muttboy

do any mean manipulative vampires want to take advantage of a dumb werewolf puppy on this fine night?

Pretty thing riding my thigh. Legs shaking, poor thing whining. Begging for permission to cum, but I think they’re mutttccchhh prettier drooling, edging for me like a good little mutt. And good dogs listen, don’t they?

human prince that somehow acquires a fae knight's true name. something about having this piece of information that you could use to get whatever you wanted, make him do whatever you wished. the absolute control of it. you could bring him to his knees and make him service you, make him dance until his feet blister, make him fight until the last drop in his body seeps out, make him humiliate himself. he'd have no choice but to do it because you have his true name. and the intimacy of never using it, never threatening him with a command even though you see him tense every time you say something. he doesn't know you enough to know you don't mean harm, how could you not? when has anyone not meant him any harm? are humans truly so trusting? don't you know how dangerous he is? don't you know that he's yours now? how carelessly you wield such a powerful weapon, and yet. and yet he cannot bear that feeling, so tender, like a knot pulling free, that he feels in his chest every time his leige asks something of him. not a command, not an order, but a request. his highness so sweet about it too. he's all "won't my brave knight do this for me?" "don't do that again, i don't like it" "walk with me?" "can you do that? please?" that godforsaken word. please. he flinched the first time he heard it from the prince's mouth, for what could it be but cruel, demeaning mockery? he is their servant, what use is there for that sickening sweet tone and the polite words? it almost makes him sick, being spoken to as if he has a choice, as if he can say no. but the days becomes months and the months years and slowly he's starting to forget the taste of the constant wariness. it's not an easy process, but there are days he lets a smile slip just for you, doesn't startle when you call his name, and —if luck is with you that day— drawls a sweet praise all low and smooth so he can watch you turn red. he learns to not fear the command that will never come, knowing you hold no malice for him in your heart. he still doesn't dare step out of line, doesn't want to make you feel like you need command him after all, but he does know that if he had to choose anyone to know his name, it would be you. it's a long, long road before the prince can get him where he actually wants him, take off those layers until all that's left is soft, flushed skin, teach his knight that it really is alright to say no if he wants to. he wants to trace the years-old calluses with his manicured hands, take him apart and put him back together again just right. he wants so badly to adore the soft creature within the shell of armor, kiss every fear away until there's nothing but a man, his man, who despite everything heeds his every word like holy writ. not out of fear but out of love and admiration