#sub!malcolm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sl4sh3rsub · 6 months

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brahms heelshire hcs (nsfw: mdni)

brahms heelshire x reader (AFAB, AMAB, FtM, MtF)

warning: a whole heap. dom/sub dynamics + aspects of the lifestyle (both brahms and reader are switches, reader is a soft dom mostly) AND top/bottom dynamics (both brahms and reader are vers), dubious consent (somnophilia, overstimulation?), use of mommy/daddy/sir towards reader in separate sections, copious mentions of cum + precum (includes cum eating/cum marking/cum jar), fuck malcolm 202x (brahms is territorial), detailed ass stuff: anal, rimming, ass eating (giving and receiving), oral sex (giving), p in v + anal (all unprotected - pls stay safe irl), domestic behaviour, hygiene practices, hickeys, thigh fucking, cockwarming, sex toys, dry humping

a/n: barely edited. is it mummy or mommy?? average aussie moment. i also have a smut fic in my drafts so hmu in the inbox if you wanna see it, i'm not too sure if there's any demand for it lmao DISCLAIMER: i, personally, have not been in properly established dominant/submissive relationship! i have been in those spaces for a while though and am doing my best to not misrepresent lifestyle aspects or write fics promoting extremely unhealthy relationship dynamics - obviously take this with a grain of salt as this fic is about a slasher and is already not a healthy n wholesome starting point. do your own research and stay safe irl folks

order: general hcs first then amab + afab then ftm + mtf, different sections = different content n tried not to repeat much

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general hcs

there's a very clear dom/sub dynamic in your relationship and brahms is definitely a switch (leaning sub) to the core. sometimes he'll be extremely dominant with you during sex, but he'll always revert back to your sweet boy after he makes an effort to clean you up <3

you take turns fucking each other braindead but after your eyes roll into your head, you always have to get him back by making him drool into the pillows for the next couple of hours

brahms insists on starting a quickie and cumming all over your chest and face right before malcolm is scheduled to arrive. he pushes you towards the door as the bell rings and wants to leave you with his drying spend stained all over your skin, sticking your shirt to you in dark splotches - a territorial, possessive nature is awakened in brahms as he watches from the walls while malcolm flushes and realises what is going on. the best bit is, you're fully well aware of what he's doing after the first time it happens, but you entertain his antics for a little while longer to ensure the poor delivery boy gets the message to back off

he also has a small, little, teensy weensy habit of cum marking all of your underwear, pillowcases and even goes as far as making you special little jam sandwiches with a little... salty layer, especially for you

push your thumb against his hole and go to town on his ass and eat him out - put a pillow under his hips and do him a favour by stuffing your underwear in his mouth so he won't lose his voice as he's screaming from pleasure, of course. he'll be so, so obedient for the day after and if you sneak behind him to smack his ass, his knees will buckle slightly and his head whips towards you to meet your mischievous gaze

his sloppy, spit-shined pink hole winks at you after you make out with it, and the sight makes you lose control every single time, especially when he whines. he grinds against your tongue as you fuck him, circling your fingers around the base of his cock to stop him from instantly staining the sheets. his precious cum spurting onto his chest would be a waste and make quite the mess

brahms' knees get weak and he practically melts beneath your touch when you start focusing on his cockhead while sucking him off - slick up your thumb with his sticky precum as you drag it along his slit, lick small circles and drool over it as you blow cool air to see him shiver... genuinely anything to do with his sensitive tip with get him spilling all over your tongue. if he's sitting on the edge of a table or counter while you take his length down your throat, he'll shift one of his thighs over your shoulder and hump into your mouth with shuddering gasps, needing to have your drool coating him completely while his eyes roll back and you hold your breath

brahmsy is obsessed with you caring for him (both sexually and non-sexually), especially with things such as prescribed routines and specific positions for him to follow. of course brahms is reliant on order! he's already accustomed to following the rules and schedules while in the wall, so it's only natural for him to feel safe with you after his previous neglect. he's so obedient and willing for you to make him into your own pliable doll - he's most happy with you guiding him everywhere and often shaving him, practically playing dress up every day. brahms knows that every saturday is when you have your thorough 'inspection' of his body - it's when you decide whether or not to shave his pubes and facial hair in the next week! sometimes he wants to be clean shaven and sometimes he's more than happy to grow out his dark curls, but he secretly adores you methodically shaving around his cock - gently holding it up or to the side to make sure you get everything and your diligent focus solely on his soft shaft makes him flush under your attentive gaze. every single time you adjust your warm grip on his balls to maneuver the blade, his cockhead beads out a tad bit of precum. every single time, without fail. he doesn't even have to be hard for his body to react like that, for his tip to drool with his arousal, but your low chuckles and distracted glances up at his flushed chest make it hard for him to not squirm in your hold :( he was originally the one to suggest the whole shaving thing, as he wasn't the biggest fan of fully cleaning up after cumming everywhere and it tended to dry in his thick bush of curls. after you first tried out hair removal with him, he found it much easier to wipe off his mess and was overall much more convenient.

your clinical precision in keeping your favourite boy upkept each day makes for a soothing routine for you and a chance for brahms to preen and bask in your attention for a solid hour. brahms' favourite part of the daily routine is your softly spoken orders in the morning to tilt his chin back slightly as you run the razor over his jawline and down his neck. the raw vulnerability almost gives him shivers, but good boys never disobey directions to 'stay still' <3

if you manage to wrangle up get brahms into having a prescribed skincare routine, his attentively mumbled recitations of the order for his cleanser, exfoliant and moisturizer drift down the hall while you prepare breakfast for two of you :(

make sure to praise him for washing up properly before you both get intimate! his lifestyle did a 180 after meeting you, so any encouragement to be clean and neat is positive reinforcement for him to stay that way

if brahms feels a little shy or out of it on any given day, he disappears into the walls for some time away - that doesn't mean he won't trail you like a shuffling shadow though, he just might not want to be out in the open for a little. to make him feel loved, kiss the wallpaper of the wall he's behind! the little gasp or squeak of surprise as he undoubtedly turns beet red just a mere inch away from you is a small joy <3

if you feel stressed or wound up, he's fully convinced that some dick will mellow you out just fine! he wants you to be fucked out so your anxious demeanor disappears and you can be happy again - it's for your own good :(

despite how he loves the wholesome nature of your voice going soft while you compliment him, he can't ignore how it makes him swell in his pants. he just loves the warmth in your gaze and the quirk in the edge of your lips as his eyes glaze over

brahms has a cum jar that he keeps in the walls - it has a small lock of your hair set in it from when you slept in the house the first night. if you have to go out early to the local farmer's market or shops, you'll most likely find a small, warm jar hastily and clumsily cleaned on your bedside table - a cooling milky substance makes the glass opaque as a few small dribbles slide down the outer rim. it's from brahmsy, of course. he wants you to always be aware of what your presence and existence does to him

whenever he wants to try and cook for you or you leave your meal out before you eat together, brahms will quickly jack off all over the food. he just wants to make sure you have a bit of his love incorporated in your diet - in case you accidentally swap them, he'll make sure to put it on all the plates available. he doesn't mind at all, he's not picky! although, brahms would much rather eat his cum off of your fingers or out of you, or even from your lips as you make out after you give him head... but whatever has to happen to ensure you have his cum in your tummy, brahmsy will do it

he is a fiend for stealing your clothing, especially your underwear (bonus points if they're not clean) - he wears the dirty garment or simply wraps it around his leaky cock. he begs you to wear the cum-stained underwear while you go out on emergency necessary shopping trips. he just wants to ensure that you have him on your mind the whole time :(

if you refuse, he'll reluctantly compromise with you and make you keep the doll with you to ensure everyone backs off when you're in public. he swears up and down that you'll be so much safer with his 'mini me' attached at your hip

if you need to go into town at any point, make sure to prep brahms a day beforehand with being alright in your absence - have your laundry done ahead of time with your detergent and scent on it to give him and leave written instructions to have a shower using your soap and shampoo to feel safer <3 if you've been doing a project over the past few days, such as painting or long chores together (like repairing a set of chairs or dusting all the room decor), make sure brahms is comfortable with continuing it when you're out - it gives him a distraction and something to do with his hands

puppy dog eyes go both ways in your relationship - he weaponizes it to try and convince you to spend more time skin-to-skin and you use it to make him listen and follow instructions. it also has the added bonus of getting you both riled up

tap twice on your belt buckle or the fly of your pants and his brain will fully turn off. his breath goes whiny and his tongue lolls out at the thought of you using his face for your own selfish needs

brahms is incredibly shy but willing to go against his own timid nature for you. the first time he presented himself to you was something you'll never forget. you had gone to fetch him a glass of water and when you returned to your room, he had confidently stripped naked and was kneeling on the rug, waiting for you with a blush across his chest. you stuttered and diverted your gaze in shock, hurriedly covering your eyes. brahms rose and tutted, shakily tilted your chin towards him and cooing at your bashful reaction. he whispered reassurances in your ear - he wanted you to look at his body, it's yours to do with as you wish. he trusts you wholeheartedly, so command him and he will meet your every need

if brahmsy is being a bit of a brat, tease him for not being on his best behaviour - press soft kisses into his lips but never deepening, purposefully avoiding what he craves most. keep your hand at the base of his throat to gently apply pressure while you slowly draw closer to him, puffs of breath mingling as his whines get more desperate. if brahms lunges to try and smash your lips together, pull back and tighten your grip. watch his eyes roll back with tears pooling from his need

brahms' favourite punishment is being spanked as he's bent over your knee, cock pressed between your thighs. whenever he jolts, he can thrust into you as his pale skin lights up pink and red - both from your hand and his arousal. make sure to smack his balls a little too, he'll cum like a fountain from the stimulation. brahms truly is a sight to behold whenever he is falling apart by your hand

his second favourite punishment is when you fuck yourself on a dildo smaller than his cock. order him into his prescribed kneeling position - palms flat on his thighs, heels propped up under his ass and back straight - to make him watch you bounce up and down on your toy, giving him a show. watch him intently and you'll see rivulets of sweat trail down his chest as his dick bobs and twitches against his stomach at the lack of stimulation, his heated gaze feasting on the sight of your body with rapt attention. the part that makes his chest ache is your slightly needy and unsatisfied expression you try to hide - brahms knows for a fact that the silicone can't fill you the way he can. although he is more than happy with watching you get off mere feet infront of him, the agonizing thrum of his heartbeat in his cock and white crescents dug into his thighs are testament to how this scenario is effecting him. it's different to his voyeuristic endeavors behind the walls - if he had his way, he would've already busted a load onto the drywall and all over his fist at the sight of you

brahms is a massive fan of ruined orgasms - as long as you shush his yelps and whimpers while pressing kisses into his hairline and stroking his thighs, that is. he needs the comfort during and afterwards, but the raw experience altogether gives him an adrenaline rush

he is also a massive fan of cock milking - keep a small crystal bowl under his tip to catch all his milky cum. the visual of the aftermath, combined with the shaking of his thighs, nearly makes his vision black out with pleasure

brahms' movements are clumsy, and his hands shake from nervousness and reverence every time he touches you and he learns over time how to please and obey you perfectly, but he never shakes his little habit of rutting against you whenever you're nearby

the poor guy has years and years of pent-up sexual frustration and yearning - you are the perfect solution to all of his problems, so don't be surprised if he's selfish with his pleasure every so often

if you straddle him while cuddling and put his head to your chest, his brain fully stops working and all of his blood rushes to his cock. however, unlike every other time you're in a sexual position, his constant need to fuck you is delayed temporarily - he's torn between feeling comforted and extremely turned on, resulting in him being rock hard but comfortably lounging while you run your fingers through his hair. kiss him at your own pace, as he has no rush to be buried in your guts - just don't shift on top of him though, he'll snap out of it and remember what position you're both in :<

brahms has a life mission of reminding you that it's play time at all times of the day, attempting to coax you into letting him seek refuge between your thighs, no matter the situation - be it eating your ass from behind while you cook or caging you against the nearest bench while fucking your soft thighs

call him a pervert for watching you behind the walls and he'll turn bright red out of shame. do him a favour and ignore the bulge he fruitlessly tries to cover his huge bulge with trembling hands

he loves to give you head while you wake, your heavy musk is addictive to him. he's definitely not against you returning the favour the next day or fucking yourself on his morning wood after he's been humping you in his sleep. his favourite thing is to blink away his drowsiness while realising he's buried to the hilt in your tight warmth, pinching your nipples and moaning above him. hopefully you have nothing to do that morning, because the moment he cums, he will be immediately knocked out for another hour

brahms makes himself a little leather collar in his workshop - if you go into town and get an engraved pendant for him, he will go feral and not take it off for weeks :(

if he feels a bit worn out after a round or a mind-blowing orgasm, expect to feel his face nuzzle into the crook of your neck - especially when his softening cock still buried deep inside you. he loves to take a little nap in between rounds while you cockwarm him, it's just easier for your heartbeats to match pace :<

while brahms was in the walls, he had a habit of skulking around while other nannies were working - stroking his cock for a couple of minutes before going back to lounging in his bed or returning to shadow his carer, raging boner being unattended for a while before the whole cycle repeated. this results in him wandering around the house - with either his boxers tented or his bottom half nude, for easy access of course. you have to train him into the habit of wearing pants consistently. this little pattern of his also results in him initiating sexual situations with you - such as grinding, making out or dry humping - before disappearing into a wall in the middle of it, only to reappear a short while later to continue the interaction

he treasures anything you buy for him! what do you mean you got him a rose bouquet and a pretty butt plug with a shiny gem? ... a toy? for him?? he just wants to be loved and getting him any type of gift, especially sex toys, is the perfect way to ensure he knows he is loved and cared for. it validates his intense feelings of love and affection towards you

it's very important to remind him about alternating his clothes - the sour stench of sweat and musty air can cling to his older outfits, so getting him adjusted to wearing fresh clothing you picked out is beneficial to you both

brahmsy often helps himself to your bed and bedding, causing you to be pressed snugly to his lean body with the downy comforter wrapped securely around the two of you. if you're away from your room in the early morning, expect to return to a tall, snoring man bundled in all of you bed linen

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amab hcs

brahms calls you daddy relentlessly, both in and out of the bedroom, but his cock jumps whenever you reply! the thrum of his heartbeat is palpable in his veins as his eyes glaze over and his reverent gaze trails over your body.

brahmsy begs you to fuck him whenever he's feeling subby, so be sure to let him bounce on your cock - the real reward is the hickeys you leave on his pale chest while he grinds down and clutches your head close to his chest

slap your cock on his hole :( his neck will be aching slightly from his insistence on maintaining eye contact with you as he begs for you to be inside him

if he has misbehaved and broken vases or trashed the house, make sure to skull-fuck him while he drools and whimpers at being used like a fleshlight. praise him for taking it so well but remind him why he's being punished as you stroke his hair, tip hitting the back of his throat. after he has swallowed your spend, pet his cheek and let him know how good he's been for taking it like the perfect boy he is

brahms is not small in size, not small in any capacity. sometimes his shirts ride up and flash his pale tummy. the trail of dark hair heading south below his waistband teases you every time he helps you with hanging out the clothes. the breeze ruffling your hair does nothing to sway your attention from daydreaming of what lies behind that thin material, below that soft treasure trail that points directly to his pretty cock. brahms is faring no better, as he's fully lost in his head and shooting distracted towards your figure. he's trying to not let his arousal show as he remembers the night before… and no, he is not listening to anything you're saying

never underestimate his drive to please you. he'll go until you're shooting blanks - choking and slobbering all over your length, laving the underside of your cock and toying with your veins. he'll keep bringing you to the edge in record time while he gets drunk off your musk and heady taste - his favourite part of taking you down his throat is the pulsing sensation of your cock as he swallows down your hot cum. he's only trying to please you!!

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afab hcs

brahms calls you mommy relentlessly, both in and out of the bedroom, but his cock jumps whenever you reply! the thrum of his heartbeat is palpable in his veins as his eyes glaze over and his adoring gaze trails over your body

if he has misbehaved and broken vases or trashed the house, make sure to ride his face while he drools and whimpers at being used like a toy. praise him for taking it so well, but remind him why he's being punished as you stroke his hair, grinding down on his tongue. after he has lapped up your arousal, pet his cheek and let him know how good he's been for taking it like the perfect boy he is

brahms daydreams about your lip-gloss, all sticky at the base of his cock as your tight lips suckle around his sensitive tip

he's not small in size - not small in any capacity. whenever he's roaming the estate and you cross paths, the sight of his bulge in those worn grey sweatpants catches you off-guard every single time. the delicious curve of his shaft forms a beautiful indent in the fabric and it makes your mind go deliciously blank for a few moments. don't worry, he's not going to notice your doubletake because brahms is far too invested in staring at your bra strap peeking out from your shirt collar. his brain is full of static the moment he imagines you without your top on, teasing him with your gorgeous fuckin body as you slide down to your knees before him... hm? what were you saying? oh he was not paying attention, you're gonna have to repeat that twice as he wrenches his mind out of the gutter

brahms has a penchant for cumming with his tip pressed against your hole - he loves working you up with his tongue while stroking himself then, while he's about to cum, he pushes himself into you. that tad bit of resistance met against his tip is enough to make his balls tighten and cock spurt hot ropes

never underestimate his drive to please you. every night, his lips are more often than not attached to your sopping pussy, tongue laving your juices as he repeatedly brings you to the edge. he's not gonna stop until you're sticky and numb, until your clit is throbbing in protest - he nudges back the hood to admire your pretty bud, spittle and hot his breath cause you to throb under his tongue. he's obsessed with lapping up the arousal drooling out your cunt. he's only trying to please you!!

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ftm hcs

brahms calls you sir relentlessly, both in and out of the bedroom, but his cock jumps whenever you reply! the thrum of his heartbeat is palpable in his veins as his eyes glaze over and his devoted gaze trails over your body

he loves being able to have the hand of another man to teach him how to indulge in pleasure. the absolute mind-blowing rush he feels whenever he sinks into your tight heat rivals what he heard heaven was like, especially when you moan so loudly as he strokes your cock

whenever brahms is fucking you from behind, he has a habit of digging his fingers into your soft lower tummy, massaging his fingertips back and forth over his cockhead as he's buried balls deep. his eyes glaze over at the added pressure and drool dribbles onto your back as his jaw goes slack

if he has misbehaved and broken vases or trashed the house, make sure to fuck his face while he drools and whimpers at being used like a toy. praise him for taking it so well, but remind him why he's being punished as you stroke his hair, grinding down on his tongue. after he has lapped up your arousal, pet his cheek and let him know how good he's been for taking it like the perfect boy he is

brahms is not small in size - not small in any capacity, so sometimes his shirts ride up and flash his pale tummy. the trail of dark hair heading south below his waistband teases you every time he helps you with hanging out the clothes. the breeze ruffling your hair does nothing to sway your attention from daydreaming of what lies behind that thin material, below that soft treasure trail that points directly to his pretty cock. brahms is faring no better, as he's fully lost in his head and shooting distracted towards your figure. he's trying to not let his arousal show as brahms remembers the night before… and no, he is not listening to anything you're saying

never underestimate his drive to please you. every night, his lips are more often than not attached to your sopping tcock, tongue laving your juices as he repeatedly brings you to the edge. he's not gonna stop until you're sticky and numb, until your dick is throbbing in protest - he nudges back the hood to admire your pretty length, spittle and hot his breath cause you to throb under his tongue. he's obsessed with lapping up the arousal drooling out your boycunt. he's only trying to please you!!

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mtf hcs

imagine his surprise when the pretty, sweet nanny has a bulge under her skirt just like his! his brain short-circuits when he realises you have similar bodies - he's able to transfer his knowledge of pleasure across to you. when he discovers what makes you tick, he practices on himself to get used to it and to hone his technique

he'll sew you a special set of lingerie, with hair bows to match. brahms is a craftsman at heart and nothing makes his heart swell more than watching you showcase his work. he'll fuck you in front of all the mirrors in the house - he wants to see you absolutely fall apart while you display his handiwork. brahmsy truly believes you have the beauty of an angel, that the greatest honour is to have you wear his creation proudly :(

if he has misbehaved and broken vases or trashed the house, make sure to skull-fuck him while he drools and whimpers at being used like a fleshlight. praise him for taking it so well, but remind him why he's being punished as you stroke his hair, tip hitting the back of his throat. after he has swallowed your spend, pet his cheek and let him know how good he's been for taking it like the perfect boy he is

he's not small in size - not small in any capacity. whenever he's roaming the estate and you cross paths outside, the sight of his bulge in those worn grey sweatpants catches you off-guard every single time. the delicious curve of his shaft forms a beautiful indent in the fabric and it makes your mind go deliciously blank for a few moments. don't worry, he's not going to notice your doubletake because brahms is far too invested in staring at your hard nipples making soft peaks in your shirt. his brain is full of static the moment he imagines you without your top on, teasing him with your gorgeous fuckin body as you slide down to your knees before him… hm? what were you saying? oh he was not paying attention, you're gonna have to repeat that twice as he wrenches his mind out of the gutter

never underestimate his drive to please you. he'll go until you're shooting blanks - choking and slobbering all over your length, laving the underside of your girlcock and toying with your veins. he'll keep bringing you to the edge in record time while he gets drunk off your musk and heady taste - his favourite part of taking you down his throat is the pulsing sensation as he swallows down your hot arousal. he's only trying to please you!!

_ _ _ _ _

fuck greta and by extension, fuck malcolm ig. this took a hot minute tbh. am cooking up some more stuff but might take a while.

thanks for reading. lmk if you liked it. if i got anything wrong, don't hesitate to tell me.

stay safe.

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captainfern · 6 months

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141Rugby!au - Introductory and Definitions

141 x fem!reader, rugbyunion!au [18+] intro

hi! below the cut is an introductory to rugby union if you know absolutely nothing about the sport (and it's completely okay if you don't!)

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Rugby [a somewhat simplified explanation!]

rugby union (i’ll be referring to it as simply rugby) is a very physical, high-contact sport played by many different countries across the world. if you want an idea of how intense the love for rugby can be, search up rugby culture in south africa, ireland, or new zealand - 3 very strong rugby nations!

the main objective is to score tries by getting the ball to the other end of the field and touching it against the grass in the end-goal. to stop the other team from scoring a try, players try to tackle their opposition and attempt to steal the ball back.

also important to note, many rugby players are fine as hell. ok anyway

on a rugby field, each team has fifteen players numbered 1 through to 15. each team also has players on the bench that can be "subbed" on if a player on field becomes tired or gets injured. each player (and their number) has special skills, simplified here:

1 & 3 (prop) - the strongest guys on the field. usually pretty beefy as they are positioned at the front of a scrum (explained later). example player: joe marler, england. 2 (hooker) - a bit less beefy, but still strong, sometimes a bit taller than 1 & 3. this guy throws the ball in lineouts (explained later). example player: malcolm marx, south africa. 4 & 5 (lock) - the tallest guys on the field. they are lifted during lineouts. example player: eben etzebeth, south africa. 6 & 7 (flanker) - are very fit, quite fast and are good at commanding the field (many captain's have been flankers). example player: siya kolisi, south africa. 8 (number eight, eighthman) - typically very strong and can lift and/or be lifted in lineouts, as well as add extra weight to scrums. example player: ardie savea, new zealand. 9 (scrum-half, half-back) - usually the smallest on the field, and are often quite quick. they put the ball into the scrums. example player: antoine dupont, france 10 (fly-half, first five-eighth) - are usually fast, fit and are often the kickers of the team that kick conversions (explained later). example player: handre pollard, south africa. 12 & 13 (centre) - strong passers, have a good kick and create space when they run down the field. example player: reiko ioane, new zealand. 11 & 14 (wing, winger) - the fastest men on the field. they run near the outside lines of the field and can often be difficult to tackle (explained later). example player: james lowe, ireland. 15 (fullback) - catch high-balls, kick far distances, quite fast, fit and can run long distances. example player: damian willemse, south africa.

there are certain "events" that happen in rugby, as mentioned in the previous segment. the basic, fundamental ones are simplified and explained a bit here:

scrum - a method of restarting the game. players pack closely together with their heads down and attempt to gain possession of the ball by pushing each other. the props go at the front because they are the strongest, and the 9 puts the ball in for the players to "fight over" lol. like this:

lineout - is another method of restart when the ball goes out, and involves the ball being thrown in and players lifting up the 4 or 5 so they can catch the ball and give it to their team. each team lifts their lock, and the locks fight for the ball in the air lol. like this:

conversion - done after a player scores a try (a player touches the ball against the grass at the end of the field, worth 5 points). the kicker has to kick the ball between the posts to "convert" the try. it's worth 2 points.

now, here's some quick definitions of words you might see in my upcoming fics. also, if you're ever confused, just ask me! or, you know, search it up on the internet lol.

tackle - when the player with the ball gets "tackled", another player has grabbed them and brought them to the ground. some tackles can be pretty tame, but others can be very intense and cause serious injuries (you are not allowed to tackle near the shoulders, neck, or head. if a player does, they are sent off with either a yellow-card, or red-card). like this:

yellow card, and red card - if a player does something illegal (rugby term for bad or against the rules lol), they can either get a yellow or red card, depending on how bad they are. a yellow card is if you break a basic rule (example, you accidentally hit your shoulder against another player's head in a tackle) and you get sent off for ten minutes and have to sit in the naughty chair :(. a red card is if you do something very very bad (example, you straight up try to scrape someone's eyes out with your sprigs aka the pointy things on the bottom of your boots). you get sent off for the rest of the game, and could get a suspension from playing for weeks.

penalty - if you do something a bit bad, not enough for a card, then the other team get's a penalty (if the other team does something wrong, you get a penalty). the team can choose to either take the ball back and do a scrum/lineout, or kick for goal (a penalty goal is worth 3 points).

forward pass - can't do that!! when you pass the ball, it must always go backwards, just by a little bit!! like this:

ruck - when a player is tackled and goes to ground with the ball, other players join in to try and either steal the ball or take the ball out and give it back to their team. the guy with the ball has to get the ball out otherwise the other team gets a penalty! like this:

maul - exactly how it sounds lol. can be pretty brutal. when the player with the ball is held up, other players grab onto them and basically wrestle each other LMAO. other plays can join in to keep play moving if they want. it can happen a lot after scrums. it can also lead to fights if the players are particularly rough with each other. like this:

try - the method of scoring points. a player takes the ball and puts it over the line at the end of the field (call the end-goal most of the time) and it's worth 5 points. like this:

that's basically all you need to know to understand the references i might make throughout the fics (in between the literal porn of course LMAO). if you're curious about anything else, consult the internet or feel free to ask me :)

and yes, try celebrations are common. you know that tiktok audio "and they're both boys *smooching sounds*". that's literally mens rugby like half of the time

ok first fic out soon hopefully x

i’m aiming to write 5 parts but we’ll see how far i get lol

#captainfern #call of duty #141rugby!au #141 x reader #task force 141 #captain john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #cod smut

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oneforthemunny · 11 months

Text

dark shadows |rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader|

prompt: the start of something new between you and eddie.

contains: 18+ minors dni. dom/sub themes, mentions to smut but nothing graphic. trauma bonding, shitty parents, drug and alcohol abuse, past abuse, mean-ish eddie and mean-ish reader??? kinda.

"Uh, do you want me to do it or..." You moved your head back, drool still pooling on the satin, black sheets beneath you. Eddie's inked skin glistening in a sheen of sweat in the low lights of his room. "Or can you move?"

"Just... Just hand it here." You reached your arm back for the cloth, thighs still trembling with every movement, waves of aftershock settling in with the familiar burn and uncomfortableness.

This was typical. You'd clean yourself up, sticky and sweaty, cleaning his release from you with the cool rag. Eddie would light a cigarette, tossing you a water bottle and a bottle of Ibuprofen for the pain.

It was routine to the two of you now. Finding comfort in the uncomfortable; in the unknown that was... whatever this was the two of you were doing.

Eddie sunk into the mattress next to you, pushing the paddle and the clamps off the sheets. You swallowed your pills before turning, opting to lay on your stomach next to him seeing as how your ass was throbbing from his earlier handiwork. Your thighs twitched at the thought, how angry he'd been at you for making out with Malcom in front of him, letting that "grunge fucking wannabe" stick his hand up your dress in front of everyone. Eddie had played it cool, not caused a scene, eyes only barely glancing at you from across the room, but you knew; you knew what you were in for.

"You want one?" Eddie asked, offering his pack of reds towards you.

You nodded gently, eyes drooping ever so slightly. "Thank you." You muttered when Eddie lit you yours, passing it to you.

"So you can be nice, huh?" Eddie grinned, teasing, still a dark edge to his tone. "When you wanna be?"

"Somethin' like that." You rolled your eyes, propping up on your forearms, cigarette between your lips. Normally, you'd tell him you just had manners, but he'd always reply with a snarky remark about your upbringing, your parents. So you stopped doing that.

Eddie just laughed, smoke sliding out of his nostrils, eyes twinkling at you- soft. A rare side of Eddie you didn't see very often. It made your heart swell. You blinked, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. You'd blame the post-orgasm brain fog for those feelings.

"You're flying out tomorrow to Nantucket?" Eddie asked, eyes sliding cooly over to you.

You hummed, inhaling your own cigarette, the numbing sweet nicotine coating the inside of your mouth. It tasted like Eddie's spit, the rather large glob he spit in your mouth and made you swallow earlier- "washing your mouth out" to get rid of any trace of Malcolm.

"Yeah, me and Farrah are staying there for a while. She likes to go to the East Coast in the summer. Says the waters prettier." You blinked lazily up at him, head propped in your hand.

Eddie snorted. "Prettier than California? No way."

"Have you ever been to Nantucket?" You asked with a raised brow.

"Nope." Eddie chirped, tongue rolling over the front of his teeth. You could tell he was about to say something mean. "Not all of us grew up in a life of lavish like you, Princess." There it was. Predictable.

"Well, you have money now." You snapped. "You tour, don't you? You still have never been to the East Coast in the summer?"

Eddie paused, tongue gliding over his bottom lip before he took another drag. "Never been on the water out there."

"That's a shame." You sighed. "It's pretty."

Eddie wasn't sure what you were doing. Usually, this was your time to either hurl mean insults towards each other that lead to round two, or you'd slip out when you got the feeling back in your legs. You weren't ever this... genuine with each other. That's not what you did here.

"Thought you were a Hamptons girl." Eddie sneered.

"I'm an anywhere girl, Munson." You snapped. "I like to travel. See different places. New things. New people."

His heart lurched at the end of your word, that familiar heat creeping up his chest to his throat, burning and constricting. A feeling he tried to shove back down with another inhale of his cigarette, untrusting of his voice at the moment.

"Look at me." You said, his heart jumping again. Surely, you couldn't see his thoughts, know any different. Eddie turned slightly, only to see your furrowed brow gaze looking above him.

"Got something on your head, hold on." You muttered, pushing his bangs out to swipe at the... lipstick stain? No doubt from your intimate tussle earlier, but still you were shocked at how it ended up there.

Your thumb grazed over the smear of makeup, ghosting over a rather jagged scar. Your brows furrowed, feeling Eddie's body tense when you ghosted over it.

His gaze held yours, a little challenging, scared more than anything. he looked like you were about to strike him, brown eyes painfully alert and boring into your own.

"It's, uh... My dad was a big drinker. He got mad sometimes. Threw a bottle at me when I was a kid, so..." Eddie tried to brush it off like it was no big deal. Like it wasn't a painful memory that made his heart ache, made his fists ball.

You didn't miss the bob of his throat, swallowing hard around his words. You let your fingers smooth over it gently again, even years later it was still raised.

"Like I said," Eddie looked at you, lips twisting slightly. "Not everyone grew up as well off as you, honey."

You pressed your lips together, the fluttering of your own heart caged behind your chest. The cigarette dwindled between your own fingertips, and for a moment, you contemplated letting him think that. Let he be content in his opinion on you.

Instead, you rolled over gently, ignoring the buzzing of your enraged skin, lifting your knees. Eddie's brows furrowed, eyes drooped and following your movements curiously.

"When I was thirteen, I had a sleepover with all my friends. My dad did a watch party for Risky Business before it premiered. He was a producer on it, and we all had a crush on Tom Cruise," You grinned softly at the memory, fingertips brushing over your kneecap.

Eddie snorted, rolling his eyes. Of course you did, so predictable. "But, um, we were in the movie room, and Farrah and I went to get more popcorn." You swallowed thickly. "My mom... she drinks a lot. They both did, but like, she drank a lot. Did a lot of coke too, but she'd come home just blasted. Out of her mind. Bad."

Eddie paused, eyes trained on yours that didn't meet his. He watched the way you fidgeted, fingers grazing softly over your knee cap- soothing.

"Anyways. She-She swore she wouldn't come home like that. My dad told me he'd keep her under control but... he never could." You squeezed your eyes shut gently. "Farrah and I found her on the floor and.... God, we thought she was dead. She was just slumped over and-and she had vomited all over herself. I had never seen her like that."

"Farrah called her dad, because I mean he's kind of a doctor- a plastic surgeon. I kept trying to wake her up, do something." You could feel your body shaking, hands trembling with every deep breath you tried to calm yourself with. "She did wake up eventually. Was barely fucking speaking, just slurred and fucked up. I tried to tell her to get up, that my friends were here and she was going to scare them. I was crying, Farrah was sobbing, and-and I was trying to pull her up and she shoved me."

You looked down at the long scar, jagged over the top of your knee, slashed down to the left. Even after all the years, all the creams, it still was there. Faintly, but a reminder nonetheless. Eddie followed your fingertip that stroked it gently. "She shoved me to get off her. I lost my balance, went through the glass coffee table knee first."

Eddie's heart hitched. He certainly had never heard this in the tabloids.

"Farrah was freaking out so bad. Her dad showed up. All my friends came up, saw me bleeding and sobbing, Farrah screaming, my mom passed out. They thought we had been robbed. All their parents showed up, and when my dad finally came back, he wouldn't take me to the hospital. Didn't want this getting out to the press. Made Farrah's dad stitch me up and then made the others sign NDAs about it. Paid them off or something, I don't know.

None of those girls ever spoke to me again except for Farrah. I was never allowed to go over to their house... they certainly weren't allowed to come to mine. My mom... she never apologized. My dad sent her to some 'rehab' place that was really an all inclusive spa, and... she still drank. I just learned to leave her there after that." You looked down at your nails.

You didn't know why telling Eddie this was so comforting. It shouldn't have been. You hated him. He was mean and vile and gross, but... for some reason, you thought he might understand. Give you some sympathy you'd never got in your life.

Eddie paused, his brows were creased in an expression you couldn't quite read. Lips pressed in a tight line, cigarette dwindling in his own fingers, ash falling on his sheets. Waves of consciousness, vulnerability about what you just told him leaving you bare and defenseless to him.

Your heart hammered when he bummed his own cigarette in the tray, reaching over for yours. "I'm sorry." Eddie muttered lowly, turning so you couldn't see the shake in his head. "That's fucked up."

He hoped you couldn't hear his guilt seeping through his tone. Hoped you couldn't feel how sick and riddled with anxieties he felt. He felt mean, really actually mean. Felt like the bullies that used to torment him, like Jason Carver, like a piece of shit.

You shrugged, forced nonchalant, desperate that it would cover your own shaking nerves. "It's fine-"

"No, it's not." Eddie said fiercely, eyes flashing to you. "That's a fucked up thing to go through. No matter how you grow up or whatever. That's fucked, and I'm sorry." His eyes met yours, soft. You'd never seen him look so soft... so genuine and human. "You didn't deserve that shit."

Your heart jolted, stilling entirely in your chest. Throat constricting with emotions too thick to swallow down. His voice rang through your ears, a phrase you were never given. Most people, the few who knew, just apologized or ignored the topic all together.

You nodded instead, rolling back onto your stomach so you didn't have to face him. "Thanks." You muttered, breath catching in your chest, but you tried to keep your breathing even. You couldn't let him see how that flustered you, how it effected you.

"You didn't deserve that either, for the record." You tilted your head to look up at him. "Any of that, and I'm sorry. I know that can be... rough."

Eddie nodded slowly, throat bobbing. "Yeah, well, no kid ever does. Fucked up to bring a kid into the world if you're not gonna love them. If you're not gonna be a decent parent f'them." He muttered.

You nodded slowly, unsure of what else to say. The air was thick with tension, a little uncomfortable, a little unsure, a little... comforting? You could feel the lingering presence of the conversation, the unknown dynamic between the two of you. You weren't sure if you should continue being soft like this, or if you should go back to your normality, your routine.

"I, uh," You shifted with a groan, pushing off the mattress. "I better get going."

Eddie nodded gently, eyes on his hands. "I've got a long drive." You muttered, reaching down for your discarded clothes.

"You can stay if you want to." Eddie muttered. You stilled, spine stiffening. "'s a long drive. I went pretty hard on ya."

You turned back to look at him, how he was nonchalantly lighting another cigarette, but his eyes raised to yours softly, hopefully? You weren't sure.

"I don't want to impose." You scoffed lightly. "Disrupt any of your other plans with your groupies." You bit.

Eddie snorted. "Groupies are for tour. I'm not on tour right now." He rolled his eyes at you, exhaling slowly. "Besides, Kate's in Paris right now, so I don't have any plans."

It was your turn to roll your eyes. "Nice." You muttered, but you were already sinking back onto the mattress. "What if I had plans, hm?" You challenged, raising a brow.

"You don't."

"How do you know that? Could be going to see Malcolm-"

"-Then go see him." Eddie challenged, that same biting tone returning to his voice. "But something tells me if that was true, you wouldn't already be back in my bed, now would you?"

You blushed, jaw ticking. There he was, your mean man returned back to you. Long gone was the tender moment the two of you shared before.

You laid down on the satin pillows instead, watching Eddie take the cigarette between his lips, inhaling slowly. Your eyes lingered on this plump lips, soft and juicy.

"Maybe I need to come see Nantucket in the summer then." Eddie muttered, eyes flicking down at you.

You hummed, settling into the plush pillows. "You do. Change your life."

Eddie snorted. "Yeah? Maybe I'll come." He was inviting himself, but your didn't stop him. No huffs or cackles or mocking words. "Keep you in line. Don't want to ruin our progress we've made."

"Right." You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Munson."

Eddie grinned, passing you the cigarette, holding it to your lips while you took a slow drag. Your heart raced when his fingertips touched your lips so gently. This was new, different, a foreign domain the two of you were unsurely discovering.

You hoped Eddie would show up to Nantucket. You hoped he come shock the quiet town with all his loud music, tattoos, black clothes even in the summer. Rock their little world like he'd done your own. You hoped he'd be happy to see you, like you were to see him.

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swagatron9 · 2 years

Text

Booty Calls, But Not

Pairings: Brahms Heelshire x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, kind of phone sex, almost caught, oral (fem receiving) mild sub!brahms, dom!brahms, hair pulling, rough sex

Summary: Malcom gives you a call but of course Brahms can't leave you alone.

You were sat in the living room reading a book as you usually did when Brahms was hiding in the walls. The snow was heavy only a few days ago, and because of that, the two of you were stuck indoors, salvaging the box of food that Malcolm had bought a week ago.

Because of the snow, you figured that Malcolm wouldn't show up until the snow had arrived; it was all just a waiting game for the two.

Finally, after hours of you wondering what Brahms was doing in that room of his, he decided to show up. He waddled into the room, his hands pinned to his side as he looked down shyly. His entire figure displayed an innocent boy, but his thoughts were the complete opposite. After sitting in his room for so long, Brahms had managed to work himself up from thoughts of you.

"What have you been up to, Brahms?" You ask as you close the book you were reading and give him all your attention.

"I want to do things to you." His voice was soft as he spoke up, but nonetheless, it still shocked you as you looked at him wide-eyed. While his words left you mildly stunned, the confidence in his voice turned you on, and you couldn't help but rub your thighs together. "Please, Y/n?" He begged as he took slow steps towards you.

Your eyes followed him intently as you watched him kneel down on his knees in front of you; you opened your legs for Brahms to crawl forward and leaned down and pushed his mask up. Your lips met his in a slow kiss.

His hands ran up your legs until they reached your hips, where he pulled you forward so you were sitting on the edge of the seat. "Pretty, Y/n." He mumbled as he lifted up your skirt, revealing to him the underwear you were wearing. "So, so, pretty." He continued as he leaned in and placed a kiss on the cloth.

He blew cold air onto your most sensitive area before licking a long stripe against your underwear. Your mouth had dropped open and your jaw hung slack as you breathed heavily.

Suddenly the phone began to ring, snapping you out of your intense trance. You reached over to pick it up but Brahms grabbed a hold of your wrists. “Brahms, it could be Malcolm.” You said before shaking off his hands. You picked up the phone and the voice of your delivery boy sounded through.

“Hello, Y/n. How are you?” He asked politely. You couldn’t get a response out as you felt Brahms push your underwear to the side and continue to flick his tongue against your clit.

With your lip between your teeth, you attempted to keep quiet to not reveal your actions. “You there?” Malcolm asked.

“I- Yes! Sorry, got lost in thought. I’m alright, yeah.” You stammered out.

“Good to hear.” He responded.

The feeling of Brahms kitten licking at your sensitive bud made you feel an overwhelming amount of pleasure as you tried to keep up with every flick. Your hand that wasn’t holding the phone was balled tightly into a fist to keep some sort of balance.

You kept the phone at a distance so that you could hear Malcolm but also so that he couldn’t hear your obnoxious breathing through the receiver. “The weathers been all over the place recently.” Malcolm interrupted the silence between the two of you.

Your hips were frantically rotating, on one end you were trying to receive more, but on the other you were trying to escape from the pleasure and Brahms wasn’t having any of it. His arms wrapped around your waist as he held you close to his face. “Snow everywhere...” Malcolm trailed off.

“Yes! The snow. I’m- will you come?” You asked through broken words.

Your free hand found itself lost in the dark forest of Brahms hair. His hair had grown a bit since you had arrived and while it wasn’t too long, it was long enough that you could create a cute man bun with chunks of hair hanging out the side. You tugged and pulled as you tried to grind yourself against his mouth. “I don’t think I’d make it. Most the roads are blocked off and my cars engine probably wouldn’t be able to heat up.” Malcolm explained. “I can try if you need though.”

“No! -I mean no, it’s fine. I’ll last another week.” You let out a poor attempt at a chuckle to disguise a moan that you couldn’t help but let out. You were getting closer and closer to snapping and your fingers were crossed that you could eat Malcolm off the phone before that.

“No worries. Do you think you’ll be alright out there, all on your own?” He questioned. You couldn’t help but smirk as you looked down at the boy between your legs.

“I’ll be just fine.” You breathed out.

Brahms pulled away from you, his mouth and the surrounding area covered in a mixture of spit and your juices. You frantically shook your head as Brahms began unbuckling his belt and pulling them down, his hard cock showing itself in full form. You almost drooled at the sight of the precum slipping out and dropping. “Well you have my number if you need me.” Malcolm said. You nodded your head but then silently cursed at yourself having been distracted by Brahms.

“Yes I do.” You we’re currently being turned around and positioned in doggy style as Brahms adjusted himself behind you. “I’ll call you if I need you, but for now I should go.” You rushed out as you felt the tip of Brahms dick rubbing against your entrance.

“I’ll let you go then. See you when I can, Y/n.” He said his goodbyes and as soon as you heard the beep of the phone, Brahms had pushed through your walls.

You let out a much needed moan as you slammed the phone down.

Brahms hips rolled against yours in a slow motion before he began to speed up. His movements went from grinding to thrust as he pulled himself out and pushed straight back in. Every thrust was with power as he fucked against your soaked cunt and every growl he let out was with meaning as he silently told you that you were his. While he didn’t like the idea of you conversing with the delivery boy, he would rather you do that then go and get the groceries yourself.

His hands kept a strong grip on your hips as he pulled you back against him with every thrust. “Mine.” He groaned out deeply. “All mine.” His hand reached around and rubbed at your sensitive clit to add extra pleasure.

You allowed your moans to fall out without a care in the world, no one would hear how loud you screamed if you wanted to, or were made to. “Brahms!” You cried as he hit the right spot. You whined as you tried to pull Brahms’ hand away from your clit, but he smacked it away and instead pulled you by your hair.

Your back was against his chest with an arch as he forced you in place. His lips connected with yours once more for a sloppy kiss due to the moans you both let out. Brahms then pulled away and pushed you back down, putting all his wait into his arms as he pushed against your back. Your moans became muffled as your face was pushed against the couch.

If someone was to stand outside the room they would hear the skin on skin slapping added with a mixture of low growls and muffled whining, people would think badly about the situation but what it was, was a good fuck.

Brahms was close, his thrusts beginning to lose the pattern as he chased for a release he had been desperately waiting for and you were close too, he could feel you clenching around him. “Fuck, Brahms!” While it wasn’t clear, Brahms could still hear you perfectly as he picked up the pace.

He knew you had cum as your moans turned high pitch and your body began to shake against his hold. His thrusts only lasted a few more before he paused deep inside you and released his seed. His cum painted your walls in white stripes as he hunched over your limp form. Both your breathing filled the room as Brahms finally released the pressure of your back. Your eyes clenched shut and you let out a quiet moan as Brahms pulled out. You could feel his cum leak out and drop onto the couch but you couldn’t care less in the moment.

“That was the hottest thing ever. You should do that more when Malcolm’s calling.” You suggested jokingly and of course Brahms took that seriously.

#brahms heelshire #slashers #the boy 2016 #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire smut #slashers x reader #slashers smut #the boy x reader

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slasher-dasher · 7 months

Note

Hey Aster 😊

I love the way you write about the slashers 🤌🏻 My favourite one is the RZ! Micheal Myers ones 💓

Can I please request a Brahms heelshire SFW and NSFW shot? If possible ♥️

I really love that wall man 😫

I ALSO REALLY LOVE THAT WALL MAN!!! He and rz!Myers have a chokehold on my mind rn

Brahms Heelshire Oneshots

︶꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

(gn!reader for both, NSFW w/tags below the line :> )

Priorities (SFW)

Brahms’ chest rose and fell with each gentle breath, small snores slipping out as he slept. His curled-up form covering only a tiny portion of the queen-sized bed, one that he hadn’t slept in in years. It was nice. It was warm. It was… comfortable. He missed this bed, this room. All those years merely being a witness to the room that he once grew up in, and he was finally able to enjoy the space again. An arm shifting around him caught his attention, a soft smile forming over his lips at the sleeping figure on the other side of the bed. His most recent nanny lay in the space, one arm lazily thrown across his waist while their face was buried in the pillow. This one hadn’t thought taking care of the doll was a joke at first, much like all the others did. No, they cared for him as if they were made to, and in a way, they were. Brahms traced his fingers over the curves of their face, being careful not to wake the sleeping form. The way a soft blush bloomed across the cheeks almost instantly always made him giggle, and he loved the curve of the jaw and how it contrasted so beautifully with the neck. An alarm went off in a spare bedroom, startling him so much that he jumped, pulling back as if he had done something wrong. It was 7 am. The eyes of the figure next to him slowly fluttered open, hand moving from his waist to bury itself in his hair, fingers toying with the curls and nails scratching at his scalp.

“You ready to get up love?”

“Can we stay here a bit longer?” His voice was pleading, almost sure you would say yes without him having to do much. Brahms rested his arm over your waist, letting his hand trace shapes into the small of your back.

“No Brahms, we have to follow the rules, remember? This’ll mess up your sleep schedule if we don’t get up sweetheart. And I have to turn off that alarm,” even though the voice was light, it still carried a sense of authority.

“Pleeeeeeeeease?” He pouted behind his mask, eyes shining brightly like a kid on Christmas day. He knows you can’t say no to him when he looks at you with those eyes.

“Hmm, maybe just once-” You had barely finished speaking before he buried his porcelain face into your chest, a happy hum spilling out of Brahms’s throat as he got comfortable in your arms again. The cold material made you gasp for a moment, but you couldn’t help but chuckle. Your bodies curled around each other, heavy sheets protecting you from the ever-present chill in the Heelshire mansion.

“I love you~” A kiss was pressed to your neck, gentle as the porcelain lips it came from before Brahms closed his eyes again, body relaxing in your hold while he cuddled closer to you, if such a thing were possible.

“I love you too~” The alarm would go off by itself in a few minutes. You have something more important to take care of right now.

Keep Quiet (NSFW)

(tags: dom!reader, bratty Brahms, sub!Brahms, praise, oral (reader receiving), slight ownership if you squint)

You had almost gotten through the day before Brahms had started to act up. Though, it wasn’t as if you could fully blame him this time. Malcolm had been late delivering the groceries, which meant that dinner was pushed back until he was able to get what you (well… Brahms) had asked for this week. You had tried offering him snacks, sweets, sandwiches, just anything that would hold him over until you could manage to make dinner. He refused everything, shoving it away from him like it was poisoned, arms crossed with a loud huff as he turned his head away from you. You sighed, leaving the room for a brief moment to collect yourself, but it was long enough for Brahms to wonder if you were going to come back. He knew you would. You always do… right?

“Are you going to sit here and pout all day now? You were being so good earlier,” your voice made him jump, unaware that you had walked through the other door of the dining room. For as long as he had lived in this house, he still hadn’t gotten used to the layout from outside the walls. Just as he was going to speak, the sound of the doorbell echoed down the long halls of the estate. You sighed in relief, going to retrieve the groceries with Brahms right on your heels before setting everything up in the kitchen. The smell of spices and the sound of meat sizzling along with a boiling pot of noodles quickly filled the space, while Brahms took his usual place on the counter. He was a great taste tester, and you thought the second you started cooking he would slip right back into his role. How wrong you were. Right now he was still in “brat mode” as you liked to call it, refusing to even look at you unless he wanted to get under your skin. If ignored, he would complain louder. If acknowledged, he would fuss. A few harsh glances in his direction would keep him quiet for a short while, but once he was done squirming he would start up again.

“How much longeeeer,” he whined, voice breaking from the high-pitched one from earlier into his more natural, no, more needy voice. Suddenly, you had an idea. It would keep him busy, and give you time to cook without being interrupted. You snapped your fingers, watching his eyes lock onto them for direction. Good. He was still obedient like this. You motion toward the tile in front of you, silently instructing him to take his place there. Brahms hesitated for a moment, but slipped off of the counter with a grace someone like him shouldn’t have. He took his place on his knees in front of you, hands resting on your thighs and eyes locked on you, barely wet with tears that threatened to spill behind his mask. Poor boy thought he was in trouble, and in a way, he was. You voice was smooth as you spoke, fingers curling around the edge of the porcelain mask, lifting it off of his face and onto the now empty counter. He whimpered, lip pushed out in a pout until your hand found its way into his curls.

“Keep your mouth busy while I cook, hm? Think you can do that pretty boy?” You toyed with his hair, making his breath hitch as he hummed and nodded, hands quickly working to get your pants off. This was the Brahms you knew, the one looking up at you with hazy eyes as he took you into his mouth, not wasting a second to send waves of pleasure through your body as he pressed his tongue to you. Your hips kept his head flush against the oven door, his hands gripping your thighs so tight you’re sure they’d be bruised. This would be a test for both of you. On his end, how long he could resist before begging you to abandon the food on the stove. To just grip his hair and use his mouth until you were satisfied. He would let you, of course. He was yours, after all. On your end, how long you could pretend he wasn’t there. Pretend that all of his desperate mewls weren’t distracting you from your task or the way his lips curled around you like you were carved from the same body. Ultimately, you knew you would relent first. Taking care of Brahms was always your first priority, so with a swift click of the burner turning off, you let yourself melt into him. He shifted under you, hips grinding against your shoe, desperate for any kind of release. Soon, you both reached your breaking point, his moans sending shocks through your body as you twitched into his mouth, and your grip on his hair sending his eyes rolling into the back of his head. When you finally let go, dropping to your knees to join him in the mess you had both made, pressing your foreheads together as your breaths mixed in the small space you had created.

“Was I good?” His voice was broken from use, eyes glazed over from the pleasure of serving you, arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders now as he steadied himself.

“Of course you were~” You pressed gentle kisses onto his face, tracing his jaw with your lips and his waist with your fingers while you both came down from your highs. Dinner would be saved for tomorrow. Or, at least until you both could stand.

#i hope you enjoyed :3 #bratty brahms my beloved #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms x reader #the boy 2016 #brahms heelshire x reader #slasher #slasher community #slashers #slasher writer #slasher fucker

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m-a-salter · 2 months

Text

Why is Peter Capaldi so hot? Part Three.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 4]

In Part One and Part Two we considered (1) Mr. Capaldi's physical characteristics and (2-3) behaviors. In this part, we will consider his acting roles in relation to his hotness. This is essentially the sub-question, "Is Peter Capaldi hot, or am I just in love with several of his characters?" My contention is that, as long as your relationship with him remains parasocial, it is not an important distinction.

And for those of us who have not been brainwashed by moral purity cultures within fandom, this holds for (4) his good, appealing characters and (5) his potentially evil characters. They are hot in different ways, but all are hot.

4. Highly lovable characters

Call me old-fashioned, but nothing is hotter than goodness.

4.1 Danny Oldsen, Local Hero (1983): I am aware that some people don't think there is any relationship between a character being an adorable precious cinnamon roll and the actor playing the character being hot. Those people are entitled to their opinions.

4.2 Randall Brown, The Hour (2012): Principled, highly competent, dapper, and with a tragic backstory, in my mind, the hotness of Randall Brown infuses everything Peter Capaldi does.

4.3 The Doctor, Doctor Who (2014-17): Has anyone read this far who doesn't think the twelfth Doctor is hot? I personally have a particular soft spot for the soft smile.

5. Slightly or majorly evil characters, but in a sexy way

5.1 Malcolm Tucker, The Thick of It (2005-2012) and In the Loop (2009).

5.2 Cardinal Richelieu, The Musketeers (2014): He didn't get to have as much sex as the other characters in this show, but he still wore a lot of leather.

5.3 Daniel Hegarty, Criminal Record (2024): All cops are bastards, some are sexy bastards in well-tailored suits.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 4]

#peter capaldi #local hero #danny oldsen #the hour #randall brown #doctor who #twelfth doctor #the thick of it #malcolm tucker #the musketeers #cardinal richelieu #criminal record #daniel hegarty #my edit

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shifting---patterns · 3 months

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How Post-Punk Influenced Nowadays Fashion

It's been a long time since Malcolm McLaren opened his boutique "Sex" in the 1970s, and Vivienne Westwood equipped the Sex Pistols with their iconic outfits and sent them out onto King's Road. The approach back then was: "Being anti at all costs, against the establishment." Eventually, it turned into "Do It Yourself." It was fashionable because it tried not to be fashionable.

A few years later, members of Joy Division met at a Sex Pistols show in 1976 and started as a punk band. However, it soon evolved into something entirely different. When you listen to old Joy Division songs like "Warsaw" you can clearly hear the punk rock influences, but the band quickly started to deviate from the common motifs of the genre.

The music slowed down. The noisy guitar sound of punk was subdued to appear more intriguing, and Ian Curtis's existentialist lyrics, influenced by authors like Fyodor Dostoevsky, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Franz Kafka, focused not on chaos, rebellion, and hedonism but reflected his fears, physical sufferings, and the absurdity in the face of the zeitgeist and social influences of the 1970s and 1980s, marked by changes and political uncertainty, forced Joy Division to experiment.

They created not only something musically unique but also something aesthetic. For example, with their monochromatic designs on their album covers for "Unknown Pleasures," which is probably the third best-selling T-shirt in fast fashion stores, alongside Nirvana and the Ramones T-shirts. Joy Division ended in 1980 after Ian Curtis hung himself in his kitchen. They not only helped shape the sub-genre "Post-Punk" but were also the unofficial soundtrack of existentialism. The soundtrack that made Joy Division's music feel so genuine. Because it was genuine.

Of course, in the 1960s, there were artists who processed existential themes in their lyrics. A good example would be Lou Reed of The Velvet Underground, who, heavily influenced by literature, dealt with many serious topics in his lyrics. However, it wasn't just their music; it was also their appearance that defined Joy Division. On stage, in promo pictures, and in interviews.

Ill-fitting shirts from army surplus stores, old man's pants, a few pair of derbies, big raincoats. Everything that was atypical for the punk movement, and many other artists, including The Cure, The Smiths, Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees, Bauhaus, Alien Sex Friend or Sisters Of Mercy, went in the same direction: Through a dark, introspective, sometimes minimalist, but avant-garde aesthetic, they set themselves apart from punk and society, and looking at bands from the Post-Punk Revival from the 2000s like Interpol, Iceage, Molchat Doma, Boy Harsher, or Cold Cave, it quickly becomes apparent that this aesthetic has proven itself for almost 50 years.

This trend was, of course, not only an inspiration for musicians but also for artists, fashion designers, architects, and many more.

One designer that immediately comes to mind is Antwerp-Six member Ann Demeulemeester from Belgium, whose influences clearly evoke artists like Siouxsie Sioux or Patti Smith but also the playful goth look of the 1980s era by Rei Kawakubo (Comme Des Garcons) or Japan's goth father himself: Yohji Yamamoto.

Her story begins in Antwerp, where she initially studied at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts and quickly got to know the other Antwerp-Six members. She and the Antwerp Six presented their collections at Fashion Week and quickly became highly esteemed designers, now considered among the greatest designers of all time. Many of Ann's collections featured songs by Patti Smith, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, or The Velvet Underground.

This alone shows the influence of Post-Punk on Ann Demeulemeester's designs. Her asymmetrical cuts and draperies, her monochromatic, Kawakubo and Yamamoto-inspired, mainly black designs were groundbreaking, bringing avant-garde ideas in a consumable form to the people.

Another noteworthy designer from Antwerp is Raf Simons and his collections. Raf Simons grew up in the 1980s and was deeply rooted in the punk and goth subculture, whose influence can be traced in many of his collections or directly referenced by Raf himself. Notable are his A/W96 collection, which includes all-black looks with jet-black dyed hair and long black overcoats, his A/W99 collection with direct Joy Division references, black cloaks, and Gothic looks on the runway.

Raf's most famous collection A/W02-03 Riot Riot Riot! A coveted collection featuring cutoff and distressed hoodies, repurposed military garments, and loaded with punk references through patches. Among them, a bomber jacket with a patch depicting the self-harming Richey James Edwards of the Manic Street Preachers.

Obviously, his A/W03-04 Closer collection with a direct collaboration with Peter Saville, the graphic designer of Factory Records, featuring iconic graphics from Joy Division, New Order, and more.

These two examples of designers actively influenced by this culture are just a fraction. These designers were punks or goths themselves. People influenced by the postmodern identity of the time and post-Soviet tradition. Post-Punk fashion embodies the music of the time it emerged and aligns with deeper considerations. So, it didn't take long for the entire fashion world to embrace this style, partly because "Gothic" and "Punk" became more mainstream, and partly because its aesthetic components were easy to design due to their often penetrating monochromatic minimalism.

Not only goths or avant-garde designers like Ann Demeulemeester, Martin Margiela or Rick Owens, deeply connected to the style and subculture of that time, but also luxury designers like Prada, Balenciaga or Bottega Veneta are incorporating it.

The look is romantic, dark, longing for death, partly edgy, partly overloaded. All aspects that exude a constant attraction from the clothing, as people are often drawn to "the other," sometimes even "the forbidden." The look can also be easily detached from the actual Post-Punk/Goth culture - something postmodernity excels at. The style of the Gothic culture can be perfectly broken down into its individual parts and used as a kind of aesthetic sandbox. Here a thick heavy chain, there's a choker, here big long earrings, add a pair of black high combat boots, a slim-fitted mesh shirt, and preferably paint the nails, and you're done. All things that houses like Prada, Marni, Bottega Veneta, for example, have done right.

What we see today in the Post-Punk-influenced style and what we interpret as avant-garde should actually be considered a modern tradition. Post-Punk fashion embodies the music and the spirit of the time it emerged and aligns with deeper existential discourses. The design language and atmosphere of that time are now used by traditional fashion houses to incorporate young designers into their ranks and increase their relevance, merely fulfilling their quota to be considered part of the traditional fashion pipeline of LV, Dior, Gucci, and Balenciaga. The avant-garde cannot be seen as so established. The rapid growth these companies have undergone to make billions and the inheritance method of finding a designer to take over the house are enough to profile themselves as industry magnates.

In a world where fashion constantly reinvents itself, the enduring legacy of post-punk culture persists as a modern tradition. From the raw, rebellious sounds of bands like Joy Division to the avant-garde designs of Ann Demeulemeester and Raf Simons, the essence of post-punk continues to captivate hearts and minds. As luxury fashion houses seamlessly incorporate this style, it's vital to recognize the roots and the countercultural spirit that birthed it.

The romantic, dark allure, the edgy overtones – they all beckon, inviting us to explore "the other," even the forbidden. Yet, amidst the mainstream adoption, a call echoes for authenticity. True avant-gardists, whether musicians or designers, carve their paths, declaring, "This is our thing." The new avant-garde emerges not just from runways but from the pulsating hearts of those deeply rooted in their subcultures.

In a world dominated by industry magnates, the journey of post-punk fashion from the underground to luxury houses is a testament to its enduring power. As we witness the evolution, let us celebrate the genuine, the authentic, and the countercultural voices shaping the new avant-garde.

So, whether draped in asymmetrical cuts or sporting a rebellious attitude, the message is clear: The post-punk spirit lives on, and the next wave of avant-garde creators is ready to make their mark, confidently declaring, "This is our thing."

Davis Jahn

#post punk #gothic #fashion #ann demeulemeester #prada #balenciaga #punk rock #punk #writing #philosophy #art #avant garde #avant garde fashion #raf simons

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byakkomaruu · 1 year

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hi yes i am here to give my testimony.

brahms heelshire is a sub-leaning switch.

he follows commands really well, looks up at you with big puppy eyes behind his porcelain mask. he'll beg and plead to you to do something to him-- the words don't often come to him, but he would indeed enjoy damn near anything you did to him. give him what he wants and he's yours to do whatever you please. he has even asked you to use him some nights: take what you need from him to get yourself off. he eats it up, believe me, just listen to his whimpers and whines that are muffled under his porcelain face.

on days when he is exceptionally bratty and stubborn, ignore him. it doesn't take long at all for him to come crawling back to you. he isn't going to be completely obedient these days, though. tell him to sit still and take what you give, and he'll resist until he is put back in his place. if you can give him exactly what he wants, he crumbles in a heartbeat and returns to the man who cries out, "please," in a broken voice.

and on days when he fights back, he'll take whatever the fuck he wants. thankfully, he is a lot more gentle than he used to be. when he was first revealed, he was very greedy, primal even. over time, his quick snatches and iron grip turned soft and sweet. he now understands how to treat the person who is offering everything of theirs to him-- life included. brahms does still get that adrenaline surging through his veins when he sees you beneath him, pleading for mercy, though he would only hurt you like that again if you told him to. when his eyes widen like saucers and the light leaves them, know that you're not leaving him without a bruise or two, maybe even a few bite marks if he was feeling brave enough to remove the mask.

once every blue moon, brahms will hide himself in the walls, watching your every move. he will only emerge from his hiding place to take you away from whatever you were doing-- some task he finds tedious or boring like laundry or cleaning --to fuck you against the nearest flat surface, only to disappear and watch you from the gaps in the walls once again. there have been a few close calls with this, though: he has proved to be a great distraction while you're cooking, and you've burned a meal or two while your watchful eyes were pried away by brahms.

and yes, he will occasionally do something like this when malcolm is at play. he hates that man with a burning passion, all because he takes your attention away. brahms is very possessive of what he views as his. if he calls, brahms is quick to distract you any way he can. the second malcolm leaves the manor, you'll often hear stomping and banging from the walls. don't run from brahms, you'll only be delaying the inevitable. or do run from him. he likes the chase.

he doesn't take kindly to teasing of any sort. whether you're putting on a show for him or edging him, he doesn't like it. expect him to put up a valiant fight if you want to toy with him. you'd have to restrain him if you want him to cooperate, but if he breaks free, don't expect a gentle approach.

#brahms heelshire smut #brahms heelshire #the boy 2016 #brahms headcanons #slashers #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms my beloved

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devil-doll13 · 1 year

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Wild Imagination

(Brahms x Nanny!Reader)

Tw: G/N reader, I just use ‘nanny’ as a catchall term, Angst, Typical Jealousy/Possessiveness, Stalking, a.k.a Brahms being Brahms, Alcohol Mention, also sort of a character study? Idk

So I remember I said something about writing for Brahms and this is sort of a warmup/experiment for him! This is fairly short too, so I may or may not make a followup but for now have this.

Dividers by delishlydelightfuldividers

Brahms is fascinated by you.

This is understandable; you are a kind, attractive person, and he has rarely seen those not only as fantasy manifested in the pages of a novel.

But it is also simply because you are you, and uniquely so. All of your preferences, habits, interests; every minute detail he commits to heart.

Brahms likes routine. Brahms likes structure. He watches closely and memorises you as if you are his favourite story; playing those special little moments over and over again in his head.

Only, in his make-believe world, he is right there with you. In spirit, he always is; the doll is by your side, therefore he is as well. He cherishes your presence within his home, he loves your cooking if only because it is made with genuine care, he enjoys your piano playing, whether masterful or amateurish. He falls asleep - however awkward his position behind the walls might be - to your soothing voice reciting poetry to the doll, as if those porcelain eyelids might be closed.

But that isn’t the same as being with you truly, really, physically. That doll; his child persona, is a barrier separating you from him, perhaps even more than his place between his walls. All his little games he likes to play, you assume to be nothing more than a figment of your wild imagination. He has become so attached to you, but you don’t even know he exists.

Sometimes Brahms wonders what it would be like to be with you as the man. To welcome you into his home, as he should have when you were hired. To play the violin or cello or piano for you and impress you with his musical virtuosity. To hold you in his arms - a real human being, not only a sub-par effigy of your likeness - and softly read along with you. To conceal a laugh at your momentary fright as his cold hands run goosebumps down your spine. To be your Darcy or Rochester or Heathcliff.

But… No. He must be good. He must stay hidden.

He reminds himself of this every passing day, but by every passing day his desire to have you see him, as Brahms, in the flesh and blood and sweat, grows stronger and stronger.

His need for this surges, rather violently, when he sees you smiling and laughing with that damn Malcolm - only at the door, because you are a good nanny and follow the rules as you should - for he is reminded so unpleasantly that you will never smile or laugh for him. Not for him, not for Brahms the man, flesh and blood and sweat.

Brahms’ resentment for this fact soon bubbles over, soon he feels a sort of hateful jealousy directed at that doll and how beloved it is; for he is not scarred or ‘odd’ or wrong, not a failure of a son or a disappointment. He is ‘Brahms,’ without flaws, without blemishes, without room to embarrass or bring shame. Silent and perfect forever.

Now he cocoons you in his wool knit cardigan, safe from the outside world. Although you might struggle, he knows you need him as much as he needs you; you must, for all the nights you have imbibed wine and spilled your deepest secrets to him. To the doll, to a figment of your imagination. But it was him the whole time, and now he has revealed himself to you for you to love as deeply as you did that broken bundle of porcelain.

He loves you. You do too, right?

I didn’t tag any of my usuals bc I didn’t know who would want it but lmk if you want to be on my slasher x list!

#I was just working on my HoW fic and this manifested itself on the page #I love him 🥺#my skrunkly sweaty wall man #if I do a followup #it might be from readers pov idk #Brahms Heelshire #The Boy #The Boy (2016)#Brahms x reader #Brahms x y/n #Brahms x you #fanfic #my writing

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chiptaylorsfirst · 1 year

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Late Night Visit

Word Count: 1,580

Pairing: dom!Mr. Gallant x male!sub!Reader

Warning: Smut, mentions of masturbation, anal sex, mention of exhibitionism kink, hair pulling, slight choking kink

Summary: You know better than to break the rules but a midnight visitor who happens to be your boyfriend makes you think a bit differently. It isn’t bad if you don’t get caught, right?

Everyone had just figured out about Ms. Venable and how she was making her own rules for her personal entertainment. Everyone could agree on the rule they hated the most, no unauthorized copulation under any circumstances. You were writing in your journal when you heard a knock on your door. “Come in,” you exclaimed, expecting to see Ms. Mead or Ms. Venable. Instead you were greeted by your boyfriend, Malcolm Gallant. There was a smirk on his face that could only be described as mischievous. He locked the door behind him then walked towards you. “Mal, what are you up to?” “We’re gonna have some fun.” You’d heard him say that sentence once too many times and it all ended the same exact way. “Baby, what about the fake rules?”

He crawled in bed with you. “I don’t know. I guess we’d better hope that Michael Langdon helps us. That man seems to love sin.” You could do nothing but agree. Michael seemed to be very fond of sin. “But don’t we need to be quiet?” He kissed your cheek. “Only if we want to. It is pitch black outside and thankfully no one has a room anywhere near yours. Also, no one was out in the halls. I checked three times before coming to your room.” You thought about what he said for a moment. “Okay,” you replied, placing your journal and pen on the ground. Malcolm eagerly kissed you. Soon, you were getting aroused, kissing him back just as he kissed you.

The kiss broke when you both needed air. You watched as Malcolm started removing his clothes and you followed suit. You created a small pile of clothes on the ground, both of you now fully naked. You had waited for this day a whole year. That was long overdue. Malcolm got on top of you and started to jerk you off. He stopped once you were dripping pre cum, scooping it up on his fingers and sucking it off. “Y/N.” You looked up at the beautiful man before you. He was so pretty and perfect. “Get on top of me and ride me.”

He laid down and watched as you lowered yourself on him. You moaned from the pleasurable pain you felt from being stretched out by him. It had been a while and you almost forgot about how big he was. “You ready,” he asked, desire in his voice. “Give me a second.” You waited some then finally started to bounce, creating a nice pace that Malcolm easily met. You wrapped your hand around his throat, turning him on more. It was undeniable that your boyfriend was a very kinky boy.

His moans and groans were soft. Your name constantly slipped from his lips and his eyes rolled. You placed hickies on his skin, loving the soft red, pink, and purple marks that now decorated his body. Everything felt amazing whenever your bodies were joined like this. “Tell me who you belong to.” “You, Mal. Mmm, Mr. Gall-Gallant. You.” He smiled, removing your hand from his throat and placing a kiss on your knuckles. Your moans got louder as he thrusted into you harder with every bounce of your body.

“Fuck, mm, we’re gonna get killed.” He chuckled from under you. “Yeah, but it’s fucking worth it. I’d die happy for this.” You could easily agree as you continued. You placed your hands on his chest, trying your best not to lose all the control you had over your body. You were now bouncing at a faster pace, looking down at the pleased expression that covered your boyfriend’s face. He stared into your eyes, feeling the way that you tightened around him. “I’m, I--” You tried to speak but broken moans were the only thing that came out. He didn’t need to hear the rest of your sentence though. He already knew what you were going to say. You were close and for some reason, you were trying to hold it off. “Cum, Y/N. Scream my name while you do it.”

Just like that, the knot in your stomach snapped. “Mm, Mal-Malcolm! Fuck.” You repeated his name like a mantra all the way until your ass was filled with his cum. You raised up off of him and kissed his cheek. “You want another round then we’re done,” he asked. “Yeah, I could go for another.” He smiled. “Kiss me first.” You obeyed him, kissing him with just enough roughness to make it pleasurable. He flipped you over unto your stomach, spreading your cheeks. “You’re gaping.” He scooped some cum onto his fingers before pushing it further into you. He kissed your shoulder then smoothly slid into you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You couldn’t think clearly and the sound of his voice was making you so hard. You loved whenever Malcolm did dirty talk during sex. He was so good at it. “Tell me you’re all mine’s.” “Mm, I’m all yours. Fuck, ugh. I belong to you, n-nobody else.” He was going fast, deep, and rough, making your eyes roll. “You’re so pretty, taking me so well.” He sucked on your neck and made a mark there. “I love you so much, Y/N.” “Agh, I love you t-too.” One of his arms wrapped around your body while he held your waist. You started to fuck yourself onto him, listening to the sound of his moans and your skin slapping. He pushed your face into the pillows, making your back arch. He hit deeper parts in you and the angle did wonders.

You were about to cum once again but you could tell that your boyfriend wasn’t ready yet. Your body was sensitive and cock drunk. It didn’t help that Malcolm kept saying provocative things in your ear that left little to the imagination. You could feel him in your stomach and he kept hitting your prostate with every movement of his hips. It drove you insane as he kept on going. “Feels good?” “Mmm hmm, very g-good.” His hand wrapped around your length. “St-stop, too much, too cl-close.” “I don’t care,” he grunted out, pounding you into the sheets. He started to pull your hair and jerk you off. “Cum all you want all over the sheets, all over my hand. I know you want to, ugh, sweet boy. “

Your cock twitched in his hand and you felt his cock pulsing in you. “Mm, Malcolm,” you moaned out. Your toes curled and eyes rolled. He kissed your shoulder and whispered in your ear. “What would you do if they caught us like this? Would you cum all over and moan my name? Fuck, I think you would. I know you would. You’re clenching more from thinking about it.”

He let go of your hair. “I bet you wish they were here right now, don’t you?” “Y-Yes, mm, fuck, yes.” You were already cumming, painting the sheets and your lover’s hand with your seed. You felt his cum pour inside of you, filling you up and spilling out almost just as quickly. He flipped you over and laid beside you, licking your cum from his hand and chuckling softly.

“What is it, Mal?” He grinned. “You’re one kinky boy. That’s the hardest you’ve ever busted a nut.” You looked at him in utter shock. “Was it?” “Mm hmm. I keep track. Awe, you’re all flustered. It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with you liking the idea of being watched. I think it’s hot, may even have Michael come be a part of that dream of yours.” You looked into his eyes, trying to see if he was just picking on you but he wasn’t. “You sure?” He got up from the bed, starting to put on his clothes. “Mm hmm. Next week I’ll be here again and give you some news on it. I’ll go talk to Langdon and see what we can do. That is if we aren’t dead by then.” He was now fully dressed, a few marks on his skin showing.

You looked at the time, 2:55 am. You still had plenty of time. “You’ll need to cover that up, Mal.” He looked at them and smiled. “I’ll let it stay just to see the anger on their faces.” He started to walk out the door but you stopped him. “Wait.” He turned around, his attention fully on you. “Yeah?” “Come here and give me a hug and kiss before you go.” “Fucking your brains out wasn’t enough,” he joked before starting to walk towards you. He was halfway there before he paused. “Wait, how come you can’t come here.” You rolled your eyes at his slight stupidity. “Babe, you just fucked my legs numb. Going to you requires walking.”

He laughed, walking to you and giving you the most passionate kiss you’ve had from him in a while. He hugged you, breathing in your scent. “Goodbye, Y/N. I’ll see you later.” “Bye, Mal.” You laid there, thinking about how you were going to clean the sheets and your body. But over that, your mind mostly thought of Michael watching you and Malcolm. You huffed as you felt yourself hardening again. Malcolm was already halfway down the hall and you were in no state to chase him for a quickie. The night ended with you putting use to your hand and your boyfriend doing the same exact thing with the thoughts of one another and a certain someone watching the two of you.

#american horror story #ahs #ahs smut #apocalypse #malcolm gallant #mr gallant #mr gallant smut #mr gallant x male reader

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writingwithcolor · 2 years

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Wealthy Black character in historical romance, written by white author

@confusedcrowcaws asked:

Dear Team,

Apologies in advance if this comes off as a really navel-gazy question, I’m genuinely not sure if I should start writing this book. I’m a white woman writing paranormal fiction set in late Victorian England. The male lead is a young Black gentleman scholar. His role is to solve the mystery and be the ‘voice of reason’, and his race doesn’t come into play at all in the main plot, and only a little in his sub-plot romance with the (white) female lead. Even there, it’s not a major obstacle, and their relationship will proceed smoothly and happily. Being Black in England during that time, he has been exposed to racism and prejudice which has affected his character in various ways, but while this will be touched on as part of his general background, but won’t be a theme. The book is set in a remote location and he socially outranks everyone he meets there, except the female lead, who is his social equal. Everyone takes his position of ‘gentleman’ at face value and treats him accordingly, which he accepts from them as a matter of course as his due. There is no slavery in his or his family’s backgrounds. His grandparents were well-to-do in their countries of origin, and decided to move to England to be well-to-do here because it suited them to do so (this part is based on research and I believe that the family history I have constructed is historically plausible).

The reason I am writing is that I keep getting stuck on the idea that the whole thing falls into the ‘nobody asked for this’ category. I’ve gone over my plans and character concepts in some detail with a sensitivity reader, who came back with the verdict that the character/story was 'perfectly appropriate’ for me to write. If I do write it, I will obviously continue to work with them, but right now I’m really stuck on the thought that just because it’s technically okay for me to write the character, doesn’t mean anybody actually wants to read it. I mean, there’s literally no reason for the character to be Black, other than that he is. I can’t justify it, I am not trying to 'say’ anything by or about it. He came about because I had the whole rest of the story and characters ready to go, but just couldn’t 'get’ the male lead, who I assumed at the time to be white. Then I saw something about trying out characters as other races or genders, and suddenly there he was, fully formed.

To be completely honest, if I’m wandering around a bookshop and see a new historical novel with Black leads, the first thing I look at is the author page. So far (in my actual experience of walking around bookshops), the authors have always been Black themselves, at which point I get excited and usually buy the book*. Honestly, if I saw a smiling white lady who looked like me on the back page, I would almost certainly go 'pfft, what does she know/who does she think she is’ and put it back down, which is pretty much the same reaction I have when I think about this prospective book of my own. On the other hand, I’m super attached to this character now and really want to write him!

*Also, I note that the characters in those books usually (always, in my actual physical 'walking around bookshops’ experience) have their roots in slavery one way or another, and now I feel weird that mine doesn’t, like I’m ignoring something I shouldn’t be?

Write the story!

Given the popularity of books and shows like Bridgerton, there is clearly an audience for it. I’ve also heard of a similar book and show release called Mr. Malcolm’s List.

Black characters in history don’t need an excuse to exist. Unfortunately, the average reader may call for an explanation, especially if the character is not a slave or servant. For this reason, it’s helpful to give them a background that “explains the why.” No need to dwell on it, but you can just “place it there.” without making a big fuss on their existence. The background you depicted, for example, is enough.

This is to get it out of the way due to the racial bias-embedded questioning that suspends some readers' belief (bleh). It’s too bad, but reality at the moment.

If Jane Austen could write a Black woman heiress in 1817, why can’t authors do this today without folks bumbling and mumbling about “historical accuracy”?

Georgiana Lambe, Black West Indian heiress in Jane Austin’s unfinished novel turned television series, Sandition

For similar reasons, it’s good to describe characters physically and to do it early, as characters that are not described are often defaulted to being white.

All that being said:

This does not mean you need to give in to giving them a slavery-based history. That’s where accommodations for reader bias ends. We. do. not. always. gotta be slaves! Please explore the rich and varied history of the African diaspora. Black history doesn’t need to begin or end with slavery. These are important stories and important history, but not the only, single story, not the only, single history.

Romance

Some things to keep in mind: Black men / white women relationships shouldn’t have to be the default.

From a representation standpoint, there’s a lack of:

Black men in (healthy, equal) relationships with dark skinned women, particularly Black women

Black women in (healthy, equal) relationships with any race (Black, interracial or no)

Other Black, Indigenous, People of Color in historical stories and romances overall

Including some more of those groups could be a great idea. You could always give your character a sister, brother, cousins, BIPOC friends, etc.

As for you being a white author

This puts you under higher scrutiny of getting things right. You may also have people who will question and ignore the book for that reason alone. I’m personally not one of those people, and I know a lot of other people just want a good story that is inclusive and well-written. Remain open to constructive criticism and feedback, but do not feel as if you’re not “allowed” to write BIPOC protagonists and love interests. Build it, and they will come!

Still, whenever you get a chance, please do boost and support your fellow Authors of Color, as their stories are often overlooked by publishers in favor of those by white authors.

~Mod Colette

#Black #black men #black people in history #slavery #history #romance #relationships #romantic relationships #interracial relationships #historical romance #genre #publishing #writing #authors #creator responsibility #asks

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orchidsncrake · 2 months

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where were you when i was out of line?

pairing/fandom: joe goldberg/rhys montrose, you (2018)

rating: explicit

tags: pwp, dom/sub, dom!joe goldberg, sub!rhys montrose, power bottom joe goldberg, service top rhys montrose, rhys is the eat-the-rich killer, degradation, praise kink, punishment, anal sex

word count: 4,664

summary: rhys gets jealous and kills kate, and joe is not best pleased. how else are you meant to reprimand your psychopathic stalker but turn him into a lovely service top?

ao3: where were you when i was out of line? - orchidsncrake - You (TV 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

fic under the cut :)

“You’re fucking impossible, Rhys,” Joe hisses, ushering the other into his apartment and slamming the door behind them. He takes off his coat in a huff, hanging it on the hook. He reaches out his hand for Rhys’ overcoat, but when the other only raises his eyebrow at him, mouth slightly agape, Joe tugs it off him himself.

“That’s expensive wo-” “Shut the fuck up.” Rhys’ mouth snaps shut, and he cooperates. He tosses it into the hook next to his own and paces it deeper into the apartment, hands waving wildly. He runs them through his hair, messying it. He finally stops, hands on his hips and eyes boring into Rhys, who hasn’t moved from the entryway.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He spits, trying and failing to regulate his breathing. He feels he may burst an artery.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Rhys responds, sliding all too easily into his usual playful demeanor. “I was thinking that I was sick of that bitch getting in the way,” he snaps, slipping from playful to venomous in half a second.

“So you kill her?” He asks, voice pitchy and shrill. Rhys slides further into the apartment, presumably to try to soothe Joe, but Joe holds a shaking finger at him, and he stills.

“Come on, mate. It’s not like you to care so much about some girl ,” Rhys says, rolling his eyes with the last words. He stands with his palms outstretched, almost supplicating.

“That ‘girl’ is Katherine fucking Galvin!” He all but shrieks. “Now you haven’t only killed Malcolm, but his girlfriend, too! Who, need I remind you, is only the heiress to one of the most famous, powerful companies in the world.”

“Was.”

Joe’s eye twitches. “What?” “Was. Was the heiress,” Rhys responds, looking up from under his brows. Joe could kill him.

“I should fucking– I don’t even know! What do you do when your psychopathic stalker murders your neighbor? Spank him?” Joe rambles.

“If you’re nasty,” Rhys snarks, apparently suicidal. Joe stares at him, astonished. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve upset you, alright?” Rhys tries again, eyes trained on Joe’s clenched fists. “But she really was a problem, mate. The whole lot of them are-”

“No. Do not tie this to your Robin Hood killing-the-wealthy bullshit because that’s not what this is.” He paces around in tight circles, tugging frantically at his hair and sweater. “This is you being a fucking wackjob that can’t go a week without murdering someone because you have the self-control of a hormonal teenager.”

Rhys’ eyes narrow at the last comment. “It’s not hormonal.”

Joe flounders. “That’s what you’re latching onto? You just killed a woman because, what, she might’ve looked at me once, and you’re pissed that I said it’s hormonal?”

Rhys waves his hand dismissively, unwilling to explain himself. “She didn’t just look at you once, did she? She leered damn near constantly, always gawking at you from across the room. You just didn’t see it.”

“You,” Joe starts, pointing a shaking finger at Rhys again, “are out of your goddamn mind.”

Rhys only deadpans him, though the corners of his mouth pinch in suppressed annoyance. “She had to go. She wasn’t going to do you any good.”

“She wasn’t going to do me any good, or she was doing me better than you?”

Rhys’s lip curls up in a sneer, and Joe is almost surprised by the hostility. “She isn’t better than me,” he bites out.

“I don’t know, Rhys,” he presses his palm to his forehead. “She doesn’t go around killing people, does she? Didn’t she?”

“I did it for you!” Rhys shouts suddenly, pumping his fist down. Joe blinks, taken aback. He never gets angry, and certainly not to the point of yelling. He’s never seen Rhys with any other expression than vague sadistic pleasure. At least he knows what to do with that (namely, stare blankly at him until he goes away), but this – his jaw clenching, eyes squinting, and neck tendon pulled tight – this he has no idea what to do with. He stares at him, speechless. “Can’t you see that I’m doing it for you?” Rhys says, voice cracking slightly. “I got rid of her for you! For us.” He swipes a hand over his face as if trying to pull on his usual cool veneer.

“Why would killing someone be good for me?” Joe asks incredulously, his voice soft. He doesn’t have any more energy for yelling.

Rhys laughs a bit hysterically and throws his hands up. “I don’t know, Joe . But it’s what I know how to do.”

“Well, you can’t anymore,” Joe says. “No more killing, no more body part harvesting, no more anything but your crochet needles and mayoral campaign.” He knows it sounds strikingly similar to putting his foot down – actually, he knows that’s precisely what this is, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He can’t just forgo telling him not to kill people.

“You cannot be serious,” Rhys scoffs. He rubs his temples impatiently. “This is what you are, Joe. You’re a killer, and so am I. That’s why we work! Your other girlfriends,” he spits the word, “didn’t know you like I do.”

“The last one did, but she kept fucking killing people with wild abandon until I had to kill her,” Joe groans, the memory an old wound by now.

“Is that what you’re going to do, Joe? Kill me?” The way Rhys hums the words is nauseating.

“You’re jealous. That’s all this is,” Joe says, skipping the argument — no point in fighting with a psychopath about morals.

“Jealous?” Rhys parrots, raising his brows.

“Yes, jealous. You already admitted it. You killed Kate because she allegedly looked at me too often. You killed Malcolm to get my attention, and it worked, and when you didn’t keep every fucking ounce of it, it was Simon, then Gemma. Honestly, I think you just killed her because you were bored, and it had nothing to do with protecting me. And now, Kate.” He pauses to take a breath, tapping his foot. An insane idea occurs to him, and he’s too pissed not to say it. “Is getting you to stop killing as easy as giving you more attention?”

Rhys stares at him, and Joe watches as his expression morphs from anger to poorly concealed embarrassment. Joe barks out a hysterical laugh.

“You killed Kate to get my attention ?”

“Well, you were distracted, weren’t you?” Rhys explodes. “Always worried about Kate and her stupid fucking billion-dollar sob story. I did you a favor!”

“You disobeyed me,” Joe seethes. “I told you, we do what I say when I say it, and you went and did whatever you wanted anyway. You see how that’d be upsetting, don’t you?” Rhys shrinks away from him, looking almost timid, though Joe isn’t crazy enough to think he’s capable of that. “I did it for you,” he repeats feebly.

“What do you want, Rhys? When you planned to kill Kate, how did you see this going?”

“I had hoped you’d appreciate the effort.”

“Like a cat owner appreciates the disemboweled half of a mouse, right?”

Rhys pulls a face. “Not exactly.”

Joe huffs and then points at the bedroom. “Go.”

“What?”

“Now is not the time to test me, Rhys. I’m still pissed with you and would very much like to beat you senseless, but I’m choosing to be the bigger person here. Now go.” He shakes his hand again for emphasis. Rhys gives him a sidelong look but turns on his heels and makes his way towards the bedroom. “Shoes.” He freezes and sighs, then two dull thuds of dress shoes hitting the rubber mat. Then Joe is alone in the living room.

How the hell does he get himself in these situations? Only he could move to London with the distinct purpose of not killing people and instead end up in a situationship with an Englishman with a penchant for mutilation. A possessive one, at that, who occasionally behaves how Joe expects an evil labrador would. He has to be cursed or something similar. He combs his fingers through his hair, haphazardly smoothing it down, and takes a deep breath to steel his nerves. We will not kill Rhys. We will not kill Rhys. He doesn’t know any better, like an untrained - oh, who is he kidding? He knows better. He’s just out of his goddamn mind. He walks down the hall and into the bedroom.

Rhys is sitting on the bed already, one ankle resting on the other knee, trying too hard at nonchalance. When he comes in, he looks up at Joe, but his eyes dart back down at the sound of the door latching. Joe stands at the edge of the bed, a few feet from Rhys, and crosses his arms.

“Look at me.” Rhys, for his part, obeys, but not without an attitude. He looks up at Joe with a faint smirk, brows raised in challenge. Then he sits back, hands folded in his lap, and cocks his head at him. “Don’t be a brat,” Joe says quickly. That, at least, gets Rhys to falter. He smiles incredulously.

“What?”

“You wanted my attention. You have it now. Don’t make me kick you out.” That gets him to shut up, and the slight timidity from before returns. Joe steps forward until his shins press against Rhys’, and he runs a hand through the other’s hair. He uses it as leverage to tilt his head up to look at him. “I’m going to talk now, and you’ll keep your mouth shut. Understand?” Rhys looks like he’s about to make some comment, but a sharp tug at his hair silences him. He nods his head. “You disobeyed me, Rhys, and I’m tempted just to leave you to your thoughts tonight to punish you.” He cards through Rhys’ hair again, almost grinning at how the other leans into it. “But I won’t, because then you’ll just go and kill someone else, won’t you?” He asks almost angrily, digging his fingers into Rhys’ scalp. “And I can’t have that. So, I’m going to allow you to make it up to me in a way that benefits us both. How’s that sound?”

Rhys blinks up at him a bit slowly. His clasped hands are untangled, and they rest limply in his lap. “Good,” he says roughly. Joe nods agreeably.

“Good. Now, I know you aren’t good at resisting your impulses, as you’ve proven one again,” Rhys’ lip curls for a moment before relaxing, pacified by Joe’s petting, “but you are good at the other end of the instinctual spectrum.” Rhys cocks his head, smirking a bit as he immediately understands Joe’s point, the pervert. He nods, and Joe echoes the movement. “Do you want to fuck me, Rhys?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Rhys breathes cockily. He gets his hair pulled for it.

“I will let you. It is a privilege, especially after that stunt, and you will have to earn everything up to and throw it. You will do everything I tell you to to the best of your ability as a lesson in obedience because–?” Joe trails off expectantly. Rhys’ nose wrinkles.

“Because I killed Kate.”

“Right. And not only did you kill Kate…”

“I killed her after you told me not to,” Rhys all but pouts.

“See, you are smart. Now undo my belt.”

Rhys jumps at the order, forgetting the humiliation from moments before in the face of something he wants. He really does have a one-track mind when you think about it, Joe muses. His belt clangs and Rhys immediately goes to undo his slacks, but Joe tuts. “Did I say you could unbutton my pants yet?”

Rhys sighs, shoulders drooping, though his fingers don’t move from Joe’s fly. He looks up at Joe with his best puppy dog eyes. “No.”

“Do you want to ask?” Joe coerces. Rhys rolls his shoulders.

“May I please–” he starts, voice dripping with sarcasm, but Joe cuts him off by pulling his hair painfully. “ Ah – may I undo your slacks?” He tries again, sans sarcasm.

“Yes, you may,” Joe says, smoothing Rhys’ hair. Rhys undoes his slacks, then looks up at Joe for more permission. Joe nods, smiling softly, and Rhys pushes his slacks down until Joe can step out of them, leaving him in his boxers. “Now sit up at the pillows.” Rhys slides up the bed, still fully dressed, sitting with his back against the headboard. He watches as Joe strips off his sweater, then his button-down and undershirt, leaving him in only his underwear. Rhys’ eyes rove over his body shamelessly, then flick up to meet Joe’s.

“Do you think you’ve earned preparing me?” Joe asks just to be a dick. He’s entitled to it. He watches Rhys battle himself in his head, caught between saying yes to be a prick or saying no and getting the night on with. Finally, his better judgment wins out, and he shakes his head. “I’m glad we agree.” Joe gets up on the bed on his knees and slides a hand down his torso teasingly, dipping his thumb into his waistband and pulling the slightest bit, but not enough. “Get the lube from the nightstand, then set it on the bed.” Rhys complies, his more basal desires winning out over his common sense, as always. Joe picks up the bottle and toys with it, then beckons Rhys forward. “Take off my boxers.

Rhys’ eyes flit between Joe’s midriff and face as he dips his fingers into his boxers, pulling them down slowly. As soon as Joe’s cock is visible, though, he gives up eye contact altogether and settles to gawk. He’s still soft – in all honesty, he’s still pissed, and he’s never been one to get it up out of anger – but Rhys seems wholly unbothered as he helps Joe out of them and then tosses them on the floor. Joe gets off the bed and walks around Rhys before settling against the headboard, taking his spot. Rhys turns around, still on his knees, and watches as Joe lubes his fingers.

“You’re going to stay right there,” he starts, spreading his legs and sliding his hand between them, “and watch me. You’ll only touch me when I say you can, understand?”

Rhys nods, resituating on his knees. “Yes.” He gawks at Joe’s hand, and Joe smirks, pressing his middle finger into himself. He lets out a shaky breath, settling deeper into the bed and letting his legs fall open further. He sinks his finger into the knuckle and rolls his hips down, acclimating. Rhys makes a strangled sound and Joe opens his eyes, not remembering having let them slide shut, to grin at him.

“Do you like watching?” He taunts, pumping his finger carefully. Rhys sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nods stiffly. “I bet you’d like to be the one fingering me more, though, wouldn’t you?” “Yes, fuck, of course, I would,” Rhys breathes.

“And why aren’t you?” Joe draws his finger out and pushes in with two, grunting softly. Rhys’ tongue laves over his lip.

“Because I killed that bitch, Kate,” Rhys hisses. Joe kicks him quickly in the side, not too hard, but enough to make a point. “Because I killed Kate, and you told me not to,” he corrects, rubbing his ribs.

Joe hums approvingly and lets his head loll back, hips rocking gently against his hand. He fits a third finger in and then calls it good. His cock has chubbed up a bit and lays against his hip. He takes it in his fist, pumping slowly, torturing them both. “Stand up and strip.”

Rhys does as he’s told, quickly shedding his slacks, sweater, undershirt, and boxers. Joe watches the show hotly, languidly jacking himself, exhaling when it feels too good. “Now up here, between my legs on your knees.” He spreads his legs to welcome Rhys, releasing his cock to stroke his shoulder. He uses his left hand to pet down Rhys’ chest, tracing the lines of his abs, purposefully avoiding the gaze that’s boring into his skull. Finally, he looks up and grins at how wide and pleading Rhys’ eyes are. He cups his cheek.

“There he is,” he murmurs, stroking his cheekbone. “Isn’t it better when you listen to me?” Rhys, testament to how beside himself Joe has gotten him, only nods and greedily looks over Joe’s body. Joe chuckles and spreads his legs more. “You’ve been good so far, Rhys. Do you think you’ve earned fucking me?”

“Please,” he whispers, forgoing the question. “Please, can I kiss you?”

Joe raises an eyebrow. “You want to kiss me?”

“Yes,” Rhys rasps, eyes darting to Joe’s lips. “Please let me.”

Joe laughs and pets Rhys’ hair when the other makes a face. “You’re going to have to prove you deserve it.”

Rhys grumbles unhappily but accepts the answer. He falters, not knowing how exactly he’s allowed to prove it. Joe answers his unasked question by shifting further down the bed until his head rests on the pillows. Rhys follows, settling between Joe’s legs. He makes for the nightstand drawer, but Joe stops him. “You’re not using one tonight.”

Rhys furrows his brows but decides not to question it, apparently worried that mentioning the irregularity will change Joe’s mind. Joe slicks his hand again with lube as Rhys positions himself above him on all fours, bracketing him. They’re about the same size, Rhys even a bit leaner, but he looks small to Joe like this. Staring down at him like he’s worried this will all be taken away in the next moment, like Joe will admit this is all a cruel joke, and of course, he wouldn’t let him fuck him after he outwardly disobeyed him, was Rhys stupid? Joe softens his gaze and scratches Rhys’ nape, enjoying this raw version of him more than he’d ever admit. Just like he’d never admit that Rhys killing Kate did mean something to him, that the gesture, if it could even be called that, didn’t only anger him. It was thoughtful on some twisted level. He likes being wanted so consumingly by someone that they’d kill for him, and he likes even more being able to trust them to clean up their mess. Still, he can’t very well encourage that kind of behavior, and so he’d needed to have a firm hand. It was for Rhys’ own good.

Joe carefully takes Rhys into his hand, humming when the other gasps into his ear. He strokes him slowly, squeezing a bit at the head the way Rhys likes, careful not to set him off too early. He tends to get overexcited when Joe takes charge, and while it’s sometimes adorable, Joe would rather not have prepared himself for nothing. Speaking of, he’d better get a move on.

“Are you going to fuck me nicely, Rhys?” Joe says filthily, rolling his wrist to hit a sensitive spot. Rhys bucks into his hand. “Hm? Are you going to listen to me like you should have in the first place?”

Rhys squeezes his eyes shut above him, panting hotly. “Yes, Joe, I will.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. Please, I’ll listen.”

“Tell me how much you want it,” he teases, enjoying keying up the other.

“So bad, Joe. You’re incredible. I need you, please,” Rhys presses his nose into Joe’s neck and inhales, which had been weird initially but something Joe quickly came to appreciate. Any display of devotion was fine by him. “Please, I’m sorry. Please let me.”

It’s the former apology that finally wins Joe over. He releases Rhys’ cock and grabs his hips instead, pulling him further between his legs. Rhys looks up at him wide-eyed, looking for reassurance, which he gets in a nod. His mouth drops open as Joe guides his dick to rest against his hole, making him into little more than a tool, which Rhys is very obviously enjoying. He likes to feel useful. Rhys lowers himself onto his forearms and presses his hips forward far gentler than usual, and Joe guides him, drawing him in with both hands on his ass. Joe groans low in his chest as Rhys slides home, cradling the other’s head to his neck, letting him breathe him in.

“Good boy,” Joe praises when Rhys’ hips press flush to his ass. He strokes his back soothingly, rolling his eyes at the ceiling as Rhys insists on keeping his face buried in his neck. He feels wetness and recognizes it as Rhys’ tongue and considers scolding him but decides against it. It’s better that he just licks than bites – he doesn’t know how he’d hide the bite mark of a grown man. Or worse, explain it when someone sees.

“Can I move?” Rhys rasps, hands flexed at Joe’s side.

“Yes, Rhys, you can move,” Joe says, trying to steady his voice. Rhys nods, and Joe can hear his saliva crackle when he swallows thickly. Rhys draws back slowly and rolls his hips just as tentatively. “It’s okay, Rhys. I’m not mad,” Joe admits, deciding he can’t take upsetting him any longer. He’s pissed – or was – but he doesn’t hate him. He could never afford to.

“You’re not?” Rhys asks, sounding pitiful.

Joe pets his hair and gropes his ass a little firmer, spurring him to thrust deeper. “No, I’m not. I wa–” he cuts himself off with a gasp when Rhys angles his hips lower. “I was before,” he starts again, swallowing to contain himself, “but I’m not mad at you. You worried me.” Joe cups Rhys’ face and draws him up to see his face. He kisses Rhys’ cheek and pets his hair. He wraps his legs around his hips, guiding his thrusts more.

“I’m sorry,” Rhys whispers feebly, hiding his face in Joe’s neck again. Humility isn’t his strong suit, and Joe again allows him the comfort.

“I know you are.” Joe digs his nails into Rhys’ ass a bit, adding a bit of deserved pain but not able to bring himself to really hurt him. “You can make it up to me now, Rhys. Don’t you want that?”

Rhys nods and tries to say something in the affirmative, but his voice only cracks and fails. His thrusts get a little rougher. Joe tuts, and he gentles. Rhys tests different speeds, waiting for Joe to praise or scold him, until finally, Joe scratches his head pleasantly and moans openly. He tilts Rhys’ hips a bit until he’s hitting his prostate more often than not, then relaxes into the pillow.

“Good boy. Just like that.”

Rhys finally pushes himself up onto his hands to gawk at Joe. His blue eyes are

half-lidded and hazy, but the way he’s staring at Joe is so loving that he smiles up at him and runs his thumb over his bottom lip. Rhys welcomes it into his mouth happily, sucking on it as he keeps fucking into Joe. The warmth coursing through his belly and surrounding his thumb makes Joe sigh in pleasure, his head rolling to the side. He keeps his eyes open no matter how desperately he wants to let them slide shut because Rhys isn’t forfeiting eye contact, and Joe doesn’t want to deny him. Rhys mumbles something, and Joe slides his thumb from his mouth, resting it on his bottom lip.

“What’s that?”

“Can I kiss you now?” Rhys asks desperately as his hips stutter. He catches himself immediately and forces himself to still, steadying himself with a deep breath before resuming his earlier pace. Joe smiles appreciatively, doesn’t bother answering properly, and just pulls Rhys into a kiss. He keeps it gentle, focusing on Rhys’ lower lip and licking into his mouth occasionally, tracing his teeth, and Rhys just takes it. He kisses back weakly but only to follow Joe’s lead, chasing his tongue lazily or pressing into a particularly insistent kiss. Joe rumbles happily.

“You’re doing so good for me.”

“Please,” Rhys begs incoherently. Joe can feel his muscles tensing and knows he’s close.

All things considered, he has lasted reasonably long, so he decides to indulge him.

“Get me off first, and you’ll have earned it.” Rhys nods, gasping, and hovers his head over Joe’s cock. With a confirming nod, he takes Joe in his hand, tightening the pleasure in Joe’s gut. His legs clamp around Rhys’ hips and bucks into his hand, making Rhys chase him. “Lick your palm,” Joe gasps. Rhys complies, licking a messy stripe across his hand and wrapping his fist around Joe’s dick again. The slide is easier, and Joe shudders, panting at the ceiling as Rhys devotes all his attention to getting him off. He can feel himself spasming around Rhys’ cock and shushes him when he cries out, doubtlessly painfully close. Rhys starts begging Joe to come, which is something in itself, then gently dips his finger into Joe’s slit. He moans as his legs go limp, then his body surges as he releases over Rhys’ hand. It’s barely dribbled onto his belly before Rhys is babbling breathlessly in his ear to join him. He nods, still coming down, and Rhys shoves his arms under Joe and holds him to his chest. He jackhammers into him, and then he stills, ramrod straight. Joe pets his hair as he comes, shushing him and kissing his temple as he chokes out odd sounds and gasps. Finally, Rhys grunts and shifts his weight to one forearm. Joe croons, still catching his breath.

“Good, good boy,” he praises, petting and caressing his back. He uses his free hand to press his head down to his chest, and Rhys goes happily. Joe’s face scrunches up when he slips out of him, squirming a bit at the feeling of his cum dripping out. They’ll need to shower, both because of that and that now Rhys’ chest is pressed against Joe’s cum covered abdomen. Rhys is either unaware or unbothered, entirely content to listen to Joe’s heartbeat and have his hair played with. Joe feels slightly absurd, laying his legs open for Rhys to cling to him because his hands are still trapped under his back, but it’s pleasant enough that he pushes the thought away. Rhys trembles with an aftershock, and Joe laughs softly.

“You okay?” He murmurs, tucking his chin in to see the half of Rhys’ face not squished into his chest. The other nods against him and kisses his collarbone.

“Are you?” Rhys asks back.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Joe pets him a bit longer, then lifts Rhys’ chin to look at him. “You can’t do that again,” he states simply. Rhys nods and shuts his eyes.

“I know.”

“Will you do it again?”

Rhys hesitates. “I don’t know.”

Joe nods slowly and guides Rhys’ head back down. He scratches between his shoulder blades. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“I’m sure you’ve said that before,” Rhys mumbles, surprising Joe. It hurts, but he knows the other is right.

“I have,” he admits, “but I never will again.” He lets them lapse into silence, trusting that Rhys understands him.

“You promise?”

“Just as long as your corpse offerings stay between us and don’t get me stuck with a red notice, then yes, I promise.”

Rhys hums, apparently satisfied. “When are we going to shower?” Joe chuckles. “When I can feel my legs.”

“Mkay,” he mumbles. Joe watches Rhys’ eyes slide shut, glad he’s stayed calm this long. He knows he can’t expect Rhys not to be, well, Rhys. And he knows just as well that he can’t lie to himself and say he doesn’t like Rhys for who he is. He just has to accept it and occasionally degrade him when he steps out of line – which is never the solution he expected he’d have to take when dealing with a murderous psychopath. But, whatever works. And this, in some sick, twisted way, definitely works.

#you netflix #joe x rhys #joe goldberg #rhys montrose #fanfiction #tw smut #goldrose #dom/sub #my work

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