#if you will not allow me to rate this conversation as “appropriate for everyone” with the associated tags it would be best associated with

[transarsonist]

but no yeah lets have the conversation:

"the CEO doesnt want to run that kind of website" Excuse, shouldnt have bought the 'go nuts show nuts whatever' website if thats the case. APPEAL DENIED

"we have to follow the TOS of the appstores we're hosted on" Excuse item one, no you dont, item two, you have since those days implimented infrastructure that would allow pornography and sex work on this platform Without violating TOS of any applicable app store. APPEAL DENIED

"we own the site we get to make the rules" Incorrect, this site has only ever made profit when the users willed it. we collectively own the site as a hive mind and no legal change in ownership will change that. APPEAL DENIED

"we have to keep this website safe for the children who use it" Argument based on fallacy banning pornography and sex workers does not prevent pornography and sex work from occuring on the site, it only forces aforementioned users to hide and avoid labling their content appropriately, which REDUCES the safety for children and sex workers alike instead of increasing it, this has been shown to the point that making this argument at all is tantamount to admiting fascist intent APPEAL DENIED

#politics #tumblr #tumblr staff #very well #if you will not allow me to rate this conversation as “appropriate for everyone” with the associated tags it would be best associated with #then it simply will not have those tags #this is case in point

[cariantha]

Hunger Pains

Book: Open Heart, Post-Series

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: 🔥NSFW, ⛔18+ Only, contains explicit sexual content

Category: Fluff, Smut, Halloween

Word count: 2.6K

Summary: Sawyer is in a bad mood. Ethan helps her calm down.

Prompts:

🫦From Anon: Can I get a fic with Ethan giving MC a love bite or hickey?

☀️From @peonierose: Ethan & Sawyer + “sunshine”

🍬From @jerzwriter: "Actually, I like candy corn!"

Events:

🎃For @choicesoctober event: Costume / Halloween / Vampire / Meme

🥰For @choicesprompts Flufftober 2023 event: I want to take care of you.

“Mr. Cox. An appropriate name for such a dick,” Sawyer thought to herself, blood boiling as she exited Room 513. 

The patient being cared for inside could easily steal the title of “Biggest PITA” away from the infamous Nigel Platt. And only making matters worse, her consultation had been interrupted multiple times by a cocky intern eager to show off. 

Once the door closed behind her, she spun on Dr. Perkins. 

“How many times have we told you not to interrupt when your resident or attending is speaking with a patient? If you do that again, I’ll make sure you are written up.”

Sawyer strode to the nearby nurses’ station to update Mr. Cox’s chart. The obstinate intern followed. 

“How am I supposed to learn anything around here if I’m not allowed to ask questions?” he argued.

“You start by shutting the hell up and listening. Had you done that in the first place, we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. If you were really trying to understand something back there, you would have directed your questions to me. Instead you attempted to conduct a medical history interview, on an extremely agitated patient, minutes before he goes to surgery,” she scolded. 

“This is–”

Her patience wearing thin, Sawyer spoke over him. “Jaaackie, get Dr. Know-It-All away from me before I go all Ramsey on his ass,” she demanded through gritted teeth. 

Jackie, having caught the tail end of the exchange, looked up from her tablet. 

“I think you just did,” she answered, “...and Perkins, the patient in 506 needs a new catheter. Now.”

“But that’s not even my pati-” he started to complain.

With one harsh look from the Chief Resident, Dr. Perkins finally tucked his tail between his legs and sulked down the hall.

"You're breathing fire today," Jackie quipped as she rounded the desk to leave.

Sawyer ignored her and continued typing furiously on her tablet.

Down the hall, Jackie and Bryce traded places getting on and off the elevator.

“Hey, have you seen Brooks? I mean Ramsey. Brooks-Ramsey?” Bryce guessed, not sure what to call his friend since she and Ethan surprised everyone by eloping a couple weeks ago. 

Jackie pointed in the direction of the nurses’ desk. “I hope you brought snacks. She’s in a mood again,” she warned as the steel doors closed between them.

A minute later, Bryce slunk next to Sawyer, bumping shoulders to get her attention.

“Finally. What took you so long?” Sawyer rebuked, shoving the tablet towards him. “Here, take this guy away. And while you have his head open, feel free to poke the part of his brain that disables his speech.”

“Well, aren’t you a pocketful of sunshine this morning,” he teased.

“After a few minutes with this asshole and you’ll understand why,” she said, storming off.

“Annnd, Dr. Ramsey it is,” he decided. 

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸����🩸🩸🩸

Shortly thereafter, Sawyer sat in the diagnostics office and stewed in silence as the team meeting ran over schedule. Her annoyance grew more intense with each passing minute as Ethan and Harper debated, and Tobias egged them on for his own amusement. No longer able to take it, she interrupted. 

“Do you need me? Because, if not, I have patients who do.” 

Her three colleagues snapped their heads in her direction, surprised by the bite in her tone. With raised eyebrows, she looked at the team leader and challenged him to respond. 

Ethan cleared his throat. “Uh, let’s see how the labs come back and continue this discussion when we have more information.” 

Harper and Tobias quickly got out of Dodge as Sawyer stacked her notes and gathered her things. When she stood to follow, Ethan reached for her hand and held her back.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What’s got you so wound up?”

She exhaled deeply, his touch instantly calming her.

“I’m sorry.” Frustrated tears welled in her witch-green eyes. “I'm super cranky. These third-trimester hormones are no joke. My mood the last few days has been…” 

A single teardrop fell down her cheek.

“Come here,” he urged, pulling her into his lap. “It’s been, what?” 

“It’s either been hangry or hornery or both,” she pouted and sagged her shoulders.

Cracking a smile at her dramatics, “I know what ‘hangry’ is, but 'hornery?'”

“Horny and ornery.”

With a shake of his head, Ethan caressed her swollen belly. “So, what I hear you saying is you’re irritable because you're either hungry or horny…”

“Right now, it’s both,” she interjected, her fingers seductively dancing up his chest.

“And the cure for this condition is to either feed you … or fuck you?”

“Look, I’m not saying food and sex would solve all my problems, but it would sure help me calm the hell down,” she admitted with a coquettish grin.

“Well, as much as I’d like to help you satisfy your hunger pains, all I can offer right now is this.” 

Ethan reached for the bowl of Halloween candy on the conference table.

“Boo,” she scowled playfully. Sawyer stood and sifted through the options, “I’ll take the candy corn off your hands and leave the chocolates for you. I know they’re your favorite.”

“Actually, I like candy corn,” he said, ripping a small package open with his teeth and pouring them all into his mouth.

“Seriously?” she asked, surprised.

“My dad loves them. We always had a bowl out during the season. I used to push them up on my canines when I was a kid and pretend I was Dracula.”

“Aw, cute. Well, if that’s true, then I’ll take some of these too,” she reached back into the bowl and stuffed her pockets. “Supposedly, chocolate is a good substitute for sex. Feed two birds with one scone.” 

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

A couple hours later, Sawyer was down at the lab demanding the results for one of her patients.

“What do you mean it’s going to be another four to six hours? I ordered these tests yesterday!” 

Her raised voice began to draw the attention of others, including her indirect supervisor. Ethan was just finishing a consultation with the hospital’s lead hematologist, when he heard the uproar. 

The lab assistant snapped back. “Look, lady, we’re doing the best we can. The tech will run the test as soon as he’s back from lunch.”

“Lady?! Do you see this badge? That’s Dr. Brooks to you.” 

Sawyer spewed red hot anger as she spun on her heels. From several feet away, Ethan could practically feel the heat radiating from her. Her neck and cheeks were crimsoned and her fists clenched at her sides. 

“That’s enough,” he admonished, taking Sawyer by the wrist and swiftly pulling her into a familiar and dark supply closet.

Ethan loomed over her as he backed her into a corner.  

“I know… I’m sorry,” she apologized. Sad cat-like eyes pleading for forgiveness. 

“This kind of stress isn’t good for you or the baby,” he advised. “This is serious, Sawyer. You leave me no choice but to help you calm down.” The corner of his mouth began to turn up in a sly grin, as he ran his hand over her hair. 

“Oh, thank god,” she sighed, crashing into his lips.

“We’ll…have to be…quick…and quiet,” he murmured between desperate kisses.

As Sawyer slipped out of her shoes, Ethan lent a hand, sliding her pants and underwear to the ground. As she stepped out of them, Ethan unzipped his pants and pushed them down to expose his rising need. Their white lab coats provided a curtain of privacy in the event that anyone walked in on them. 

Lifting her up around his waist, Sawyer tried to wrap her legs around him. With several extra inches around her midsection, she had a hard time locking her swollen ankles behind him and finding a comfortable position.

“Ethan, my belly. This isn’t working,” she squirmed under his hold.

Determined to make this work despite the cramped space, Sawyer slid down. She shrugged off her lab coat, turned her back to him, and placed her hands on the wall.  

Ethan took the hint immediately. His hands began to roam under her shirt, starting at her sore back. His thumbs applied light pressure as he worked his way down the length of her spine, earning a few grateful groans. He also spent a few seconds massaging her ass, finishing with a gentle squeeze. 

Closing the small gap between them, Ethan reached around and tenderly appreciated her baby bump. Then slithering his fingers into the cups of her bra, he ghosted around her sensitive nipples. 

Sawyer felt his breath next to her ear and turned her head to meet him in a passionate kiss, his erection poking and teasing her backside.

Navigating in the dark, Ethan leaned back to align himself with her entrance. “God, Sawyer,” he gasped, easily gliding between her slick folds. “You are so ready for me.”

She looked over her shoulder with a smile and jokingly reminded him of her libidinous mood swings. “What’d I tell you? Me so horny.” 

With an amused shake of his head, he pulled back gently, then began to pump his hips. Slow and soft at first.

“Mmmmm, that feels so good, babe,” Sawyer mewled.

Ethan picked up the pace. He pushed harder and deeper, but careful not to get too rough with his pregnant wife or her precious cargo.

“Ohhhh,” she let slip a little too loud.

“Shhhh, baby,” he breathed heavily, working up a sweat.

As her legs began to tremble, Sawyer kept her hands firmly braced against the wall for support. 

“I’m close…cover…my mouth,” she panted.

With a hand on her hip to hold her close and steady, Ethan reached around with his other and gently covered her mouth. He leaned in and pressed his chest against her back, resting his chin in the crook of her neck. “Let go, beautiful,” he mumbled against the feel of her rapid pulse.

After a couple deep pumps, Sawyer’s whole body shuddered. She moaned her satisfaction into Ethan’s hand. The vibrations pulsing through her body, and the warm breath against his palm, provoked his own release. Clamping his mouth onto her neck, he muted himself.

The euphoria made her forget all her aches and pain. So, when Sawyer tightened her muscles around Ethan’s still bursting length, it hardly registered when he bit down hard on her throat.

To avoid getting caught, they didn't spend much time basking in the afterglow. Ethan gave his wife a loving kiss, and when he was certain she could stand unsupported, he pulled up his pants and helped Sawyer step into hers. 

With a quick peek into the hallway, Sawyer checked to see if the coast was clear. “Hold on…it’s Wen,” she whispered, holding up a hand to halt him. 

When Dr. Wen disappeared around a corner, they exited the supply closet.

“Do you think she heard us?” 

“If she did, I’m sure she assumed it was only one of the ghosts that she believes haunts these halls,” Ethan chuckled. “The more important question is, are you feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“Well, let’s make doubly sure and head up to the cafeteria for some lunch.”

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Later that night, at home and in the shower, Ethan pushed wet hair away from Sawyer's neck and discovered the frightful bruising.

“Oh, Soe, I’m sorry,” he expressed, carefully skimming his fingers over the bite mark. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Sawyer touched the tender spot and moved around him to see her reflection in his shaving mirror. 

“Oh my gosh!” she laughed as she traced her fingers over the imprints of his teeth. “I married a freakin’ vampire!” 

“I’m sorry. But, hey,” he innocently smiled back in the mirror, “...only a vampire can love you forever.”

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her neck. “Mwahahaha,” he snarled at her ear, before placing a delicate, healing kiss to the love bite.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

The next day, the newlyweds arrived at work hand in hand and walked toward the attendings’ locker room. Pausing just outside the door, Sawyer turned to face her husband. 

“Hey, just a reminder I volunteered to help in the clinic this morning. Carrick said he would do rounds for me.”

“I remembered,” Ethan said, bending down to give Sawyer a quick but loving kiss on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’ll see you later,” she returned, reluctantly letting go of his hand.

Stepping into the locker room, she spotted a familiar face. Well, sort of. 

“Whoa, that looks soooo good, Elijah. Gross, but so realistic,” Sawyer awed. 

“Thanks! Those of us in the research department agreed to dress up like lab experiments gone wrong.”

“Well, mission accomplished. And, Happy Halloween, by the way. I know it’s your favorite day of the year.” 

As Elijah excitedly talked about his zombie character - which of course was inspired by a new John Carpenter video game - Sawyer tugged on her white coat and checked her reflection in the mirror. 

The bruising on her neck was much more prominent the day after and under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hospital. She tried to adjust her hair and fix the collar of her jacket, but it was no use. She dug through her bag searching for her makeup case, quickly realizing she left it at home.

“Shit,” she thought to herself. 

“Aren’t you dressing up this year?” 

Elijah’s question brought her back to the conversation, and an idea popped into her head. 

“About that…do you have any more fake blood?”

“Yeah, there’s a tube in my locker. Help yourself,” he offered on his way out.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Down in the free clinic, Sawyer examined a very inquisitive eight-year old who noticed the bite mark and the two drips of dried blood on her neck. 

“Say ‘ahhhh!’” she instructed, using a tongue depressor to check the back of his throat. “Good, no swelling back there.” 

“Doctor! Did you get bit by a vampire?” 

“I’m afraid I did,” she admitted, putting on a bit of an act.

“Was it Dracula?”

“That’s still up for debate,” she laughed to herself, picturing little boy Ethan with candy corn fangs.

“Did it hurt?”

“Uh-uh.” 

“Did he suck your blood?”

“Justin, for goodness sake,” his mother chided and rolled her eyes.

“It’s fine,” Sawyer waved her off.

“Did he make you into a vampire too?”

“No,” turning her back to the young patient and facing his mother, she muttered, “...he just got me pregnant.” The patient’s mother cackled out loud.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

That afternoon, Sawyer was on the fifth floor to check on a patient, when she spotted Ethan stepping into the hallway with Esme and her intern. When they were safely out of the patient’s earshot, he wheeled around on the intern and launched into a stern, and familiar, lecture. 

“...It doesn’t matter that you’re still learning…Whether this man lives or dies is on you…There is no room for mistakes…”

When he was done with his tirade, Ethan marched over to the nurses’ station and began tapping away on an iPad. 

“Don’t sweat him. He’s all bark and no bite. Isn’t that right, Dr. Brooks?” Esme asked as Sawyer approached the scene. 

Mrs. Ramsey shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no,” she spoke loud enough for Ethan to hear, “he bites alright.” When he looked up with a raised eyebrow, she winked and kept walking. 

A couple minutes later, Ethan’s phone pinged with a text notification.

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @openheartforeverinmyheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog @rookiemartin @headoverheelsforramsey @zealouscanonindeer @lilyoffandoms

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfic #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #ethan x sawyer #choices stories you play #choices open heart #playchoices #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choicesOCtober #choicespromtps #flufftober2023

[maybebabyplease]

on ‘professional jealousy’ in your not-so-professional hobbies

really great essay here about professional jealousy, something i think about a lot with my fiction writing. most of my real-life fiction writing friends are older and more talented and more published than me, and sometimes it really stings to see them succeed in a way that i want to succeed, even when i know they deserve it and want to spend all my energy being happy for them. this feeling can bleed into your friendships and relationships, but i think it’s something everyone experiences. and thus, we ought to talk about it! 

in fanfic, as in original fiction, you’re putting a piece of yourself out into the world to be judged (conversations on the validity of fanfic criticism/rating/ranking aside, the reality is that people will continue to do it either way) and the reactions to your work are likely to be different than the reactions to your friends’ and peers’ work. the subject of ‘professional jealousy’, or as the essay deems it, disappointment, applies here just as much as it does to original fiction.

i find that i see a lot of posts about fanfic that imply that it’s somehow ‘bad’ to care about the success of your fic, defining success as the number of hits or kudos or comments or whatever digit puts you ahead of someone else. certainly, there are many reasons to write fanfiction. but i consider it to be a little disingenuous to act like no one cares (or is allowed to care) about whether or not people read their fic. 

to me, storytelling is at its core a search for human connection. fanfiction seeks this same thing, this connection with readers and other writers, and perhaps with more intensity. we are obsessed with these characters, and these stories, and these tropes. we want to find other people who share our obsessions. we want to connect. i think this is clear in the tags people continually search on ao3, in the ask boxes of tumblr users who like to discuss headcanons and hot takes, on the works pages of writers who create for their one favorite ship over and over again. it’s a really gorgeous thing, the way we all love what we do, and the way we love it together.

it’s natural to want to connect over your stories. you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn’t get a little thrill at that email notification from ao3, letting you know that someone laughed or cried or screamed over something you created. it’s normal to appreciate this feeling and it’s normal to want more of it. i do personally find that the best and most satisfying fanfiction is the fic you write for yourself, but i have also found great joy in the two or three comments on the fics i thought no one would read, because it’s so special to find people who enjoy the specific things you enjoy. i’m not necessarily unhappy with lesser-read fics of mine; i love them all equally and i’m proud of each one. but i can’t sit here and say that i wouldn’t be thrilled if more people found them and loved them and left comments about a particular trope i love or a joke i thought i was so funny for writing. humans are an inherently social species, and those moments of connection are valuable even when you’re doing something just for yourself.

you can write for yourself and still want people to read it. you can write for yourself and still be disappointed when your fic doesn’t do as well as someone else’s, or even as well as one of your own previous fics. you can be happy with what you’ve written, and still wish it was as ‘popular’ as another fic you love. i think we need to create space for this particular disappointment, because people will continue to feel this way about their work. and i’m not saying we all ought to go screaming about it on our blogs, as that seems to lead to people tearing down other more popular works, which is not the intention of opening this discussion.

the essay suggests having a friend with whom you can express disappointment and know you’ll get an appropriate reaction. luckily, fanfiction has (at least in my experience) led to an incredible community of kind, empathetic people who likely share your exact interests. so this advice works perfectly in the land of fic. perhaps you have a friend who writes for a different ship than you, or even a different fandom altogether. perhaps you have a friend who writes the exact same types of stories of you, but who particularly understands the way you feel. or, perhaps you have a friend who doesn’t read fic at all who can be a totally unbiased sounding board. 

no matter what, don’t be afraid to share your disappointment! it’s not something that has to be shameful. you can write fanfic for all the ‘right’ reasons and still get disappointed. you’re only human.

(i’d love to have conversations about this -- i know lots of people that i like and respect have different opinions about ‘success’ in the world of fanfic and comparing yourself to ‘more popular’ writers and the tiktokification of fic, which i do feel like relates here but did not want to get into. hit the comments on this post or my dms or whatever! i love to DISCUSS!) (essay linked again here for viz)

#em speaks #on writing #on disappointment #on fanfiction #also even if you don't want to read my thoughts you should read this essay #it is so good #and so valuable #i wish people talked more about negative emotions #i am anti toxic positivity #sometimes you're just fucking JEALOUS and that is a-ok!!!!! #also this is about writing bc that's what i know but #it could apply to visual art too i'm sure

[norel-ravenclaw]

To Catch A Thief

- Part 4 -

Fandom: Ikemen Prince (otome game)

Featured character: Sariel Noir

Genre: Erotic Romance, Thief x Officer AU

Rating: 18+

Word count: ~2000

Description: Officer!Sariel AU where mc is a master thief that finally, unexpectedly gets caught. He takes her back to the prison and... makes her an offer she can't refuse. Once she's his, he trains her to be the devil's bride. It's all very kinky and self-gratifying and eventually turns into filthy smut ✨but with feelings✨

WARNINGS: | nsfw | dub-con | unwilling voyerism | bdsm relationship | bondage | it's kinky, just beware | power play | pet names: good girl, kitten, master, ect. | fingering | unsafe sex | mxw |

The carriage ride is torture. Sariel keeps fussing with my hair, my sleeves, and drilling me over and over on everything he's taught me.

And then, far too soon, we're here. It's time.

The public debut of the thief of West River.

With a rumble, the carriage stops. Sariel opens the door and steps down, holding out a hand to me. I see the glint in his eye - of pride, intimidation, and what I've come to recognize as him donning the full mask of the devil.

The music can be heard out front of the grand mansion as I take his hand. We join the crowd advancing towards the open doors, gold light pouring out into the dusky evening. He offers his arm, and I straighten my shoulders, plastering on a pleasant expression.

Here begins the gauntlet.

Near the doors, a line has formed where the host is greeting his guests one by one. When it is our turn, the man's eyes linger on me.

"Ah, Detective Noir, welcome. What a lovely jewel you have on your arm."

His words make my heart stutter. ...He knows who I am. Trying to hide my nerves, I curtsey politely, allowing him to take my hand to kiss it.

"Laurent, allow me to introduce you to my betrothed, Director. This is Norel."

Director Laurence freezes briefly, though I only notice his faltering from the pressure on my hand. "Ah, indeed? Stole our best officer's heart, did you?"

I am shocked by his boldness. Beside me, the devil takes on an air of darkness. "Take care that she does not steal yours."

The two men's eyes lock briefly with an intensity masked only barely with polite smiles.

And suddenly it's over. We enter the main hall where the rest of the guests are lingering before dinner. I stay glued to Sariel's side as we drift around to talk with everyone. Officers, detectives, local government leaders, wealthy campaign donors. Intimidating men with inflated egos, women dripping with jewels and flowery insults.

God this is awful.

But standing beside the Devil shields me and inspires courage. This is his world. I can't help but want to be able to support him, be with him. Being here is his way of helping keep the police force in check, to prevent the spread of corruption. And I want to be strong enough to help his endeavours.

I stifle a gasp as I feel a hand on my lower back.

"Dinner is served," the director murmurs in my ear. He smiles as Sariel meets his eye... holding it as he runs his hand along my waist before walking away.

Sariel's composure cracks for a brief second. As he puts his own arm around my waist, I whisper, "What is he getting at?"

A devilish gleam lights up his eyes. "I took his promotion and had him penalized for an infraction. He's always been bold  in his threats of taking what is mine." He chuckles darkly. "Much good it's done him."

We go into the grand dining room and find our place cards, allowing the butlers to seat us. To the left of Director Laurent is the mayor and his wife, to his right, the chief of the city's police department. Sariel, being the most successful officer in the precinct, sits just beside him.

And so... throughout dinner, I am close enough for the host to try to strike up conversation with me. Considering that this is my debut into society, I'm still preoccupied on maintaining proper posture and not clinking the silverware, much less keeping up an appropriate conversation. ...Especially when the bastard has no interest in appropriate conversation.

Sariel is kind enough to bail me out twice. The wife of the mayor even distracts the man once to save me from his probing questions and gaze.

Finally, the dishes stop coming out, and we are free to leave the table. Sariel grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway with him, his grip strong. Rather than try to shake him off, I'm grateful for the grounding feeling, squeezing his hand back myself.

However, I hesitate at the foot of the stairs.

"Sariel? Should we be back here?" I nearly gasp when he finally looks back at me, his amethyst eyes ablaze with fury.

"You are mine. And he must know that."

There is no arguing as he hurries up the stairs with me in tow. We navigate the halls until coming across a set of French doors that undeniably lead to the private quarters of the estate's owner.

My heart is pounding as he opens the door and pulls me inside. My breath seems especially loud in the dark, moonlit space as he locks the doors behind us.

"S-Sariel...?"

He stops by the edge of the bed and glances back over his shoulder. My heart is pounding. Feeling my gaze, his eyes flick up to mine. "Get over here."

A shiver runs through me. "...Sir?"

He smirks, his expression dark. "You heard me. I gave you an order. You dare pretend you didn't hear me?"

Oh... So he's serious about this. "I- n-no, master. I wouldn't..." I can't help but recoil as he marches back to me.

"But you did." He grabs me and shoves me against the wall.

"This is Monsieur Laurant's room?! B-but what if someone hears?!"

"You will be punished severely if they do. Now submit to your master." There is a dark sort of madness in his heated gaze that sends a surge of heat through me.

"Sariel..."

He kisses me much more softly than I was anticipating. His hands roam my sides, massaging my hips. I groan into his mouth, gasping as his knee comes between my legs.

He pulls away with a heated sigh, licking my ear before whispering, "Let me show him who you belong to so he never thinks to take you from me again."

"Mm. Y-yes, master."

Looking into my eyes briefly, we share an electrifying second of illicit thrill for what we're about to do. Then he lifts me into his arms and carries me across the room.

Standing before the bed, he kisses me senseless while hiking my dress up around my hips. Once it's out of the way, he throws me down on the plush bed. I lie back, watching him undo his belt and shift his trousers. He looks more like a demon than ever as he climbs on top of me, roughly tying my wrists together with the belt. I arch against him as he kisses me, pushing his tongue into my mouth to ravage it.

I can't help but whine as he pulls down my undergarments to my knees, the cool air making me shiver. He wastes no time in putting my legs over one shoulder and reaching down to press a gloved finger into me. I gasp at the sudden intrusion, grateful that my insatiable lover never leaves me empty for long. He wants to be able to take me any way he wishes, whenever he wants. ...Though I never expected his risk taking to go quite as far as making love in someone else's bed.

But he quickly erases such thoughts from my head as his lithe fingers rub me inside and out with a single-minded ferocity. He takes advantage of the overstimulation and makes me peak within the minute. Shudders wrack my whole body as I cum hard on his fingers, mewling into his mouth.

"Master...! Ahn!"

Sariel growls against my lips. His hand grasps my hip as the other leaves the warm place between my legs. He leaves wet kisses down my neck and settles over me, lining himself up. We both gasp as he pushes into me.  I throb around him as he quickly starts thrusting.

I quickly fall captive to his rhythm as the devil claims his bride to be.

The minutes tick by  as I writhe in the pleasurable fire of lust - and don't notice the  footsteps. It isn't until the door opens that the situation really settles into my pleasure-addled brain.

My eyes lock with Decective Laurant's. And time stops.

But of course, Sariel doesn't stop. The room is filled with lurid sounds, the bed is already wet with our desire. I gasp and try to squirm away in sudden panic, but Sariel's belt holds my hands firmly. He sees my wide eyed expression and looks over his shoulder, never breaking his rhythm.

Laurant stares at us open mouthed, his hand frozen on the door handle.

I can't hold in my gasps of overwhelming pleasure, even as the man watches.

After a moment, Sariel smirks and turns back to me, evidently finished making his point. He thrusts harder, and I squeeze him tighter.

Laurent at last seems to pull himself out of his shock and half stumbles out of the doorway. He doesn't utter a word as he shuts the door firmly.

Sariel speeds up his thrusts suddenly, and I can't hold back the cry of ecstasy as I peak.  He follows quickly, pulling out soon afterward to let his cum to spill out onto the sheets.                                                                         

We lie there, panting, a sheen of sweat making our fine clothes stick to our skin. 

"You're mad, devil."

Sariel lets out a breathy laugh, nuzzling my cheek. "Yes, yes I am. About you."

He gets up off of me slowly, staring down for a moment. With a smirk, he kisses me, once more ravaging my mouth. He pulls away with a wet string connecting us, running a hand through his hair before sitting up.

"Come now, let's get you fixed up." With a kiss to my temple, he pulls my undergarments back to rights and helps me sit on the edge of the bed. "Such a good girl," he whispers. "So good for me."

Shakily, I get up, and he turns the lamp on low so we can fix ourselves to be presentable. While Sariel helps set my hair back to rights, his elegant fingers pause, brushing a damp lock of hair aside.

His deep voice is quiet as he meets my eye in the dimly lit mirror. "I love you, you know." His hand rests on my waist. "Do you know how much you've changed me? Brought me back from darkness I never thought I'd escape from."                    

"Really?" I rest a hand on top of his. "You were the one who saved me."

He laughs quietly. "But not before you stole something of mine, hm? I searched for you for so long, my little thief. The moment I saw your face... Well, I knew everything was about to change. It had to. ...I had to have you. And the joy you've brought my life, my fallen angel, is more than I could have hoped for."

I stare back at him, even in the darkness seeing my fierce blush. "...Does this mean I'm just as much a freak as you are, given how much I love you? Love this?"

His eyes widen in brief shock, and he sighs - though I can't miss the smirk playing on his lips. "...Brat." He turns off the lamp and takes my hand in the darkness. "Come now, kitten. Let's go show the world who the Devil's bride is, hm? Never again will anyone question. You belong to the devil."                    

"Damn right I do."

Part 1 - https://www.tumblr.com/norel-ravenclaw/701455046880182272/to-catch-a-thief

Part 2 - https://www.tumblr.com/norel-ravenclaw/701468521534799872/to-catch-a-thief

Part 3 - https://www.tumblr.com/norel-ravenclaw/713648702965923840/to-catch-a-thief

Part 4 - https://www.tumblr.com/norel-ravenclaw/720068739031269376/to-catch-a-thief

#norel writes #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri sariel #sariel noir

[hyperfixated-gvf]

Chapter 3

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Danny Wagner | Rated Explicit | Words: 4.2k

Warnings: Language, angst, nudity in the form of skinny-dipping, age-appropriate foolishness

Chapter Summary: Sam pulls away and Danny is left wondering what the hell he did wrong.

In collaboration with/edited by @gretavanfreaky

Author's Note: PLEASE let me know if you don't want to be on the taglist for Sanny fics; I know this isn't everyone's jam and I don't want to be the one to tag you in things you don't want to read. You can stay on the general taglist, I'll just take you off any Sanny works!

~~~

As they headed further south down the coast, playing shows and passing through Connecticut and New Jersey, then Virginia, and finally approaching their next venue in the very southern part of North Carolina, the colors of the kaleidoscope leaves slowly but surely began muting in vividness until they all seemed to be a greenish-brown - like time was slowly rotting away at them, instead of making way for new life to grow.

It wasn’t nearly as beautiful, but it didn’t really matter at all to Danny, who spent so much time in his head that the outside world could have been on fire and still, the only thought running cyclic through his mind would have been:

What have I done?

Sam had barely talked to him, barely even looked at him since they had gotten tangled up at the peak. They’d been so high (in every possible way) and he’d thought that maybe as they came down, one of them would muster the courage to talk about it, but Sam had only driven them back into town, to their hotel, where they’d met up with Jake and Josh, who’d apparently left their friend’s house earlier than they’d anticipated because of something they’d said about the band.

Soon after that, it was like a flip had switched, and Danny had no clue why. Sam had been into it – the kissing, the touching, the orgasming – he’d been joking with him, so what had Danny done wrong? What had changed in the short couple of days that had them going from fooling around, what he’d thought had extended past just experimenting with their bodies and maybe encroaching on…feelings and shit to this silent state of a cold shoulder and obvious disdain?

All he got were one-word answers when he tried to start conversations, sometimes nothing at all, and he pursed his lips and furrowed his brows when Danny talked, these days, as if the sound of his voice couldn’t be more unwelcome if he tried.

Before, Danny knew his role. He was the mediator, mostly, but when push came to shove, they were a pair and he was in Sam’s corner.

But it was like Sam didn’t want him there anymore.

Right now, they were in the van, riding rather quietly to another hotel. The air was on, even though they were less than a week from Thanksgiving, making this one of their last shows before flying back to Michigan. 

They were also exactly one week and two days from what happened at Pike Peak - Danny was hopelessly, perhaps pathetically, keeping track of it, as if watching the memory of it fade with the color of the leaves would make him feel better.

It didn’t. In fact, it only made him feel worse.

Their tour manager had informed them with an apologetic frown, when Josh had asked, that they wouldn’t be able to stop by the beach this time, because the timing just wouldn’t allow for it. Plus, if any of them got sick from the frigidness of the East Coast ocean water at this time of year, then they’d basically have to cancel the last two shows, since they were so close together.

Jake and Josh were both still trying to convince their band babysitter to let them just see the ocean, to feel the sand.

“You guys literally have beaches in Michigan,” he sighed, obviously unphased by the constant pestering of the twins to get what they wanted. 

It was a quick gasp and argument from the two older boys. “That’s not the same and you know it! Sam, tell him about that gnarly cut you got on your foot,” Jake demanded, pulling in the attention of his little brother, who sat quite unusually sullen in the seat just behind them, but right in front of Danny. “You remember? From that broken champagne bottle?”

Of course Sam remembered. He’d been put on crutches for the entire time that the stitches were healing and hadn’t had to wear a proper shoe on that foot to school - that wasn’t something someone just forgot. 

He’d milked that injury for all it was worth, and they’d gotten special permission from the principal for Danny to leave class early so that he could help Sam with his books.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, voice scratchy from disuse. He cleared his throat and tried to brush the thought of Danny out of his head. “Those beaches suck ass. Buncha rich people on the other side of the lake always dump their trash and it washes up and then you get your feet cut open ‘cause of it.”

He was glad that his brothers weren’t annoyed with him anymore after having to clear out the middle seat so that he could claim it. Well, he was glad that Jake wasn’t annoyed with him, because it was his guitars that they’d had to find new homes for. All 6,452 of them, even though Jake didn’t need them all for a tour as short as this one was. 

They’d all grumbled at the hold-up when they stopped in Massachusetts for gas and ended up staying for closer to 45 minutes rearranging instead of the 10-minute ‘fill-up and stretch your legs’ stop that it was supposed to be.

But as glad as he was that Jake was no longer pissed at him, he still couldn’t find his usual pep and response that he got when they were this close to the holidays, and the idea of spending some time with his parents and their dogs was imminent. He had his own bed to look forward to, a kitchen and warm meals, time away from the band to pursue some of his other hobbies, and yet…

He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to shake this guilty, gnawing shamefulness that had been ballooning inside of him. 

It started when they got back, and he was no longer in a blissed-out state of happiness in what felt like a fairy-tale land – the real world hit him, and he…he freaked himself out. Which wouldn’t have been a big deal if it didn’t snowball into this giant, sharp-toothed anxiety that stabbed him in the gut when he thought about the repercussions of their relationship. 

He’d never been one to consider repercussions seriously, but when it came to Danny, there was no way that he couldn’t. The face that he’d fixed Sam with when he asked for the middle seat to be cleared out so that he could stretch his legs, though…Sam had felt like he was gonna to throw up, and it only added to the guilt and shame that had been brewing in his chest. 

Because now, on top of being an asshole for starting something he couldn’t morally finish, he was also an asshole for making Danny sad on multiple accounts.

In all honesty, he hoped Danny hated him for it. He hoped Danny saw him for the asswipe he was instead of doing what Sam knew he would do and agonize over it like it was his fault, but he couldn’t even turn around to peek at him without simultaneously feeling like he was going to spontaneously combust in stomach-dropping shame and tummy-turning, guilty arousal of all things.

So, he settled on moping with his one-person pity party and tried to ignore what he was almost certain was the whisper of Danny’s stare on the back of his neck.

It was.

They’d gotten into plenty of arguments over the years, even ones where either Danny or Sam stopped talking to the other for an indefinite amount of time. But this felt different. Like a line had been crossed and Danny could only sit and stare at it as he and Sam diverged from their places side-by-side.

There was no more stage banter, he no longer caught Sam watching his drum solo – Sam had even gone so far as to choose to get dressed in the bathroom, if they weren’t given separate dressing rooms, and only emerged once Jake called them all together for their pre-show rituals. 

Every time, it made Danny’s face burn with humiliation and shame. The only plausible reasons he’d do it were if he didn’t want to see Danny get undressed, or if he didn’t want Danny to see him get undressed – as if Danny would…would do something inappropriate.

He knew that his brain was coming up with the worst possible explanations, but Danny had dived too deeply into the “what ifs” and the insecurity and the doubt that being rejected brought. And this time, he didn’t have anyone to drag him out in the way Sam’s tough love did.

Danny’s phone pinged and he pulled it out, thankful to have a reprieve from the desolation he was sinking into.

Jake: I hope you packed a swimsuit, cause we’re going swimming.

The message was sent to all four of them, and Josh immediately sent back, “Ain’t no swimsuit for me, I’m flashing the fishes.”

Danny huffed out a chuckle, but only hovered over the messaging box, watching Sam’s upper body to see if he would check his phone, as well. 

Sure enough, his shoulder moved and his head tilted down, but instead of his other arm joining in to reply, Danny saw no ellipsis to signify there would be any response from Sam, and he returned to his previous position without responding at all.

Danny was stuck – did he initiate the interaction by opting to sneak down to the beach and offer an olive branch to Sam? Or did he wait for Sam to agree and then tag along with so that Sam could only backtrack or be forced to stay with the group?

In what he could only classify as a cowardly move, Danny refrained from answering and closed his eyes, letting his actual exhaustion drift to the front of his mind so that he could have an excuse for his lack of response.

It worked, until three hours later when they reached their hotel and he was awoken from his restless daze by the sound of the doors opening from all directions.

“Wake up sleepyhead,” Josh said from behind him, grabbing his bag from the back. “We’re here.”

Danny hummed and disengaged his seatbelt, noting that Sam was already climbing out and Jake was right behind him. He was the last to grab his bag, and their tour manager came trotting out from the lobby with their keys in hand. 

“It’s a share night, tonight, boys,” he said, offering one pack of keys to Josh and one to Danny, since Jake and Sam were still rummaging around the back of the van for their bags. 

Share nights were rather common, just to save money on short stops between venues or one-day shows where they were packed up and on the road again before they got to sleep in the bed. 

Danny took the keys without thinking, still a little bit out of the game from being jarred awake so late at night, and then turned around to get in line for the game of ‘where’s my bag in this pile of tour shit?’

But when he finally tuned into the conversation that was happening between Sam and Jake, he stopped short and his blood ran cold before shooting up to heat his face.

“Will you just switch me tonight? It’s the last shared stop of the leg, and I–”

Jake crossed his arms, face marred in a Kiszka frown that reeked of stubborn resolve and a slightly patronizing judgment. “I said no, Sam. Clean out your ears.” Sam’s lips thinned and Danny could see the frustration take over in his posture and expression, but he stayed silent. “Josh and I had to throw a bunch of shit together last time ‘cause we were late, so he’s got some of my stuff and I’ve got some of his.” 

Sam refused to look at Danny, even though he knew he was there. He’d meant for the exchange to be quiet, so that Danny didn’t know he was trying to switch room partners, but Jake apparently hadn’t caught on to his hushed request and decided to blurt out that Sam was a horrible friend to the entire world.

“That’s fine, then,” he mumbled instead, turning from Jake to Danny. It was still difficult to look him in the eye and not embarrass himself with an erection at the memory of his closed eyes, open mouth, wild, wet hair splayed across the seats– “Can I have a key?”

Jake didn’t drop the issue at first, and he glanced at Danny with an uncharacteristically apologetic look in his eye, “Why do you want to room with Josh so bad, anyways? It’s always been you and Danny–”

“I said it’s fine, Jake,” Sam snapped, pinching the edge of the card and slipping it out of the paper holder before handing it back to Danny. “Drop it.”

He stalked off towards the entrance of the hotel and tried to ignore the stares from his brothers and their tour manager. His mood didn’t change as he entered the room, and he claimed one of the beds then immediately began his nighttime routine, ignoring the door out of humiliation when it opened and shut again, signifying Danny’s presence.

But Danny appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, and Sam quickly looked down when they met eyes through the mirror. “Jake and Josh were asking if you wanted to join – we’re, uh, sneaking down to the beach for a little bit. They’ve already scheduled an Uber.”

“No thanks, I think I’ll stay here. I’m tired.”

He hated how short his tone came out to be, but he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone. The stress from his lamenting and the pressure that he was putting on himself was taking its toll, and with the already existing effects that touring had, he was achy, homesick, exhausted, and restless all at once. And, to make matters worse, he wanted a blunt, but Josh had the whole stash in his room.

Danny nodded and backed away from the door. It was obvious that Sam wasn’t going to change his mind. “Oh…okay, yeah, I’ll tell ‘em.”

Perhaps once upon a time, Danny would have been excited for the challenge – usually, it was Sam trying to convince him to break rules, and having the opportunity to flip the scripts would have been a ‘once in a blue moon’ kinda thing. But considering what happened after the last time he initiated something that was slightly illegal, Danny wasn’t brave enough to really push the envelope this time.

So, he grabbed a random pair of shorts to use to swim in, or not – Josh definitely could have been serious about skinny dipping – and absconded to the hallway to meet with the twins, knocking on their door when they didn’t come out. Danny felt a bit of a fool standing in the liminal space of a hotel corridor alone.

Josh opened the door with a grin, but narrowed his eyes when he saw Danny standing by himself. “Sam didn’t come?” 

Danny certainly would have felt a little bit of an outcast and very dejected had Josh not followed up Danny’s responding, “No, he said he was too tired,” with, “That little rat-bastard of a brat child.”

But that’s exactly what happened, and Danny realized that their little situation had been noticed by the twins after all.

“I’m gonna go wrangle Sam,” Josh whisper-yelled back to Jake, and Jake, from in the bathroom, made a noise of assent.

If there was anyone who could drag Sam along with them in their shenanigans, it was Jake and Josh – that was, after all, the reason they were Greta Van Fleet as they were. If they didn’t have that innate, older-brother power, they’d have been hard-pressed to find a bassist with the natural musicianship that Sam had.

Danny lingered at their door after giving Josh his key, and soon Jake appeared, starting down the hall to the elevators. The other two would catch up, Danny knew, so he followed Jake in, staring at his blurry, distorted reflection on the metal wall. “So is Josh actually planning on skinny dipping?” he asked, slipping his hands into the pockets of his joggers.

Jake snorted and peeled the waistband of his own sweatpants down an inch, revealing nothing underneath them. “He’s not the only one. Are you actually not planning on skinny dipping?” he shot back, a tease in his tone. “Lame.”

“Hey now, I haven’t said anything about not doing it!” Danny defended, tucking his shorts behind his back, even though Jake had already seen them. It was all fun and games, though, and he didn’t really care all that much in the end.

“Your safety shorts say otherwise,” Jake sang, sauntering out of the elevator with all the confidence in the world.

Sometimes, Danny wished he could be more like Jake. A lot of the time, actually. He had a swagger that Danny wanted to match – a level of cool that he was sure they’d all grow up and laugh at, but in the moment, served him better than anything else he could have been, and that was admirable. But at the end of the day, honestly, he was just glad to be his friend.

That thought swiped the smile off his face.

It was that way with Sam. Had been, at least. The way he loved Sam to a degree that it shouldn’t have shocked him that he’d begun to feel a certain way once he was introduced to a world in which Sam was, for all intents and purposes, touchable. Attainable. 

But he’d rather have Sam as he was than what they were now. They’d been good, and then Danny had to go and fuck it all up. He knew in his head that it was both of them – that he wasn’t the sole instigator – but it didn’t matter when the dust settled. He was still at least partially at fault, and at this point, looking back at the haze of weed and arousal, he was convinced that it must have been him who initiated the kiss, else Sam wouldn’t be acting this squirrly around him.

The Uber was already parked outside the hotel when they left the building, so they sat in the back seat, making conversation with the driver until Josh and a very pouty Sam came through the sliding doors.

“Look who decided to join after all!” Josh said cheerfully.

Sam did not reflect the attitude.

Josh pushed Sam towards the back seat, where Danny had been delegated the middle, and Josh took the front, listening in and contributing to Jake and the driver’s continued conversation while Sam and Danny sat silently.

They were both ramrod straight, and their legs were drawn tightly together so that they only touched on bumps. Danny was a little apologetic that it meant he had to squish Jake a little bit, but with Sam still pissed at him, he didn’t want to contribute to it by being oblivious.

He’d play along for now, and maybe after their break, everything would resolve itself, and Sam would forget about the whole thing and forgive Danny by the time they all met up again after Christmas.

But that was then, and now, the car stopped in a small parking zone near a wooden pier. They all said their goodbyes and got out, the salty air and sounds of the waves perking them up a little. Sam actually looked a little bit excited to be out and about, now, and Josh had already stripped off his shirt.

“Wait, are you – are you actually going swimming?” Sam asked, staring at his brother incredulously because, as well as the sound of the ocean was lifting his spirits, he still wasn’t gonna be stupid. “Because it’s pitch black out. And you know that sharks hunt at night, right? And that the East Coast is notorious for shark attacks?”

The twins shrugged and started walking towards the sounds of the ocean. “We’re not gonna go too far in! Just enough to get our feet wet.”

The other two followed the older boys, and Sam continued to question their sanity. “Then why are you taking your shirt off?” He got no answer and grumbled, “I’m gonna end up interviewed for Shark Week.”

Danny chuckled, seizing the opportunity to spark conversation. “Well, at least we’ll still have our 15 minutes of fame,” he joked. 

Sam didn’t laugh. “Yeah, I guess,” he said instead, before speeding up to be closer to Jake and Josh.

It wasn’t hard, not with his long legs and their short statures, and Danny was hot on his heels, obviously dejected if the sound of his feet dragging over the wood was any indication.

God, he couldn’t stand himself. But even Danny’s soft joking sent flashes of panic through Sam, and he felt hot and cold and clammy simultaneously, like he did when Rachel Griggs palmed him over the pants for the first time – like he had a stupid schoolboy crush.

And that was a better analogy for this, because Sam wanted everything except Danny not to like him, but that was all he seemed capable of doing in the face of feelings he didn’t recognize and an anxiety that wouldn’t subside.

“You’ll get in with us, right, Danny?” Josh asked, and Sam silently prayed that Danny would say no. The last thing he needed right now was Danny succumbing to a shark without making things right. 

He just didn’t know how to do that properly, right now.

It didn’t seem he was a favorite right now when it came to prayer, though, and Danny said, “Yeah, of course. Never been ocean swimming at night. And I’m willing to take the risk.”

“YOLO!” Jake joked, sighing when his bare feet hit the cool sand.

Sam blinked. Was he being hyper-sensitive to everything Danny said, or was that last part about risks geared toward him? “Well,” he said grumpily, his good mood dissipating in the blink of an eye. “I’m staying on solid ground and away from the dangerous fish in the water.”

His words were dismissed almost immediately, and everyone was shucking off shirts and pants and oh god Josh was actually serious about skinny dipping, and it seemed that everyone else was following his lead, as well. Including Danny, which Sam had to avert his eyes from for boner prevention.

But at this point, Danny was so in tune with what Sam was doing at every point in time they spent together, yet unable to read him like he had before, and seeing him look away so quickly with that grimace on his face almost made Danny pull his skivvies up and sprint back in time to the rental car, tell Sam that they couldn’t go hiking because it was gonna rain, and then avoid all this drama and disappointment entirely.

“Since when have you been such a goody two-shoes, Debby-downer?” Jake scoffed, baring himself to the open water and shivering in the wind.

“Ask me that after you get fucking hypothermia, and maybe I’ll have an answer for you then,” Sam deadpanned. 

Josh let out a maniacal laugh, and then started waltzing towards the black abyss that was the ocean. “We laugh in the face of danger, and keep our dice on the table when odds are against us - have you learned nothing, brother?” he dramatized, putting the first foot into the ocean and tensing up. “But shit is this water gonna hurt.”

There was a sudden ‘whoop’ from beside Sam and he snapped his head towards the sound. The next thing he knew, Danny was throwing himself into the ocean, yelling profanity and unintelligible sounds while Jake and Josh cheered him on.

Sam, though, was frozen in disbelief that Danny would actually be so reckless. Did he feel like he was overreacting? Maybe. 

But he was the one who took risks that would land him in hot water (or…cold), not Danny. And he could only believe that this sudden outburst of rash behavior was partly caused by what transpired in Vermont or, at the very least, how Sam responded to what transpired. 

It wasn’t that Sam was actively trying to dissect every choice Danny made and trace a string back to their hookup, but it seemed like too much of a coincidence to look at it any other way.

In all honesty, though, he knew he was lying to himself. He really was searching, because even if he couldn’t have Danny as a lover, or what seemed like even a friend, then Sam would rather have him hate him than be totally apathetic to the things that should — that would — have mattered.

He was angrier at himself than he was at Danny, and worried that his friend was going to get himself sick and take more heat for having to cancel shows than what was due. 

But it was more than that. He was worried that this would change them forever; worried that their friendship was the wax on Icarus’ wings, and that the moments of bliss they had shared, the sun that would melt it instead of lighting the way for them to fly together.

And Sam didn’t want to see them plummet.

~~~

Tag list:

@fleetsonfire @theweightofstardust @theatrekidjosh @fictional-duchess @greta-van-yeet @prophetofthedune @toothgapjoshy @gretavanfleas @gretavanfleetposts @doodle417 @razorbladekiszka @sammysvanfeet @s-u-t @lallisonl @hayley1623 @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @toxbexannouncedx @sammyslappers @alexxavicry @thecoldwind @maedesculpaeusoubi @jordierama @sarakay-gvf @gabyvanfleet @spark-my-nature

Taglist request form here

#greta van fleet fics #sanny gvf fanfiction #sanny gvf #gvf slash #sam kiszka x danny wagner #sam kiszka angst #Danny Wagner angst #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fan fiction

[thatstormygeek]

I know that for many people there truly is a feeling of a closer, more authentic connection at a live, in-person meeting, and that for them, face-to-face events foster a greater ability to speak off the cuff. Many non-Autistic, non-disabled people feel that a video chat introduces the boundaries of time and distance to the interaction, which can make communication feel halting or artificial. But it is those very same boundaries of time and distance that help to keep disabled people like myself authentically engaged, participating at our own speeds, and protected from the sensory pains and viral risks that an in-person event introduces.

In person, I do not have the time to reflect on my true feelings, translate those feelings into words, and locate the right moment to share them in polite, neuroconformist speech. Instead, it feels like I’m steering a runaway train while constantly laying down some new track for myself. You can’t let a comment hang in the air for more than a second without responding to it, or else someone will interrupt you. But you also can’t interrupt anyone else after they have cut in.  And so I reach for whatever superficial word or gesture that will keep the conversation moving, regardless of whether I believe in it. I reach for pre-scripted questions about the weather, repeat cliched jokes and platitudes, and smile in a forced way that gives me a headache, but puts non-Autistics at ease.  They don’t think I’m a cold-blooded serial killer, I say to myself when I retreat to the bathroom to let my face fall. I got away with it this time. I conjured up a specter of an appropriate human and I allowed him to completely overtake me. What’s “special” to me about this interaction is that I’m not there for it at all. 

At this point, the rate of prior COVID exposure is so high and the chance of worsened symptoms with each successive infection is so great that nearly everyone in attendance at an event runs the potential risk of developing Long COVID. In a very real way, by mandating that an event only occur in person you are not only reducing the number of disabled scholars that can attend it, but you are potentially creating new disabled scholars who will no longer be able to work as easily in the future. 

When we mistakenly assert that there’s something “special” about being together in-person that no other method of communication can replace, this is where it leads us. The contributions that disabled people have to offer from behind our protective barriers get completely discounted as not valuable, not worthy of consideration, as not “real.” 

Though the scientific evidence on worker productivity did not support a forced return to the office, countless managers pushed for it the moment vaccines became widely adopted. They believed, as the organizers of this symposium do, that there is some ineffable “special” quality to being together in person. The widely unpopular return to work caused employee morale to drop, inspired waves of mass resignation, and led business leaders to publish countless works of back-to-office propaganda in the popular press. 

Work environments are veiled in constant threat — the threat of firing, the threat of arrest, the threat of being cast aside for being too angry, too difficult, and too weird. There, we need some distance. We need control over which sides of ourselves that we reveal. We need a mask — both figuratively, and in order to prevent people from getting sick.

#dr devon price #ableism #autism #covid is not over #fuck all stages of capitalism #neurodivergent

[affiliatemarketing01]

5 Ways to Build Your Brand Traffic to Make Business More Visible

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By choosing the correct keywords, you'll be able to make sure that the traffic you gain users to form a procurement or engage with an organization. A decent SEO strategy will help to optimise the conversion rate.

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Social media is the most powerful medium that helps to spice up your brand awareness. Simply be told to top social media sites and explore for your audience there. Then specialize in your resources. 

Use Content in Varied format

To build your brand traffic you wish to be more visible. to create it work and prepare different types of content. It should include blogs, articles, videos, images, infographics, and eBooks to capture the broader audiences' attention. Publish differing types of content on different platforms to leverage the reach. 

Focus on local attention

If you're into an internet business, it doesn't mean you're only that specialize in the globe over online audiences. you furthermore might specialise in local marketing. Use local SEO, offline activities, using billboards, posters, flyers, and events. After you combine online and offline marketing, it allows you to maximise results and increase awareness across a large demographic. 

Forge partnerships

By partnering with another business you'll get direct access to their customer base. So you would like to decide on a partner who complements your own. Here you would like not to set a contest, you both are going to be beneficial to each other. With a strategic approach, corporate partnerships are often lucrative for all parties involved.  

While building your brand traffic, ensure your target market is attentive to your brand. Now, people who are responsive to your brand have to make sure that they relate to you positively. Both authenticity and reliability are needed here. With strategic branding and effective marketing, you'll be able to make sure that your increased visibility ends up in significant financial gains. 

Your brand has to be thoughtfully constructed, and you wish to require care to be what your clients expect. you need to be yourself, of course, and that i think about our core brand as being the highest versions of ourselves- this could be the view we bring around our target audiences.

One of the most important problems online today- and it's especially vital within the pursuit of profitable popularity- is the idea of capturing attention. With all the bells and whistles of the web, it is easy for our target viewers or site visitors to be distracted and lose track of who we are and what we're doing. This has been made worse by social media.

If people are distracted, confused, or not taking note of you… the worst thing happens. Nothing.

So your primary focus should be on gaining and retaining appropriate attention. And consistency is a method to try to do that.

Consistency in your brand refers to manifestation the identical way, all the time. If you opt that you just will dress a specific way- you show up looking like that everyone the time. If you choose you'll carry a signature item, or wear a signature piece of jewelry- you are doing that each one the time.

Online, consistency shows up in your choice of username, on your About Me page, and in your profile pictures. Your goal with each of those items is to use the identical username, same picture, and a minimum of an analogous enough bio that individuals are going to be able to identify you. It means you can change your profile picture as per your changed looks, and you do not veer too widely from the image you desire to portray.

You never want to own the experience of somebody following you online, but being unable to spot you in the real world because you look so different or aren't what they expected. This defeats the entire purpose of your branding.

Branding is supposed to form you instantly recognizable and simply understood. This can be why you want to consistently extend your brand, with an excellent focus.

The hardest thing to try to do is to induce someone's attention. If you are able to capture that, then, and only then, does one have an opportunity of your message being heard.

Look at your participation online, and fix any holes or gaps in your consistency. try and build a stronger brand if you're thinking that it's not in your hand then let AXAD get laid for you. Give all of your brand-building tensions to AXAD, and become more memorable within the minds and experiences of your ideal client.

#Build your brand Traffic

[pilothusband]

All Hail The King

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: Alcohol, oral sex, p in v sex, praise kink. I’m a horny bitch, okay? This is purely indulgent.

Word count: 5k

Author’s note: Special thanks to @wyn-dixie​ for reading this over before I posted it and for enabling this filth. ❤️ This idea entered my brain randomly and I had to write it out. Please let me know what you think! I want your feedback. If I had Photoshop I would have made an edit of Frankie with a crown for this but I don’t have it so here’s this gif instead.

The bar is humming with activity, but the table you’re nestled at in the back provides enough shelter to allow you all to converse without having to yell at each other.

You’ve been nursing a glass of water for a while now, since you’re the designated driver this week. It doesn’t bother you, though— you’re just happy to be out with your friends.

Every once in a while you steal a glance over at Frankie, who’s sitting diagonally across the table, next to Santiago who is directly across from you. Benny is to your left, his large body crowding you into the wall, and his brother Will is at the head of the table.

“Hey Fish,” Benny claps a hand on his shoulder. The force of his hand jostles Frankie’s solid body backwards a little, but to his credit he doesn’t flinch. “How are things with that girl you were seeing? Jennessa? Jennifer?”

You take a sip of your water and look down at the table to mask your interest at the sudden change in conversation.

“Jessica,” Frankie clears his throat. “They aren’t. We didn’t have much in common so she broke it off after a few dates.”

Queue the internal cheering. Jessica was a bit of a wet mop, to be honest. She never had anything to say when Frankie brought her around and she would scoff at everything that was slightly unsavory in her eyes. Deep down, you had to come to terms with the jealous twinge you felt in your gut every time she would squeeze Frankie’s shoulder affectionately, her immaculately manicured nails pressed harshly into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, Fish,” Benny said, slinging his arm around the man, the clumsy movement knocking his hat slightly askew. “Her loss, brother.”

“Here here,” Santi agrees, raising his bottle in the air. “To the king!”

Benny cheers clinks his bottle against Santiago’s echoing his sentiment. Will huffs out a laugh and Frankie groans, hiding his face in his hands.

You gape at the two men in question, but they just giggle like a couple of school girls.

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty,” you say, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. You look over at Frankie as he takes an impatient sip from his drink.

Benny just about spits out a mouthful of beer onto the table.

“Shut the fuck up, guys.” Frankie warns his friends. “Seriously.” Santi and Benny give him an innocent look. Will focuses his gaze on the bottle he’s holding, picking at the paper label, damp and curling at the edges from condensation .

Santiago leans towards you, his breath hot in your ear.

“We call him the pussy eating king.”

You thank the powers above you weren’t mid-sip, because the choked sound that emits from your throat was both involuntary and sudden. Heat blossoms in your stomach and your thighs clench together as you make eye contact with Frankie. He looks away nervously, embarrassed even. 

“So was this a self coronation or..” You trail off, grinning at the flush on Frankie’s cheeks.

“It was that really talkative chick he was seeing for a while,” Benny says, turning to you. “Brianna?”

“Brenda,” Frankie sighs.

“So Brenda crowned you the pussy eating king?” You ask Frankie, who still refuses to meet your eyes.

He grumbles in response, waving off the subject.

“Yeah, she went on about it in detail for the whole night one time. I think you were away for a work trip or something” Santiago is absolutely smirking, loving the way Frankie is physically shrinking under the group’s attention. “Come on Fish, don’t be so modest. You’re a beast in the sack, it’s a good thing!”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You remember why you weren’t there. It was because you couldn’t stand seeing Frankie so happy with another woman, so you feigned sick.

“Well, I can see why things with Brenda didn’t last,” you respond, knowing Frankie was kind of a private guy. “But hey, at least she can tell all her friends she got the royal treatment while it lasted.”

Benny, Santiago and even Will all roar with laughter, fists banging raucously on the table. Frankie huffs out an embarrassed laugh, despite himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he takes a swig of his beer, emptying it. “I need another drink.”

“Hey Ben, what time is your fight next week again?” Will calls over to his brother. You’re grateful for the change of subject. Frankie’s had enough torture for one night and you aren’t sure how many more details about Frankie’s sexual prowess your nether regions can take.

Benny turns towards Will to talk about his upcoming match and you take a sip from your glass to try to hide how flustered you’re feeling. Did this bar get hot all of a sudden?

The glass lands back down with a dull thump and you look up to find Santiago studying you, his eyebrow raised.

“What?” You don’t mean to sound aggressive, but his gaze is unnerving, as if he’s trying to suss out something you’re hiding.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He smirks and tips up his beer, taking a long gulp. You roll your eyes at him and look down to pick at your nails.

A few moments later, Frankie returns with a fresh beer and you can feel Santiago turning his face in your direction again to read your body language. You school your reaction, fingers digging painfully into your pint glass. Sometimes Pope is too fucking nosy for his own good.

He must lose interest after a moment though, because he turns his attention back to Benny, who’s still talking about his upcoming fight.

The topic doesn’t come up again, thankfully, and you’ve dropped all the boys off at their separate destinations, save for Frankie, who lives the closest to you.

The car ride alone with him isn’t as tense as you were expecting, since his tongue has been loosened with the fair amount of alcohol he’s had tonight. You both chat easily about the upcoming week and how much you’re dreading going back to work on Monday.

You can’t resist one smart remark though, as you pull up to Frankie’s house.

“Your castle awaits, my liege,” you quip, trying and failing to hide your amused smile as you look over at him.

Frankie throws his head back and laughs freely, opening the car door with a wink.

“Goodnight, my queen,” he bows exaggeratedly before shutting the car door.

The butterflies don’t tamp down until you’re securely inside your own apartment, locking the door behind you.

That night was a month ago, which means it’s been a whole fucking month since your brain flew the coop. Every time Frankie does just about anything with his mouth, everything else around you ceases to exist.

Take last Thursday, for example. Frankie dropped by after work to help you change your porch light, since the fixture is too heavy and the light is too high up to easily reach.

He steps up the ladder with ease, unscrewing the fixture and holding it with his left hand. He puts the screwdriver in his mouth so he can hold onto the ladder as he gingerly hands you the fixture. You grab onto it and hand him the replacement bulb so he can swap them out.

He gets the lightbulb in and gestures towards you to hand the fixture back, which he screws back in before stepping down.

“Blegh,” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, an action that has your last two brain cells screeching to a halt. “Screwdrivers taste awful.” 

His statement is cute, self-deprecating, and you try to respond appropriately but all you can do is gape at him like a fish out of water.

‘Get your shit together, he’s wiping off the taste of rust, not your pussy,’ you try to mentally shake yourself out of your stupor, but it does no good.

He turns back towards his toolbox to drop the screwdriver in and close the lid.

“All set,” he says, dusting off his jeans. He sounds a little uneasy, probably because you’re acting like a complete weirdo.

“Thank you so much, Frankie. I really appreciate it.” You find your manners and pull him in for a hug, secretly reveling in how good he smells.

“Any time,” he tells you as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes softly.

Before he pulls away you make a spur of the moment decision, and reach up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He’s so impossibly warm and so inviting, you can feel your heart flutter in your chest. The sparse hairs on his face tickle your chin. 

Frankie clears his throat and ducks his head down, mumbling a hurried goodbye before he heads back to his truck, toolbox in hand. You don’t miss the way his lips are turned up and the crows feet make an appearance in the corner of his eyes, nor do you miss the brilliant flush that spreads over his face and down his neck.

It’s Saturday now and your torment knows no end. You decide you’re too tired to go out and opt to invite the guys over for a movie night, to which they all agree. 

You decide you’ll just have to look away every time Frankie takes a sip of a drink, or eats a handful of popcorn. Or God forbid, if he licks his lips.

The group chat has been a nightmare, with everyone trying to come up with a movie to watch. Benny wants to watch The Expendables, Will mentioned something about wanting to see Dunkirk for ages now and Santi is playing devil’s advocate, disagreeing with all of their choices but not coming up with one of his own.

Frankie has been quiet in the chat, besides initially agreeing to come over initially.

It’s 9:00 PM, you have a 30 rack of beers in the fridge and some popcorn set out for everyone. All you have to do now is wait for the guys to arrive. Your phone chimes with a notification from Benny.

Benny and the Jets 🥊: Sorry lady, I got called in for a last minute practice. Raincheck?

Ironhead 🦸🏼: I gotta duck out too. The lady wants to have a date night. Sorry!

You type out a reply to them, a little disappointed but bidding them a good night all the same.

A knock sounds on the door and you rush over to answer it. The door swings open to reveal Frankie, wearing the softest looking navy blue hoodie you’ve ever seen, along with his Standard Oil cap. He looks as unsure as ever, holding a bottle of red wine.

You chirp an over-enthusiastic greeting, internally cringe at it, and step aside to welcome him in.

“I know you like red wine, so I got some for you on the way here. I hope it’s the kind you like.”

You accept the wine and look at the label. It’s a California Zinfandel. You can’t believe he remembered your favorite wine.

“I love it, thank you so much.” You pull him into a hug, nuzzling into the soft material of his sweatshirt. He returns the hug just as enthusiastically, pulling away to kiss your forehead.

“Is Santiago on his way?” You ask, padding into the kitchen to grab a glass from your cabinet. “Do you want a glass? Or I have some beer if you’d prefer.”

“Beer is perfect, thanks,” he says a little breathily as he looks over at you. “Santiago said something came up and that he’s sorry.”

Something feels a little fishy with the three of them ducking out all at the same time, but you don’t mention it as you hand him a beer and search through your drawer for a bottle opener. A few minutes later, you’re both set up on the couch and are scrolling through Netflix for a movie.

“I have no idea what to watch. Do you?”

“Want to watch Civil War? I know the guys will bitch we’re continuing the rewatch without them but they can deal.”

You tip your head back and laugh, navigating over to your Disney+ app.

Frankie takes off his hat and sets it aside while you spread a blanket over your laps, braving a chance to scoot closer to him. He takes the hint and wraps his arm behind your shoulders, nestling you closer to his chest. You settle in and try to pay attention to the movie, despite the wild fluttering that is taking place in your stomach.

Frankie shifts uncomfortably and winces a little. You can tell he’s trying to hide it, but little does he know you’ve been watching every single movement he makes like a hawk. Or a nervous lap dog.

“Does your back hurt? I can move,” you start to get up but Frankie grabs onto your wrist and pulls you back in.

“No, stay. I just need to find a comfortable position.”

You make a soft noise of surprise when he lifts you up and pulls you towards him, settling back so he’s spread out on the couch. You’re settled on top of him, your legs stretched out over his with your back to the cushion, half draped over his torso.

This position has your heart thumping hard in your chest. His face was just a few inches from yours. All he’d have to do is tilt his face towards yours, and you’d be practically kissing.

Focusing on the movie is harder than ever. Your left hand rests on Frankie’s chest and your right is near his head. Without even thinking, you reach out and start stroking your fingers through his soft curls. He hums contentedly, the pleasant sound rumbling through his chest.

A hand makes its way up your arm leaving goosebumps in its wake, landing on your shoulder.

You brave a glance at Frankie and feel your heart stutter in your chest when you realize he’s been looking at you. His eyes are as dark as ever, twinkling against the flicker of your TV.

He closes the gap and captures your lips in a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft, melding to yours perfectly. The brush of your mouths together is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to lick at him and he complies, letting out a guttural moan at the sensation as your tongues meet languidly.

You shift your leg so it slots between his and both of your hands find his shoulders and squeeze them, eliciting a soft mewl from Frankie’s mouth. His hands are hot on your back and he slides one down to your ass, kneading the soft flesh over your leggings.

Your hips press into his, rutting into him, soft pants falling from your mouth– mingling with his. You need to be closer, closer, closer. He tightens his grip on your ass in response and rolls his hips so you can feel how hard he is against your belly.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, breaking the kiss, words tumbling out between his ragged breaths. 

You can feel yourself throbbing for him, wetness rushing to your core as his hushed baritone makes your head spin with need. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re convinced this is a dream. That there’s no way you’re dry humping the man of your dreams on your couch right now.

You duck down to hide your expression, not wanting to ruin the moment with your anxiety and doubt. You’ll take whatever this man gives you, even if it’s just this moment. 

You busy yourself by peppering small kisses on his neck, trailing them up to his jaw.

“Hey,” he slows your movements and holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up gently up to look at him.

“I want you. I want this. Do you?” 

You feel the urge to look away, his gaze is intense and laser-focused on you. Eye contact has never been your strong suit, so this was a lot for you to handle. But you fight the urge to flinch and stare back, searching to see if there was anything that will give away any trepidations. His expression remains hard set, serious but not unkind. It’s just like Frankie to have eyes as clear as day, giving away all of his secrets. They’re just like him— strong, unrelenting in their hardness and softness.

“Yes,” you reply. Your voice cracks a little, thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long.” 

You feel embarrassment wash over you with the admission, but Frankie doesn’t let it last long before you crushes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He breaks it off after a moment, lips swollen and pink.

“Baby, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

He strokes a hand down your jaw, his thumb caressing your skin as a goofy smile blooms over your face.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” he whispers, his thumb catching on the swell of your bottom lip. “Will you let me make you feel good?”

You blink and swallow heavily, a fresh wave of arousal flooding to your center as the deep rasp of his voice utters those words, smooth as caramel– dousing over you like kerosene on a fire.

You nod, not trusting your voice at this very moment.

“I need you to say it out loud, honey,” he says, his lips brushing against yours ever so lightly.

“Yes, Francisco,” you breathe out. “Make me feel good.”

He bites your bottom lip and tugs, then growls playfully before he grabs your shoulders and flips you over. You let out a delighted shriek, giggling as he lifts up the hem of your shirt and kisses every inch of skin that’s revealed.

“Wait,” you call out. He stops his movements immediately. “You first.”

Frankie grins. You want to press your fingers into the dimple that appears and feel the scratch of his beard under your nails. He leans back and lifts his sweatshirt over his head, the grey t-shirt he’s wearing sticks to the inside of it and he rolls both garments down his arms. 

His chest is bare to you now, smooth except for a smattering of hairs in the middle of his chest, and a patch leading down into his jeans. You want to reach out and run your hands down the planes of his torso and follow the path of hair,  but your arms aren’t long enough to reach. 

You remove your shirt, leaving you in your leggings and bra. It’s a soft lace number, a delicate pink with no underwire. You watch as his hungry gaze roams over your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t motion for you to take it off. Instead, he leans over you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

 He moves downwards, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your neck. He continues his path and mouths between your breasts, one of his hands reaches out to squeeze the plump flesh in his large hand. You nipple instantly pebbles under his ministrations and he pulls the fabric aside to tease it with the pad of his finger. You moan softly at the sensation and yelp in surprise when he sucks it into his mouth and bites it, soothing the sharp sting with a flick of his tongue.

 “Mmm, love how responsive you are already,” he hums, moving down. Your back arches as his mouth makes a hot trail down the rest of your torso. You look down and notice he’s left wet patches where his mouth has been, coating you in saliva and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

 He reaches the waistband of your leggings and pushes them down, letting out a strangled groan when he gets an eyeful of your panties, the same shade of pink that matches the bra you’re wearing. 

“So fucking sexy,” he breathes.

He peels your panties down your legs and pulls them off along with your leggings, leaving you completely bare from the bottom down. You start to cross your legs to hide yourself, feeling self-conscious at how exposed you are, but Frankie grabs your thigh to halt the movement.

“You better not hide this pretty pussy from me,” he says, licking his lips.

You half expect him to dive in, but he takes a moment to look at you. He’s resting a hand on your hip. His pointer finger makes a path down, tracing an invisible line up and down your slit. You hiss at the ghost of his touch and thrust your hips towards his hand, seeking out more friction.

Frankie lets out an amused chuckle at your reaction and leans forward to plant a wet kiss to your inner thigh. You let out a shaky breath in anticipation– your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. He kisses up your thigh until he reaches the apex between your legs, then licks a stripe through your folds with the flat of his tongue, pulling a surprised gasp from your parted lips.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and you can’t help it– you buck up into his mouth and grab onto his hair and tug at the strands. He grabs onto the flesh of your hip and whimpers into your pussy. Despite being almost dizzy with need, you feel a rush of power knowing you have this effect on him.

“You taste so fucking good. So wet for me,” he punctuates his words with bold licks up and down. “Never want to stop.”

He changes patterns, making tight circles on your clit with his tongue. The sudden switch has you mewling and your legs clamp around his head involuntarily. Frankie grabs your thighs and wrenches them apart, hooking them over his shoulders as he latches onto your pussy. His hands are on your ass, holding you up as your back arches off the couch.

All you can do is scramble at the cushions below you for purchase as Frankie buries his face into your cunt, lapping at you with abandon. His tongue licks into you with an intensity you’ve never experienced before; it has you seeing stars.

You have no idea how he knows exactly how to manipulate your body to pull the pleasure from you so naturally. Every lick feels like it’s searching for treasure, every suck hits somewhere deep inside, reverberating through the muscles of your thighs and up in your abdomen.

He gently places you back down to the cushions and rubs at your entrance with his pointer finger, looking up at you for permission.

“Yes, please–“ you whimper brokenly. He complies immediately and plunges it into you, following with a second finger, and curls them up. His pace is slow at first and he flicks his tongue out to play with your clit at the same time. He’s soon spurred on by your moans and sets a brutal pace. You once again feel the urge to clamp around him to increase the pressure, but Frankie uses his broad shoulders to hold your thighs apart.

 Seeing his shoulders, bare and perspiring from his intensive movements, so wide and flushed, coupled with the furrow of his brow, his eyes pinched closed, makes something primal within you awaken. You barely have time to feel your orgasm coming before it’s hitting you– thighs shaking, back arching, hands in his hair. You don’t even realize it, but you;’re shrieking his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s groaning in reply, milking you through it with his fingers and tongue, lapping up your release, syrupy sweet and indulgent.

 He doesn’t stop until you’re flinching from overstimulation. He kisses up your body lazily, taking his time before capturing your lips. You kiss him back, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on his tongue. He grinds into you, his jean-clad erection rubs against your aching cunt and rekindles the fire, molten heat shooting through your entire body.

 “Wanna fuck you so bad, baby,” he says, panting the words into your mouth.

 You moan and break the kiss.

 “Want to take this to my room?”

 He doesn’t reply, but instead swings his body off the couch and picks you up bridal-style. He stumbles a little with the first steps and you both laugh, kissing each other with each step he takes towards your bedroom.

He tosses you onto the bed softly and you let loose another delighted giggle when Frankie flops over you dramatically, caging you in his arms. Your tongues tangle together in an impossibly sensual kiss. He’s momentarily distracted, caught up in the feel of your body underneath his with the soft touches of your tongue, and you take the opportunity to roll him over and straddle his hips.

Frankie is looking up at you as if he’s in awe, like he can’t believe you’re here right now, naked from the waist down and grinding down on his hard cock, tenting his jeans.

You move down his body and zip his fly down, pushing down the denim along with his boxer briefs. His cock springs free, hard and hot and leaking at the tip. You can’t help but lick the bead of precum, and a broken whine rips from Frankie’s throat. His hands are clenched into the sheets, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the mattress beneath him.

You’re bobbing your mouth up and down his length, tongue licking around his shaft and cheeks hollowing out. His moans are loud, constant. He’s babbling praise, telling you how fucking amazing your mouth feels, how badly he wants to fuck you. It’s a heady feeling, bringing a strong and quiet man to his knees like this. You love that he’s letting you know how much he’s breaking for you.

Your tongue finds its way down to his balls and you suck them into your mouth, moaning at the musky taste. His moans are high pitched now and his hand is squeezing your shoulder.

“Baby, you gotta stop,” he grabs onto your hair to pause your movements. “I need to feel you.”

You give him one last broad lick up his shaft and shift back up, and look down at Frankie to catalogue the number you’ve done on him. He’s absolutely wrecked– brown eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly with his uneven breaths.

 You remove your bra, stretching it over your head and throwing it to the side. Frankie follows the movement and lets out a needy, staccato moan at the sight of you, completely bare before him.

 You reach down and kiss him soundly on the mouth, lining his cock up with your entrance.

 “I’ve got you, baby boy,” you coo, sinking down on his length.

 “Fuck,” he grits out between his teeth.

 You give yourself a moment to get used to his size and rock into him. His hands fly up to your chest, squeezing lightly and rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

 “So fucking big,” you pant out. “So good for me.”

 It seems Frankie loves praise as much as you do, evidenced by the twitch of his cock inside you.

 Your pace is agonizingly slow. You’re trying to tease out the moment, stretch it out so it lasts forever. It doesn’t last long– you can’t stand it anymore. You bounce up and down on him, snapping your hips when they meet his.

 “So fucking perfect,” he pants out. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

 You breathe out a moan and stop your movements. Frankie mistakes your pause for hesitation and reaches up to brush the hair out of your face.

 “We don’t have to,” he says, voice gentle, brow furrowed in concern. 

 “No, fuck. No, Frankie. I want to.”

 You gingerly get up and whimper at the loss when he’s no longer inside you. Frankie sits up, shoulders rocking forward and cock bobbing with his movement as he settles onto his knees. You watch him and bite your lip, getting on all fours and lifting your ass up in the air to present yourself to him.

 Frankie can’t help the groan that falls from his lips and sinks forward to lay an open-mouthed kiss on your pussy from behind before he lines himself up. He enters you without hesitation, hips slapping against your ass rhythmically, setting a decisively fast pace. 

 All you can hear is the filthy sounds of your wet pussy as he pounds into you, along with your strangled moans, and his heavy breathing, laced with whispers of praise you can’t discern. The waves of pleasure are too much, too strong. You can feel the familiar build up of an orgasm. Your head is in the clouds as it climbs and climbs– then crashes.

 His fingers on your clit is what does you in. Your whole body shakes and all you can do is whimper and moan around his cock while he fucks into you. The strong, practiced rock of his hips become sloppy as he chases his release, muttering words of adoration into the air as he pulls out and cums, spilling onto your back. He pulls every last drop out of his cock before collapsing over you, forehead resting on your spine as he catches his breath.

 “Fuck, baby,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Should have done this ages ago.”

 You both laugh and Frankie gets up to grab a wet face towel from the bathroom

A little while later, you’re both in bed, blissed out and wrapped up around each other. The movie, drinks and snacks are all forgotten. All that matters is here and now– your breaths mingling together as you kiss each other lazily, tongues probing slowly. 

In the other room, both of your phones ping on the coffee table with unheard notifications.

The first text is from Santiago.The other boys follow suit, not a minute apart.

Pope 🤦🏻‍♂️: 👑

Benny and the Jets 🥊: 👑

Ironhead 🦸🏼: 👑

Neither of you see the texts until the next morning.

 The following weekend, it’s Santiago’s turn to be the designated driver. He’s parked outside of Frankie’s house, waiting to pick both of your asses up. He starts to tap his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel after the first 15 minutes. 

“What the fuck are they doing in there?” He asks Will and Benny. They all know the answer, but don’t say anything.

Meanwhile, Frankie has you crowded against the front door, your sundress is hiked up and his face is buried in your pussy. Neither of you can hear the sound of Santi’s impatient honking over your moans.

And if you end up going to the bar sans panties because you can’t find them before Santiago is pounding his fist on the door, well that’s just a secret you and Frankie will have to keep.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y @greeneyedblondie44 @blackmarketmummy @brandyllyn @gracie7209 @bootyliciousbilbo @dobbyjen

#frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco morales pilot of my heart #all hail francisco morales pussy eating king

[biletdoux]

temporary bliss | j.sc

Member | jung sungchan (nct) + female!reader Rating | m Genre + Tropes | idol!sungchan, asssistant!reader, fwb!au, romance (smut, slight angst) Warning(s) | explicit language, sexual content (pwp, oral [m +f receiving], nipple play, face fucking, doggy, cowgirl, missionary), sungchan is a fuck boi and reader is dumb smh Length | 4.1k+ Prompts | ‘After Midnight’ by WayV for the Event # 3: Song Association - Risqué hosted by the Neo Smut Collective network! Please go check out the other wonderful works in the event and check out the whole network if you get the chance <333 Playlist | After Midnight - WayV // Temporary Bliss - The Cab

Summary | The closest you can get to Jung Sungchan being yours is after midnight. 

(Or; when it comes to Sungchan, you take what you can get.)

Note: hi!! it’s a bit late, but it’s here !!! this is the i’ve never really written super explicit smut before, so this is by far the filthiest thing i’ve written ;; i originally wanted to do some sort of cinderella!au or something, but i couldn’t think of a sufficient plot, so i came up with this instead haha. maybe i’ll visit the cinderella!au in the future. please let me know what you think! it would mean a lot to me haha

It’s late when you’re finally able to call it a day. 

Your muscles creak and ache in ways that it shouldn’t for your age and your feet hiss from the constant running around to tend to errands and preparing props and make up. The elevator of your apartment complex has been down all week, so you’re forced to trudge the three floor trek against your will. When you finally make it to your door, your phone buzzes with a text notification and you’re tempted to toss it over your shoulder. It’s been a long day and you want nothing more than a hot shower before flinging yourself onto your bed. 

You want to ignore it, but you know the photoshoot is coming up soon and everything is on a tight schedule. The slightest mishap will throw everything out of order and since you’re at the bottom of the totem pole, you know the magazine editors and photographers will take out their wrath on you. 

You heave a sigh and jam in your apartment key with misdirected anger as you open the text. 

[23:41] 0XX-XXX-XXXX: you free tonight?

It’s an unsaved number, but you know exactly who it is. You suck in a deep breath in spite of yourself. Your body is prickling in anticipation as you mindlessly scroll up through the past text history with the number. 

It all unfolds the same. He texts first and you reply each and every time. You’re not proud of yourself, but you can’t help it. Tonight is no different. 

Your fingers dance across the keyboard on their own accord and you bite your lip thinking about how you have to be at the studio tomorrow at 06:00 sharp.

[23:43]: yeah.

Yes. It’ll be fine. You can make time. You always do.

The little grey text bubble with the three flashing dots pop up immediately and you find yourself feeling embarrassingly giddy at the sight of it.

[23:44] 0XX-XXX-XXXX: cool. same place, same time?

So much for a hot shower and much needed sleep. You waste no time in replying. Playing hard to get and coy with him gets you nowhere and you’ve accepted it. 

[23:45]: works for me. see you there

A bolded ‘Read at 23:45’ appears in the corner of your message and you don’t get another reply from him after. 

You quietly make your way to your room, as to not wake up your roommate, and you beeline straight for the shower. The hot water trickles over your body and you swear you can melt entirely, but you don’t allow yourself the luxury of enjoying it. The motel is a twenty minute walk from your place, so you need to hurry. You spritz on perfume before throwing on a quick outfit and a cap before you grab your keys and make your way out for the night. You used to put much more thought and care in your wardrobe when it first started, but you realized the clothes you meticulously picked out never stayed on long enough to be appreciated anyway. 

The night is chilly and you adjust your mask for a more snug fit over your face. 

Late night texts and substandard motels are not things you would expect to be associated with Jung Sungchan, but here you are making haste across dark alleys underneath a starless Seoul skyline. 

It was just a few months ago when the two of you were strangers.

Jung Sungchan was the latest model for the pictorial your mentor was spearheading for Allure in partnership with Dr.G. You were a newly hired assistant with only a few months time of wetting her toes in the magazine business. The work was tough and the pay abysmal. There were more menial tasks, such as fetching coffee and ordering lunch, than you’d like, but you understood the industry and knew how competitive it was. You were young and you were willing to bite your tongue in order to climb to the top. 

It was his first real third party photoshoot, so he was stiff, but still polite nonetheless. His skin was alabaster and he towered over the bustling staff who were in charge of styling and make up. He was very handsome, but you weren’t exactly swept off your feet at the sight of him. Working with various models day in and day out made you immune to a pretty face, no matter how pretty Jung Sungchan’s was. 

At least that’s what you thought. You didn’t realize how taken you were with him until the celebration party after the successful shoot. The shoot took close to 20 hours to finish in its entirety and everyone was in a drinking mood. The party was at rented loft and spanned the entire night. Three hours and multiple bottles of soju in, you found yourself next to the man of the hour. 

It’s a little hazy, but somehow after exchanging conversation and a few, okay, maybe a lot more, drinks, you found yourself in bed with him. Jung Sungchan was a little too charming to resist and before you knew it, the two of you crossed the line. 

You were sure you’d be in the biggest of trouble, but all the staff was plastered and you thanked every higher being that you could think of for getting away unscathed. Your indiscretion would stay nothing more than just that, and you could go back to living your life as if you hadn’t just bedded one of the new members of NCT. 

But here you are, at said motel where you’d agree to meet Sungchan the first time after that night and the very same motel where you two have agreed to meet at every time. 

“Is the queen suite available for three hours?” 

The man at the front desk didn’t even lift his eyes from the computer screen to meet yours. “Yeah, you know the hourly rate right?”

“I do.” You say as you handed over the appropriate amount of bills. 

He counts the bills and finally hands over your room key when satisfied. 

You make your way to the room, the path practically muscle memory at this point. The room is moderate sized with scant decorations, but the mattress plush and bathroom clean. That’s what Sungchan likes most about this place. 

You plop yourself on the mattress after placing your cap and face mask on the nightstand. The neon green of the clock reads ‘00:19’ and you know he’ll be here soon enough. 

This relationship, no, this arrangement the two of you have is dangerous and you’re not stupid enough to not know. The risks involved far outweigh any possible benefit, but the one benefit was being close to Jung Sungchan, so you allow yourself to play with fire a little longer. 

You were never one to mix business with pleasure, but a random text a few weeks after the Dr.G shoot has you biting your words. Now you’re at the whim of Jung Sungchan. He texts. You answer. You two meet up at the same motel. You usually pay for the room, but he’ll pay if he gets there first. You two fuck. He leaves first. He always leaves first. It’s the same song and dance, but your heart cracks just the tiniest bit each time, but when he texts, you answer. 

The clock reads ‘00:24’ when you hear a quiet knock on the door. You take a quick breath to steady yourself before opening the door. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him and the sight of him at the door frame of a dimly lit motel is no less breathtaking. 

Sungchan wastes no time when he sees you. He pulls you in for a rough kiss and you stumble slightly before steadying yourself against him. He haphazardly closes the door and locks it clumsily without ceasing to kiss you once. 

This is how it is with him. All efficiency and no pleasantries. Jung Sungchan knows what he wants and gets it. 

He backs you on to the mattress and you fall back, the mattress sinking with your weight and some of his as your hair is splayed back on the white sheets. He gives himself a moment and drinks in the sight of you before diving back down and kissing your neck. 

“How long did you reserve the room for?” He asks between kisses as he makes quick work of your clothes.

You grab at his shirt and try to unbuckle his belt before answering, “three hours.”

“Hm,” he pulls back to take off his shirt. Your shorts are halfway off at your knees and your shirt’s gone too, your bra is exposed to his appreciative gaze. “I have an early start tomorrow. I have to leave earlier than usual.” 

“That’s fine.” Disappointment pools at the bottom of your belly and you grab his face to pull him into another kiss. It’s wet and unrestrained, your tongue against his, but it does little to dispel your negative feelings. Sungchan groans against you, deepening the kiss while absolutely clueless to the sinking feeling in your body. 

You want to yell at him and kick him out. If he couldn’t stay long then why come at all. Why text you in the first place. You had an early start too. You just finished a 18 hour work day and you’re fucking tired too. You want to scream and shout, but you don’t. 

You’re nothing more than a coward, so you bite his bottom lip in frustration, but that just gets him more riled up and you feel his growing erection strain against his jeans. 

“Fuck,” he lets out. “You’re so sexy today.” 

You’re a little annoyed that he’s enjoying it, so you grab his head by the hair to be at eye level with him. You’re careful not to pull too hard despite your anger. His pretty face and every pretty little hair on his head has always been your weakness. 

Sungchan stares back at you, eyes brimming with unbridled lust and your resolve falters just the slightest bit, but you bite it back.

“Eat me out.” You demand. 

His eyes are unwavering as pulls you in for another rough kiss. When you start to match his rhythm, he abruptly pulls back. You’re embarrassed at the way your neck arched toward him to chase his retreating lips. 

“Sure,” he says as he completely pulls off your shorts. “I’ll gladly eat you out.” 

Your panties are soaked and it may have been because you were so excited at the prospect of seeing him for the first time in a while after weeks without hearing from him, but you’ll never admit it out loud. 

“Aw babe,” he teases with a quick swipe of his finger over your aching folds. “Look at how wet you are. All wet for me, right?” 

You look away as you keep your mouth sealed. You’ll never let him have that kind of satisfaction over you. 

Sungchan chuckles to himself at your little show of defiance before he gets to work. His tongue laps at your core and he switches up the pressure just the way you like it. He eats you out like a man starved and makes his hand useful by stimulating your clit simultaneously. Your hands are threaded through his locks and your toes curl. Sungchan knows exactly how you like it from your many hook ups and he has you seeing stars in no time. Your body writhes underneath him, but he’s unrelenting against your pussy. He doesn't stop fully simulating you until you’ve fully ridden the extent of your climax. 

Your chest is heaving and your skin sticky with a slight sheen of sweat. 

“So fast today,” he mutters. He makes direct eye contact as he licks his fingers dry.

“Shut up, I’m just pent up that’s all.” You snicker.

“Did you miss me?” he asks before capturing your lips for another kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, but you pay little mind as you match his fervor. His lithe finger works hard to unclasp your bra to have you entirely exposed to him. He admires your body in all its beauty and places a peck over your collarbone. “Just admit you missed me.” 

“I didn’t.” You lie. Your body is sensitive from your high and you flinch as his hands ghost over your torso. He peppers kisses all the way down to your breasts and skillfully takes a nipple in his mouth and rolls the other between his fingers. You gasp out loud and your body arches to meet him. You can feel him grinning against you and you kind of hate yourself. 

“Aw, don’t be like that.” His words sound as if he’s hurt, but his cheeky tone is impossible to miss. “Cause I missed you, babe.” 

Your throat goes dry and he moves his mouth over the other nipple to give it the same treatment. You decide to say nothing and just allow yourself to give into his ministrations. By the time he’s done, your nipples are sensitive to the max and your core is aching. 

You kiss him again, wanting nothing more to be close to him and he kisses you back greedily. It’s messy with no hint of grace, but it gets the job done. Sungchan pulls away first, his words raspy and strained. “Suck me off.” 

You want to argue, but he’s already taking off his pants and urging you to get on your knees. 

Sungchan is sitting on the edge of the bed with you snug between his legs. His cock stands stiff and proud as he looks at you expectedly. You act annoyed, but you do as he says regardless. 

You start with a quick kiss on the tip before making long drawn out licks on all sides of his cock. Once satisfied, you decided to take him in. You bob your head along his length and alternate between taking it in and pressured licks. You grab his balls and fondle him gently where he likes it. You also learned what he likes from all the clandestine escapades you two shared. 

You also learn that Sungchan is loud in bed. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. He grips your hair tightly as he guides your head and whenever you do something he’s especially fond of, he likes to stroke his thumbs against your cheek in praise.  “You’re always so good, babe.” 

His words edge you on and you find yourself wanting to please him more. You’re more turned on than ever and you use your free hand to finger yourself. You feel tightly wound and crave some form of release. 

“Oh my god,” Sungchan rasps. “Are you touching yourself right now?” 

You take him all the way in as a reply. His dick is touching the back of your throat and you firmly make a fist with your thumb wrapped around your fingers to suppress your gag reflex. You take him as far as you can and your nose just misses his navel by the slightest bit. His hips buck against your mouth and you do your best not to choke. 

“Baby,” he hisses against you as he holds your face in place. His hips are moving again and you feel tears prick your eyes as drool comes out from the both sides of your mouth. “You’ve always looked the prettiest between my legs with my dick in your mouth.” 

He fucks into your face for just a few more strokes before pulling you off. “I want to come in your pussy, babe.” 

Sungchan’s words have a wild edge to them, but you can barely register them as you’re coughing. Your throat feels raw and you wobble at your feet as you make you way back on the bed. He’s putting on a condom as you get into position. You know he always likes to take you from the back first, with your face in the pillow and your ass up in the air. 

You grab a pillow to prop under you for support and you allow yourself to slump over for a few seconds of rest. Just a moment later, you can feel Sungchan looming over you. 

“I love how you know just what I like,” he hums as his tip teases the edge of your lips. “Saves so much time.” 

“Just fuck me.” You’re exasperated and so desperately horny for him. 

He does what you say. Sungchan sinks into you and gives you just time to adjust to his length. You’ve been too busy to even play with your toys, so you haven’t had any stimulation down there at all. You feel stretched out, but in the most delicious way. Sungchan starts moving before you give him the okay, and normally you’d be pissed, but god does it feel so fucking good. 

His grip is tight and painful as he holds onto your hips while he rams into you. His pace is intense and delicious. You drown yourself in Sungchan.

“Shit,” you moan. You don’t like to stroke his already massive ego, but he has you feeling delirious. “So good. Feels so fucking good.” 

“What was that?” He taunts. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Fuck you.” you spit.

His pace halts to an aching stop and you feel like crying. His cock is all the way in and he leans over your body. His hand reaches over to play with you clit as he whispers in your ear. “That’s not very nice. I just couldn’t hear very well, that’s all. No need to be so nasty, you know it hurts my feelings.” 

You try to buck against Sungchan, but he uses his free hand to keep your hips in place and his other plays with your clit even harder. He bites your shoulder blade and you think tears really are going to come out.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” You cry. “Stop being such a fucking dick and just fuck me until I can’t think.” 

Sungchan freezes against you for the slightest bit, before you can feel him slide out of you. You expect him to ram into you and fuck you senseless for being so disrespectful, but you feel the mattress shift as he lies down next to you. 

“You really are so mean, babe.” His eyes twinkle as he looks at your confused face. “I don’t think I’m really in the mood anymore, you really hurt my feelings this time.” 

Your mind goes blank at the loss of his heat. It’s a lie of course, his dick is ramrod straight and aching to fuck you again, but fuck you’re just too damn horny to think straight. 

“I’m s-sorry” You splutter. It’s pathetic how easy you give into him and fall into his traps. “I said you’re good, so fucking good. So don’t make a liar of me and just fuck me.” 

“I will,” You sigh in relief, but you jolt up when he finishes his sentence. “But only if you ride me first.” 

The shock you feel leaves you speechless and he eggs you on even more. “What is it, babe? Don’t know how to ride a dick?” 

You know exactly what kind of stupid game he’s trying to pull, but your pussy desperately needs to be filled, so fine. You’ll play his game and beat him in process. 

You climb on top of Sungchan, your knees on both sides of his hips as your dripping pussy hovers over the tip of his cock. You can feel him twitch in anticipation. He’s looking up at you with a cocky little smile, but you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes that’s full of need. You had more fight in you, but his look erases it all. You take your right hand to line up his length at your entrance while your left hand steadies your body. When you sink on his dick, the both of you groan simultaneously. 

You rock against him slowly as you experiment where to put your hands to maximise your control. Once you’ve settled into a steady rhythm that has the both of your going crazy, you’re relentless on top of his cock. He has one hand on your hip to guide you while the other plays with your clit. 

All types of noises and expletives escape your mouth as you near your high. “Yeah,” you pant. “Just like that, Sungchan. Keep touching me like that.” 

He groans under you and grips your hip even harder as you reach your second orgasm. You slump over his body, your hair stuck against your slick back. You roll off his body out of breath and Sungchan sits up over you to kiss you. It’s leisure and languid and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. He allows you to do as you wish, but he pulls back shortly after.

“Ready for more?” He asks.

“What?” Your mind is a little slow after two orgasms.

“I didn’t come yet.” He reminds you. 

“Right.”

Sungchan takes off the condom and strokes his dick slowly. It’s still stiff and you realize you don’t mind another round.

“Yeah, sure.” You agree.

“I’ll give you a treat for riding me, babe.” He grins as he puts on a fresh condom. “You can pick the position.” 

You mull over your choices. Your body is sensitive to the max right now, so you don’t need that much more stimulation. You finally decide. “Missionary.” 

“Sure.” He says while setting up a pillow for you. You lie down slowly as he moves to position himself. 

Sungchan enters you with ease and once he’s all the way in, you wrap your legs around his waist. He grabs the other pillow and motions you to raise your hips before placing it under your hips for a better angle. He rocks into you at a moderate speed before picking up his pace. There are other positions that make you see stars, but nothing beats the intimacy of missionary. Sungchan is the closest to being yours in this position, so you allow yourself to indulge. 

You wrap your arms around his neck for another kiss and this one is soft and sweet. Sungchan returns it in the same manner and you allow yourself to think of him as your lover and your lover alone in that brief moment. 

“I’m about to come,” he grunts against your mouth. “Can I come?”

You nod and he hugs you tight before bucking his hips in a near frenzied pace. You can feel him reach his high as his body stutters against yours. Sungchan collapses on you shortly after and you both heave your chest in synch. You revel in the post-orgasm bliss with Sungchan, but it never lasts long. 

He moves to extricate your sweaty bodies and you want to ask him to stay in bed a little longer, but you don’t. He removes the condom and makes a little knot before tossing it in the trash bin. 

“I’m going to wash first, ‘that cool with you?” Sungchan asks as if you have a say in the matter. As if he isn’t already in the bathroom and turning on the shower as the words leave his mouth. 

But you know your role and you play the part. “Go ahead.” 

You know Sungchan can’t hear you anyway because he shut the bathroom door before you can reply. 

The sound of the shower fills the room as you look up at the ceiling. You allow yourself to rest for a few more minutes before rolling over to see the clock reading ‘01:59.’ You take a complimentary towel to give yourself a preliminary clean before your turn in the shower. He’s never asked to shower together once. 

When Sungchan is done, he leaves the shower looking fresh, but smelling of cheap motel shampoo. It’s another thing that you’ve come to associate with Jung Sungchan.

He gathers his things from the nightstand and you make your way to the shower. 

“Hey,” Sungchan calls over his shoulder just as you reach the bathroom. “I’ll see you again?” 

No. 

This isn’t any good for you. You can’t just keep crawling back from for a quick climax and a few minutes of intimacy. You can’t let him use you in whatever way he wants just in exchange for a few kisses. You can’t keep being at his beck and call and drop everything to give him a quick release. You have your own life and schedule too. You want more than what he can give, so stop doing this to yourself and cut it off. 

“Yeah, just text me.”

masterlist.

#neosmutsongs #neosmutcollective #neowritingsnet #cznnet #nctcreations #nct scenario #nct fanfic #nct smut #sungchan scenario #sungchan fanfic #sungchan smut

[creativesplat]

I often try not to be too critical on this blog, but I thought I ought to mention it. 

Star Wars the Clone Wars has some serious problems. 

Some things are just not handled delicately or correctly in any way shape or form. I’m not going to talk about the Clovis arcs here, since @englishlady has already done a very good job on that, and will instead elaborate on my opinions about the Zygerria arc. 

Trigger warnings for discussion of slavery, non-consensual stuff, and sexual harassment. 

Anakin’s portrayal was the thing that really frustrated me at first. This is a man who has suffered under slavery, abuse, and violence for the first nine years of his life, and the story writers are telling me that he is almost entirely comfortable bantering with his Padawan whilst surrounded by awful things from his past? After a few years you don’t just get over trauma, but his reactions seem to have. 

I have been through nothing even remotely as bad as this, but the bad stuff that has happened in my past isn’t something I can get over, and when it’s brought up I feel rather uncomfortable, uneasy, or downright rotten. 

The show writers really should have looked at this and said: ‘we are putting a character who has experienced childhood trauma into a position where he will be confronted by it and may experience it again, let’s try to handle it sensitively’ but what they actually went for was: ‘we’re doing episodes on slavery, there should be scantily clad ladies and the overall message that slavery is bad’ Yes. Slavery is bad. Everyone knows that. In dealing with such a sensitive topic, it should be handled better. Not just ‘slavery bad, but ooh look girls!’ (I will be getting on to the inappropriate costume design in a moment, btw), but also some delicacy and tact. These are real world problems that people today still suffer from, they should be handled more appropriately. 

There was one line that really stood out to me (although all of them were rather poor) and that was where Ahsoka is discussing her roll on the mission. 

Here’s the conversation from the Clone War’s TV show: 

Here’s the conversation from the comic. 

See the difference? 

It feels really really tone deaf for the only character that is making light of the situation the only one who has actually experienced it. It felt a little like saying: ‘oh this sort of thing isn’t that bad, hehe lol’. It felt dismissive and not only unpleasant in terms of the real world as well, but also just incredibly poor writing and story telling. 

You don’t even need to realise he has emotional trauma to realise his character would be uncomfortable in that situation, he doesn’t like sand and he’s on a desert planet. He doesn’t like putting Ahsoka in danger, and Ahsoka is in danger. I mean maybe I’m just a little judgmental or maybe I misread it… but… IDK, the portrayal of Anakin really cheesed me off. 

---

Here’s the bits that may be a bit triggering, just a warning:

Ahsoka’s outfit is in no way shape or form appropriate. She is dressed like a sex slave, and she is a child. 

Anakin would have probably chosen the outfits for this mission, because you know, he has the most knowledge on the subject. You can not tell me that the Ex-Slave Anakin Skywalker would gladly dress his underage female Padawan in saucy clothes. 

This was a creative decision which made no sense in the story or for the characters, and it has some rather unfortunate implications. Whilst Ahsoka is not in any way harmed sexually there is the implication that something could have happened, had the Queen or Anakin allowed it. That is a rather distressing concept. It is inappropriate, particularly for a young child. 

In the comics Ahsoka was dressed like Shmi Skywalker. 

It would have made no difference to the story had they kept her dressed as Shmi Skywalker. I don’t really understand why they decided to dress a 15 year old girl as what appears to be a sex slave. It is disgusting and inappropriate. 

Although, full disclaimer, I have never read the comics. I have only seen some of these pictures when researching to write this little opinion piece, so they may have handled the subject matter inappropriately too, I’m not sure.

---

Another monumental wrong doing on the part of the writers was to make the ‘romance’ between Anakin and Miraj Scintel feel (with the music and staging) like a pining love. 

She had his friends captured and seriously harmed, had him electrocuted until he fainted, and is the queen of an entire slave empire. 

It was not a romance, or even a pining one-sided love.

At best it was sexual harassment of a powerless prisoner/ slave. 

At worst it was sexual assault. 

He woke up on her bed (which a few people have pointed out is a little unnerving and suggestive), she was very touchy with him (and he is uncomfortable with it), and she threatened him with hurting Ahsoka and Obi Wan (indirectly but it was clearly still implied) and the people who wrote the show said that they wanted the audience to feel some form of pity at her death because of their ‘romance’.

There are some moments where the writers imply that Anakin might not be entirely as into their ‘relationship’ as she is, telling her that she had “all the power” in their dynamic, but he looks so nonchalant at this point that it might go over the head of an audience member. He is telling her that she is forcing a relationship on him, and that he is powerless to stop it, and it’s played off as a blasé interaction. 

I’m not entirely sure you can put those things in a show and try to play it off as romantic to get the ‘child-friendly’ rating. They could have quite easily at least attempted to deal with the serious subject matter that they introduced. There was a suicide and a significant amount of torture and abuse in these three episodes, so there was no excuse when the show glossed over such obvious and unpleasant misconduct.

I don’t know what it is with the writers writing abusive, predatory characters who’s deaths are supposed to inspire pity. Miraj Scintell was handled as poorly as Rush Clovis was, and I don’t really have a solution to that.

Maybe if you’re watching the Zygerria arc of the clone wars, don’t watch it with younger siblings or your children.

Although, this is completely an opinion piece, so if you totally disagree or think I’m a bit of a hater or just being judgemental, that’s fine. I may be being too harsh, IDK.

I’d like to think that this was an honest mistake from the writers rather than them being deliberately obtuse or inappropriate.

#zygerria #Star Wars the clone wars #opinion piece #little rant #Star Wars meta

[ev-pierce-writes]

Quantum Entanglement

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Words: 6.4k (oops)

Rating: 18+ (get outta here ya children)

Summary: Steve Rogers decides to disappear, take some time for himself in the solitude of a small town where he meets you.

Warnings: p in v. oral fem receiving. size kink (reader is much smaller than Steve in more ways than one). soft (very very soft) fem dom.

AN: This is stupid soft. Just simping all over the gd place. I'm so sorry but my baby Steve deserves nothing but the purest, sweetest form of love and that's what he's getting, though I imagine he likes to be ordered around. Took me way too long to feel good about this.

---

There had been the snap. And then the resurrection. Steve had lost everyone he loved and then had most of them returned, and it felt good to go back to normal, in some ways. In other ways, it was stifling.

As the world reeled and tried to figure out how to "be normal" in a time that was anything but, normalcy felt forced, rushed, exaggerated. He wanted to be in this world, of course. The 1940s were no longer his home, and Steve had everything he wanted here. But he didn't feel complete. A piece was always missing, something from a past life, that he couldn't quite name but knew he had to find.

So he disappeared. Went undercover as some might call it. Bucky knew, of course, and Sam on some level. But to the rest of the world, he had slipped quietly back into the past to live the rest of his life. In reality, he'd slipped into Herrington, Massachusetts, a small coastal town where he was invisible to the world.

He'd found a little house, a cottage on the beach, and settled in completely. He didn't need a job, the government was more than willing to pay him a severance check of some sort, but he took one anyway, stocking the local grocery store and delivering groceries to the elderly when they ordered. It was just antiquated enough to remind him of a faraway time, of the past, but didn't force him to give up his wifi and color television. That was something he'd come to love.

And that was where he met you. You, the petite spitfire with a bone to pick with the entire world. Fierce, loyal, and slightly terrifying when double-crossed. The first time he met you, you had come out of your great-aunt's house shaking a fist over the groceries.

"I told Mr. Pierce," you were yelling, "not to skimp me on the meat." Mr. Pierce was the grocery store owner. And the meat in question was a roast, for what purpose, Steve wasn't sure, but one that apparently did not satisfy your desires.

You hadn't been the one to answer the door, that was your great-aunt Agnes, a kind, leather-faced woman who liked to tip Steve a healthy amount for "carrying all those heavy groceries for a silly old lady like me."

"It's no problem ma'am," he'd replied and stepped back toward his motorcycle, recently decked out with a basket on the back to transport deliveries. Then you'd chased him down the road until he noticed you and stopped, shouting all the way.

"When you see him," you said, your finger wagging in his face, puffing and out of breath from your yelling and running, "tell the bastard that's the last time he gets away with making me pay for his shitty cuts of meat."

Steve didn't really know what to say, but then your face softened, your voice calmed, and you took a deep breath. Maybe the panicked look on his face had made you have a change of heart. "I apologize for yelling at you, I know you're just the messenger. But that slimy son-of-a-bitch is going to get what's coming for him someday."

"I'll let him know," Steve replied with half a smile on his face.

"You aren't from around here are you?" you had asked, a sudden look of curiosity in your bright eyes.

Steve nodded. "Just moved here."

"Look, I'm really sorry." You stuck out your hand and introduced yourself, and Steve had found that hand to be surprisingly supple and calloused for its tiny size. "Let me make it up to you. Aunt Agnes seems to like you. We're having a potluck tonight, her place. Why don't you come by and meet the neighbors? I'm sure they'd love a new face, especially one as handsome and friendly as yours. Maybe make some friends, even."

You were being surprisingly friendly and sincere, and Steve had no choice but to accept the invitation.

So that's how he ended up in an old lady's backyard, handing off a bowl of his mother's jello salad (it was a potluck after all), and accepting a beer from a man who looked similar enough to be your brother (a cousin, it turned out). You didn't even notice his arrival, flying about, getting everything set up, taking part in the appropriate amount of small talk. Earlier, when you'd chased Steve down the road, your hair had been flung all about your head, wisps of it sticking out from all directions and looking positively a mess. You'd been wearing jeans with mud on the knees and a t-shirt that had more holes than necessary for your arms and head. Now, your hair was pinned back and tamed and you floated about in a soft blue sundress, revealing a delicate plane of skin across your shoulders and tan arms and legs.

The calloused hands and muddy jeans made sense now as well. The backyard of Aunt Agnes' house was primarily a garden, not only beautiful rose bushes and creeping wisteria but rows and rows of fruits and vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes, watermelon, strawberries. The work was obviously the product of a talented gardener.

Aunt Agnes was the one to welcome him in, having noticed Steve before you did and taking his arm. She began to talk, of you and the neighborhood and her many, many family members. She introduced them one by one, though most of the names he immediately forgot. But it was a blessing to not be recognized and he relished the feeling. Sure, he'd grown out his beard and his hair was a bit longer than the standard military high and tight, and he wore a flannel with the sleeves rolled up instead of red, white, and blue spangles, but it still amazed him that he could pass through the world like this.

Eventually, the conversations became too much, and Steve excused himself to the kitchen to find a drink while he waited for the food to be ready. Really he just wanted some silence, a relief from society. But you'd beat him there, and, ever the busy bee, were scrambling to fill a cooler with more ice.

"Steve!" you exclaimed when you saw him, pleasant surprise plastered across your face. "I'm so glad you came."

You reached out and gave him a hug that took Steve so much by surprise he almost forgot to return it. It was shockingly warm, your arms around his neck, and though he had to stoop down to your level, he wrapped his arms around your waist anyways.

"I hope they didn't overwhelm you out there. My family can be a lot."

"No, not at all. Just needed some quiet. I'll let you get back to work."

"I could actually use your help if you don't mind."

You directed him into the front room toward a stack of boxes, cases of drinks he assumed. When Steve returned to the kitchen, all four boxes piled in his arms, you nearly dropped the glasses in your hands in shock. You recovered quickly, trying to remain polite despite your poorly hidden astonishment, but Steve could already tell you were trying to compute how he had managed to carry over a hundred pounds of drinks in one go.

"You can, um, put them on the counter I guess," you managed to stutter out. Your sudden flustered state was amusing, and Steve noticed he liked the way you seemed almost embarrassed, cheeks flushed pink, though he had no idea why you should feel that way.

But then you picked back up with your normal bubbly chatter, and Steve found himself lingering longer and longer in the kitchen with you until he realized neither of you were doing anything but talking, the work abandoned in lieu of discussions about the town, your stall at the farmers market, and eventually, very naturally, the passing of your parents. The slip into deep conversation was easy, surprisingly easy, easier than it had ever been with anyone else, even though Steve felt himself having to lie a bit about his past. Sure, he could admit to being from Brooklyn and having no family and his stint in the military, but that was about the extent of it. He found himself wanting to tell you more but refraining.

When your cousin called that food was ready from the backyard, the jolt back to reality was abrupt and almost unwelcome, until you smiled and allowed him to put a hand on your back, pulling Steve out to enjoy some food.

As night fell, lights twinkled on in the backyard, and the summer heat reduced to a light thrum as the breeze from the ocean swept through the town. Fireflies glowed in the darkness of the low trees behind the house and you seemed to glow as well, good food and friendly conversation lighting your face up with joy. You caught Steve's eye several times during the night, noticing him watching you from across the garden, but he didn't care. He liked that his attention made you smile.

Finally, the party began to dwindle, as parents with young kids trickled out, followed by the older folks, heading off to bed. Soon, even Aunt Agnes turned in and only the cousins close to you in age remained. They pulled out the stronger bottles of alcohol, sitting in plastic chairs and passing shots around the barbeque that still glowed hot with coals. Steve accepted every pass of vodka that came his way, despite knowing it wouldn't get him even remotely drunk. But the camaraderie of the moment helped ease a bit of that gaping hole in his soul so he clung to it as best he could. And you were sitting next to him, insisting he take a sip, and again he couldn't turn you down.

"And then Jack nearly sunk the boat in the bay," you were saying, telling the story of one of your cousin's finer moments. "Your dad almost killed us."

"Oh you want to bring that up?" he teased. "How about the time you snuck out and Aunt Agnes caught you making out with Michael on the beach."

You blushed bright red at the reminder but protested that was years ago. Then another cousin brought up his own late-night escapades and you devolved into a fit of giggles, leaning so far out of your chair that Steve had to catch you before you slipped right to the ground. Your hand gripped his to recover but, to his surprise, you never removed it, even as you righted yourself in your seat. Your hand just remained in his, your small fingers wrapped in his large ones, as you turned to pester him into telling a story.

"What about you Steve? Tell us an embarrassing story."

He looked around at the group and they leaned in expectantly, curious to know more about the stranger who was quickly becoming a friend. Steve didn't know what to say, most of his stories involving things he wasn't yet ready to reveal about himself. So he picked one from long ago.

"I once picked a fight with a guy at a bar. He was a bit of a Nazi. Got my ass kicked. Fortunately, I had a friend to back me up or he definitely would have killed me."

Everyone looked shocked. "But you're so strong," someone spoke up. "Look at you. How could anyone beat you in a fight?"

Steve shrugged, not wanting to admit to it being a pre-serum story. "Guess I'm a bit of a pacifist."

He turned to you to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with mischief and curiosity and a hint of disbelief. For a moment Steve thought you had figured it out, figured out who he was, but then you started giggling again and the only thing keeping you in your seat was his hand in yours.

"That's not embarrassing Steve, that's just the most fucking noble thing I've ever heard. Making us all look bad."

Your teasing words made his heart flutter in his chest and he felt like he could get used to this crowd.

Eventually, the coals of the barbeque started to wink out, and the cousins excused themselves for the night, heading home on foot to the various houses they had come from. It seemed no one lived too far apart in this town. Suddenly, the backyard was quiet.

"Can I give you a hand cleaning up?" Steve asked, not wanting to leave you with the job that looked a bit overwhelming to him.

You looked around and shrugged, a little tipsy but fully aware that it was a big mess. "I'll probably just take care of it in the morning. Can you just help me get the dishes inside?"

Steve obediently gathered up plates and cups, filling the dishwasher in several trips. Finally, the last were inside and you stood in the kitchen filling the sink to wash the pots and pans while Steve tried awkwardly to find a way to say goodbye.

"Um, thank you," he said at last, "for welcoming me into your community. It means a lot. I'll, uh, see you later I guess. Have a good night."

You stopped your scrubbing to look up at him, bubbles up to your elbows, your face flushed from the warm night air and the alcohol.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

You paused, hesitant, eyes searching his face for confirmation of a mutual feeling. "Do you ever feel like you were meant to meet someone? For a reason?"

The question hit him like a ton of bricks, and he realized that this night had made him feel exactly that way, that somehow he was meant to end up here and meet you, of all people. Why else had there been an instant connection unless this was just the way you were with everyone?

But your question made him think otherwise. You had to be special. Steve, in that moment, could do nothing but nod in affirmation. And then, like you had both had the same thought at the same moment, you were meeting him halfway, rising on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing him. Really, truly, kissing him.

It was like that missing piece had found itself. You slotted your soul into his and Steve was pressing you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and lifting you so he didn't have to bend down to reach you. Your wet hands tangled into his slightly too long hair, pulling him impossibly closer, tasting one another's tongues.

And that was the start of it, of late-night motorcycle rides down the causeway, of Saturdays spent on the beach that tapered into drinks with friends, of dinners filled with your chatter and smiles and laughter, and Steve couldn't believe how lucky he was. He was not used to this feeling, of building friendship and companionship and perhaps even love. And he certainly wasn't used to the intense desire to reach out and pinch your ass every time you showed up at his house wearing those gardening jeans, high-waisted and tight and so goddamn cute.

But he never did, was never sure how you'd react. You kissed him, a lot in fact, every morning that he came over and every night that he dropped you off at home. And you never shied away from telling him how handsome he was, how much you liked his hands and his arms and his short beard, how sweet he was and kind and soft and gentle. So many words, words that made his head spin and his world wobble and sway. But it never came to be more than that, never late at night when he was thinking of you most. And oh lord, did he think about you, how your small frame might fit against his in bed while you spooned and slept, or how tight you'd be if he fucked you until the sun rose. He didn't particularly like sleeping in bed, it was too soft for his taste and he tended to take the couch or even the floor most nights, but he would sleep in bed for you if you would just tell him that was what you wanted.

It was like you were waiting for the right moment. And apparently, that moment was July 4th, during the annual celebration. Steve had whispered to you that it was consequently also his birthday, and had begged you to keep that a secret, but it seemed you had simply forgotten the fact entirely. The day passed without mention that Steve was turning 39 (105 if he'd been really counting) and you kissed him as the fireworks exploded over the ocean, sitting in the sand, hands tangled together. He thought the two of you would sit through the show, but then you were standing and pulling him to his feet as well and slipping away as everyone else's faces were turned to the sky.

At your house, you pulled a small cake from the fridge, just big enough to split between two people, and lit a couple of candles as you sat next to him at the kitchen table. Of course, you hadn't forgotten.

"Make a wish," you said with a happy smile. So he did, hoping this summer would never end. "What did you wish for?"

"Can't tell you, otherwise it won't come true," he replied. But then you pouted and he lost all resolve. "How about I show you instead?"

The look on your face said it all, shock mixed with intrigue and the mischief he had noticed that first night almost a week ago. So he reached down and tugged your chair closer, forcing you to face him with your knees between his. And then he leaned over and kissed you, taking your small cheeks in his large palms, putting all the power of his suppressed feelings behind it. He hoped you understood that he wanted more than to just kiss you, he wanted to occupy space inside you, fill you, complete you. Steve could feel your smile against his lips.

You pulled away. "Did you wish that I was dessert instead of the cake?

"I might have. Should we make my wish come true?"

Again you smiled, bright and guiding like a lighthouse torch, and something in your demeanor changed. Instantly, you were relenting to his touch, letting him pull you further into his lap, straddling his waist and settling into him like that was where you were meant to be. The quiet house, probably as old as him in this New England town, creaked in the silence of the night, only occasionally disturbed by the bang of a firework. But it all faded away with you in his arms.

You fit perfectly, just as Steve had hoped.

"You gonna be gentle with me, big man?" you whispered, that same brilliant smile on your face, wiggling as close to him as possible, the fingers of one hand tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, the others tracing down the point of his sharp nose and pressing against his soft lips. "You gonna fuck me good? Be a good boy?"

Oh, Christ. Steve nearly lost his mind with your hips so tight against his, lost it at your words that made his heart race and color rise to his cheeks. He could be good. Really damn good. You seemed to know something about him that Steve didn't even know about himself, of how much he liked your praise, your commanding tone. If there was anything he was good at, it was taking orders.

"You just keep telling me what to do and I'm all yours," he mumbled against your fingers, the thump of his heart beating in time with yours somewhere deep in your chest, echoes of one another in the silence of the house. Your hand came to grip his chin, pushing another kiss against his mouth, a kiss with lips parted in a sigh, the mingled palate of you and him, like a glass of wine on the beach and chocolate melted on the tongue, sweeping over taste buds and breathed into starved lungs.

"Mm, you taste so good. Like you were created just for me, don't you think?" you asked.

"Built from the best material, just for you." Built to love you, he wanted to say. Steve shut up instead.

You hummed with pleasure and the hand on his chin gripped a little harder, a little more suggestively. He opened his mouth obediently as you slipped your thumb between his lips, and he let you press it against the soft muscle of his tongue. You wanted him to taste you, so he did, his teeth biting gently down on the pad of your finger, another pleasant hum running down your body and straight to his groin.

He waited for your instruction.

"Undress me."

He complied, obediently. Steve's large hands hiked your sundress up around your waist, revealing the softness of your hips. His fingers smoothed up the length of your thighs, kneading at the flesh of your ass that he had so longed to touch. Your reaction was music to his ears, a soft moan leaving your lips and breathed against his, and Steve closed his eyes, arousal spreading through his body at the thought that he was making you react this way. His length hardened, tight in his pants, pressed against the thin layer of fabric that covered the heat of your core. The thought that he might not fit flickered through his mind but it dissipated at the feeling of your fingers pressing into the rough stubble of his jawline.

Steve's hands continued to travel further up your body, taking time to release the zipper of your dress down the length of your spine, and you answered his quiet, "can I?" by pulling slightly away and lifting your arms over your head. The dress landed somewhere in the kitchen and Steve dragged you close again, arms wrapped around your back to encompass you completely, his lips finding purchase against the skin of your neck.

"Look at you, so perfect," Steve mumbled, face pressed into your hair. If he had looked up he would have seen you blush, but he was too preoccupied letting his senses discover every piece of you he could touch, smell, or taste. He wanted to envelop you, inch by inch, roaming and discovering and satiating his curiosity, but you dragged his attention back to your face.

"Hey, eyes up here," you said, pulling his face toward yours and locking gazes. The intensity of your eye contact was stunning, but there was something else behind those eyes, something other than intense attraction and unsatisfied arousal. Was it doubt? Insecurity? The reason why you kissed him for so many nights and never asked for more? You were searching for something, and it came in the form of a question. "You won't leave me after this, right?"

There it was, the bit of insecurity, a fear of loss, of transience, of lacking control. Someone had hurt you before. Maybe that's why you approached everything in life with such ferocity and sincerity. But Steve would never hurt you like that, never let you feel that way again. He hoped you could see it in his eyes the way he felt about you, but words would be more reassurance. "I'm yours tonight. And tomorrow. And the day and week and month and year after that, if you'll have me that long. Whatever it is you need, I'll give it to you."

You blinked and then smiled and pressed another quick kiss to his lips before murmuring, "touch me" against them. So he did, trailing his hands over every sliver of skin before him. He felt the goosebumps rising in their wake, the downy hair on your legs and arms, the heat of your core against him, grinding almost imperceptibly to find some kind of friction, any friction. He wanted to touch you so desperately, but he got the sense that you needed to take the lead, that it would give the control you felt you lacked. So he slid a hand down the plane of your stomach and stopped just shy of dipping into your panties, waiting for your word. But you were no longer interested in playing games. Your hand found his and pulled him lower, using his fingers to press into the seem of your cunt, and he found you slick and warm with desire.

You urged him forward. "Rub my clit, baby. Slowly. Gently."

Slowly and gently. That he could do. His fingers crept absentmindedly closer to the swollen bundle of nerves and when he landed there, touch soft and circling, you jerked against him, your whole body moving with the force of anticipation and a cry leaving your lips. And though it seemed to burn, seemed to be torture for yourself, you demanded he do it again. Your forehead leaned against his, eyes shut tight, and Steve watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he flicked and circled again and again and again.

"Yes, baby. Perfect. So good. So. Fucking. Good."

Every bit of you was soft, from your neck where he placed his kisses to the curled hair hiding the swollen bud of your clit where his fingers played gently and rhythmically. Even the orgasm that gushed from your smooth cunt and stuttered from your lips was soft. You came with a choked cry as your hand pulled him closer by the back of his head, your tits pressed to his chest. Steve looked up to watch you devolve into pleasure, eyes squeezed tightly shut, your hair messy and swirling about your face, the straps of your bra slipping from your shoulder.

"Bed. Now. Right now," you demanded before you even had a chance to come down from your high. He would have been just as happy to have you in the kitchen, just like that, but Steve picked you up, with you latched to his chest like a koala, and carried you upstairs. You felt feather-light in his arms, easily tossed onto the mattress, your hands reaching out to pull his white t-shirt overhead and grab at the plane of his chest. Even as Steve kissed you again you couldn't stop tracing your fingertips over the lines of his torso, the ridges of his abs, the v-line that led tantalizingly toward the waistband of his pants. He felt his cock twitch and strain against the fabric of his boxers, the rough cotton not enough to stimulate him but enough to make him ache for your pussy. Your fluttering hands were not helping and Steve pictured your thin fingers wrapping around his length.

"Look at you," you said. "You're fucking perfect." It was Steve's turn to blush.

Steve wasn't...inexperienced. But it had been a while, to say the least, since he'd had the time or energy or capacity to even feel attracted to anyone. And even longer, perhaps never, since he felt the way he felt about you, like a bee to a flower, drunk on sweet nectar and high on honey. That was you, the delicate flower, so small and tender beneath him, yet as stunning and resonating and thunderous as the fireworks bursting somewhere overhead.

Fighting to survive was all Steve had known for so long, standing up to the bully and helping the fallen to their feet, that it was a relief to not have to be that man for you. You didn't require protection or help or anything from him at all, and yet you welcomed his presence endlessly. Steve realized he was not a need for you, but a want, and for the first time he felt valued for something real, something that wasn't just his brute strength, but something almost bordering on love. This he understood as he stared at your sweet face, caging you beneath him in bed.

"Earth to Steve," you said softly as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his pelvis down toward yours and dragging a deep groan from his lungs. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped kissing you and was getting lost in drinking you in amidst his reverie until your small hand pressed to the back of his neck and gently guided him back to your lips. But you stopped just shy, your eyebrows knitted in concern, taking his leisurely manner for uncertainty. "We can stop if you want."

"No, definitely not."

"Good. Then stop staring and kiss me."

"Where?" he teased.

"Everywhere, big man."

Everywhere was doable. So he started at your lips with one so big and breathless it rivaled Mount Everest. For a moment he let himself forget about everything except how long he could go without oxygen against your lips. But there remained more of you to taste.

Steve's lips connected with your chin and slid down your jawline, taking time to kiss the pulse of your neck and the dip of your clavicle. The fan of his breath tickled across your skin and you giggled, the purest sound of joy bubbling from your lips at his touch. More of that he wanted. So he continued down to the valley between your breasts, full and round despite your stature, removing your bra as he did so, nibbling lightly at the peaks of your chest before replacing his teeth with his pinching fingers and moving lower again. Lower toward the edge of your ribs, arched upward to meet the movement of his mouth, toward the slope of your hips, his sharp nose following each kiss as your underwear joined your bra into the abyss.

Your thighs he kissed, top to bottom, left and right, but it was your ass he couldn't get enough of, filling his grip with handfuls of your flesh, using it to pull you toward the edge of the bed where he kneeled, lifting your hips toward his face, your legs slung one over each shoulder. Steve sunk his tongue into your folds without warning and you gasped, your thighs suddenly squeezing tight around his head.

"Yes, right there," you hissed between ragged breaths.

He responded by burying deeper, gripping you harder, and moaning with delight at your overwhelming taste and scent bombarding his senses. You squirmed but didn't pull away as Steve's hands worked their way back up your stomach to cup the tissue of your breasts, the width of his palms capturing the flesh in one big handful. Your hands covered his, holding them there, forcing him to press you into the bed while his mouth left you twitching and bucking beneath his touch.

And in spite of the urgency with which Steve wished to devour you, he continued on leisurely, doing his best to build you up slowly and gently pick you apart bit by bit the way you had asked him to do it before. Your body betrayed its delight, evidenced enough by the way your legs hooked around him and held him down, but you praised him anyways, rapture falling from your lips between sporadic moans of pleasure.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so good, oh God yes, baby, you're doing so good, taste me like that," you cried, and the words spurred him onward, hurried his movements just slightly, his tongue circling your clit, fingers circling your areolas. He would do whatever you asked, jump off a cliff, take a bullet to the chest, drown himself in a river, if only to please you. But you would never ask anything of him that he couldn't give, and Steve knew the moment you asked for his heart it would be his heart you'd receive. And with that intent in his mind, he made you come undone with a silent cry.

Eventually, the trembling ceased, even as he continued to drink your release with the ministrations of his tongue.

"Oh fuck, you like the way I taste baby?" you asked. His affirmation came out muffled and sloppy between your legs. Even you were breathless, barely getting out the words, but you pushed him nonetheless. "I wanna hear you say it, Steve. You like eating me out? Like drinking my juices?"

"Fuck, yes, you taste like goddamn heaven, darling."

"Kiss me, Steve."

"Yes, ma'am."

He complied without a second thought, crawling back up your body to lean over you, giving you a taste of the heaven he had just dipped into. When your fingers found his belt, he helped you remove the rest of his clothes. And then your hands were roving down his chest again, searching blindly until they found what they were looking for. Steve groaned at your touch on his swollen cock.

You gasped. "Oh, God."

Before Steve could respond you pushed him over onto his back and straddled his thighs, eyeing the length on display before you, fingers around it as if testing the girth and finding them unable to wrap all the way around.

"Oh God," you repeated. A short laugh bubbled up from your throat, the controlling front you'd managed to maintain this whole time slipping from your tone.

"Something wrong?" he asked, feeling slightly inadequate under your scrutiny. Steve sat up to meet your eyes, hands finding their place on your hips.

You gazed at him, eyes wide and glassy. "You're gonna split me in half with that thing."

"We don't have to. Not if you aren't comfortable."

"Oh baby, I'm gonna get real comfortable sitting on your cock." Your sultry grin was back and you rose up on your knees to look down at him. Your other hand swiped between your legs, two fingers gathering the warm, wet juices of your orgasm, before joining the first around his cock. You pumped, rolling a drop of precum off the tip with your thumb and rubbing it down his length, mixing the release of your pleasure with his. Steve barely held back from bucking his hips into your hand. He would save that for your pussy.

"I want you to fill me," you whispered. "I wanna be so fucking full. Just go slowly, okay?"

"Slowly. I got you, baby girl. You can take me. Let me fill you."

Steve lifted your hips and guided you forward, aligning your entrance with his length. You moved at a crawling pace, letting gravity sink your pussy around him, pausing every inch to adjust to his intrusion. His biceps stung with the grip of your fingernails in his skin, but it was a welcome distraction from the rush of pleasure threatening to tip him over the edge prematurely. Agonizingly you dipped further, a cry falling from your lips, until you were fully seated, the tip of him pressed into the cavity behind your cervix. You were warm, so, so warm, and soft and tight and you fit perfectly, just like he knew you would.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so big."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, wiping away a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"No, fuck, no, you feel so good. I just--I can't move."

"I got you, darling," Steve whispered, his face falling to your chest and burying it in the soft flesh of your tits. And then he wrapped his arms around your waist and did all the moving for you, lifting you up and sinking you down again, just fast enough to make you gasp for air and whine his name. With every thrust, you cried out in pleasure.

"Don't stop, Steve, please, baby, don't stop."

The fingers of one hand tugged at his hair dampened by sweat, nails scratching lightly across his scalp, as the other fell between your legs. You pressed your fingers around your clit and along your entrance, feeling where Steve's thick cock was pushing in and out of your tight pussy, feeling how big he was, how much he filled you. The meandering touch of your fingers almost sent him straight over the edge.

But it was the slick warmth of your cunt that was too much, and Steve found himself resting his forehead more and more heavily against your chest, willing himself to give you everything you wanted before he even thought about himself. The satin scent of your skin, like talcum and rose and his cologne, intoxicated him with every breath, and he sucked and nibbled on one breast and then the other, mindlessly attending to the most sensitive parts of you. A drop of sweat rolled down your sternum and Steve chased it with his tongue, licking a warm stripe up the center of your chest.

"Tell me what you need, darling."

"Fuck, that's perfect," you whined. "You fuck me so good, baby. Don't stop. Gonna make me come--make me come so hard."

Your fingers pressed against your clit once more and then you were clenching around him, your already tight pussy settling into a pulsing vice grip, your body shaking against his while he kissed the sweat from your collar bones. Steve felt you pumping the life out of him, riding out your orgasm and dragging him closer to his. The hand that had been on your clit moved to cup the weight of his balls, pinching and massaging as they pulled in heavy with the need for release.

"Where do you want me, darling, you gotta tell me."

You practically ordered him to come inside you, told him you wanted to feel him sticky between your thighs all night and it was suddenly Steve's turn to come undone, his hot seed pumping deep inside you, his twitching member finally finding release. He moaned your name against your lips, pulling you into a final searing kiss.

When, after a good twenty minutes of not moving from that position, of breathing heavy and kissing softly, you finally pulled away to lean down and lick his cock clean, the sticky mingling of you and him on your tongue, and he had to fight the urge to get hard again. And when you kissed him again, he tasted that mingling, two souls becoming one, as they were meant to be.

He slept next to you for the first time that night, your small frame encased in his, even though there was no need to share body heat in the dead of summer. But he actually slept, no dreams, no nightmares, no waking up in the middle of the night. Just deep, heavy sleep, your head tucked beneath his chin, back to his bare chest, his hands holding your breasts, and your hands holding his. Tangled together. Souls as one.

#steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #avengers smut #captain america smut #steve rogers smut #simping for steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction

[cariantha]

Hunger Pains (PG-13 Version)

Book: Open Heart, Post-Series Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: Teen Warning: Language; Pregnancy; Sexual Situation Category: Fluff; Halloween Word count: 2.2K Summary: Sawyer is in a bad mood and Ethan attempts to call her down.

Prompts: 🫦From Anon: Can I get a fic with Ethan giving MC a love bite or hickey? ☀️From @peonierose: Ethan & Sawyer + “sunshine” 🍬From @jerzwriter: "Actually, I like candy corn!"

Events: 🎃For @choicesoctober event: Costume / Halloween / Vampire / Meme 🥰For @choicesprompts Flufftober 2023 event: I want to take care of you.

A/N: The original🔥spicy🔥version of this fic, can be found here.

“Mr. Cox. An appropriate name for such a dick,” Sawyer thought to herself, blood boiling as she exited Room 513. 

The patient being cared for inside could easily steal the title of “Biggest PITA” away from the infamous Nigel Platt. And only making matters worse, her consultation had been interrupted multiple times by a cocky intern eager to show off. 

Once the door closed behind her, she spun on Dr. Perkins. 

“How many times have we told you not to interrupt when your resident or attending is speaking with a patient? If you do that again, I’ll make sure you are written up.”

Sawyer strode to the nearby nurses’ station to update Mr. Cox’s chart. The obstinate intern followed. 

“How am I supposed to learn anything around here if I’m not allowed to ask questions?” he argued.

“You start by shutting the hell up and listening. Had you done that in the first place, we 

wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. If you were really trying to understand something back there, you would have directed your questions to me. Instead you attempted to conduct a medical history interview, on an extremely agitated patient, minutes before he goes to surgery,” she scolded. 

“This is–”

Her patience wearing thin, Sawyer spoke over him. “Jaaackie, get Dr. Know-It-All away from me before I go all Ramsey on his ass,” she demanded through gritted teeth. 

Jackie, having caught the tail end of the exchange, looked up from her tablet. 

“I think you just did,” she answered, “...and Perkins, the patient in 506 needs a new catheter. Now.”

“But that’s not even my pati-” he started to complain.

With one harsh look from the Chief Resident, Dr. Perkins finally tucked his tail between his legs and sulked down the hall.

"You're breathing fire today," Jackie quipped as she rounded the desk to leave.

Sawyer ignored her and continued typing furiously on her tablet.

Down the hall, Jackie and Bryce traded places getting on and off the elevator.

“Hey, have you seen Brooks? I mean Ramsey. Brooks-Ramsey?” Bryce guessed, not sure what to call his friend since she and Ethan surprised everyone by eloping a couple weeks ago. 

Jackie pointed in the direction of the nurses’ desk. “I hope you brought snacks. She’s in a mood again,” she warned as the steel doors closed between them.

A minute later, Bryce slunk next to Sawyer, bumping shoulders to get her attention.

“Finally. What took you so long?” Sawyer rebuked, shoving the tablet towards him. “Here, take this guy away. And while you have his head open, feel free to poke the part of his brain that disables his speech.”

“Well, aren’t you a pocketful of sunshine this morning,” he teased.

“After a few minutes with this asshole and you’ll understand why,” she said, storming off.

“Annnd, Dr. Ramsey it is,” he decided. 

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Shortly thereafter, Sawyer sat in the diagnostics office and stewed in silence as the team meeting ran over schedule. Her annoyance grew more intense with each passing minute as Ethan and Harper debated, and Tobias egged them on for his own amusement. No longer able to take it, she interrupted. 

“Do you need me? Because, if not, I have patients who do.” 

Her three colleagues snapped their heads in her direction, surprised by the bite in her tone. With raised eyebrows, she looked at the team leader and challenged him to respond. 

Ethan cleared his throat. “Uh, let’s see how the labs come back and continue this discussion when we have more information.” 

Harper and Tobias quickly got out of Dodge as Sawyer stacked her notes and gathered her things. When she stood to follow, Ethan reached for her hand and held her back.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What’s got you so wound up?”

She exhaled deeply, his touch instantly calming her.

“I’m sorry.” Frustrated tears welled in her witch-green eyes. “I'm super cranky. These third-trimester hormones are no joke. My mood the last few days has been…” 

A single teardrop fell down her cheek.

“Come here,” he urged, pulling her into his lap. “It’s been, what?” 

“It’s either been hangry or hornery or both,” she pouted and sagged her shoulders.

Cracking a smile at her dramatics, “I know what ‘hangry’ is, but ‘hornery?’”

“Horny and ornery.”

With a shake of his head, Ethan caressed her swollen belly. “So, what I hear you saying is you’re irritable because you're either hungry or horny…”

“Right now, it’s both,” she interjected, her fingers seductively dancing up his chest.

“And the cure for this condition is to either feed you … or have my way with you?”

“Look, I’m not saying food and sex would solve all my problems, but it would sure help me calm the hell down,” she admitted with a coquettish grin.

“Well, as much as I’d like to help you satisfy your hunger pains, all I can offer right now is this.” 

Ethan reached for the bowl of Halloween candy on the conference table.

“Boo,” she scowled playfully. Sawyer stood and sifted through the options, “I’ll take the candy corn off your hands and leave the chocolates for you. I know they’re your favorite.”

“Actually, I like candy corn,” he said, ripping a small package open with his teeth and pouring them all into his mouth.

“Seriously?” she asked, surprised.

“My dad loves them. We always had a bowl out during the season. I used to push them up on my canines when I was a kid and pretend I was Dracula.”

“Aw, cute. Well, if that’s true, then I’ll take some of these too,” she reached back into the bowl and stuffed her pockets. “Supposedly, chocolate is a good substitute for sex. Feed two birds with one scone.” 

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A couple hours later, Sawyer was down at the lab demanding the results for one of her patients.

“What do you mean it’s going to be another four to six hours? I ordered these tests yesterday!” 

Her raised voice began to draw the attention of others, including her indirect supervisor. Ethan was just finishing a consultation with the hospital’s lead hematologist, when he heard the uproar. 

The lab assistant snapped back. “Look, lady, we’re doing the best we can. The tech will run the test as soon as he’s back from lunch.”

“Lady?! Do you see this badge? That’s Dr. Brooks to you.” 

Sawyer spewed red hot anger as she spun on her heels. From several feet away, Ethan could practically feel the heat radiating from her. Her neck and cheeks were crimsoned and her fists clenched at her sides. 

“That’s enough,” he admonished, taking Sawyer by the wrist and swiftly pulling her into a familiar and dark supply closet.

Ethan loomed over her as he backed her into a corner.  

“I know… I’m sorry,” she apologized. Sad cat-like eyes pleading for forgiveness. 

“This kind of stress isn’t good for you or the baby,” he advised. “This is serious, Sawyer. You leave me no choice but to help you calm down.” The corner of his mouth began to turn up in a sly grin, as he ran his hand over her hair. 

“Oh, thank god,” she sighed, crashing into his lips.

“We’ll…have to be…quick…and quiet,” he murmured between desperate kisses.

For several minutes Ethan used his hands and lips to lavish his new bride. As their activities became more frenzied, more intimate, Sawyer couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips. 

“Ohhhh!”

“Shhhh, baby,” he breathed into her ear.

“I’m close…cover…my mouth,” she panted as she began to tremble.

Sawyer’s whole body shuddered and she moaned her satisfaction into Ethan’s hand. The sensations provoked his own release, and to keep himself quiet, he clamped his mouth down on Sawyer’s neck. Hard.

To avoid getting caught, they didn't spend much time basking in the afterglow. After a loving kiss from her husband, Sawyer peeked into the hallway to see if the coast was clear. 

“Hold on…it’s Wen,” she whispered, holding up a hand to halt him. 

When Dr. Wen disappeared around a corner, they exited the supply closet.

“Do you think she heard us?” 

“If she did, I’m sure she assumed it was only one of the ghosts that she believes haunts these halls,” Ethan chuckled. “The more important question is, are you feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“Well, let’s make doubly sure and head up to the cafeteria for some lunch.”

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Later that night, at home and in the shower, Ethan pushed wet hair away from Sawyer's neck and discovered the frightful bruising.

“Oh, Soe, I’m sorry,” he expressed, carefully skimming his fingers over the bite mark. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Sawyer touched the tender spot and moved around him to see her reflection in his shaving mirror. 

“Oh my gosh!” she laughed as she traced her fingers over the imprints of his teeth. “I married a freakin’ vampire!” 

“I’m sorry. But, hey,” he innocently smiled back in the mirror, “...only a vampire can love you forever.”

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her neck. “Mwahahaha,” he snarled at her ear, before placing a delicate, healing kiss to the love bite.

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The next day, the newlyweds arrived at work hand in hand and walked toward the attendings’ locker room. Pausing just outside the door, Sawyer turned to face her husband. 

“Hey, just a reminder I volunteered to help in the clinic this morning. Carrick said he would do rounds for me.”

“I remembered,” Ethan said, bending down to give Sawyer a quick but loving kiss on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’ll see you later,” she returned, reluctantly letting go of his hand.

Stepping into the locker room, she spotted a familiar face. Well, sort of. 

“Whoa, that looks soooo good, Elijah. Gross, but so realistic,” Sawyer awed. 

“Thanks! Those of us in the research department agreed to dress up like lab experiments gone wrong.”

“Well, mission accomplished. And, Happy Halloween, by the way. I know it’s your favorite day of the year.” 

As Elijah excitedly talked about his zombie character - which of course was inspired by a new John Carpenter video game - Sawyer tugged on her white coat and checked her reflection in the mirror. 

The bruising on her neck was much more prominent the day after and under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hospital. She tried to adjust her hair and fix the collar of her jacket, but it was no use. She dug through her bag searching for her makeup case, quickly realizing she left it at home.

“Shit,” she thought to herself. 

“Aren’t you dressing up this year?” 

Elijah’s question brought her back to the conversation, and an idea popped into her head. 

“About that…do you have any more fake blood?”

“Yeah, there’s a tube in my locker. Help yourself,” he offered on his way out.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Down in the free clinic, Sawyer examined a very inquisitive eight-year old who noticed the bite mark and the two drips of dried blood on her neck. 

“Say ‘ahhhh!’” she instructed, using a tongue depressor to check the back of his throat. “Good, no swelling back there.” 

“Doctor! Did you get bit by a vampire?” 

“I’m afraid, I did,” she admitted, putting on a bit of an act.

“Was it Dracula?”

“That’s still up for debate,” she laughed to herself, picturing little boy Ethan with candy corn fangs.

“Did it hurt?”

“Uh-uh.” 

“Did he suck your blood?”

“Justin, for goodness sake,” his mother chided and rolled her eyes.

“It’s fine,” Sawyer waved her off.

“Did he make you into a vampire too?”

“No,” turning her back to the young patient and facing his mother, she muttered, “...he just got me pregnant.” The patient’s mother cackled out loud.

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That afternoon, Sawyer was on the fifth floor to check on a patient, when she spotted Ethan stepping into the hallway with Esme and her intern. When they were safely out of the patient’s earshot, he wheeled around on the intern and launched into a stern, and familiar, lecture. 

“...It doesn’t matter that you’re still learning…Whether this man lives or dies is on you…There is no room for mistakes…”

When he was done with his tirade, Ethan marched over to the nurses’ station and began tapping away on an iPad. 

“Don’t sweat him. He’s all bark and no bite. Isn’t that right, Dr. Brooks?” Esme asked as Sawyer approached the scene. 

Mrs. Ramsey shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no,” she spoke loud enough for Ethan to hear, “he bites alright.” When he looked up with a raised eyebrow, she winked and kept walking. 

A couple minutes later, Ethan’s phone pinged with a text notification.

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfic #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #ethan x sawyer #choices stories you play #choices open heart #playchoices #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choicesOCtober #choicespromtps #flufftober2023

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Typical Vampire shenanigans + mentions of animal death Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Time to meet the family! What exactly has Cassandra told her mother? Can Bela convince her family to calm the hell down? We'll find out! Spoiler: there's the start of a cute date afterwards Notes: Once more we visit Bela's private study, which I first described in a chapter of Serenade. Added a few more details this time. PS reader is probably low-key a theater nerd with a hint of a goth phase, just saying. Also this chap is a little short, sorry. Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow, 2: Tangled Strands

3: Rumbling Thunder

Heart racing, you step into the dining room, just behind Bela. Both of you are nervous, but find comfort in each other. Still, what you see upon entering only makes you feel worse. At the head of a large table stands none other than Lady Alcina Dimitrescu. Besides her is her middle daughter, the one who confronted you earlier, who sends you a knowing smirk as you walk in. Lady Dimitrescu, on the other hand, is scowling. Her eyes are squinted in a clear display of disapproval. If not for Bela’s hand squeezing your own, it was likely that you would have fainted from fear.

“I see Cassandra has wasted no time in spreading rumors,” Bela said bitterly. You’re amazed by her ability to stand tall in the face of her family’s tension. Yet there was a part of you that wondered if you were worth the struggle, at least for your soulmate. Thankfully, you are not given much time to ponder the thought. No, you’re being pulled towards the closest side of the tabe, guided next to an ornate seat. Neither Bela nor yourself sit yet, however. “Please, mother, do not be hasty to make your judgement. I promise that-”

“Do not presume to tell me of my own business, daughter. The timing of my judgement is my prerogative, not yours,” Lady Dimitrescu interrupted, staring right at you. A shiver runs down your spine at the eye contact. What did Cassandra say to her? You wonder, struggling to breathe past the lump in your throat. Even Bela becomes visibly nervous at the interaction. “Now… are you certain, without a doubt, that this is your soulmate?” Did she really even have to ask? What were the chances that Bela would save you, one person out of at least a dozen in the cellar, for any other reason? Still, your soulmate straightens up at the attention, and replies as confidently as possible.

“Yes, of course, mother. I would not dare risk your anger for any lesser reason,” Bela assured. Then she gives your hand another soft squeeze, before pulling hers back a little, catching the thread that bound you together with her fingers. Lifting it, she tugs it somewhat absentmindedly. Out of habit you immediately return the action. Unfortunately, those around you would be unable to see the display. For all they knew, the two of you could be faking it, simply attempting to get out of the situation unscathed. Surprisingly though, you see Alcina hesitate. Her left hand twitches as if she was thinking of her own red string. Has she ever met her partner? Did she know the pure joy that her daughter had so recently felt?... Maybe she’d be more sympathetic to your situation if she had.

“We will see if your defiance pans out in time, Bela. For now… Why don’t we hear what your pet has to say about themselves, hmm?” Lady Dimitrescu suggested, giving a somewhat devious smile. Next to you, Bela grimaces, then sends you a pleading look. Alas, you cannot read her mind, and can only guess as to how you’re supposed to respond. Bowing is a sign of respect in virtually all cultures, you think, probably a good place to start.

“It is an immeasurable pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Lady Dimitrescu,” you said, before giving your full name. Then you rise from your bow, once more making eye contact. Out of the corner of your vision you see Cassandra rolling her eyes. “I know that I am a mere human, and hardly the epitome of a prime specimen. But I am determined to prove my worth, for there is no prize on this earth more grand than being allowed to love Lady Bela. Every ounce of my willpower is prepared to devote myself to this task, entirely, so that I may give Lady Bela the courtship and happiness that she is deserving. It is both an obligation and an honor.” Hopefully your soulmate wouldn’t mind you using the same line twice, at least under these circumstances.

In the seconds that follow, several things happen: One, you see Cassandra frown a little, and refuse to look in your direction. Two, Lady Dimitrescu makes a surprised face, but quickly shifts into an expression of satisfaction. Thirdly, Bela’s hand finds your own again, giving it an incredibly soft squeeze. Last but not least… someone you haven’t seen before enters the room. She has red hair, a green pendant around her neck, and eyes that light up with curiosity when she sees you. If you had to guess, you’d assume that she was another one of Bela’s sisters. Here’s hoping she’s a tad bit friendlier, you think.

“Did I miss anything? Ooh, please tell me we’re having this lovely stranger for breakfast?” She asked, grinning maniacally. So much for being friendlier, you think, figuring that she was being literal. Based on the way Bela tenses up in response, you’re probably right. Before she can protest, however, Lady Dimitrescu clears her throat and speaks.

“Ah, Daniela… This stranger-” she says the word with far less venom than you anticipated, but it is venom nonetheless- “is your dear sister’s soulmate. We will not be draining them of blood. Again. Assuming that they behave themselves. Is that clear?” She asked, staring down at the newcomer. There’s a slight pause, tension still lingering in the air, followed by a sigh of relief from Bela. Much to your surprise, neither Cassandra nor Daniela seem particularly upset by this announcement. In fact, the latter simply shrugs and takes her seat at the table. Next thing you know everyone else is sitting as well, including Bela, who gestures for you to follow suit. “I’ll have one of the servants fetch you some more… appropriate food. Cynthia, my dear?” Soon enough a maiden, perhaps a decade or two older than yourself, hurriedly enters the room. With a bow, she addresses Alcina.

“Yes, Lady Dimitrescu?”

“Have Miss Bouregard make an extra plate of whatever it is you sort eat, and bring it here. We have an… unexpected guest,” Alcina explained. At that, Cynthia glances at you, her eyes briefly widening in surprise. Without another word she turns away, giving another bow before heading away to fulfill her task. Once more you’re the only human in the room. Oddly enough, you manage to feel quite at ease, as if surviving one round was enough to guarantee you’d win the overall game. Well, at the very least you now had a chance. Regardless of what was to come, you were glad for that, for this opportunity to be with your soulmate. At the end of the day… little else mattered to you.

———————————

Much to your relief, the rest of breakfast proceeded smoothly. Conversation was sparse, with most of it being hushed whispers from the other side of the table, but you hardly minded. Normally you would find it rude. Now, you were simply pleased that they weren’t being up front with their hostility. More so, it allowed you and Bela to have your own conversation, which mainly pertained to your plans for the day. Several times during your discussion, a glance elsewhere would show you that Alcina was paying attention. Exactly once you even saw her attempting to hide a smile. A sense of pride had swelled in your chest at the sight.

It has remained there, even until now, as you move into Bela’s private study. One quick survey of the room tells you a thousand things about your soulmate. For starters, it’s clear that she’s musically inclined. There’s a harp in one corner, adjacent to a folded music stand, as well as a small bookshelf dedicated entirely to sheet music. A couple medium sized instrument cases are nearby, but you don’t immediately recognize their shape. Further into the room is a rather old looking desk, slightly worn, yet clearly cared for. Possibly passed down the generations? Next to the desk is a massive window with a couple spare chairs. All across the walls were bookshelves and mementos, including several skulls (at least one of them human). Every book you looked over appeared to be well read, with many bookmarks inside, some held together by tape and prayers.

“This… this is sublime, my darling. I could rest here for a month and hardly finish cherishing half the space!” You said, grinning at your soulmate. She’s equally pleased, seeming a tad relieved as well. Perhaps she had worried you’d be thrown off by the skulls? Wanting to reassure her, you approach that particular shelf, examining them closely. However, you do not touch them, not wanting to risk damaging her collection. “Truly marvellous. Dare I ask where you got these specimens?” It’s a joke, but Bela stiffens nonetheless, making you quickly redact your statement. “My apologies, I meant it as a jest. Though you are welcome to tell me more about them if you so desire! I will listen with rapt attention, I promise.”

“Most of them are gifts from Cassandra. During the summers we hunt, her more so than Daniela or myself. I… dislike wasting anything, and there’s only so much to be done with most bones. They have quite a few ornamental uses, however. Useful for study, as well,” Bela mentioned, smiling softly. Then she moves to stand next to you, carefully reaching to grab one of the skulls. “This was from one of our hounds, actually. I raised her from puppy to adult, took her on every hunt, even let her sleep in my quarters on colder nights. When she got sick I…” A pause, mouth open but unmoving, eyes slipping shut. “I couldn’t bring myself to put her down. Even argued with my mother, night after night, begging for another choice. None came, of course, and in the end even I could not deny her the softest embrace of death… Still, you must think me strange, to keep such a thing as a reminder of her.”

“Not at all, my dear. We all remember, and grieve, in our own ways. I’ve often found myself intrigued by skulls, of all sorts,” you admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “All we are, our minds or mayhap our souls, contained in one hard shell. It’s incredible, and terrifying, all at the same time, to hold one in my hands, or even merely examine one. Oh, what stories these bones could tell, if only they could talk… Though I suppose there are entire fields of science devoted to such a thought…” With that said, you look back at Bela just in time to see her staring fondly at the canine skull. Then she places it back on its perch, dusting her hands off afterwards, taking one last moment to appreciate her collection.

“I’m glad you and I agree on this,” she said softly. Once more she’s looking at you, smiling wide. “Now let’s make memories of our own, to hold in our bones forevermore, yes?”

#bela dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #tw animal death

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Just Accept it! (READ THE DAMN DISCLAIMER!)

A/N: Hello, my 🍓Little Strawberries🍓! I'm back with another fic for you! Couldn't find a better pic

Pairing: Yandere Henry Cavill x Trans male reader; Tyler Hoechlin x trans male reader. (mentioned)

Rating: MATURE

Warnings: Male Pregnancy, use of drugs, kidnapping, no consent. (what you expect? This yandere)

Word count: 3560

Summary: It started out with acting, then it went to stalking, and it went to him kidnapping you. And it ended with you spending the rest of your life with him.

I hope you enjoy this! Sorry if it's bad! And sorry for any errors that are found!

If you like what I write, how about check out my masterlist?

Keys:

E/c: Eye color

H/c: Hair Color

H/l: Hair length

S/c: Skin color

Y/a: Your age. (Pick an appropriate age)

DISCLAIMER!: THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING TRANS MALE READER. I'M SORRY IF ANYTHING OFFENDS ANYONE.

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DISCLAIMER: I MEAN NO OFFENSE, DISRESPECT, OR HARM TO ANY OF THESE CELEBRITIES! THIS IS JUST FICTION.

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MINORS DNI. FEMALE READERS… I’LL ALLOW YOU TO READ MY FICS BUT DO NOT FETISHIZE ANY OF MY STORIES

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Henry was currently waiting for this someone to come. 'I wonder who it could be.' he thought to myself. We were going to start acting in the new TV show, Superman & Lois.

(Okay, I know that Tyler stars in this, but I'm just going to switch him out with Henry and play as Lois. You can change the name)

He then sees some guy, who looks small and innocent. You had h/l and beautiful, most dazzling e/c. His s/c looked smooth and soft like a freshly made bed. (?)

He looked to be Y/a. You looked so ethereal, a walking sex god. The source of men's sexual desire. He was so sexy and hot- 'Wait- what am I thinking? I'm not gay- I have a beautiful girlfriend, I need to stop thinking like this.'

Henry sees you approach me. "Hi! I'm assuming your Henry right?" you questioned, tilting your head. "Y-yeah- I'm Henry! N-nice to m-meet you!" Henry sturred over my words.

'Shit, why am I nervous around him? What is he doing to me?' Henry then heard a little chuckle. 'His laugh- AAGGHH!'

"Well, nice to meet you, Henry, I'm M/N!" you gave your hand out, Henry hesitantly shook it. 'His hands are rough and large!' you thought.

(Sorry, but I'll be using M/N.)

'His hands are so soft, like a baby's skin! I just wanna hold it forever-' Henry said to himself before pulling back. He didn't realize he had a rough grip on your hand.

"Ah- sorry about that," Henry said scratching his head out of embarrassment. "It's okay!" you gave your famous smile. Henry blushed.

'Why is this happening?! What is he doing to me!' Henry's mind was going all over the place, he was having a gay panic. 'What's wrong with this guy? I thought he was supposed to be calm and collected?'

You had no idea what was going on with him. "Well- I gotta go..." you said, backing away slowly before going to someone and starting a conversation with them. Hoping it won't be as awkward or weird

Henry just stared as you walked. He didn't notice that his hands were twitching. You could feel his stare piercing through your head. Such a dark and dominant stare.

'Maybe, he's just staring at something that so happens to be in my direction!' you said to yourself.

(No you dumb shit!)

"OKAY! Everyone, we're gonna be starting soon. Everyone to your stations and gets ready!" The director yelled. "Take M/N and Henry to their dressing rooms."

"Okay, sir. Come on!" They grabbed you and Henry to get dressed and ready.

They put on Henry's iconic Superman suit and they dressed you as Lois or the male equivalent of her. You looked at Henry and blushed a little. 'If I wasn't married to my husband, I would've gone for him. But he's straight.'

You looked away so Henry wouldn't notice but he did. 'He was blushing... AT ME- STOP IT!' Henry then glared at you. You noticed his glare and looked away. He didn't mean to glare.

"Okay, everyone get to your positions! Do you two know your lines?" The director asks looking back and forth. You both nodded your heads. "Okay, go on the scene and be ready!"

Once you both got there and got in position, the director yells, "ACTION!"

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TIMESKIP (END OF THE SCENE)

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(I don't know what they be doing at the studio.)

"Hey- Uh... M/n!" Henry called out. You turned to face Henry, "Mh?" Henry looked at you trying to get the words out. "Uh... You have something to say?"

"Uh- well." Henry scratching his head. "I'm sorry... for glaring at you earlier today." He was now blushing hard while grinning.

You looked at him confused about what he was talking about. Then you remembered earlier. "Oh-, Its okay Henry! I know you didn't mean it." you smiled at him, reassuring him that it was okay.

You were about to continue, but you got a call. You looked at the caller ID. "Hubby😘" is calling, your husband was calling. "I got to take this call." you then walked away to a private location.

Henry was curious so he followed you. He knows this is eavesdropping, but he wants to know, "what was so important about a phone call?"

Apparently, he took too long but he heard this. "I love you too." Henry left before you could spot him. 'He loves someone? Why do I care if he is in love with someone?'

"I'm gonna have to go! Bye Henry!" You then left leaving Henry behind to think about what was happening.

'What are you doing to me M/n? I never felt this way before.'

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TIMESKIP (6 months)

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You and Henry have been acquaintances for 6 months. Henry's feelings for you grew and grew but there wasn't that ultimate trigger that would finally set the bomb off.

Until now and later on today. (so two ultimate triggers.)

You wrapped your arms around Clark's neck. You were shorter than, so all you saw was his muscular chest. Clark then wrapped his arms around your waist, looking into your beautiful e/c.

Alarms were going off in Henry's mind as he pulls you closer to him. 'This is actually happening.' M/n smells so nice like fresh lavenders.

Your lips then met Clarks. You tilted your head a little to the side to have better access. Though his nose was kind of in the way. You closed your eyes as you fully gave in.

'He tastes so sweet like chocolate and strawberries.' (You eating my children?) Henry was getting real intimate with the kiss.

(Was that a good kissing scene? I have never seen the TV show)

"CUT!" you pulled back before walking away to get a drink. Henry was still in a daze. Your lips were so soft and delicious, he wants more. Henry never felt like this when kissed his girlfriend.

In fact, he was getting disgusted by her touch and only wants you to touch him. Hell, sometimes you made him hard and he would imagine having sex with you while having sex with her...

He was about to approach you before he heard that... voice. "BABE!" his girlfriend... Henry then felt two arms wrapped around him and a small kiss on his lips.

Henry felt like he wanna puke. It wasn't like the kiss he had with you- even though it was just acting but it was real to him- but he had to act like he enjoyed it. "HI! You must be Henry's wife, right?"

You intervene in their conversation. "Yes, I'm Henry's wife- well girlfriend! My name is Natalie Viscuso! You must be M/n? I'm a big fan of you!"

You and Natalie kept talking and getting along. Henry was just watching, he was getting angry and jealous. After about 30 minutes, Natalie went back to Henry.

"Sorry about that, I got carried away. How about me and you have some fun when we get home?" Henry just nodded his head without giving an expression.

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TIMESKIP (5 hours later. At Henry's home)

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(I know that Henry's real-life GF/Wife is a good lady. Remember, this is fiction)

"A-ahh! H-henry... you f-feel so good! Y-your... dick is... s-so BIG!" Natalie moaned as she rode Henry's cock.

Henry didn't seem to enjoy it, not one bit. He pushed- not too hard - Natalie off of him. "Why did you stop?" she said confused, Henry was getting dressed.

Henry didn't pay attention to her and just walked out.

The next morning, the news of Henry's and Natalie's break up spread like wildfire. Nobody understood why he broke up with her, they were doing just fine.

Henry didn't feel upset. While walking around last night, he began to think how you made him feel feelings he has never felt before.

He likes how you touch him- even though you didn't mean to. He likes your soft lips- even though you two were acting. He feels disgusted whenever he was with Natalie. Angry and jealousy surge through his veins whenever you talked with someone that wasn't him.

Henry now accepted that he likes you.

When you got the news of them breaking up, you were shocked. "Henry are you okay? I heard you and Natalie broke up," you asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Henry replied, nonchalantly. "You don't seem upset about it..." Henry just stared at you with his deep, dark eyes. 'What's wrong with him?'

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TIMESKIP (3 MONTHS)

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You've been waiting months to tell Henry something very important. You were nervous, scared, and... paranoid.

During the 3 months of waiting, you feel like you were being watched. Wherever you gom even in your own room.

You told Henry about it -since he was a close friend- and he told you not to worry about it saying, "You're just paranoid, it something you shouldn't worry about."

But you still kept your guard up. You made to look around and if you see someone looking suspicious. But tomorrow, you were going to come out to him.

You arrived at a... Dunkin Donuts (?) and ordered some donuts and coffee and took a seat by the window. You looked out to see some people walking by. There was a car that had black tinted windows, you couldn't see who was inside.

You pulled your phone to text Henry to come and talk with him. But that wasn't necessary, Henry walked and turned in your direction. "Hey, M/n!"

'How did he know I was here? Or was it a coincidence?' you thought. Then you felt a rough hand on your shoulder. "Mind if I sit here?" you shake your head.

Henry took his seat and ordered some food and coffee. 'It's too crowded here.' While seating there, you could feel stares and glances. You just ignored them.

Henry stared at you with love in his eyes, taking in all your features. Then he notices something on your finger, 'Is that a ring? IS HE ENGAGED? Or..... is he MARRIED!'

Rage was running through his veins but he had to calm himself down or you'll notice.

You had enough of his staring and break the silence. "I need to tell you something but it can't be here." that snapped Henry out of his daze. "What do you need to about?"

"It's something personal and it can't be here." You said getting up, and stressing your muscles, and heading out the door. Henry nodded his head before getting up and following you out.

As you two were walking, just taking in the fresh air and sounds of cars driving by. "So, what did you want to talk about?" Henry turned to you.

"Well... I hope you don't look at me differently..." you said looking down at the ground. "I'll never look at you differently bab- M/n."

You took a deep breath. "I'm trans..." you said quietly but Henry still heard you. "Oh... just because you're trans doesn't change what I see in you. You're still a man," Henry said putting his hand on your shoulder.

You smiled at him before jumping onto him. Henry wrapped his arms around you. He wanted to stay like this forever, you just in his arms feeling your warm, heat against him.

But sadly, you pulled away. "Thank you! Thank you!" you're glad Henry accepted you.

But Henry knew you were trans. Remember how you feel like you were being watched? Well, that was all Henry, he would watch you play with yourself. He would masturbate to this, he was quite turned on about this discovery.

'I'll accept whoever you are baby.'

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TIMESKIP (1 week)

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It's been one week since the whole coming out thing and Henry was gathering the confidence to ask you out. But today is the day.

Henry got a text saying, "Meet me at the park." so naturally he did. He didn't spot you at first until he recognizes your h/c. Then it's at that time he notices someone else there.

This bastard had his arms wrapped around you, and he gave small kisses on your lips. Henry's right eye twitched as he watched the display right in front of him.

'Who the hell is he?!? Is HE the one that M/n married?' he snapped out of it when you called his name to come over.

"I'm glad you came Henry! This is my husband, Tyler Hoechlin. Tyler, this is Henry, one of my friends!" you said with a smile. 'So, that means his name is M/n Hoechlin.'

Tyler gave his hand out and Henry shook it. Henry had a rough grip on his hand, squeezing it. And he just glared at him. "Well, let's go!"

Henry just glared at Tyler the whole time. 'M/N should ONLY have my last name! I should be the one with him!' Tyler notices how Henry was glaring at him the whole time. But he wasn't fazed by it.

'I'm gonna find a way to get rid of you! Or I could just take M/n?'

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TIMESKIP (3 DAYS)

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It had been 3 days since Henry met your husband, and he wasn't happy at all. Today he wants to hang out with you, and talk about something. Henry called your phone and waited for you to pick it up.

Meanwhile... (This is my first shot at writing smut with TMR.)

"A-ahh! d-daddy... your c-cock... is so... b-big!" you moaned as rode Tyler like your life depended on it. "Fuck, you're so wet and warm for me, M/n. Your tight little pussy feels amazing!" Tyler groaned as he thrust further into you.

Tyler sees that your phone is vibrating, 'Henry?' Tyler smirked, he knew that Henry was glaring at him with hate and stared at you with love. 'This will teach him who my baby boy belongs to.'

"Be a good boy for daddy and answer the phone." Tyler handed you the phone, you took a look at the caller and noticed it was Henry calling. "D-daddy... I-i can't do... it with y-you- thrusting... i-into me!"

Tyler stopped his thrusts but as you answered his call, he thrust right back into you. "A-ah!"

"Hey, M/n! Are you okay?" Henry questioned. "Y-yeah... I'm okay..." Tyler stopped thrusting, you could his cock pulsing and twitching inside you.

"You're little pussy is wet for me. You like it when I rub you here?" Tyler then began to rub your small dick. You tried to not moan out loud.

But Henry could tell, that you were moaning. And he was angry and just hanged up. "H-hello?... I think he... h-hung up." "Now, I can fuck you!" And he went back to banging you.

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TIMESKIP (5 DAYS)

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5 days after the little event, Henry hasn't called you. You tried calling him and seeing what's wrong, but he never answered.

Tyler kept telling you to not worry about him. Meanwhile, Henry was just in his room masturbating to a picture of yours and mutters, "You belong to me... Tyler and your's relationship is fake! We kissed, we held each other, and so many other things."

The acting seems to make Henry delusional, cause he believed it was all real and that you meant it. He has to find a way to make you his and he just how to do it.

There was a party coming up. You and Tyler would both be attending.

You and Tyler both arrived at the party. People were drinking, dancing, and doing other weird things. "I'm gonna go get a drink." Tyler nodded his head.

He went over to a table and sat down. Tyler wasn't the type to get a drink. Meanwhile, Henry kept his eyes on you. 'This is going to be a fun night!' You thought.

But this will turn out to be the worst night you'll ever have.

Had a few drinks, you were trying to find Tyler in the crowd but couldn't find him. You didn't feel the vibration in your phone, "I'll be waiting for you in the car."

As you were walking around, you felt yourself being pushed up against a wall. "Oh... *HIc* T-Tyler... I didn't *Hic* know you could be *Hic* this rough."

Henry pinned you against the wall and crash his lips against yours. Sweet but tasted like alcohol. 'Since when did Tyler become all muscular' Then you felt a needle pierce through your neck and injecting you with some kind of drug.

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TIMESKIP (After the party.)

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You woke up with a massive headache. Your mind is still blurry but after a few moments later you could see properly. You noticed a cup of water and headache pills by it. You took it.

Then, you realized, this isn't your room and that you were wearing a bunny outfit! 'What the fuck? Where am I?!' Then you began to feel hot and needy.

Your pussy was leaking and clenching around nothing. Your small dick was aching to be touched. "Is my little bunny awake?" A deep husky voice said.

You turned in its direction to notice that it was Henry?! But your mind was getting clouded with lust and want. "H-Henry...?"

"Shh, baby. Daddies here." Henry said getting closer to you and pulling you to his lap. Your hands were now on his shirtless chest, feeling his hairy pecs.

"Where's... T-Tyler?" you questioned, bad mistake. Henry smacked one of your cheeks. "DON'T EVER MENTION HIS NAME! YOU BELONG TO ME! FORGET ABOUT HIM!"

You were getting turned on. It must be the drug he gave you, cause you don't like it someone yells at you. "You're leaking so much slick? You want daddy to help you?"

Before you could respond, Henry pushed you down onto the couch and you could feel his meaty cock at your front entrance. "Your little pussy is leaking so much, you don't know how much you turn me on."

Henry lubes his cock with your slick before pushing in. "F-fuck! You're so tight! I guess Tyler didn't fuck you that good." Henry groaned as he pushed all the way in you.

He let you adjust a little before thrusting back into you. "You're so wet, tight, and warm. Better than my ex!" Henry groaned as he feels you tightening around him.

His hand then went down to stroke your cock. "A-ah!" you moaned as you tried to turn your face away. "You're close? Me too!" you could feel Henry thrust into your womb.

He was hitting your pleasure spot tip-on. "M-mmhh!" Your body clenched before convulsing beneath him. Your muscles twitched around his cock.

"Fuck, you came! I'm close! You'll look so beautiful swollen with my kids. The thought of spending the rest of my life with you just makes me wanna cum!"

You could feel his cock burst inside you. Feeling you up with his cum. "Get pregnant from this!" He stayed inside you before collapsing onto your smaller body.

He was leaving love marks. "You belong to me now, M/n..."

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TIMESKIP (DECADE LATER)

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It has been a decade since you were taken away. A decade being with a monster- who you looked up to before. He had taken you away from others.

You were in the kitchen cooking some waiting for him to come home. "PAPA! When is daddy coming home?" your oldest child said playing with his lego spaceship.

"He'll be home soon. How about go play with your siblings?" they nodded their head before heading to their room. You gave birth to Henry's children, when you had O/C/N, you promised that you'll take them far away from this monster.

You looked at the ring. It was no longer Tyler's ring but Henry's. Just as you said Henry, two strong muscular arms wrapped around your waist.

"How is my beautiful husband doing?" you tried pushing him away but it didn't work.

"Just accept it, M/n. You'll never escape me, and you don't want anything bad to happen to your- no- OUR kids? Right?" tears began to pour out your eyes.

"No. Please don't hurt them... they're just kids, they did nothing wrong." you cried trying to not alarm them.

"Then just accept your fate. You've been resisting for 10 years, it's no use. No one will ever find you." Henry whispered into your ear.

"Just accept it."

THE END

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A/N: I hope this was good! I'm sorry if anything is incorrect. Do you like my new format? Anyways, bye my 🍓Little Strawberries🍓!

#x trans male reader #trans male reader #x male reader #male reader #henry cavill x male reader #yandere henry cavill x trans male reader #henry cavill x trans male reader #henry cavill imagine #yandere henry cavill x male reader #yandere henry cavill imagine #yandere henry cavill #male pregnancy #I'm sorry of this offends anyone

[wowbright]

Fic: Modes of Transportation

Tan Hands and Tan Lines Sophisticated Word Challenge 2021: exacerbate

Words: ~825 words

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Why are some flirts more annoying than others?

I’m belatedly going through the prompts for The Tan Hands and Tan Lines Summer Event 2021 to flesh out my Mormon!Klaine universe. This one takes place directly after Boundaries and won’t make much sense unless you read that first.

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

Notes: A short little filler ficlet with no startling revelations. If you have any questions or typo corrections, feel free to use my ask box!

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The evening ended up being less terrible than Blaine had expected. A few branch members and the Lebanese investigators from Blaine’s first day in Ingolstadt, Samir and Nuriya, showed up a few minutes into Dolcezza’s overwhelming flirtations, and their presence tempered her behavior slightly—if only because he had a good excuse to pay less attention to her. Blaine chose the least flirtatious topic he could think of for their discussion—modes of transportation—and even though Dolcezza somehow managed to change the subject to courting etiquette in different cultures for a few minutes, Elder Hummel managed to wrangle her back into the appropriate topic.

Finally, Dolcezza and Nuriya discovered their mutual love of windsurfing—Blaine had not been expecting that—and soon Dolcezza was barely paying any attention to him at all, and instead asking Nuriya to teach her windsurfing lingo in Arabic.

Dolcezza did ask Blaine out for drinks after class, but now he was more prepared to fend her off than he had been at the beginning of the evening. He reminded her again of the rules. “We don’t date while we serve missions. It would distract us from our work.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “But you could still go out for a drink. It doesn't have to be a date. Like, my brother goes out drinking with his priest all the time, and they're obviously not dating. Here, we’ll make it a group thing!” She spun around and hollered an invitation to everyone in the room, punctuated with, “Drinks on me!”

“Drinking would also distract us,” Blaine said when she turned back to him with a triumphant smile.

She frowned. “Seriously? Are you guys not allowed to do anything fun?”

Elder Hummel came to the rescue. “Talking about modes of transportation with you guys is our idea of fun.”

“You know, that really does not help sell your religion to me,” said Dolcezza. “You two should become Catholics. We really know how to throw a party.” She reached up both hands and pinched the two elders on the cheek simultaneously.

“You’ll be proud of me, Elder Hummel,” Blaine said as they closed up the branch at the end of the evening. “I could actually tell that Dolcezza was flirting with me tonight.”

Elder Hummel stifled a laugh. “I am proud of you.” As he locked the door behind them, his expression morphed into concern. “Is she making you uncomfortable?”

“Yes, but not in a bad way.”

“Oh?” Elder Hummel looked intrigued. “You’re tempted by the fruits of Dolcezza?”

Blaine felt his cheeks heating up. “Oh, gosh, no. I just mean, it's a good opportunity for me to learn to stand up for myself. I'm not always good at that. Sometimes, I just go along with things and don’t speak up because I don't want to make anyone upset. ‘The Lord commands men not to contend with one another’ and all that, you know? But here, I kind of have to say something, or she might think she had some kind of chance with me, and that could just exacerbate her flirting. Maybe God didn't send Dolcezza so I could convert her, but so that she could convert me into a stronger person.”

“That's a nice way to look at annoying people,” Elder Hummel said wryly, and Blaine couldn't help but laugh.

The last part of their conversation kept replaying in Blaine’s mind on their bike ride home. Why was it fairly easy for Blaine to see Dolcezza as a blessing, but not Chandler?

Blaine had replayed the interaction in the sheet music store a lot over the past few days, and the more he did, the more uncomfortable he felt about it. Swooning over Elder Hummel’s voice and clothes, inviting him over for an intimate dinner—Chandler came on too strong, just like Dolcezza. Blaine didn’t have any firsthand experience with romance, but he’d learned what he liked through movies and songs. His favorite love stories were the ones that grew out of friendship, like Lois Lane and Clark Kent, or When Harry Met Sally, simmering for a long time until one day, they both finally realized that the other was the person they were born to love.

Blaine wanted a romance like that. And Elder Hummel deserved one. He deserved somebody who didn't just love him for his clothes or his looks or his voice. Chandler was like Satine’s legions of fans in Moulin Rouge! They fawned over her, but they only saw what she showed on the surface. Christian saw her whole being and loved her for it. If Elder Hummel was going to be wooed off the path he’d planned for himself, it should be by someone who loved who he was, inside and out—someone who would pray with him, and study scripture with him, and give him blessings. Someone who wanted to build a home and a family on Heavenly Father’s love.

#mormon!klaine #wowbright writes fic #tan hands and tan lines #spaceorphan's sophisticated challenge: exacerbate #klaine fic #my thatl

[winterlovesong1]

Winter’s Nancy Drew Rewatch

Welcome to my first rewatch of my current favorite comfort show ❤️ Under the cut are my thoughts and a few insights I hope you enjoy - I’ll be going through each episode and posting these periodically with the tag winter rewatched Nancy Drew - first one -

Episode: Pilot

Overall MVP: I feel like Nancy was her own MVP in this episode - appropriate since it’s the pilot, but Kennedy really did an amazing job setting the stage as the title character ❤️

Most Comedic Moment: When Ace comes with the cup of coffee and Bess says I think he changed his mind and he takes a sip.

Bless this boy.

Also when he asks everyone if he can come along and they all say no - ps you can come with me anytime, Ace ❤️

Most Heartfelt Moment: The end when Nancy goes to Nick - wow break my heart 💔

Best Overall Line: The I’m growing on her / like a fungus exchange is iconic

Scare Rating: I’d say a three?? I mean the only real scare is at the end and it’s minimal.

Nace Slow Burn Rating: We are at about a three here too - a couple of quips back and forth and that disregard of personal space as he runs behind her at the start of the episode.

Missing Moment Drabble

Possibly the most talked about missing moment amongst the fandom - that conversation during Ace’s smoke break - I actually incorporated what I thought a piece of this conversation looked like into one of my fics so here’s that snippet -

“I just feel stuck,” she confided in him out behind the restaurant, her body positioned upon a curb near the loading dock, knees straight and upright so that her elbows could casually rest upon them, her eyes gazing to the distance, as if her sight wasn’t focused on an object but on her inner thoughts and how they were forming in her mind.

“It happens to the best of us,” he assured her as he stepped up beside her and after a beat or two, despite them not having any substantial conversation since they both started working together at the seafood establishment by the sea, he felt drawn in by her melancholy words.

(he recognized the passive sadness in her words as a sound that once graced his own words)

“Really? Cause you seem to have it figured out, you don’t seem worried about much…”

As he sat down beside her, he tried to mirror her dejected mannerisms in his own demeanor, trying to not let his natural optimism show through his features or behavior.

(unknown to her, that positive outlook took work)

(but those were details for another day)

“I worry about a lot of stuff,” lingering around a truth he wasn’t ready to divulge to someone he had only exchanged pleasantries with, his words came out with an air of confidence he didn’t intend and he hoped that didn’t deter her from continuing on in their conversation.

“Really?” She turned from looking off in the distance and placed her eyes on his profile. And though he wasn’t ready to call her a friend yet, if she kept looking at him like that, he might have to call her something more one day.

(Ace, he bickered back to himself, don’t)

(though there was no denying the moment he saw her, he instantly thought how beautiful her confidence was)

(and that hair – he still couldn’t find the words to describe it)

“Yeah…” his words trailed off as he turned to look over at her, finding a slight loss for anything more.

He’s not sure how long they take each other in, two people who had, before this moment, hovered around each other’s orbits, never daring to cross into each other’s personal space from just the sheer fact that they were practically strangers, but now, in these few seconds, however unfamiliar they were, he could feel they were suddenly connected by something that he could only fathom was above his belief.

(and maybe that same higher entity allowed him some much needed clarity)

“But I learned a long time ago that some of that you can’t change, so I just sort of learn to let it go.” It wasn’t eloquent, he never meant it to be, but it was at least closer to the truth than the start of their conversation.

And then suddenly, with so much sincerity, even he found it unnerving to be disclosing, he left her with a piece of comfort.

(with a piece of him)

“It’ll be ok, Nancy.”

#winter rewatched Nancy Drew #tv: nancy drew