka crawls gingerly onto the bed, careful to not wake you as she eyes your hand resting by your side. she tests the waters, nimble fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling it away from your body. when you show no reaction does the excitement bubble up within her, her pussy already beginning to ache with need

inch by inch, she shuffles closer. until your relaxed fingers lay just underneath her clothed pussy, a wet spot now forming on her panties. kafka’s breathes deeply, trying to keep it even as she lowers herself onto your hand, feeling your fingers fold naturally under her weight.

a shaky breath escapes her at the feeling, slowly moving her hips back and forth on your curled fingers, not caring how awkward the position was. kafka watches your sleeping form carefully, but you showed no signs of waking up, still blissfully unaware and deeply asleep.

a small part of her was annoyed—that you didn’t wake up and catch her in the act, that she won’t get to see your reaction. but the larger part of her is now pushing off her panties, letting her bare pussy rub against the palm of your hand. it was warm, and the ridges brushed perfectly against her swollen clit. kafka shudders, her breathing turns heavy as she continues the slow rutting of her hips, allowing herself to enjoy the sensations until your hand was sufficiently lubricated from how much she leaked.

and with shaky hands, she positioned your fingers upright, aligning it with her hole before sinking down upon them. kafka nearly whines, biting back any sounds as your fingers penetrates her tight walls. she grips your wrist, holding them in place as the woman lifts her hips once again, this time pushing your fingers into her pussy. again and again, your fingers sunk deep into her warmth and kafka pants quietly. her mind was feeling dizzy from the entire situation, the fact that you weren’t even conscious now and yet you still managed to reduce her to this state. how even just your fingers was enough for her pussy to twitch and push back so desperately against your hand.

she squeezes her eyes shut, her head hung low and nearing the verge of her orgasm as she angles your wrist so that the tips of your fingers brushed against her spot. the sensitive patch of nerves singing in response as it felt like shocks ran through her body. kafka gasps loudly, unable to hold back her moans now as it almost felt like your hand was moving by itself. too far gone to put the pieces together even when your fingers begin to curl and thrust inside her, or when your thumb has suddenly begin to press against her clit at the same time.

her mouth hung open, panting breathlessly as her body felt like it was on fire. her hand wrapped helplessly around your wrist even as it moved by itself and her back arched, muscles flexing and her thighs trembled terribly. kafka was right on the edge, just a little more… just one more stroke, just one more thrust…

“agh…! fu—fuck, wha…!”

the woman felt every sensation in her body stop cold. before she’d knew it your hand was already ripped from her body, and her orgasm had come to a screeching halt. kafka nearly chokes, scrambling to her senses as she finally raises her head to face you.

from her flushed expression to her bare body, your cold eyes finally landed on your soaked fingers, covered in her wetness after having used it for her own pleasure. kafka watches with wide eyes; somewhere in her mind she understood that you had probably been awake for a while now, that you’d probably purposely fucked with her. brought her to the brink of an orgasm before ruthlessly ripping it away from her.

her heart pounds in her chest, an unfamiliar feeling as she waits for your next move, your next words. what will you with her now? she’s not that shameless to ask you to make her cum again after begin caught like that, but for whatever reason she could feel her pussy tightening again, waiting with anticipation of what you might do to her now.

[vinelark]

as somebody who isn't a timkon shipper but respects their beliefs, it is so fun watching everybody lose their shit every time you update bbts. you go you funky lil shippers i am studying you like bugs. i would read it myself for the full experience but miscommunication is my arch nemesis and i never win our battles. peace and love though. <3

“as somebody who isn't a timkon shipper but respects their beliefs” has to be one of the funniest phrases that has ever landed in my inbox. thank you for your allyship

[ghastigiggles]

Hellooo!! Can I join the Mischievious Prompt please? Hehehe... Can I request Lee Gallagher and Ler Adventurine (or who ever male lers you think will suit the plot other than MC), with the prompt "Wait, wait, wait-- Are you-- Ticklish?" Thank you so much in advance! Please no foot tickling hehehe

Mischievious Prompts [Still Open]

"Wait, wait, wait-- Are you ticklish?"

Gallagher chuckled at the disbelieving words, giving Siobhan a brief glance. The bartender herself simply snorted, shaking her head and moving further down the counter.

“I’m not helping you this time. I warned you…”

“Ahh… You wound me, but fair’s fair, I guess.”

With a slow sigh, Gallagher turned his attention back to his unlikely drinking buddy, who just seconds earlier had accidentally hit a nerve in his neck and gleaned some very inconvenient, if harmless, information. Aventurine held no remorse, smirking to himself as he eyed up the Bloodhound.

“Well, forgive me if I’ve overstepped, of course,” Aventurine offered coolly, despite the amused tremor under his voice; “I just didn’t expect someone like you to have such a weakness.”

“Weakness is an interesting choice of words. I prefer to call it a quirk. Besides, I’m sure Mr. Aventurine also has his fair share of… Quirks.”

Gallagher, experienced as he was, definitely noticed the very faint flush of Aventurine’s cheeks – but still, the blonde played it cool, laughing softly and propping his cheek against his hand.

“Oh? Care to make a wager on that, then?”

“Ah, I’m not a betting man,” Gallagher snorted back, waving a hand; “That’s your gig, and I’m happy with mine. But if you’d like me to prove my theory, well, that’d be a different story.”

“Geeze, you’re both unbearable,” Siobhan groaned, crossing her arms and glaring down at them; “There’s no one in here. Equal rights, equal fights; get on the floor and get this over with.”

Mr. Bigwig quickly whipped their head around, their tail wagging and summoning the attention of the rest of the Dreamjolt Troupe.

“A fight?! Siobhan’s letting them fight!”

“This’ll be good!”

“Tear him up, Mr. Gallagher!”

The two men glanced back towards the beasts, then exchanged a glance and shared a chuckle, rising from their stools. Gallagher stretched, cracking his knuckles.

“Well, it’d be a shame to disappoint our audience, now, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed. Let’s dance; may the best man win.”

[enobariasteeth]

The phenomenal fanfic I was reading just ran out of chapters

[gothic-mothic]

“Sometimes, at the most unfortunate times, I think about us. I picture us outside and I wouldn’t bring much attention to these thoughts if it were simply us standing in the open but it’s much more than that. I imagine you and me in another life; a life were we do laundry together and go grocery shopping. I see myself cooking breakfast for you and I see you setting the table. I imagine waking up next to you every morning and going to sleep beside you every night. Such small trivial things but in every thought we’re happy, — it’s silly isn’t it?”

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday

I'm back with more MLC excerpts!! (sorry I missed the last 2 weeks!)

In honor of it being the 1 year anniversary of my neurosurgery and of my finally being over the sinus infection from hell enough to write, here's an extra long excerpt (. . . and an extra evil cliffhanger? #sorrynotsorry. It will all work out, I promise)!

This is more from the (difanghua) MLC fic where DFS and FDB rescued LLH from the donghai beach after his shiniang tried to sacrifice herself to cure him and he shattered his own heart meridian to stop her.

For anyone who's interested in seeing how I put my analysis from the CPTSD meta into practice via fic writing, enjoy!

(To read earlier excerpts–although it’s not necessary!– you can follow these links to read part 1 (LLH), part 2 (FDB), part 3 (DFS), part 4 (DFS), or part 5 (FDB), or part 6 (LLH). Oh, and another excerpt from a WIP ask (LLH))

TW: panic attack, medical emergency, flashback (nonconsensual medical procedure)

**

He shivered as familiar icy tendrils tore through him, chilling him to the bone.

Damn it.

“Xiaohua? What’s wrong? Is–is this a trick?”

“Xiangyi, what do you need?”

He tapped the three points on his chest that had always controlled these attacks before and slid his hand down.

Nothing happened.

He tried again. A wet cough ripped itself free and black spots started to crowd in front of his eyes.

Firm hands gripped his shoulder and spun him 90 degrees. 

A large palm pressed against his back, radiating a slow, creeping warmth. Familiar callouses returned to his wrist, pushing down far harder than before.

“He needs Yangzhouman into his zhong fu,” a-Fei said, from somewhere close behind his ear. “Now!”

A shaking finger poked his lung meridian, and a sharp pain flared along his collarbone. 

“Less than that! Calm your qi if you want him to live,” a-Fei snapped. 

“Sorry,” Xiaobao murmured, his breath brushing against his face. 

Time crawled like qi through his meridians.

After a few breaths, the chokehold on his lungs began to relax, and the icicles that had replaced his bones began to thaw.

He let his shoulders fall from their perch by his ears, used some of the Yangzhouman to force the Bicha flare back to more manageable levels, and circulated some of the newly introduced Yangzhouman through what remained of his lung meridian, and through his newly reconstructed heart meridian. It did feel sturdier, didn’t it? Thicker than it used to be. As though it had been reinforced–

–his qi battering against the walls of his meridians, desperately trying to–

“Xiangyi? What is it?”

The room suddenly felt far too small. He needed more space, more air, needed this transfer to be done. Immediately. “That’s plenty. You can stop now.”

The thin stream of qi from his back cut out, but the one on his chest pulsed on. 

His skin crawled with the need to get up, this instant. “Xiaobao, I said stop. Save some for yourself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve barely given you any yet.”

Li Lianhua’s hands started to shake. “It’s more than enough.”

“Will you quit lying? I can still see the Bicha lines on your neck.”

That was it. Another second of this and he’d make a break for the door, legs willing or no. “Brat, listen to your shifu.” He flung his arm up to bat Xiaobao’s away.

“Shifu?” His wrist was grabbed before his arm could make contact. “I’m not falling for that again, you old fox. So don’t–” a hard jab to an acupoint,

“even–” a second hit, and he forgot how to breathe,

“try it!” 

***

“–Stop fighting it, Xiangyi. Listen to Shiniang. Please, let me save you!”

“I said, let me GO.” He lashed his qi against his acupoints again, with more force than any blow he’d leveled before, even at his shixiong at the end. The reinforced structures started to shake. Just one more hit, that’s all it would take, and then–

“–Fang Duobing! What did you do?” “N-nothing! I just–”

“Undo it! Now!”

“But he was about to–”

“NOW!”

Li Xiangyi blasted his qi against the obstruction with all his strength.

There was a loud crash, the sound of splintering wood.

A wet, pained gasp from somewhere far in front of him.

“Fang Duobing!” 

“I’m fine. Xiaohua, are you ok? Say something!”

Why did Xiaobao sound so pained?

Li Lianhua blinked his eyes open to a blurry haze. 

But he didn’t need clear vision to recognize Xiaobao’s silhouette–

–slammed against the cabinets–

–with red spreading around him.

“Xiaobao,” he gasped, and tried to stumble out of bed.

“A-Fei, don’t let him–”

The world tilted wildly.

A hand pressed against his chest.

“Xiangyi, don’t you fucking dare di–”

[taetaenoway]

Assassination Academia

My Cover for Assassination Academia: A Very Extra BNHA x Assassination Classroom Series

Art and fic by me! (taetaenoway)

Art is rework the Shonen Jump Vol 23 cover. First time ever attempting non-traditional art. I think it went pretty well! 

To Become a Hero - Chapter 12: To Make a Gambit IS NOW RELEASED! FINALLY!! I THOUGHT IT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN *LE SOBS* 

Preview: Before this whole Civil War exercise even started, Hitoshi looked Karasuma in the eye and said, “This is going to go to shit.”

[acheronidae]

It's gonna be a fuckin while before I have any art or writting that's publishable, but if I don't share this AU sooner or later I will explode, so we're going to avoid that for now.

Lunar Eclipse AU

My answer to the question "what if the dream and nightmare realms never split?" which isn't entirely accurate because they still do split eventually, just way after we can safely assume they did in canon, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

(I'm putting the rest under the cut for your convenience)

So, does the dream and nightmare realms staying together longer mean that Grimm and the Radiance had a more functional relationship as siblings? Funny you should ask that, because hahaha, absolutely not!

The Radiance is incredibly abusive towards Grimm, treating him as a tool rather than as his own god with his own life. This backfires horribly, because her practically raising him surrounded on all sides by lies and manipulation only made him really good at lying and manipulating. That was the only reason he managed to create the troupe without drawing her suspicion that maybe the group of "puppets" he has aren't under as much strict control as she thinks they are("worship? meaningful connection? no, that's ridiculous"/s)

The main story of the AU revolves around Grimm's interactions with the Pale King. The Radiance orders Grimm to kill him and at first he's up for it, viewing it as an opportunity to prove his loyalty and to avoid getting on her bad side should be succeed. His plan is to earn the King's trust, get him alone, and then strike; his plan is to make him suffer all while stirring up trouble behind the scenes to secure her worship and drive the wyrm to desperation.

But...as he's spending time with the wyrm, he starts getting this odd feeling in his chest and throat. When his soon-to-be victim first drops the formalities and speaks to him as an equal, when he thanks Grimm for rescuing him from a (staged) assassination attempt, and when he kisses him on the cheek and Grimm reacts just how you might expect. He's able to explain these moments away to his sister by telling her he was acting as though he felt genuine connection and that he couldn't possibly be dumb enough to fall in love with the man he was told to kill...right?

And when the moment finally arrives, when the two of them are alone together and the wyrm has made himself more vulnerable than he ever had been before...

...Grimm hesitates.

[hepaidattention]

Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Outer Banks (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Kiara "Kie" Carrera/JJ Maybank, Sarah Cameron/John B. Routledge, Sarah Cameron & JJ Maybank (friends) SUMMARY:

JJ opened one eye at her and smirked, “Somethin’ botherin’ you this fine evening?”

“Oh, you know, just homeless, hungry, poor, no family, and John B and I got in a fight ‘cause he keeps acting so weird … other than that, everything’s just peachy.” Sarah looked at him, turning her head to see him looking at her with a sad expression. It was an expression she’d never only really seen on JJ once before, it was a face of recognition.

“Welcome to the club,” JJ pulled his hat down over his eyes as he said, “too broke to be Kook, and apparently now, too orphaned to be a Pogue.”

Or, Sarah doesn't go with Topper. Instead, she goes back to the chateau where she finds JJ waiting for John B to come home.

OR Sarah chose one small different path that changes the trajectory of every one of the Pogue's lives.

or... Sarah just really ships Kie and JJ and will be JJ's therapist if it means he stops being an idiot and tells her he loves her. Lots of jiara, lots of pogues being pogues.

CHAPTER SUMMARY:  

their journey comes to an end when the pogues find themselves together again, facing the impossible trip to el dorado as a family.

[aria0fgold]

Yaknow what? I'll just post my lil isat au fic here instead. After I eat.

[etoiline]

Chapter Two of taste your lips and feel your skin is up!

In which Cal, Bode, and Merrin venture into a warehouse that has more than a few surprises waiting for them.

Week 2 of Aug-kissed 2024 prompts used: hand kiss, trail of kisses, gentle peck

Look for chapter 3 next Tuesday!

[sarcasticdolphin]

"Work" And for what feels like the first time in forever, Mozart/Colloredo.

Thank you to the lovely @kristylime for requesting them :)

As usual for my mozartredo Wolfgang is somewhat OOC.

Wolfgang can feel Arco’s scowl. It’s not that he takes joy from it - more a deep satisfaction. For all his lordly title the Count is impotent before the Archbishop’s whims, and Colloredo had been ever so clear. Arco could not lay a hand on him. And the Count was likely more familiar than anyone else with what might become of those that disobeyed the Prince-Archbishop.

Which made it rather difficult for Count Arco to drag Wolfgang back inside as he had threatened.

Yes, rather difficult indeed Wolfgang mused as he let his eyes flutter open. The Archbishop’s gardens were vast, but his own favorite place amongst them was the little grove he now occupied.

The trees were large enough to give pleasant shade but small enough that the ground between them was covered with a soft grass that made rather lovely place to rest. Not to nap - that would be a waste of Wolfgang’s precious waking hours - but to gather his thoughts. To let the themes of music weave themselves together in his mind. To let the notes flow onto an imaginary page, all the easier to transcribe in time.

To that end, Wolfgang let his eyes flutter shut. The gardens - and Arco’s sneer - disappeared, leaving him along with the warmth of the air, the firmness of the ground, and the music in his mind. The jaunty little pastoral tune that filled his thoughts isn’t on that Wolfgang loves all that much - it’s too cliche. Too typical. He is a prince amongst musicians - even Colloredo had to admit as such. But the tunes melds and shifts in his mind. Perhaps a lively little quartet, or even a concerto. Or even-

Wolfgang grimaces. It’s not that he owes Colloredo a Mass - for all the pompous nature of the Prince-Archbishop, His Highness has Wolfgang on a remarkably long leash so long as he regularly produces music. And it is the Masses that hold Colloredo’s attention the longest, though the chamber music is a close second. Wolfgang for his part prefers Opera. The church has its rules and as much as Wolfgang cares little for the abstractions of some pope who died a thousand years ago, he takes more than a little pleasure in perfecting the exactness of the Mass while still making it clear the music was his - bound only because he allowed it, not on the whim of the pope.

“Wolfgang.” Arco’s sneer is clear in his tone. It’s not that Wolfgang particularly likes hearing his name on the Count’s rough and nasal voice - no one would ever imagine that the Count was even a passable singer - but Wolfgang’s name is a marked improvement over other things he had called Wolfgang in the past. Still, the echoes of mockery linger in Wolfgang’s ears. Fürstin.

“His Highness is expecting you.”

That has Wolfgang’s lips quirking up as he hums. “No. I’m working.”

Arco doesn’t sputter - he would have once, but he seems overly used to Wolfgang’s antics. How tragic, Wolfgang thinks. He will have to come up with some other way to throw the Count off balance. “A rather odd way of composing without quill, parchment, or piano.”

The retort is predictable, and Wolfgang can��t resist the implied insult. He doesn’t lose at anything, after all. “I wouldn’t expect an unlearned churl such as yourself to understand. A quill, parchment, even a piano is useless without the mind to bring the music into being.” It’s not that Arco is totally unlearned in truth, but his ear for music was beyond hopeless. 

Colloredo’s, on the other hand? Wolfgang gave a soft shiver. The Archbishop’s ear was the only one in all of Austria that came close to matching his own. It was just as well - the piano Colloredo kept in his quarters was always perfectly in tune.

“Wolfgang.” Arco was well and truly annoyed now. Good. Well, good that he was annoyed. Wolfgang was rather vexed that the Count insisted on speaking once more. He was imagining Colloredo’s voice - a melodic tenor that could reasonably be called angelic. And it was rather rude of Arco to interfere with the lovely picture that Wolfgang had been painting in his mind.

The lively little melody would go to a string quartet. The other melody that had been skulking about the edges of Wolfgang’s mind would be for solo piano.

As much as Wolfgang had once reveled in the praise of the world, there was something utterly hollow about it. Fake. He’d never admit it to Colloredo, but perhaps the Prince-Archbishop had been right, if only to a degree. The masses might praise his music, but they didn’t understand it. Colloredo, on the other hand? Colloredo knew Wolfgang - and his music. Knew them in a way no one else did. And Colloredo understood Wolfgang’s music in a way no one else did. The velvet-clad, honeyed words that Wolfgang adored so were proof enough of that.

Different from the raucous applause of a public premiere, certainly. And so much more addicting.

Arco chose that moment - as Wolfgang was imagining Colloredo’s strong hands on him as he murmured the praise that Wolfgang coveted more than anything else into his ear, meant for them alone - to shift on his feet. The noise of Arco’s shoes on the little loose stones was grating.

Perhaps, the thought comes into Wolfgang’s mind, he should write a comic opera. One about a particularly imbecilic Count. 

“Now, Wolfgang.” Said Count almost sounds worried. Then again, they both know that Colloredo’s willingness to punish Wolfgang is generally non-existent. But when it comes Arco, on the other hand? The Prince-Archbishop has a reputation to maintain.

“Hush. My mind is filled with music, and ever so hard at work.” The truth, to an extent. Though Wolfgang’s mind had begun to wander from the music back to the Prince. 

Colloredo was handsome - no one would ever deny that - and Wolfgang is one of the few who had gotten to properly inspect the Archbishop’s beautiful face up close. One could not be faulted for thinking the Prince was a marble statue come to life.

And his strength. Wolfgang arches his back almost unconsciously. For all Colloredo is far too gentle with him for Wolfgang’s tastes, there is something about how calmly firm and confident the Prince’s grasp is. Any time Wolfgang is within the Prince’s arms he has no hope of escaping save for by the Archbishop’s will. Not that he ever wants to - Colloredo’s words alone are as amber, fixing Wolfgang in his grasp.

There is another noise from Arco - the Count muttering something under his breath. Wolfgang for his part is too caught up in his musings on and memories of Colloredo to care what childish insult the Count has chosen this time. But he certainly gives a proper yelp as Arco seizes Wolfgang by the wrist and hauls him to his feet, half-dragging him down the path, back toward Colloredo’s sprawling palace.

[a-very-fond-farewell]

listen. when I say these two are toxic for each other I don’t mean it in an abusive way. if they want to fight, brawl and then fuck about it or pine away that’s their business. I’m just transcribing what I see. I’m genderfluiding what they show me. I’m out of here.

[rainbows-fanfics]

Opening fics from the early 2000′s knowing they’ll either be completed masterpieces or will tear me apart as they end on a cliffhanger that hasn’t been updated for nearly 18 years