#fanfic previews

[everybody-scream-fxck]

FANFIC PREVIEW - I Am The Only Thing Inside Of You That You Cannot Control - Coffinshipping

I just really wanted to share a bit from a coffinshipping fic I'm working on right now. Yay for evidence room quickies. I don't have a specific timeline for this, it just kind of Exists.

It's vaguely NSFW but they're still wearing clothes. I need to get back to this fic. Under a cut for length dick mention. This is also mostly unedited.

Strong hands wrapped around both of Peter's wrists, working them around until he could pin them to the wall palms out. The press of their bodies was tight, so much so that Peter swore that they would never be separated again. Even for the clothes keeping them from skin-on-skin contact, Peter felt the warmth radiating off of Mark, setting his blood on fire. It twisted in his veins, leaving him breathless but no less an active participant in the bruising kiss.

A gnarled, depraved desire scratched at his stomach with an intensity that would have worried a smarter man. A man who wasn't so involved with someone he deeply believed he should have hated; once upon a time he did hate. But the simple fact of the matter was that there was nothing even remotely similar to hate in his heart for Mark. 

Could he do wrong? Sure, maybe even of course. Did it put any kind of damper in the way that Peter's stomach filled with soft, delicate wings when he was nearby? Did the need to surpass him, to do better, to be better make him falter in his need for him? Did his sharp tongue and quick temper have any bearing over the hard-on he ground forward, desperately, into the other man's hip?

The answer to all of these questions and more was a big, flashing, resounding no.

[my-dark-lord]

♥️

One ❤️ = One Sentence From Any WIP!

So this has been sitting in my askbox for a bit, I've just been busy and everywhere. BUT I finally got to this! I'll Rust With You is a Polyamorvee fic that I've been writing for comfort. It's sweet and just really domestic about the Vees doing cozy hobbies together.

---

Following Valentino into the kitchen as he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up shirt, Vox paused to give Velvette a peck on the cheek.

[rookamell]

Most toxic future cousin/sibling-in-law relationship this side of Kirkwall

I really have to start writing my post vg davrin/illario Orlesian roadtrip fic because I have the most hilarious idea about these two idiots accidentally losing Rook's intended engagement ring to a thief in Val Royeaux and having to get it back without her or Lucanis knowing that's what happened.

[msbigredmachine]

My Angel, My Love (Roman Reigns)

For their first Valentine’s, Roman and Naima indulge in passion, laughter, and love. From heartfelt gifts to stolen touches over dinner, every moment is intoxicating. In each other, they’ve found something rare, something real…and tonight proves it again.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Black fem OC

Warnings: Smut, fluff

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: This is based off characters from my multi-chapter Roman fic, Finding Angel.

Naima sits at her desk, the glow of her laptop screen the only light in the quiet bedroom. It’s well past midnight, but sleep isn’t even a thought. Not when she’s been obsessing over every cut, every transition, every second of this video.

Their first Valentine’s Day.

She wants this to be right. Not extravagant, not over the top—just something that means something. Something that captures what they’ve become.

A year ago, she never could’ve imagined this. That he would be hers. That she’d be sitting here, heart full, carefully piecing together their story, one that unfolded in ways she never expected but, somehow, felt inevitable.

With a practiced eye, she scrolls through her camera roll, pulling out clips that define them.

Roman carrying her suitcase through an airport, looking back at her with that teasing smirk.

A blurry shot of them laughing in the car, her filming him as he rants about Atlanta traffic.

His big hand wrapped around hers as they walk through a city, fingers interlocked like they always should be.

A quiet moment in bed, his arm slung over her waist, sharing soft, sweet kisses that were clearly leading to something more.

A snippet of her in the crowd at his match at last year’s Wrestlemania, eyes locked on him, the camera catching the pride on her face.

Her surprising him with his favorite sushi tray one random afternoon, him beaming at the camera as he holds them up.

Him showering her with hundred-dollar bills at Exotica, her laughing as she twerks on him, giving him his money’s worth, Jimmy and Naomi hyping them up in the VIP section.

A clip of them at the beach, her on his back, both of them soaked from the ocean waves.

The late-night drive where she caught him singing along to a song he swore he didn’t know.

She threads them together seamlessly, using the same precision she applies to her work on the Elysian Moves Instagram page. The pacing, the music, the way each moment flows into the next—it all has to feel right. Like them.

She keeps the full video at a minute, a perfect distillation of what they are. Then she creates a shorter, 30-second version for Instagram, something the world can see.

But it’s the captions that make it.

Little statements appear throughout the video, subtle yet intentional.

I didn’t see you coming, but somehow, you’ve always felt meant to be.

You are home.

I didn’t just fall in love with you. I ran into love with you.

My safe space. My love. My person.

And at the very end, the words that make her heart tighten as she types them out:

I love you, Roman.

Naima exhales, staring at the finished product.

She hopes he feels this.

The wheels of the jet touch down with a smooth glide, and Roman exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he leans back in his seat. He’s flown in and out of Atlanta more times than he can count, but these days, the trips feel different.

For years, this city had been a checkpoint. A place he passed through for work, for college, for obligations that didn’t leave much room for sentimentality. Georgia Tech was where he honed his discipline, his drive. Back then, Atlanta had been about chasing a dream. But now, it’s about her.

Naima.

This city—her city—has become something else entirely. A place that pulls him back in ways he never expected. He used to come here for matches, media, appearances. Now? Now he comes because he wants to. Because she’s here.

His schedule isn’t as relentless as it used to be, something he made sure of. A few years ago, the thought of stepping back from WWE, of letting someone else carry the load, would’ve been unthinkable. But things change. Priorities shift. He spent over a decade giving everything to the business. He’s still him, still the Tribal Chief, still at the top—but he’s also a man who wants more than just titles and main events.

He wants her.

And if cutting back means more time with Naima, more time wrapped up in her warmth, in her world, then it’s worth it. She’s worth it.

As the jet rolls to a stop, he rubs a hand over his jaw, exhaling.

Valentine’s Day.

He’s never been the sentimental type. His last couple of Valentine’s had been…transactional, at best. A quick call to his assistant, a luxury gift delivered to Princess, his ex-fiancée, a generic message attached. No real thought. No real feeling. Just an obligation.

But this year is different.

This year, he actually wants to make it special. For her.

Because Naima isn’t some obligation. She’s his woman. His love.

And that alone makes all the difference.

Late morning sun filters through the windows, casting soft light over the soft interior of Naima’s townhouse. Roman is stretched out on her couch, shirtless, gray sweatpants worn low on his hips—because of course. One arm rests along the back of the couch, the other wrapped around a cold bottle of water. His focus drifts between SportsCenter and the plate of wings and Valentine’s-themed cookies laid before him on the coffee table.

He’s comfortable. Content.

Naima plops down beside him, her body warm against his, fitting into his side like she belongs there. Without thinking, he tugs her closer, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against her hip.

She presses her phone into his hand. “I have a surprise for you,” she says, a quiet smile playing on her lips.

His brows lift. “Yeah?”

She nods, biting her bottom lip. There’s something in her eyes; something nervous, something deep.

Roman notices everything when it comes to her.

“What is it?” he asks, tilting his head.

Her fingers tighten slightly around his forearm. “One of your Valentine’s gifts.”

His lips twitch. “One of them? You out here spoiling me, baby?”

“Maybe.” She grins, but there’s a flicker of hesitation beneath it. Because this? This is something big.

Roman is private—fiercely so. He’s always kept their relationship just between them, away from prying eyes. And Naima has come to understand that, to respect it, embrace it even. But her love for him is too vast, too consuming to be hidden away. It fills every inch of her. And now, she wants the world to see it.

She just hopes he understands.

Roman studies her for a beat, then shifts his gaze to the phone in his hand, pressing play.

She watches him as he watches the video. Watches the subtle changes in his breathing, the way his chest rises and falls a little deeper. Watches his lips part slightly, his jaw tighten as he swallows hard.

By the time the final words appear on-screen—I love you, Roman—he’s completely still.

The weight of it settles over him, sinks into him.

Naima tightens her grip on his bicep, pursing her lips against it. “I wanted you to know,” she murmurs. “And I want the world to know, too.”

He doesn’t speak right away. Just stares at the screen, his fingers tightening slightly around the phone. Then, after a moment, he blinks, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip as he exhales sharply.

“You tryna make me soft, baby?” His voice is husky, rough around the edges.

She tilts her head up, brushing her fingers along his arm. “You're already soft for me, big daddy. Just making sure you feel how much I love you.”

Roman sets the phone down, turning toward her. His hand cups the side of her face, his touch gentle despite the sheer size of it. His thumb brushes along her jaw, reverent.

“I feel it, baby,” he murmurs. “I feel it every day. But this?” He shakes his head, eyes dark, voice thick. “This hits different.”

Naima swallows, emotions swelling in her heart. “Good.”

A quiet, shaky chuckle rumbles from his chest, and he presses his forehead to hers, exhaling deeply. “You know I love you too, right?” His voice dips, heavy with feeling. “So much.”

She smiles softly. “Yeah, I know.”

He kisses her, slow and sensual and full of everything he can’t quite put into words. And when he finally pulls back, he lingers, resting his forehead against hers. Shaking his head, he huffs out a small, incredulous laugh.

“Baby, you done set the bar too high for Valentine’s now.”

Naima grins against his lips. “Guess you gotta step your game up, big daddy.”

He smirks, eyes warm, adoring. “Oh, I will.” He kisses her again, soft and teasing. “Anything for you.”

Valentine’s Day

Naima barely stirs when Roman lifts her into his arms, her body naturally curling into his warmth. She mumbles something against his chest, too groggy to form actual words.

Roman just chuckles, pressing a kiss to her temple as he carries her and their wiggling four-month-old Staffordshire Bull Terrier, Chief, out of her townhouse and into his waiting Rolls-Royce Cullinan. He settles her into the passenger seat, closes her door and rounds the hood of the car. By the time he gets in, Naima has already slumped against the headrest, eyes barely open.

“Mm,” she groans sleepily, “Where we goin’?”

“My crib,” he murmurs cryptically, rubbing her thigh as he pulls off.

She dozes off again, lulled by the quiet hum of the luxury SUV and the warmth of his hand on her. She stirs slightly when they pull into the underground parking of his Atlanta condo, and Roman takes his time waking her up, brushing soft kisses along her jaw.

“Wake up, baby,” he whispers. “We’re here.”

Naima groans in protest but lets him help her out of the car, half-leaning into him as they take the elevator up. Chief, full of morning energy, tugs at his leash, eager to explore.

When the door to the lavish condo swings open, Naima steps inside—and stops.

The entire space is filled with balloons.

They float against the ceiling, tied to chairs and tables, surrounding the entire living room. Red, pink, white, all scattered amongst oversized I Love You balloons. Rose petals trail from the entrance toward the bedroom, and the soft melody of D’Angelo’s “Lady” hums through the speakers.

Her breath catches.

She’s been wined and dined before. She’s had men try to impress her with extravagant gifts, luxury trips, money—so much money. But this? This feels a whole lot different. This feels intentional.

She turns, still taking it all in, before her gaze finds Roman’s.

“You did all this?” Her voice is soft, almost disbelieving.

Roman steps up behind her, his big arms sliding around her waist as he nuzzles into her neck. “Yeah. Made a lot of calls, but I did it.”

Her hands rest over his, pressing them closer against her stomach. “You really tryna make me cry first thing in the morning?”

Roman grins, kissing her exposed shoulder. “Nah, but if you did, I wouldn’t be mad at it.”

Naima shakes her head, biting her lip to keep from smiling too hard. “You're ridiculous.”

Before Roman can respond,

Pop!

Both their heads snap toward the sound just in time to see Chief bouncing on his hind legs, snapping his tiny jaws at one of the balloons. He jumps again, missing but determined.

“This damn dog,” Roman groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Boy! Leave the damn balloons alone.”

Chief barks once, his little tail wagging, then leaps, almost getting the string between his teeth.

Naima giggles, turning back to her man. “This is just the beginning of the day?”

He slides his hands down to her hips, squeezing lightly. “Just the beginning, beautiful.”

The rest of their day unfolds effortlessly.

They spend the afternoon wrapped up in each other, lounging around the condo in comfortable silence. Roman, freshly showered and dressed in nothing but sweats, flips through channels, occasionally distracted by Naima as she scrolls through her phone, stretched out across his lap. Chief sprawls on the floor near their feet, snoring softly.

At various points, Roman surprises her with gifts—luxury perfume, a pair of Chopard diamond earrings, and a silk robe so soft it feels like water against her skin.

Naima stares at the earrings for a long moment before looking up at him. “Dude, you are spoiling the hell outta me.”

Roman smirks. “Ain’t that my job?”

She tilts her head, studying him with something unreadable in her gaze. Then, without a word, she gets up, disappearing into the bedroom. When she returns, there’s a sleek, velvet box in her hands.

Roman raises an eyebrow as she places it on his lap. “What’s this?”

“Another gift.”

He eyes her, then the box, before flipping it open.

Inside sits a stunning, custom-designed gold bracelet, thick yet refined, engraved with the words My Ali’i. 

My Chief in Samoan. In delicate script.

Roman’s lips part slightly.

Naima watches him carefully, a little nervous. “I know you don’t do a lot of jewelry, but I saw this and thought-”

Roman doesn’t let her finish.

He pulls her onto his lap, cupping her face in both hands before kissing her deeply, his mouth warm and hungry against hers. By the time he pulls back, Naima’s breathing is uneven, her fingers curled into his chest.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I love it.”

She exhales, relieved. “Yeah?”

Roman smirks, cups her shapely hips. “Now you really got me out here tryna make sure I earn this title.”

Naima laughs softly, her fingers threading into his hair as she tugs him closer. “You already do, big guy.”

Her hands drift lower, slipping beneath his waistband, fingers wrapping around his thick length. Roman groans, his grip on her hips tightening as she pushes his sweats down just enough to free him. She meets his gaze, her eyes dark with intent, before sinking down on his dick.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his head falling back as his fingers dig into her skin.

Naima grins, rolling her hips, watching his control unravel. “Better hold on, Tribal Chief.”

As evening falls, Roman tells her to get dressed. They’re going out. He doesn’t say where, but Naima already knows he’s about to pull out all the stops, like always.

She takes her time getting ready, and steps out in a scandalous red latex dress that fits like it was poured onto her body; glossy, tight, strapless, and short enough to flaunt every inch of her toned, impossibly long legs. Her skin glows under the soft lighting, dewy and radiant, her hair sleek and wet as if she just emerged from a fantasy Roman didn’t even know he needed.

His jaw flexes, his fingers twitch at his sides, and his already low patience for the world outside of her dissolves instantly.

Waiting by the kitchen, dressed in an all-black button-down and slacks, his sleeves rolled up just enough to tease that thick, tattooed forearm of his, he looks good. Too good. And when his dark eyes drag over her, slow and smoldering, Naima's breath catches.

Clearly, the feeling is mutual.

“Baby…” His voice is dangerously low, thick with admiration and something darker. “You tryna unalive me, baby?”

Naima swallows, gathering herself before stepping closer, smoothing a hand over his jawline. “Maybe. You like it, daddy?”

Roman's hands find her waist, tugging her in just enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him. “I always do, mamas.”

Her eyes roam over him, appreciation gleaming in their depths. “You look so damn good.” She bites her lip, fingers lingering on his face. “You sure we’ll be able to keep our hands to ourselves tonight?”

Roman smirks, his grip on her waist tightening as he leans down, his lips brushing her ear.

“Oh, we won’t, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dark and promising. “Matter of fact, I’m already tryin’ to figure out which part of the night I’m gonna have you bent over.”

Naima gasps. “Baby!”

He merely laughs, taps her ass and leads her out of the condo.

They leave in his Rolls-Royce, Naima still clueless about their destination. When they arrive, she realizes the restaurant is completely empty.

She turns to him, wide-eyed. “You cleared out the whole place?”

Roman smiles, his fingers threading through hers. “Only the best for my girl.”

She shakes her head in disbelief, still getting used to this. She’s been around wealthy men before, but none of them move like him. None of them make her feel like this.

Dinner is intimate. Their dinner is indulgent yet refined, a perfect reflection of the night.

They start with a rich lobster bisque and warm, crusty bread, though Roman’s wagyu beef tartare gets a playful nose wrinkle from Naima. For the main course, he enjoys a perfectly seared bone-in ribeye with truffle mashed potatoes, while she savors butter-poached lobster tail with Parmesan risotto. Sipping on a deep Cabernet, Roman keeps her glass full, his eyes never leaving her. Dessert is a molten chocolate lava cake, and when Naima hums in pleasure at the first bite, Roman leans in, his voice dark and ominous, 

“Keep making noises like that and we gon’ cut this dinner short.”

Naima smirks, taking another slow, deliberate bite, her pretty eyes shining with mischief.

Roman huffs, shaking his head. “Baby girl, you play too much.”

It’s always like this with them; this effortless push and pull, the teasing undercurrent woven into every glance, every touch. He watches her sip her wine, watches that smug little smirk every time she catches him staring. The candlelight flickers between them, casting a warm glow over a love that burns just as intensely.

Somewhere in the middle of their conversation, Naima's voice softens. “Babe…what do you see for us?” she asks.

Roman watches her, the cerebral being that he is taking his time to digest the loaded question. “What do you see?” he gently counters.

She hesitates. “A future.”

His gaze darkens with something deeper. “Good. ‘Cause I see the same thing.”

Her heart stumbles. After everything he’s been through, after everything they’ve been through, it’s almost a shock that he feels this way. About her. And yet, it isn’t.

Roman reaches for her hand, his grip warm, steady, full of quiet promises. “I want it all with you, Nai. Whenever you’re ready,” he vows.

Naima swallows hard, squeezing his hand. She may not be ready yet, and he knows that. Their love still feels too good to be true. But when she is, he’ll be the first to know.

This place is straight vibes. 

An upscale lounge with an old-school feel, where dim lighting meets the golden era of 90s R&B and hip-hop. The bass thrums through the space, the atmosphere thick with a sultry energy that wraps around them the moment they step inside. Roman takes her hand, leading her straight to the VVIP section where a plush leather couch waits. His whiskey arrives within minutes, but he barely touches it.

Because Naima is a problem tonight.

She’s out on the floor, lost in the music, that short-ass red dress clinging to every inch of her body like a second skin. Her hips move slow, teasing, rolling in time with the beat, her long waves cascading down her back. That butterfly tattoo on her hip peeks out every time she shifts just right, and he’s already decided he’s putting his mouth there before the night is over.

Men are watching her. They always do. But surprisingly, he doesn’t give a damn. Not tonight. Let them look. She knows where she’s going when this night ends.

She spins, eyes locking onto his, and her grin is electric. Aaliyah’s “Back & Forth” slides through the speakers, and she drops low, hands on her thighs, twerking to the rhythm, her ass practically begging for him to grab it.

The OTC exhales, shaking his head. This woman is gonna kill me.

Naima is tipsy. Loud, wild, his. Singing along at the top of her lungs when “This Is How We Do It” drops, throwing her hands up before dancing her way back toward him.

Roman is waiting, his massive frame sprawled across the couch, a lazy grin on his face.

“Come here,” he calls out over the music, motioning her over with a crook of his finger.

She doesn’t hesitate. Strutting toward him, her dress rides high on her thighs as she climbs into his lap, straddling him like she owns the damn place. She sets her drink down on the table without looking, wrapping her arms around his neck as Tamia’s “So Into You” begins to play.

“You know this one?” she asks, her voice breathy and playful.

Roman smirks, his hands immediately settling on her bare thighs, grunting as her cleavage inches towards his face. “’Course I do.”

She leans in closer, her lips by his ear as she begins to sing along, off-key and slurring slightly but sexy as hell.

I really like what you’ve done to me…

He exhales slowly, fingers flexing against her skin. She’s gonna make him do something reckless.

“You tryna start some shit in public, baby?” His voice is low, rough against her ear.

Naima bites her lip, shifting against him just right, feeling him harden beneath her. “Maybe.”

That’s all he needs.

His hand snakes around her neck, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss that starts slow but spirals into something messy, desperate. She tastes like wine and trouble, her fingers in his hair, his hands on her ass. The music, the crowd, all of it blurs into nothing.

She grinds down on him, rolling her hips in a way that makes his jaw clench, and he exhales sharply against her lips.

“We leavin’,” he growls.

She smirks, licking her lips. “Took your fine ass long enough.”

They barely make it to the car.

The Cullinan is parked in a private indoor lot behind the bar, discreet and empty. The second the door shuts behind them, Roman’s hands are on her, pushing her back against the seat.

Naima yelps, laughing breathlessly. “Roman, what the fuck-”

“Shut up.” His mouth crashes into hers again, swallowing the rest of her words.

She moans into the kiss, fingers tugging at his shirt, his belt. He yanks the hem of her dress up roughly, hands gripping her ass, pulling her forward.

“You know what you was doin’ back there,” he mutters against her lips, his voice thick with need.

She laughs breathlessly, lifting her hips to meet his touch. “What, you couldn’t handle it?”

Roman smirks, dark and dangerous. “Oh, I’ma handle it.”

He spins her, pressing her face down into the leather seat, hands sliding up her thighs, over her curves. Naima shudders, gasping as he kisses the back of her neck, down her spine.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dripping with lust. His fingers slip between her thighs, tracing slow circles over the wetness seeping there. “Makin’ a mess on my seats already.”

She hisses as his grip tightens. “Don’t act like you not the one startin’ shit.”

Roman spanks her ass, chuckling darkly at her gasp. His lips ghost over her ear. “You been askin’ for this all night.” He rubs her pussy, and she trembles. “Tell me how bad you want it, baby.”

Her nails scrape against the leather as she exhales shakily. “You already know.”

Roman grips her chin, tilting her face toward him. “Say it.”

Naima's mouth meets his, her gaze bold and unashamed. “I want you, big daddy.”

His growl rumbles through the space, and that’s all it takes before the car is filled with heat, moans, and the unmistakable sound of skin meeting skin. The windows fog, the Cullinan rocking slightly, her body arching into his with every frantic movement.

Roman keeps his grip on her hip, holding her steady as he drives into her, deep and unrelenting. The wet sounds of their bodies meeting fill the car, mingling with her breathy moans and his hungry groans.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, his lips pressed to her shoulder. His other hand cups her heavy, exposed breast, teasing her sensitive nipple. “You feel too damn good.”

Naima is gone, completely lost in the pleasure he’s giving her. Every stroke hits just right, sending fire through her veins, tightening the coil low in her belly. Her hands press against the backseat window, her moans breaking apart as she meets his thrusts, chasing that edge.

“Roman…” she gasps, her voice shaky, “I…I’m close.”

He smirks against her skin, his pace shifting, his strokes deeper, dragging her right where he wants her. His fingers leave her breast and slide back down to where they’re joined, circling that sensitive bud, making her cry out.

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is thick, teasing, knowing. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

She doesn’t need much more than that. With a shuddering scream, she unravels, pleasure slamming into her, her walls pulsing around him. Her body trembles, back arching, thighs shaking as waves of euphoria crash through her.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Roman groans, feeling her tighten around his dick. He grips her harder, his own restraint crumbling. “Shit, you feel so good…”

He pumps deep in her, the pleasure climbing fast, and Naima, still breathless and floating from her own release, whispers, “Come in me, baby. Please.”

His jaw clenches. That does it. His thrusts stutter, his entire body tensing as he unloads in her with a guttural moan, his face buried in her neck as he comes hard. 

For a long moment, all that’s left is the sound of their ragged breathing. Then Naima, still sprawled out on the seat, groans. “We really just fucked in your damn Rolls Royce?”

Roman, still catching his breath, smirks against her neck. “Don’t act like you ain’t love every second of it.”

She laughs, breathless. “Ridiculous.”

He flops into a seated position and pulls her into his lap, kissing her deeply, his grip firm but gentle. “And you love it.”

She sighs, melting against him despite herself. “Love you.”

Roman just chuckles, nipping at her bottom lip. “I know you do.”

Morning comes too fast.

Naima blinks groggily, cheek pressed against his chest, his huge arm wrapped protectively around her. She stretches slightly, wincing at the awkward angle.

She looks around, realization dawning. “Oh god. We really slept in the car?”

Roman stirs beneath her, groaning as he cracks an eye open. “Damn.”

Naima sits up, adjusting her dress. “We look crazy.”

He pulls her back down, smirking. “We look like we had a hell of a Valentine’s.”

She rolls her eyes, but the smile she fights is undeniable and futile.

Roman kisses her mouth, fingers tracing slow circles against her hip. “Happy Valentine’s, baby.”

She sighs, nuzzling into him. “Happy Valentine’s, big guy.”

That evening, Naima uploads her Valentine’s Day  video to her Instagram, pairing it with a simple but heartfelt caption:

She sets her phone aside and curls up next to Roman on the couch, not thinking much about it after that. But within hours, the post explodes.

Thousands of likes pour in.

The comments flood in just as fast—friends, dancers from Elysian, fans of both her and Roman, all gushing over the video, over the way their love feels through the screen.

— Y’all are the definition of soulmates 🥰

— THE ROMANCE, I’M CRYING🥹

— Not me watching this 10 times in a row.

— She loves him OUT LOUD, we love to see it.

— This is my favorite couple ever idc idc.

— Roman won at life, fr.

And then Roman finally drops his comment underneath her post.

I love you.

No emojis. No extras. Just those three words. But somehow, it’s the realest, deepest thing he could’ve said.

Naima smiles, clicking on his profile.

And then she sees it.

Roman’s own post.

He’s reposted the video to his page, with a caption that makes her heart stop.

Every day with you is a gift. I love you, @naimurphy ❤️🥰#ForeverMyGirl

The moment it hits his page, the internet erupts.

— ROMAN JUST SHUT THE WHOLE TL DOWN WTF 🤯

— The way he loves her… I wanna experience that just once in my life.

— This man just said ‘mine’ without saying it.

— THE CAPTION THO 😭😭 #ForeverMyGirl

— Naima, you have been CHOSEN 😭

— Roman don’t be posting NOTHINGGG like this, omg 😭 Love is real.

— Their love is my Roman Empire.

— I need a man to repost me with this type of energy or I don’t want it 🙂‍↔️

Naima bites her lip, staring at the screen. The comments, the love, the overwhelming reaction.

Roman watches her from the side, amused. “What’s that look for, baby?”

She shakes her head, grinning. “Nothing. Just trying to figure out how I got so damn lucky.”

Roman smiles wide, tilting her chin up so she’s looking at him. “Nah, baby,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to hers, gentle and soft. “I’m the lucky one.”

THE END...for now.

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all

🏷️: @harmshake @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @vebner37 @thewarlordsworld

@dreamsinfocus @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @jeyusos-girl @iguessilikewrestlingnow

@purplehairgawdess @mohawkmama @po3ticb3auty @alyyaanna @murrylove @tribalhoochie @wrestlingprincess80

@papireigns-05 @vintage-pvssy @bebesobrielo @urasunflower @unfriendly–blvck–hottie

@theninthwonder @tabletheofhead @venusesworld @ariieeesworld @sassginaswanmills

@theglamclosetsl @empressdede @woahdude9481 @browngalmal @crxssjae

@twocentuar @surdelcielo @althegreat33 @alichesmi @eclectic-tee

@joannasteez @whatdoeseverybodywant @puppetmastermya @caramelcleopatraa @femdisa

@megamindsecretlair @headoftheetable @brwnsugababe @heauxvibez @christinabae @potatosackk

@raya-hunter01 @lilucey @aisharmi @neverlookatthisblog @dayaimonee @nayys-world

@kianaleani @digidestned @marasdeathnote @msbluehaz3 @hunnidmilly

@worldwidehoodrat @ariiaeltheedonn @wanderingreigns @sisinever @jaza23

@wrestlingbaby @amandairene88 @romanreignsbae @li-da-savage @thickbihhwitdagapp

@cry1nwhileimcumm1n @2-muchsauce @usoholic @dontcomplicateit @rihanna0607

@jimingotthajams @happy-princes @nymphobabyyx @authenticallymisfitted @sageispunk

@bxrbie1 @octaviastargirl @skyesthebomb @mersers-moonypadfoot-prongs @blueki16

@slutouttanowhere @zabwlky1999 @ayeeitsali @shamaness1171 @mainlyy-danae @mzv11

@misslackey @sayyestoheav3nn @dyttomori @dyttomori02 @kat3457

@zillasvilla @smile1318 @prettyfilmz @trippinsorrows @romansthrone

@wwecrazed2010 @xbriexx @ashyknee @katrinnnn @thedondada05 @luvrsluxe

@shes2real @aldrigmer444 @rose-bliss @jxtina-86 @that-one-anxious-mango

@fearlesschimera @kuromiish @vampygomez @tshepisho @magnificentbouquetmusic @4milly

@disc0fairy @prettybitxhnica @mellybandzz @blveeeeeee @taytropicana @planetch1ld @mayasopinions @tribalchief2112 

@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @n-o-v-a-caine @sexyblacksimper @paigereeder @callmekayd @partypoison00 @originalgeezyy @muzaqueendom @naturally-nikkilynn

[lovelyspring7]

Could we wave a snippet of black pearl? pretty please👉🏻👈🏻

Preview Black Pearl | Yandere JJK x Reader

Preview: Jungkook always got what he wanted. And he wanted you. Dangerous. Obsessive. Unrelenting. You ran, but he was never going to let you stay gone. Because pearls aren’t born from perfection. They’re born from pain. A wound, buried deep, pressed and shaped until it becomes something rare. Precious. And you? You were his pearl. And this time, he won’t let you slip away so easily.

Word count: 17k

Genre: Yandere

Pairing: CEO Billionaire Jungkook x reader.

Warnings: Yandere, smut (praise kink, soft dominance, oral, edging, overstimulation, creampie, mild breath play), stalking, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, manipulation, controlling & emotionally abusive behaviour, self starvation, self inflicted injury.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviour. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Read Part 1 Here | Read Part 2 Here | Read This Part 3 Here

Jungkook couldn’t sleep.

For the third night in a row, the bed felt too cold. Too empty.

The penthouse, with its towering windows and sprawling view of the city, offered no comfort. The soft hum of traffic below only amplified the silence pressing in, the void you’d left behind. The space where you used to sleep, beside him, against him, was untouched. Undisturbed.

The scent of you was already fading. That delicate trace of vanilla, once clinging to his pillows, was now nothing but a phantom he couldn't chase. And still, it haunted him.

His hand drifted across the sheets, fingers searching for a warmth that wasn’t there. How many nights had he held you close, pressing his lips to your hair as you slept, the steady rise and fall of your breath easing something sharp inside him?

Now, there was nothing.

All he had was silence.

He missed your laugh, that soft, breathless sound when he held you too long while watching late-night movies. The way you’d roll your eyes, teasing him for being too clingy.

You were his. Safe. Perfect. Until you weren’t.

And now, the pain in his chest twisted deeper with every hour you were gone.

He had been patient. He had given you space. Three days. Three days too long.

And all it had done was prove what he already knew.

You weren’t safe out there. Not without him.

And if you wouldn’t come back willingly? He’d bring you home himself.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he sat up. His black hair strands over his forehead, messy from restless tossing, the ends curling slightly against his temples. He dragged a hand through it, pushing it back in a slow, frustrated motion.

The pain of your absence wasn’t just a wound.

It was a void.

And he was done waiting.

I just had to post a snippet, so excited for this to get posted! Hopefully on Saturday/Sunday depending on how fast I’ll edit!💜

Taglist♡: @jjinnies @princessdamara13 @goldenmidnight @kimlineownsme @noelletruth @minshookie29 @silversparkles11 @diaryofangie19 @loveitc @potaetopic @taehvluv @samanda-18 @kimyoona03 @staycgia @ggggi133 @imarider @jeonsjiddies @carrotandgarlic @btsmysoulmates @kkjagi @stayblinkarmyatinymoafearnot @sweeth3art999 @babyitscoldoutside @taintaed @lachimolalajeon @eyesforjungkook @kamyyyy @captainengineer-trixie @taekritimin123 @iveivory @llallaaa

[bernardsbendystraws]

RED EYES MOODBOARD

A dealer!chris mini series coming soon…

[xomakara]

[PREVIEW] No Clue

Full Version is released! → Here!!

SUMMARY |  You're in love with Jaehyun, your best friend, but he has no clue. You have suffered in silence as you have watched him date countless of girls left and right. Graduation is coming up, and you are running out of time to tell him how you feel. Will he finally see that it should have been you all along, or will he break your heart forever? PAIRINGS | Jaehyun x Reader GENRE |  college!student!Jaehyun, college!student!Reader, college au, friends to lovers trope, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, dirty talk, oral sex, (other things that might be added) RATING |  Mature LENGTH |  tbd (halfway there ya'll) TAGLIST | let me know if you'd like to be tagged for when I release this! AUTHOR’S NOTE |  Mama Linda is back and ready to feed you with neo food~ This is a small preview of the beginning of the story since I'm about half-way finished with it. 'Walk' comeback has literally fueled my loins and I've become feral for the neo men. Things might change from the preview and the final release, so please be aware of that! Much love 💚

You sat in the coffee shop, tables away from your best friend as you watched him flirt with that pretty girl he met at the latest NCT frat party. It was another girl this week, but you still hoped. You hoped he would turn and look at you. You hoped that he would see that it should be you.

It was never you.

He laughed at something she said and you sipped your tea. The hot liquid scalded your throat but you barely registered the pain, your eyes on Jaehyun, your heart shattering every single time he smiled at her. He would never smile at you like that. He would never look at you with those soft brown eyes.

And yet you continued to sit in the corner, watching, hoping, praying for something you could never have.

You got up and walked past them, ignoring Jaehyun's questioning glance. Your head was down as you pushed open the door and stepped out into the hot summer air.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet. The heels you wore were a nuisance today, and you kicked them off halfway through the walk, your feet now padding barefoot across the concrete. You could see a group of guys approaching and you sighed, picking up your pace. You didn’t want to have to talk to anyone.

The group stopped and turned towards you, calling out. You could hear their footsteps following and you bit back a curse.

“Y/N, seriously, are you listening to us?” One of the guys, Mark, said.

You slowed your pace and turned, plastering a smile on your face.

Mark stood before you, Taeyong, Johnny and Haechan close behind. You knew them from high school. You had been friends, and you had always found them attractive. But nothing, nothing, compared to how you felt about Jaehyun.

Your eyes drifted to the ground.

“Who made our girl cry?” Taeyong asked, wrapping his arms around you. He could see through your fake smile.

You couldn't help but relax into him and rest your head on his shoulder. He rubbed your back gently.

The others came forward and touched you gently, Mark taking one of your hands, Johnny placing a hand on your head, and Haechan standing beside you and taking your other hand.

You didn’t want to cry anymore.

They held you for a while, silent. They had known for years about how you felt about Jaehyun. You couldn’t count the number of times you had called Taeyong, crying and begging him to come and hold you, the number of times Johnny had taken you for coffee or to the cinema, anything to get you out of your apartment and away from the sight of Jaehyun with someone else. Mark had sat up with you late at night, watching bad romcoms and eating popcorn. Haechan had brought you a new book every single day since the start of university, and you knew that the reason you had done so well was because of him.

They helped you through your worst times. And here they were again.

You finally stepped back, looking up at them and wiping the last of the tears away.

“Another girl this time?” Haechan asked softly.

“The one Yuta introduced him to at the last frat party.” You sighed, running your hand through your hair. "I've got all dolled up today thinking that something was different, that maybe today would be the day when he suddenly asked to meet me at the coffee shop alone. But I guess it was to introduce me to whatever her name was."

The boys stayed silent.

"Why don't you just tell him how you feel?" Johnny asked quietly.

You shook your head.

"He doesn't need to know. I'm okay." You sighed. "Besides, no matter how much I wear pretty clothes or put on makeup, or wear these stupid heels like always...he never looks my way. He never sees me. I must be ugly or something, I don't know."

"You are beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to have you." Haechan whispered.

"You guys are the best." You smiled and kissed their cheeks.

"Why don't we have a movie night? We can get pizza and snacks and just chill." Johnny smiled, linking his arm with yours.

"Drinks included?" You asked, your heart a little lighter than it had been a few moments ago.

"Of course." Mark laughed.

"And popcorn, lots of it." Taeyong grinned.

You walked with them back to your apartment, smiling and laughing at their jokes, letting yourself relax and forget about Jaehyun, at least for a little while.

Haechan opened your front door, grinning.

"Let's get wasted!" He whooped, making a beeline to the cabinet that you had stored all your drinks.

"Get some glasses." Mark laughed, following the younger boy.

You and Johnny made your way into the living room and dropped down onto the couch. Taeyong came back from the kitchen with plates and napkins, placing them on the table and sitting beside you.

Haechan and Mark carried all the drinks and snacks to the table and sat on the floor, sorting out the snacks.

You smiled, grateful for the four men in front of you. You would have gone mad without them.

The night was going well, you were sat between Taeyong and Johnny on the couch, leaning on Johnny and giggling as the film continued. Haechan was curled up on the other side of the couch, half asleep. Mark had disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a huge bowl of popcorn and settling on the floor next to Haechan.

Your phone buzzed and you frowned, looking down and seeing Jaehyun's name. You groaned and threw the phone to the other side of the couch, turning your attention back to the film.

"Don't you want to see what he wants?" Taeyong asked softly.

"Nope." You popped the 'p' and took another sip of your drink. "He can go fuck himself."

"He's texted you like a hundred times already." Haechan frowned, holding the phone out to you.

"So?"

"Y/N, just look. It could be important."

You groaned and snatched the phone from him, opening the messages and rolling your eyes.

Jae: Are you mad at me?

Jae: Seriously, you can't ignore me forever. Please reply. What the fuck did I do wrong? You are my best friend, talk to me.

Jae: This is not fucking funny. What is wrong with you?

"What's wrong with me?" You looked away from your phone, letting out a frustrated sigh as you passed your phone to Mark.

"You want me to reply?" Mark asked.

"Nope. Just turn off my phone. I don't care how many messages he leaves me." You got up, downing your drink. "I'm going to get more alcohol."

"You are going to regret this in the morning." Johnny called.

"At this point, I don't fucking care. I'm done with this. He wants to date the whole world then that's up to him. Not my fault."

You stumbled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of vodka and poured a good amount into your cup, and making your way back to the guys. "I'll regret it later, but right now, I'm getting absolutely, fucking trashed."

The movie finished, and you had drunk more than enough alcohol to kill a horse.

You were lying on the couch, the others sitting around you.

"I don't want to be in love anymore. Why can't I stop?" You slurred, your eyes closed as you lay across the couch, your head on Johnny's lap and your feet in Haechan's.

"There will be someone else. Someone better." Johnny stroked your hair, smiling softly.

"I hope so. I really fucking do." You sighed.

You were drunk, you were sad, and you had cried a lot. But you were also tired.

And within minutes, you were asleep.

Jaehyun was worried. He had texted you, and called you. His texts went unanswered, his calls went straight to voicemail, and everyone else that was with you weren't answering his texts.

"What the fuck is going on with everyone tonight?" He muttered, throwing his phone onto his bed and falling onto the pillows.

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling and wondering why you wouldn't talk to him. He had seen you walk out of the cafe, and had wondered why you hadn't waited for him, why you had left so quickly.

He had wanted to ask, but had been distracted by the pretty girl that was sitting in front of him.

He couldn't deny that she was gorgeous and that he liked the way her dress clung to her figure.

But she wasn't you.

Jaehyun sighed and looked at his phone. The girl, Minah, had asked him out, and he had said yes.

She was the most recent in a long line of girls, all of whom had asked him out. He could barely remember their names. They were just something to occupy his time, something to fill the void in his chest when his mind drifted back to you. You, his beautiful best friend, who probably doesn't think of him as anything but a friend.

Jaehyun could imagine holding you, loving you, kissing you until your lips are red and swollen, only pulling away to pepper your skin in small, soft kisses that make you giggle. He wanted to be able to run his fingers through your hair, kiss the top of your head as he pulls you against him. He could see you wrapped up in his arms as the sun comes up, your soft breaths against his skin, your fingertips gently dancing across his body.

He wanted to be with you, wanted you in his life, not these random, forgettable girls. But he didn't know how to tell you, and so he resigned himself to this half-life.

He grabbed his phone and called you again, but still it rang and rang until finally the voicemail picked up. He didn’t bother leaving another message, knowing that you were deliberately not answering.

He knew that he should probably let you be, but the worry was building inside him. He was concerned. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

It was almost 2 am and you still hadn't replied to him.

Jaehyun stood up, his mind made up. He grabbed his keys, jacket, phone, wallet, and made his way out of his apartment to head to yours.

He walked slowly, thinking about you, wondering what had happened today. Had he done something wrong? Why had you left the coffee shop without him?

He reached your apartment, surprised that the lights were still on.

He knocked loudly, waiting impatiently for someone to answer the door.

After a moment, the door opened, and Mark stood in the doorway. "Hey, can't this wait? She's asleep."

"Is she okay?" Jaehyun tried to push past the shorter man, but Mark stopped him.

"Look, man, just go home. She doesn't want to talk to you." Mark sighed.

Jaehyun gave him a look. "Why the fuck not? I'm her best friend."

"Well, you have a fucking shitty way of showing it. Do you even know what you have put her through?" Johnny walked up behind Mark and glared at Jaehyun.

Jaehyun paused. "What are you talking about?"

"You are her best friend and you are so blind that you can't see what is right in front of your eyes." Johnny continued.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jaehyun furrowed his eyebrows.

"For fucks sake." Johnny sighed. "Go home, Jae. Leave her alone for now."

"Tell her I'll call her tomorrow. I'll be back to check on her." Jaehyun turned and walked away, his head full of confusion.

Mark and Johnny shared a look.

"This is getting out of hand." Mark muttered.

"It'll work out. Let's get back inside. She needs us."

They closed the door and walked back into the living room, the others glancing at them.

"Is he gone?" Haechan asked.

"Yeah, for now. But I don't know how much longer we can keep this up. If he doesn't realize how she feels soon, it will destroy her." Mark sighed.

Taeyong moved from his seat and sat on the floor next to Haechan. "How many girls has he been with now?" He asked.

"I've lost count. There was the girl at the party last week, the one with the green dress. He dated her for two days before he realized that she wasn't going to give him anything other than her time. Then there was that blonde girl, she was nice, lasted a couple of weeks." Mark listed the girls that Jaehyun had brought around and introduced to you.

"How many of those girls did he fuck?" Haechan asked.

"Too many." Mark sighed.

"And she watches them all. She sits and listens to them talk about their dates and the things they've done, and she never says anything. She pretends to be happy for him, pretends that she is okay." Johnny looked over at your sleeping form.

"This needs to end." Haechan frowned. "Can't we just lock them in a room or something? Let them fuck it out or something? Surely it has to happen at some point."

"I'm with him." Taeyong looked at the rest of them.

"That...I guess that would work." Johnny nodded slowly.

"I could knock her out." Mark stood. "Give her something to drink, make it sweet or something... I could pick her up, put her somewhere..."

"No, Mark. No." Taeyong stopped him. "I'm pretty sure drugging her is illegal, even if you are doing it for a good cause. We don't need you getting arrested as well."

"Fine, fine." Mark threw his hands up and flopped down beside Haechan.

"Doesn't have to be drug-free." Haechan suggested.

"Again, Hae, not helping. We need Y/N and Jaehyun conscious if this is to go ahead." Johnny explained patiently.

"Yo, isn't the summer frat party coming up? We could lock them up in the laundry room since the door lock is broken?" Mark asked. “Like that shit won’t unlock from the inside.”

"Who knows what they could do then...no, wait. What if we kept them under a watch, like literally, all the time, until the frat party. At which point, we shove him in with her and she will have nowhere to escape to." Johnny sat up straight, eyes wide, an excited smile on his face.

"Okay. So far we have a plan to trap them at a frat party, and make sure they won't have any outside influences." Taeyong leaned back.

"Any other suggestions before we call this a success?" Johnny asked.

"Don't get caught." Haechan replied, grinning.

"Don't. Get. Caught." The others nodded.

[thisismeracing]

Falling (asleep) | LH44 (patreon)

read the full piece here

* part of the 'falling' universe

― Pairing: stepdad!lewis x single mom!reader ― Warning: mentions of alcohol and food; single!mom reader; she/her pronouns to reader; 1k2 words. ― Summary: You had dinner with a few friends, and Leo loved the fact that Lewis was included - so much so, that he wanted his new favorite pilot to tuck him in bed and read him to sleep.

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

preview

Though you tried your best to keep the house tidy, it was one of the hardest jobs in the world when one had a toddler in said house. And you just happened to have a hurricane toddler who loved all things toys and random objects such as your pillows, the remote, a colorful spoon you got during vacation, and so on. That’s partially the reason why the living room was brimming with scattered toys the moment Lewis rang the bell. That and because you wanted to rest the few hours you had free that Saturday considering you were about to receive a few friends and cook them dinner. 

“Hi,” the Brit breathed when you opened the door wearing a simple pair of slacks and a red camisole. You looked stunning in his eyes, especially how your curly hair framed your face free from the pins and gel you used here and there for work.

“Is it Lew?!” Leo screeched from his spot on the carpet and jumped over a few car toys running to the threshold. 

“It’s me, champ, how’s it going?” Lewis crouched down and your toddler circled as much as his little arms could around the Brit’s strong neck.

****

You were getting a few more snacks in the kitchen only to be surprised by Leo dozing off in Lewis’ arms when you crossed the threshold to the living room. He looked at you from the couch with a smile on his face, seemingly comfortable with the fact that your kid spent half of the night glued to his side and now was just seconds away from drooling on his shirt. 

“I’m sorry, you whispered, but Lewis just shook his head, and gently ruffled Leo’s curls. You crouched in front of them, shaking your son softly. “Time to go to bed, love.”

“Can Uncle Lew put me to bed?” Leo mumbled, tightening his hold on Lewis' forearm. You felt your face and heart warm, but cold in fear at the same time.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I hope you guys liked this lil sneak peek! Make sure to like and reblog if you did *mwah* and PLEASE, LET’S INDULGE IN THIS UNIVERSEEEE BECAUSE I LOVE STEPDAD!LEW. Once again thanks to my coffee emoji anon for proofreading yet another piece, ily c! <3

If you liked this piece and want early access to new ones and exclusive access to others, subscribe to my patreon!💘  ▸ check my main masterlist | patreon guide and my taglist.

©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

[jittersbitters]

Ive hit 4K and taking a break to eat. Have another Vik x reader smut snippet while I wait for more coffee to brew (its only midnight). On that 2nd cup and my drink isn't the only thing getting steamy.

Part 3 is already being outlined and I'm thinking Heimerdinger's lab or Hoskels house 🤭

Part 1 Here

“In.” His thumb started to stroke between my shoulder blades as his breath fanned the side of my face, voice a low thrum in my ear. My breath hitched as I felt myself gravitate toward him, eyeing him from the corners of my vision. My heart starting to make its nervous ascent up my throat again. “What?” “It’s incautious.” His corrected with a self-satisfied smile, delighting in my surprise as his hand shifted up to thumb at the cord wrapping around my neck to hold up the front of my dress. He played with it, running the finger along the stack, his hand resting at the base of my neck. Holding me gently as he guided me away from the increasingly crowded table, deliberately closing any lingering distance between us as our sides came together. “How do you say…” We were so close he only needed to murmur, “The student becomes the master.” A rush of heat coursed through me, breath hitching in my throat. The cord around my neck felt suddenly too tight, and I weakly pulled with it in search of relief. His thumb slid under the cords in response, relieving some of the pressure from the back. Simultaneously, pulling them into my throat, the contrast made my insides twist and flutter. Did he know just what he was doing? “Viktor—"

I seemed to have devolved in the tags. Read at your own risk teehee

[everybody-scream-fxck]

FANFIC PREVIEW - Smile For The Camera But Don't Flash Your Teeth 1 - Coffinshipping

So this was originally for a fic fest in a writing server I'm in but I wasn't going to be able to make the maximum word count limit work (I was going way over) so I decided to swap it from the event with another fic. This one is a lot of fun and I really am having a blast with it.

This is from chapter two, just a silly little bit with Strahm being a puppy. This has had its first edit but is still what I would consider raw.

---

“I know, but you're gracious like that.” With that, her hand dropped off of his head, “Get on in there. I know you have work to do.”

And work he did. As soon as the door was closed behind him, he started with the side of the office he had claimed as his from the start. Rubbing across the carpet and his chair alike, he probably looked a sight and a half; nobody would believe that this was his first order of business in this office. This was the kind of thing that people put up on YouTube about their werewolf counterparts, but there was nobody here to record him. Once he'd finished with his side of the office, though, he found himself gazing at Mark's with a scrutinizing, frustrated eye. The floor's scent was still off, and he didn't like the chemical aroma of the glue.

When Lindsey arrived with the smorgasbord she'd ordered for Peter's lunch, he was neck down on the floor, scooting across it comically. She stood in the doorway for a moment with her hands full of fast food bags, one eyebrow raised. The second the pressure changed in the room, he looked up and she swore he paled visibly in front of her despite the fur.

“The smell?” 

“The smell.”

[my-dark-lord]

Fanfic preview: Vox ❤️

One ❤️ = One Sentence From Any WIP!

Okay, this one is from one I need to edit! It's VoxVal, and called Where I Lay My Head!

---

It would be a simple undress and lay down kind of night, apparently; he may not even fold his clothes.

[smashing-teacups]

Wee Preview: A Breath of Snow and Christmas Chapter 3

A/N: I mean... it's been a hot minute since I'd written a proper sex scene for these two, so I thought maybe I'd ease into it, you know, keep it on the Mature side, not Explicit...

*snort laugh* Yeah, have you met Jamie and Claire? That lasted about fifteen seconds.

Look for this chapter to drop mid-December!

---------

A loud, trilling notification from Claire’s phone made us both startle back with a jolt, each turning in opposite directions to laugh. Cheeks flaming, I wet my lips and scrubbed a hand over my face as she looked down at the message that had broken the moment.

“No Drivers Available,” she read aloud in an irritated monotone. “We’re very sorry, but no drivers were available for your scheduled ride. Please try requesting another car.”

“Ah.”

“Let me try Lyft—” she said at the same moment I offered, “You could just stay here—”

Her eyes snapped up to mine.

Swallowing thickly, I amended, “I can sleep on the couch, of course. I dinna mind at all.”

Something shifted in her irises as I watched. Little by little, the black of her pupils began to bleed outward into pools of molten gold. I could only stare, transfixed, as desire smoldered in her gaze; as my body responded in kind, aching and stretching and throbbing in my cock, searing my lungs until I could scarcely breathe.

“What if I mind?” she whispered as her eyes drifted to the open button on my shirt. Her fingertips lifted to brush the skin bared there, her pinky just skimming the edge of the button beneath. The touch was a question, plain as the one she’d spoken aloud. 

This time, there was no hesitation before I crushed her against me and kissed her mouth open like a man starved.

Every inch of Claire Beauchamp was meant to be worshipped: the long white column of her neck, the down-soft earlobes, the dimple in her chin, the curve of jaw and collarbone and sternum and God, God, her breasts… 

I couldn’t devour her fast enough. 

Whenever I’d fantasized about our first time together, I’d always pictured a slow, deliberate exploration of her body, taking the opportunity to savor every inch of her. Never in my wildest dreams had I pictured her as fevered like this, frantic — scrambling to get my clothes off, gripping the roots of my hair, her tongue dueling hot and urgent with mine. 

Claire didn’t have any interest in me being gentle with her. 

[munsonburn3r]

Oh, Camellia, won't you take me away? - A Hanahaki!Eddie Munson story (sneak peek!)

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie munson had been a constant during your short time in hawkins, indiana, which made it that much harder when you had to leave. four years and a clinical trial later, you'd thought you'd conquered an otherwise fatal disease. what you weren't expecting, though, was the man that nearly killed you to walk back into your life, threatening to undo all of the progress you'd made towards healing - both physically and emotionally.

cw: hanahaki!au, angst, descriptions of light gore, childhood trauma, sexual themes and content

a/n: here is a snippet from the hanahaki eddie fic that has been bouncing around in my brain over the past week. feedback welcomed!

Water flowed out across the floor in a surge that mimicked crashing ocean waves. You cursed as you scrambled to right the plastic Procona and liquid sloshed awkwardly, lapping at your fingertips. It was a surprising amount from a relatively small bucket. 

“Everything alright out there?” called a gruff voice from the back office. 

You sighed. “Just fine, Bill! Minor spill. Nothing major.”

A muffled grumble could be heard from the owner’s space behind you, but you paid it no mind. It only took a few steps for you to grab the mop and start cleaning up the water all over the workspace floor, and to your relief, it really wasn’t as much as it seemed. 

The nearly four years you’d spent at Indiana Floral Company had seemed to fly by in a blink of an eye. You weren’t expecting an on the spot interview when you’d first stopped into the shop, but the owner Bill had been impressed at your willingness to learn and your natural eye for design and hired you immediately. Probationary, of course. 

So under Bill’s tutelage, your floral design skills blossomed. The basic knowledge of plants you’d brought from years of spending time gardening with your Grandma grew. You went from simply identifying lilies to knowing the difference between Asiatic and Oriental and their best growing seasons. You could identify roses based on subtle color differences and had learned how to take the most tightly closed bud and blow it open with a little humidity, a plastic bag, and very careful preening. And though you didn’t like to brag, you could match corsage ribbon to prom dresses better than anyone in town. 

As time wore on, Bill had shared that years of design had wrecked his body and that it was time to begin passing the torch. Since Indiana Floral Company was one of the top floral design studios in town, the responsibility embedded in passing said torch was sobering. But after a year and a half of earning your stripes, you landed a head designer role and began training to take over the small family business.

Humming a nondescript tune, you refilled the earlier bucket with water and flower food before chopping the ends off of a bunch of de-thorned roses with the guillotine-like stem cutter. A clunk thrummed out when you dropped the two dozen stems into the water. Each blossom peered at you with a center like a curled eye — delicate sandy cream — perfect for the event you were designing later this weekend. 

A ring of the bells on the front door broke your focus. You wiped your hands on the rag shoved haphazardly into your apron and turned at the sudden sound of Bill’s voice. 

“The 1:30 initial wedding consult must be early. You mind taking this one, kid?” His head peeked around the office door. “I started the file – it’s on the cash wrap.” He looked tired; the man should have retired two years ago. 

With a slight smile, you nodded. “Got it.”

It was impossible to see who had entered due to the amount of plants, gift items, and displays you’d designed around the small space (“customers shop with their eyes first, kid; you gotta draw them in before you let them see the price tag” Bill had said). But as soon as you rounded the front display, your stomach dropped clear out of your body and onto the floor. 

Maybe it was the habitual need to weave around the labyrinth of flora and gifts that had lowered your defenses. Or perhaps it was the fact that this was a typical boring Wednesday afternoon in April. Hell, it could have been the questionable sandwich you had for lunch that you found at the back of the minifridge. 

But one thing was clear: you hadn’t expected to see Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham hand in hand looking around at the array of merchandise you’d set out in preparation for Mother’s Day. 

“Hi!” A saccharine voice matched the sickeningly sweet smile on the strawberry blonde in front of you. “We’re here for a wedding consultation at 1:30. Sorry we’re a bit early — we didn’t want to be late!”

Time stood still. Or maybe that was just you — frozen as you stared the couple down with a look of surprise plastered across your features. You didn’t think you could move (or even speak, for that matter).

However, for the first time in almost four years, you felt your chest tighten and a sharp prickling sensation snake up your windpipe. You licked your dry lips (hadn’t you just put on chapstick?) and attempted to swallow with no success. Instead, your throat constricted, and there it was: an involuntary, yet ever so familiar metallic cough.

image credit: pinterest dividers: @saradika-graphics

tagging some moots that might be interested: @chickpeadumpsterfire @voyeurmunson @joshlmbrt @mediocredreams @littlexdeaths @anamelessfool

[dragonpyre]

Never done a fic preview before but HERE I GO. Fic in question being this one where Jason, upon being resurrected, believes himself to be a clone of the real Jason Todd (btw, totally @oifaaa's fault)

“I, uh.” Jason swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, heart beating wildly under his breastbone. Why did this have to be so hard? He’d never even met this man! Just had memories from a dead boy. He didn’t want to say what came next. He didn’t want to ruin that one glimmer of elatement that had blossomed in the man before him. But it wasn’t fair not to. To let him believe what stood before him was what he’d lost when it wasn’t. Jason was nothing more than a gross mockery of this family's grief. And they didn’t deserve that. Swallowing again, he forced the condemning words out his mouth. “I think someone stole his body,” he choked out. “And they used it to make a clone.” Alfred’s face had gone white as a sheet. “And how would you know this?” “Because I’m that clone.”

[bernardsbendystraws]

Introducing…

RED EYES

Dealer!Chris mini-series coming soon…

This series will have 6 or less parts. I am aiming for 3 but they may be longer. I’m so excited to share this one with you guys! Here’s the playlist for it…

[mandareeboo]

Fanfic Preview: "World's Greatest Actor"

Title: World's Greatest Actor

Summary: Stan does his greatest con yet: pretending he remembers his family.

He's quickly realizing that forgetting his memory didn't make him forget how much he cares about these people. He starts to make two mental piles- stuff Stanley knew, and stuff Stan knows. He knows the kinds of TV he likes. He knows that he enjoys counting cards, and there's a tickle in the back of his throat from what he guesses is a need to smoke. Things he's done every day of his life aren't missing, just the memories associated with them.

So he sneaks into his office. Gotta be clues in an office, right?

The place is a wreck. A big safe is indented into the floor (he'll have to crack it later- important shit in a safe), fractured bookshelves with piles of books on business and physics all over the room, upturned boxes and a beaten-up old printer. Stan carefully picks up every single piece of paper he can find, cursing his sore back, before flopping into an overstuffed chair.

He finds out a lot. Mostly about the Mystery Shack. He's clearly been running this scheme for a long time- and it's a good one, considering the numbers. A lot of tax loopholes he's pretty sure aren't entirely legal, but fuck the government and the cops. There's a garishly big picture of himself on the wall, torn in places from all the hell this house has been through, and he checks it just to see if there's anything behind it. Nothing.

Then he finds the IDs. Stan wonders, aimlessly, why he hadn't chucked them out. It's damning evidence. There's an old monitor and keyboard under the desk that he's pretty sure wasn't part of the office originally, dusty and badly-kept, but he's not quite as bad at computers as the kids seem to think he is, so he flicks the button and powers the thing on. He looks himself up. All of himself.

Stan doesn't find a lot- lazy ass cops didn't bother putting old criminal records online unless they had a reason- but there's enough he knows he did a stint in Columbia and a couple of more out-there crimes (what did the llama know, anyway?). He's been featured in numerous articles by a Shandra Jimenez, so he takes a risk and shoots her an email. She gets back to him with all the footage she has of him- something about storing it on a cloud for when he keeled over, or something.