#getting ready for the blood bath that will be the men's even in a few hours

[writersdrug]

COD men period comfort? 🥺

The way my period started right as I finished this... also, I have Endometriosis, so I wrote this with the idea that periods are very heavy and painful for the reader, sometimes making them bedridden. Shit's rough 🙃

CoD Headcannons: Comforting You While You're on Your Period

Fluff, slight nsfw, mentions of cramps and blood, mentions of fingerings, no "period? What's that?" behavior, these men are all educated, mentions of food anxiety, female anatomy

Captain John Price

If this was a competition, Price would be the winner. He doesn't need to look at your tracker app to know it's around the corner, he recognizes the signs immediately. As soon as you begin to dissociate for more than a minute or two, accompanied by your grumbles of how you've been craving junk food lately, he knows it's coming.

He's very intuitive when it comes to your needs. He knows you'll want to call out of work the first few days, so he does it for you. That way, you won't be stressing over it the night before. He plugs in your heating pad (leaving the setting on off, for now), so it's ready when you need it. He fills your water bottle with cold water, he fills the nightstand drawer with iron and protein laden snacks, and he puts a fresh box of your preferred pain medication in there as well. The bathroom is stocked with pads/tampons, and he even makes sure that the remote to the telly is on the nightstand.

He forces you to stretch every morning. It's the one time he ignores your protests and drags you out of bed, insisting you would feel much better - and he was right every time. He'd have you sit with your feet pointed forwards, bending your back until you could touch your toes.

"Gonna join me, John?"

"Psh, you know I'd snap like a twig, love."

Then he'd have you on your hands and knees, kneeling beside you and slowly guiding you to stretch your arms and arch your back, keeping your bum in the air (let's be honest, he doesn't kneel behind you for this because he'd be keeping you in that position for a different reason). He'd have a hand on your lower back, whispering small praises as you groaned from the relief. Once you were in that position, convincing you to get up was another hassle.

He understands that you can have mood swings - he always reminds you that communication is best, and even if you aren't sure what you want, you should still talk to him. Let him know if you're feeling too overstimulated, if his presence is a bit too overbearing in that moment, or if you want him there - whether that's sitting in a chair next to the bath while you take a soak, his hand running over your hair, or if he's cradling you in bed, hands gently massaging your abdomen/lower back.

You feel a bit silly, sometimes - being treated like a porcelain doll. As you promised him you would, you communicate with John that you feel bad that he's pampering you so much, and that you can't exactly return the favour at the moment. He'd listen, never shushing you or interrupting you, and at the end of your venting, he'd assure you that not only is this his obligation as your partner, but it's also something he enjoys doing - looking after you when you need it most.

As for making it up? "We'll explore what options there are when you're feeling up t' it" (He's talking about ovulation week).

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You tell Gaz when your period is coming. He's not as intuitive as Price, but he appreciates that you let him know, and he helps you plan for the next few days. You go shopping together, stocking up on snacks, meds, and Liquid IV (Gaz had originally introduced you to it, and now it's an essential when you're on your period).

He once bought you a period massager that you found online. You thought it was the best invention ever, with both a massage and a heat setting, but it never could compare to Gaz's hands. You eventually ended up putting it on a shelf in the closet after telling him through tears, all while he massaged your stomach, that it felt like you were replacing him, and you hated it. You wanted to throw the damn thing away, but he convinced you that you might change your mind later.

Gaz treats this time of the month like it's the most normal thing in the world. Of course, he pampers you, giving you cuddles when you want them and helping you through the emotional shipwreck in your mind, but he knows you don't like feeling like you're helpless. So he does it all in the most nonchalant way possible. He'll play video games with you as the both of you lounge in bed; whenever you want a snack, he grabs one for himself (partially because you mentioned once that you don't like eating by yourself, partially because he's always hungry).

He refers to your period in different ways each time it comes around. "Is it shark week?" "I got you some more tampons, babe, for the ritual." Or, his favorite, when he sees you scowling at your period tracker app: "Ya got mad cow disease again, luv?"

He'll watch true crime with you per your request, but he's not thrilled about it. You've had to correct him multiple times that it's not about the killing, it's about the mystery of solving each murder that intrigues you. More often than not, you'll look up from where you're laying on his chest, and he'll be watching the telly with a grimace.

"What's wrong, Kyle?"

"It was the landlord - guy looks fishy, and his alibi is shit."

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

Johnny understands what a period is - he's a smart man. However, when it comes to your cravings and raging emotions, he's like a devil on your shoulder. If you thought you were impulsive during this time of the month, he only adds fuel to the fire.

He comes back after a trip to the grocery store, announcing that he purchased everything you need for the next few days. The "everything" in question? Crisps, wine, and candy (your favorite candy, sure, but not much chocolate). You don't have the heart to tell him that, while you enjoy all the snacks and alcohol he bought, it's not necessarily the best food for your period - although, the part of your brain that was craving it was thanking him over and over.

You would be lying on top of him on the sofa, the telly playing a show that had been neglected by the both of you. He'd be rubbing your lower back with one hand and massaging your scalp with the other, listening to you as you tearfully explained how much you missed your childhood family dog, a husky named Janet.

"- and she was so cuddly and protective- *sniff*- and she- did I tell you, she used to howl when I cried, like- like she was crying with me? God, I miss her-"

"Sweetheart, why don' we just get ye a pup, eh? A husky, just like Janet, and ye can both howl together whenever ye feel like it."

"No- *sniff*- no, Johnny, we shouldn't-"

"Why not? It'll keep ye company when ah'm away. Ah've always wanted a pup myself, y'know."

It really didn't take much more convincing than that. The next day, Johnny was walking into the flat, holding a husky pup cradled in one arm, and a bag of dog toys and food in the other. You had already forgotten his suggestion to get the dog, and would have scolded him for being so impulsive, but the cuteness aggression had already set in. You squealed and ran over to Johnny, crying happy tears between peppering his face with kisses and cooing at the puppy. He had the proudest smile on his face, seeing how much happier you looked compared to the day before.

Oh, and if you tell this man your breasts are sore? He's running across the room, fast enough to break the sound barrier, to offer you a helping hand (or two).

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon has to remind himself that, when you're on your period, you don't always think logically. He's extremely patient with you, but he isn't the best with words. Or, rather, he isn't well-versed in the backwards rationality that comes with your period.

"Simon, can we get Chinese?"

"Sure, luvie, if you want it."

"Will you eat some?"

"Honestly, 'm not really hungry. But we can get what you want."

"... no, I'm ok. Nevermind."

"Wha'? Why not?"

"I don't need it."

Simon still doesn't understand why you won't eat without him, but he knows not to question it. He does, however, order your favorite takeout anyways, and he'll feed it to you if you still insist that you don't want it. He may steal a bite or two if you let him.

Like every good partner, he understands what a period is, and he understands the pain and frustration it causes you. He's still never entirely sure of how to help you, and he often doubts that he's being helpful at all. But that's where his military experience came in clutch: you tell him what to do, and he does it. You want to cuddle? "Scoot over f' me, luv." You want time alone? No worries, he can do some of his own work, just shout if you need him. You're running low on tampons and medication? He'll drop whatever he's doing and run to the corner store for it.

Massage KING, and he doesn't even know it. He huffs and says you're just trying to flatter him when you tell him how good at it he is. He treats you like you're in a spa, too: he dims the lights, he makes you wear an eye mask, he'll turn on the fan because he knows you love the white noise... he'll kneel behind you as you lay on your stomach, and this man will deliver the most tender, slow, and soothing massage of your life. His hands are already so huge and warm, and he somehow flawlessly works you into a drooling puddle each time.

He can't lie: seeing you there, passed out and snoring, no longer complaining about your aches and pains, fills him with just as much pride as it does relief. He's happy you're feeling well enough to rest, and that he's the one to get you there. He'll slowly get up, covering your lower back with the heating blanket, before leaving to replenish your thermos with tea.

König

Whenever you mention that your period is coming soon, he always panics a little. König is a strong soldier, not bothered or phased by much. But when it comes to you, he hates knowing that you're in pain, and that he can't do anything to fix it (despite how often you assure him that he's helping).

This man goes all out. He fills the fridge with healthy, colorful fruits and vegetables, meat, and a pitcher of your favorite drink. He has your heating pad ready to go by your bedside, along with two thermoses, one of hot tea and one of ice-cold water. He sets up a small tray in the bathroom with tampons, pads, fresh underwear, and even a few pairs of shorts. He has a fan in the corner of the room, pointed at the bed and ready to go if you need it. He even takes off work for a few days - he refuses to leave your side when you're in pain.

Like Ghost, he likes being told what to do. If you ask him to turn on the fan, to turn off the lights, or to refill your thermos, he's up and doing it before you can finish your sentence. He hangs on your every word like it might be your last (you'd think with how he acts while you're on your period, you might be dying). He snuggles you every second you're in bed, and despite it being a bit warm, you don't mind the constant affection.

He cooks for you no less than twice daily, and this man can COOK. In no way, shape, or form does König skimp on seasonings and portion sizes when it comes to you. He carries you to the kitchen and sits you on the counter so he can keep an eye on you while he prepares you a hearty, nutritious meal (he needs to make sure you're eating well, schatz, but he'll let you scrounge for lunch, if that's what you really want). Sits with you at the dining table and holds your hand while the both of you eat, listening to you talk. If neither of you have anything to say, or if you're dissociating, he'll just sit and enjoy the silence with you, occasionally brushing your hair from your face and leaning over to kiss your cheek.

Sometimes, he'll do some of his work in bed with you, if he absolutely can't put it off any longer. You were once snuggled up to him, half asleep in the crook of his arm as he typed away on his laptop. He would occasionally rub his large hand over your lower stomach if he heard you groaning in pain from your cramps.

"Schnuki?"

"Mm?"

"Do you want me to finger you?"

That just about made you bolt upright like a rocket. "What?!"

He pointed to his screen. "Everyone says it makes you feel better, no?"

"König, um..." You didn't hate the idea, but didn't he? "I thought you were working?"

"C'mon, liebe-" he closed his computer and put it on the nightstand, rolling on top of you. "Relax for me, I'll make you feel good..."

Please just let this man take care of you and tell him he's doing a good job, it's all he wants.

[darknessisafriend]

Commodus x reader NSFW Headcanons

Since some of you request it, here's some nsfw hc for our favorite emperor. I tried to write it so you could imagine both female or male reader <3

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Commodus would get extra cuddly, snuggled against your chest, all soft and quiet. He would remain in the blissful state for a while, simply enjoying feeling your skin against his, your heartbeat slowing down just like your breathing. Often, he would fall asleep almost immediately, he was so sleep deprived that with you he was relaxed enough to finally recover some. If he didn’t fall asleep, he would call for a maid to bring a few snacks and ask for the baths to be ready. Sometimes even carrying you there, so you two could relax your sore muscles/spots; but that would be rare, he was too sleep deprived.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

Commodus is a man who, for a long time didn’t really have a favorite body part, it was rather the opposite. He wasn’t that tall for a roman, he had a slight deformity of a shoulder blade, hale lip…that would be until you showed him that these traits made him who he is and was part of his charm. He would grow fond of his hair, thick and curly, soft under your touch, the way you grabbed them when he was between your thighs or the way you caressed them while cuddling. As the body part he prefers with you, it would be your lips, the way you smiled, called his name oh so needily, your tender kisses on his skin.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Commodus would love to make you taste him, watch you lick his fingers covered in his seed, your delighted expression. He would be able to moan from the sight itself, then kiss your lips, tasting how bad you were imprinted by him.

He would also enjoy to cum on your belly, he kinda has a breeding kink, anyway he loves the idea of having an heir, children, a family of his own. He would also feel rather blessed that you want this from him, his babies, his blood, whatever woman or man, that wouldn’t stop him from dreaming.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I’ll give you two! He loves to bottom with men, to be handled, pleasured mercilessly. He likes to keep your undergarments, in a pocket, when he is missing your presence romantically or sexually, he would take it out and close his eyes as he inhaled your scent, burying his nose in your panties.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

I don’t think Commodus would be thatexperienced actually. He is the kind of boy to brag about past sexual experiences to feel like he belongs, to blend in with people. But in truth, he is speaking about things he heard or read of. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what he is doing, the matter interests him a lot; from the starts he wants to be able to please you the best he can.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Commodus would love it when you ride his face, he would ask it of you almost every time.  He would look at you from below, the way you bit your lower lip as you face fucked him, almost choking him between your thighs, his hands kneading your butt cheeks, humming at your taste, the way your legs trembled as you reached climax.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

The first times of your relationship Commodus would be rather serious, you are the first to give him true attention, he takes that as seriously as the Empire. But he has that boyish spirit; with time he would get more relaxed, loving to tease you throughout the day, edging you during sex, giggling at your whimpers, your helplessness, loving that sweet torture, he only could give you.  Afterwards he would often joke, loving to tickle you as you cuddled.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Commodus would be very well groomed, first, because he is a roman, they had a thing about body hair. So, he would wax his entire body hair when he is not on the field. His hair can be a bit messy though, but it’s usually because he struggles to fall asleep, so he keeps that sleepy look often, disheveled hair and sleepy eyes.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? Romantic or rough/dirty.)

Depends on the mood. I believe he would be very sweet, desperate; he would be the kind of man able to cry after sex. Of course, when things in his life don’t go so smoothly, he would totally go for angry sex, a way to vent, to let go of boundaries, of the mask he wears all day along. He wouldn’t be patient like he is with the Senate, he would take what he wants, without restraints and make a mess out of you.

J = Jack off (Do they masturbate and how often)

Commodus would not masturbate that often, but it does help him to fall asleep after a tense day. Except when he’s been accumulating lack of sleep, he would lose his libido and stay away from anything sexual and would rather require comfort.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Commodus has a huge praise kink, he is craving approval and being told how good he is doing, what a good boy he is. It would greatly participate in his arousal during love making. Sometimes you would praise his sexual skills, but he would also love when you rewarded him for the good things he did during the day, the way he talked to a politician, or a good decision he took.

Also, he rather loves to be dominated because he lives it like guidance, a way to let go of all his responsibilities, all the pressure and just let someone handle it at his place. He would obey your every request and gladly receive a pat on the head after, or the right to bury between your legs.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Commodus loves taking baths, so naturally he would love to enjoy intimacy with you there. Whenever during the day, he could invite you to join him for a warm or refreshing bath. Servants knew he should remain unbothered when you joined him, they didn’t need to see, your moans would be enough of a proof.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

When you voice your desires for him, what you like about him, what arouses you about him, the way you look at him. He gets very excited by the pleasure you feel during sex, when you call his name, your soft whimpers, when you tell him that when he does this or that it feels so good.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He wouldn’t be into humiliation, any reductive play wouldn’t turn him on; it would trigger his insecurities, remind him of the way his family treated him. Commodus needs to be pampered, feel protected and have his safe bubble where he can be vulnerable.

He wouldn’t enjoy hurting you during BDSM play, even if it makes you feel pleasure he would struggle to find pleasure in it, he is the kind to treat you like fragile porcelain, even if dominant and rough sometimes, he wouldn’t like to flog/spank you and such.  

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

For oral sex, Commodus would love to give, he is the generous type but most of all he is a taster, he couldn’t get enough of your taste, he never wanted to forget it. The Emperor would be very hungry at that, every time you had sex, he would want to give you oral. Naturally, he wouldn’t be shy about it, his tongue licking your slit, burying in your hole while his nose teased your clit. He would be a quick learner, sensing when one thing pleased you more than another.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Both; depends on his mood, though he wouldn’t stay long on slow pace, passion would take over and so the pace would increase, getting passionate, bestial almost. With time of course he would learn to control himself a little so he could please you better. He would find a liking into being slower, taking his time, memorizing your every breaths, moans, your eyes growing watery and your body more desperate.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Commodus would quite enjoy quickies. First, because he was a very busy man and often got caught up in his projects without seeing time pass. Having quickies would be a good compromise to have a break and dedicate time to you. It wouldn’t be just about that of course, since marrying you, Commodus would find himself needing you more and more, to part from the harshness of his position and dive back into your tender arms, even if for just a few minutes, it would save his sanity.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Like to try new things etc.)

Commodus is a man of great curiosity, he would naturally be up to experimenting in bed, and he was very open minded at that so you could suggest pretty much anything, and he would be up to give it a try. He wouldn’t often take the risk though; he finds comfort he things he knows but from times to times he would get excited about an idea enough to want to try it.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

His stamina isn’t big, he is so touch starved that he doesn’t need much to reach climax but with small breaks he would be up for a few rounds, in fact he would never grow tired of you, he would be so afraid to lose you someday, afraid to forget you in old age…

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Commodus wouldn’t mind integrating toys into your sexual life, once again he would be curious to try them on you or himself, see how it feels, how different it is from a human body. That is also how he would end up asking you to peg him and that would really be a fun extra, to see him beg for you to thrust deeper as he arched his back. On the opposite, if you were a male lover he would ask to try what a female felt like, with some self-made toy or with a third female sexual partner.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

A LOT. When he would discover how a hand brushing on your lower back or your shoulders could give you goosebumps, he would keep testing. Pushing your boundaries more and more by making you sit on his lap to feel his hardened crotch, his hand slithering under your toga to tease your thighs, whispering lustful words in you ear until you begged him to go in his quarters and give you satisfaction. Of course, he would be into edging as well so getting in the bedroom wouldn’t especially mean instant relief, not until you begged him to be merciful.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Commodus would actually be pretty loud; he would whimper a lot as if he was suffering but in fact he would be under pure bliss. When he was more desperate it would turn into groans that would be slightly high pitched at the end. His noises would be truly addictive.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

He is bisexual and enjoys experimenting, sometimes he would ask you to peg him, loving when you stimulated his prostate, giving him immense pleasure. He would love also that by doing so, he was completely at your mercy, his pleasure was yours, the pace, the intensity of your thrusts, your hand around his cock, his deliverance. He would be a controversial emperor but he wouldn’t give a damn, his sexual experimentations wouldn’t define the politician he was.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Rome doesn’t have great lingerie fashion; it is pretty much simple undergarments or nothing. Now, under those undergarments Commodus is rather normal, waxed, not too big or small according to roman standards. However, he has a great butt like marble ass of David Statue.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Rather high, he is very needy of you, for reassurance, to make sure you still desire him, that it is not his imagination tricking him. But it would be also to vent; Commodus has a stressful life, and making love would be the healthiest way for him to get rid of the pressure. You would pretty much make love everyday with, unless he was excessively tired from the day and training.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

tag list:

Commodus would instantly fall asleep; he is just exhausted all day along. It would actually prevent him from overthinking at night, he would just collapse from pure pleasure, nuzzled in your arms.

Thank you for reading and please don't hesitate to leave a comment ❤️

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[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter eighteen

Synopsis: This isn’t your first rodeo anymore. You’re growing confident in your abilities, and you know what you’re capable of. Does anyone else? (The Gala Pt. 2)

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Chapter: 18/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Mild Descriptions of Blood and Wounds

Note: There are two unintentional puns in this chapter. I had a large section of this written out in my notes app for a long while, 😛Ya’ll know exactly what I'm doing here

The other man led you inside, his grip on your hand much rougher than Rex’s had been. You were a few steps away from the assigned dance area when you realized you still had Rex’s coat. “Oh, crap I should probably-” You took a step back pulling the coat off from around your shoulders. It could have been an attempt to go back, to will him to do or say something, you could come back and dance with this guy after.

“Eh, just place it on the table over there, you can give it to him after our dance, okay?”

You nod begrudgingly, obviously not about to get out of this without raising suspicions. So, you follow him onto the dance floor, he takes your hand and places his other on your hip the exact way Rex had, but his touch inspires nothing in you. This whole excursion has returned to being just another job.

“So, what do you do for work?”

“I don’t.” You say it offhandedly, repeating the same charade you had told multiple people tonight when asked the same question. “I have the privilege of not having to work.” You didn’t divulge further, more information than was necessary would come across like rehearsing from a script.

He hums, “Housewife?”

You take a shallow breath, trying to remember to stay in character. “No.”

He hums again, this time it feels almost antagonistic, his hand gripping tighter on yours. “I hear that those who have that kind of privilege have a lot of time for charity work like this. Is that true?”

“I suppose.”

“Charity is so rewarding, don’t you agree? I love to help people in any way I can. If I have time, I even take visits to the hospital, it’s good to provide companion care, is it not?” You nod distractedly, glancing out at the other dancers, as you both shift with the music. “I just wish I could go in and heal every one of them. Do you ever get that feeling?”

You blinked a few times and then turned your gaze back to him, your brow furrowing.

“What?”

“Go ahead, turn on your earpiece so I can talk to them. This is exciting, isn’t it?” His eyes widen on ‘exciting’ and you feel your blood run cold.

“What was it you said your name was?”

“I didn’t, be a good girl and turn it on, yeah?”

You grit your teeth, it was unlikely he was alone. You needed him to reveal who his partners were before you did anything. Reaching your hand up you press down so you are transmitting.

“See? Wasn’t that easy?” He grabs your face and angles your head to talk directly in your ear.

“I have men stationed throughout the house ready to turn this into a blood bath. Get me Mune, alone, in one of the rooms, and we won’t open fire.”

You are met with silence, most likely because they aren’t sure if the man will be able to hear them conversing or not.

“You must know who I am, which means you must know I am not here alone.” You speak, trying to stop the malice from overtaking your tone.

“Oh, yes.”

“Then you must know this is futile. You’re bringing guns to a fight where your opponents are atomic bombs. In what world do you get what you want and waltz out of here?”

“I have no intentions of leaving.” His eyes glinted, and you felt a pressure placed against your abdomen, no doubt a gun of some sort. He obviously didn’t know everything about you.

“Shooting me won’t help your case.” You bite out, the orchestra still playing loudly.

“It’ll sure hurt though.” He presses it firmer against you, his other hand still leading you in the dance you almost forgot you were both partaking in. “And eventually you’ll die, and if not, I’ll have plenty of fun seeing if you can.”

“How did you get those weapons in here? There were screenings on every individual guest.”

“It’s an awfully big house, you’d be surprised how many hiding places there are.”

“So, you came in before the gala, planted the weapons, then came as guests?”

“What is this, detective hour?” He seems to be growing tired of your questions, his gaze flickering over the other people around you, flashing a fake smile.

“No, I just want the facts straight for when the police arrive.” You scowl at him.

“You seem very self-assured-” His words are cut off with a quiet gurgle, the aggravating smirk dying at his lips. You don’t move, watching coldly as his body goes ridged during his attempted statement. The revolver he had pressed against you he pulls back in a jerky movement placing it back into his waistband. His eyes moments before that were cocky and arrogant now shined with fear, confusion.

“Are you feeling okay?” You say it loudly, loud enough for a few couples nearby to look over. But your expression doesn’t reflect any of the concern that seeps through your voice, contempt is the last thing he sees before he shrivels to the ground, leaving your head feeling raw.

Several people look over in concern, and you blink before putting on your best act. “Oh! Sorry! One too many drinks!” You give an apologetic shrug with an awkward laugh. “Could any of you help me move him off the floor?” A few people come by and move him to a corner, laying him down and commenting things along the lines of ‘this isn’t some college frat party’.

You blurt out your apologies and thanks as they walk away, and then hold your hand up to your ear to make sure your earpiece is still running. “This one’s taken care of. Have you located all the gunmen yet?”

A few seconds passed.

I’ve got two taken down in the west wing.

We took down one near the bedrooms.

Bulletproof’s voice then quickly followed by Lance’s both sounded off. The music crescendos louder, causing you to hold a hand over your other ear so you can hear. “What about Rex? Where’s Rex?”

You snap your head back at a loud sound, someone dropping a chair or knocking over one of the cocktail tables, maybe? You could hardly hear it over the bellowing music.

“Does anyone have eyes on Rex?” You paced over to the backdoor to see if he was still standing there, stepping over the stone of the patio and looking out over the garden.

A lengthened silence beats by. With every second you start to feel more and more sick. Just as you open your mouth to repeat yourself another voice calls out over the comms.

Got three of those fuckers in the east wing.

You let out a sigh of relief at the sound of his voice, then rested your hands on your hips, taking a few deep breaths.

Authorities are on their way, bring all of them to the room I debriefed you in. We don’t want the guests to panic. We’re running a sweep for any explosives as we speak.

“I’m going to need some people to come to the ballroom. I can’t pull this guy out myself without drawing a lot of attention.” You head back into the designated area, whispering apologies to people who had come to stare at the man’s unconscious stature.

Sending men your way.

“Thanks.” You turn off your earpiece and finally look down at the man. “Jackass. Couldn’t have waited five more minutes to pull me into this fucking scheme?”

--

Two men had come to ‘help’ you carry away the leader. When you entered the debriefing room Zandale was standing over five men, all incapacitated in one way or another. Rex was dragging in the last man from his area, and with yours added on it made seven people total.

“Do you know who these people are?” You cross your arms over your torso, feeling far too overdressed to be standing in what felt like a crime scene.

Lance simply shrugged, after barking out a command to one of his men. “Probably someone disgruntled by any number of Dr. Mune’s works. They aren’t the first and it is very unlikely they will be the last.”

Bulletproof takes a few steps towards you, his hands resting on his hips. “Did you get the name of the leader?”

“I didn’t ask.” You shrugged, looking down at him, face relaxed from his state of unconsciousness. You could kick him.

“How did you manage to neutralize him without alerting any of the other guests?” Lance asked, reaching down to pull the man’s revolver from his waistband.

“He must have got overexcited.” You murmured, an awful answer but hopefully with the amount of excitement so far no one would think about it for long. You glanced over at Rex who had settled against the ledge of one of the desks. A pang of guilt flashed over you as you remembered his coat long forgotten, a few rooms away. The feeling was overshadowed as your eyes trailed down to his side. Red tinged the seam of his suit vest, dark towards the center and fanning out lighter around it. “What’s that?” Rex froze as if being caught with his hand in a cookie jar and then followed your line of sight to his side.

“Oh, that’s…uh that’s not mine.” He scratched the side of his face, glancing up at you with a sheepish grin.

“…Really?” You raised a brow at him, quickly closing the gap, your hands coming out to open his vest. Once you were closer you could clearly see ripping in the fabric. An entry wound. “You got shot?”

“Only a little, seriously I’m fucking fine.” He pushes your hands away, leaning back further against the desk as if to evade you.

“Goddamn it, Rex. Let me see it, you’re losing blood.”

��I’ve been through a lot worse, Joy-”

“I swear to god, if you don’t let me assess you-” Rex throws an awkward glance at the people standing behind you, they were probably watching the small commotion, but you didn’t care. He didn’t get to be a martyr right now. “Do we need to go somewhere else?” You whisper the question to him, maybe he’s embarrassed in some kind of way. He took down as many men as the others had combined together. To you, there was nothing to be embarrassed about. But you didn’t care about any of that, if he was injured, which he obviously was, it was your duty to help him.

“Joy.” He breathed out with a laugh, looking at you like you were joking, the smile fading when your expression didn’t falter.

“We’ll be right back.” You turn to the group behind you before grabbing Rex’s hand and practically dragging him out of the room behind you. While searching for a nearby empty room you did not look back or speak to Rex. The initial shock of him being once again injured has worn away into irritation. Not only did he not come to you about it. But he explicitly tried to hide it from you. Not very well, but still, the intention was there.

After passing by a few rooms that you had to back out of with an apology to whatever random people were loitering in, you finally found one that was empty. High shelves lined up the walls and across columns throughout the room. Books with every color spine lining each shelf, accented by different busts and artwork. A library. It was dim, only the light coming in from outside and the light flickering under the door illuminated the area. You pushed down the urge to look around and turned to face Rex, who had been entirely silent for the short journey. He looked surprisingly calm, his expression soft, and his lips slightly parted.

“Okay, I need to see.” You dropped his hand, noting how he held on a few seconds longer. Another thing to think about later. Steady fingers come up to unbutton his vest, pushing it off over his shoulders, then moving to his dress shirt. You can feel his breath on your hands, heavy, uneven. Anxiety fills you with the prospect of him having lost more blood than you thought if he is having this labored of breathing.

Peeling away the white dress shirt you look closer at his wound, pushing your hand against his chest to angle his torso out more. The bullet had ripped through his left lumbar region, no exit wound. “Fuck.” You whispered to yourself, glancing around as if supplies would magically appear. “I don’t have any of my stuff. But- that’s fine, I could do it without, just would have made it a bit easier-”

Rex’s expression tightens as if he is just realizing your intent to heal him, even though you had expressed it earlier. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, what?” Your hand that currently rested splayed on his chest shifts, pulling a hair’s width away.

“I don’t want you to heal me.” His gaze meets you for a few beats, and you feel your defenses start to rise.

“I thought we were over this, Rex.” You bite out the words, emotion lacing your tone. “I thought you were trying to be better.” The edges of your mouth curls into an expression close to disdain.

“I am.” His brows lift in hurt as if your word’s stinging him.

“Really? Cause this is the same shit I’ve had to deal with since the beginning. Always thinking about yourself, and your- your stupid pride, ego-” You step back, placing your hands on your hips.

“I’m not always thinking about myself, this isn’t about me-!” Your name leaves his mouth at the end of the exclamation. He holds his hands out in exasperation before running them through his short hair, a groan forced from his lips as the movement tweaks his injury.

“How, Rex? How isn’t this about you?”

He pauses, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“How!”

“It’s about you! Alright?” His tone is low, in a whisper, but he still spits it out with effort.

You blink a few times, confusion flickering across your features. Your arms drop from where they were perched at your hips. “What?”

“I know! I know what it takes for you to heal people, I know about the strain, I know about the pain, all of it.” He runs a hand over his face, then continues. “I’m not having you put yourself through that for something this menial.”

Menial? He was fucking shot! “Don’t worry about me-” You start, holding an accusatory finger out at him.

“I’m going to worry about you, okay!” He practically snarls it out.

You take a step back, not out of fear, but out of habit. Any time you had ever experienced confrontation like this you had given in, backed down. You weren’t going to give in as easily this time.

“I’m not some junior varsity hero, Rex. I’m a fucking Guardian, same as you.” The statement leaves your tongue in a bitter tone.

“Fuck, I know that I know. This has nothing to do with your abilities or-” His tone softens, and he takes a step forward, looking almost apologetic.

“It’s always been about my fucking abilities with you, Rex. When has it not?” You snap before he can finish his statement, stepping forward so that you are completely back up to him, entirely in his space. “If it wasn’t about my abilities, it was about me, fundamentally! I’m either a glorified nurse or an incompetent- fucking-” You stutter, trying to piece anything together through your anger, “I don’t know, a fucking idiot I suppose!”

“I don’t think you’re-”

“If you truly respected me, as a hero, as a Guardian, as your fucking friend then this wouldn’t be a question.” You hiss it out in a hushed tone as you hear people walk by the room, then continue once they are gone. “But you don’t, and I don’t know why.” You trail off in a mutter. Both of you are right up against each other, if you tried to step forward you would be standing on his toes. “What do you want from me, Rex? What is it? ‘Cause I’m growing tired of this dance.”

“I want-” He looks away sighing heavily, then continues in a lower tone. “I want you…”

There’s a pause, you wait for him to finish his thought, irritation still bubbling under the surface.

“You want me…?” You urge him forward through his thoughts.

He looks at you, and for a moment your anger fades minutely. It is just the two of you. The man who pointed out different types of countertops in a home design magazine, voice etched with excitement. The man who volunteered to go on this mission with you, who helped you zip your dress, who danced with you in the grass. The man you were falling for. But he was also the man who spent months actively working against you. Scoffing out your name every time you were brought up by another member. He was changing, you were sure of it, you’d seen the proof. As angry as you were now, you didn’t hate him. But he obviously still held resentment towards you, no matter how small. Or this wouldn’t be a discussion.

“I want you.” He looked down at you, brow furrowed tightly.

“What, Rex, you want me to what?” Frustration oozes through your words as you look up at him.

“Fucking-” He takes a step back, running his hands over his face again. “I want you to not be in fucking pain because of me.” He sucks on his teeth, looking out past you.

You sigh heavily, shaking your head. “Fine, Rex. Do what you want. I don’t care.” You hold your hands up to metaphorically wash your hands of the situation. “You should see if Lance has anything to dress that though. Or it’s going to be a long night.” You turn and leave him standing alone in the library.

--

When you return to the debriefing room there are several new faces, all sporting officer’s uniforms. Dr. Mune was standing talking to one, while others brought stretchers for the dead and wounded. It was a miracle to you how no one from the gala had seen the commotion and started spreading the word. Mune catches sight of you and holds a hand up for you to wait for her. She continues with a quick back-and-forth to the officer, then approaches you.

“They always ruin my fun; I have to bring the event to a close in order for everything to be cleaned up for the brunch tomorrow. Apparently, Mr. Sloane made quite a mess in one of the dining rooms.” One of the dining rooms. Her tone lowers, “I liked how you dealt with Robbie. Very discrete, Merlin.”

You squinted at her, how much had Cecil really relayed to her about you? “Who was he?”

“A ghost from my past, like they always are.” She looks down through her spectacles over to where the man is being loaded onto a stretcher. “This particular one actually worked at the GDA. I’m surprised Mr. Sloane didn’t recognize him. They were in the same program.”

“Program?” You shook your head.

“Mm, Robbie was a few years ahead I suppose, one of the first trials. The chip didn’t take with him.”

You looked at her closer, your brows knitted closely together. “I’m sorry, I’m not following.”

“Hm, I’m surprised you didn’t know. Have you never read Mr. Sloane’s files?”

You cringed at the memory, the general upset that had been caused when it was revealed you had. “Yes, but I only skimmed most of them, and there was quite a bit redacted. I mostly only had access to the extent of other members’ powers, or their drawbacks.”

“Well, my dear Merlin. Mr. Sloane only has his abilities because of my work. I designed the neural chip that gives him his…well, I suppose you could say his spark.” She flutters her hands in an over-the-top gesture.

“He wasn’t born with them?” You knew that there were heroes around who only had powers because of genetic modification, but you hadn’t thought it was very common.

She paused to look at you, taking off her spectacles. “To be truly born with naturally occurring powers is very rare. In all my years I could count on one hand the number I know of that were flukes.”

“I guess I would understand why so many people would want to gain them artificially.” You nod, the sound of the door opening causing you to look back. Rex had finally decided to enter, not looking at you and making a B-line to Lance. Hopefully to ask for medical attention, or at least a medipack.

“I don’t.” She states bluntly. “Just because a curse has its ups, doesn’t change that at the end of the day, it is still just a curse.”

“If that’s how you view it, why did you work to bring it about?” Your brows raise a centimeter, analyzing her reaction.

“Sometimes it takes a few decades to truly see the effect of your work.” Her tone was tired, her attention was shifted to where Rex was standing talking to Lance.

“Would you go back and undo it all?”

She sighs gently. “I have no way of knowing the outcome would be better if I did that, so no. But I wish I could go back and tell myself how it ends.”

You nodded quietly, watching as the last body was removed from the room. Smears of blood streaked across the center of the floor where some of them had been dragged slightly into the pile. With each day that passed, you understood her more and more.

--

With all the bodies gone, and the explosive sweep coming back clear it was time to nudge the guests towards leaving. Dr. Mune gave a tasteful speech about having the class to know when the host wants you to leave but doesn’t want to say it. She reminded them all that they were expected at brunch the morning after, telling them all to board at a hotel she owned down the road. How rich was this lady? She had gone around inviting select people to stay with her in her guest rooms, weaving her way through the crowd somehow faster than you could keep up with. When you had the chance, you gathered up Rex’s coat you had left at a table close to the dance floor.

You saw him after about an hour, he was wearing a new shirt. Lance must have helped him patch his side up because there was no visible wound through the white linen. Irritating was the main emotion that coursed through you at the sight of him, but it quickly gave way to worry. He had survived perfectly his entire life without you worrying about him, but you couldn’t help it. You gave a shit about Rex Splode- or Rex Sloane as you had come to find out tonight.

Somewhere internally, the you from a month ago groaned heavily.

“Shall I have Gareth show you all to your room?” Mune’s voice poked through your thought process.

“Hm?” You wrenched your gaze from the back of Rex’s head, to give her a quizzical look.

“You three will be staying here, yes?”

“Oh, I figured we would just stay at a hotel or something.”

“The only hotel for miles is mine, and it is completely booked.” She shakes her hands at you like it’s no big deal. “I have plenty of space-” She looked over at one of the groups she had just invited to stay as well. “Well, I have space.” She corrects.

“Oh, then sure?”

“Good, Gareth has already brought your things upstairs to the room.”

“Our things?”

“Cecil sent you all outfits for the brunch tomorrow. You never know if there will be a second wave.”

“No, I mean our things, as in all to the same room?”

“There’s only so much space darling, even in a house like this.” She waves down a couple that is about to escape without her talking to them and marches over, shouting greetings.

Oh boy.

Gareth seemed to materialize out of thin air next to you. “Shall I show you to your room?”

You ran a hand over your face with a sigh, already mentally preparing for the argument that was about to happen the moment you all reached the room. Maybe it was set up for three people, and you were dreading nothing.

--

Gareth rounded the three of you up, Bulletproof made several comments about being ready to knock out for the night, which went without response. All three of you were feeling the exhaustion without needing to mention it aloud.

At the top of two different sets of stairs, you all found yourself in a long hall, each set of doors looking identical. The only things serving as landmarks were the different portraits on the wall. The one next to your door portrayed a medieval knight on horseback appearing to be leaving for battle. A woman with golden hair was tying a red fabric around his arm. Mune was nothing if not consistent at least.

Gareth opened the door for the three of you, holding his hand out so you could go inside. After stepping in you looked back to see Bulletproof and Rex loitering outside the door.

“Well, see you in the morning.” Bulletproof waves awkwardly. Rex doesn’t meet your eyes.

“You are all staying in this room tonight, Mr. Randolph.” Gareth states humorlessly, still holding the door open.

Both of them seem to cock their heads to the side in unison, glancing inside as if expecting to see a row of beds. They both only furrowed their brows tighter after seeing the large bed dead center and two couches placed in various different positions in the expanse of the room.

“Oh, hell no.” Zandale steps in to look at the room closer, his gaze flittering over it once again, and landing on his luggage set next to a red upholstered couch. “Seriously?”

Gareth doesn’t respond, just continues holding his hand out until Rex begrudgingly steps in.

You take in the room fully for yourself, sighing once again before speaking. “I guess I’ll take the other couch?”

Author's note: God can these two get along for more than two seconds I’m going to blow my brains out (I did this to myself) Extra points if you know exactly what painting I was describing

divider credit: @/ saradika

taglist: @kittymeowmrow @sketchlove @jewelwayne101 @0ut0fsweets @sugaramped @spidernuggets @sweet-cuddlebug @ohmysoultakemysoul @lapisbwub @velovicy @liquideyes request to be tagged for new parts!

Chapter Nineteen

[chilling-seavey]

Lessons in Lust and Other Illicit Desires (gr63) —SEVENTEEN

↳ A/N The big night is upon us!!

↳ Series Summary: Sensible, wise, and a hopeless dreamer, Rosaline was used to men not giving her a second glance. She soon discovered it was merely those mundane college boys who were nothing more than simply intimidated by her intellect. What she needed was a man — someone who could impart knowledge beyond the Classics and guide her in discovering her own confidence as a woman. The thrill of sneaking around with the ever-so-charmingly handsome Professor Russell was certainly a bonus.

↳ Pairings: OxfordProfessor!George Russell x Innocent!Student!OC, Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc (background)

↳ Chapter Word Count: 9.1k

↳ Chapter Warnings: 18+, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, edging, slight overstimulation, some dirty talk, lots of praise, clumsy and slightly tense 'first time' moments, pain, blood, some crying, self-consciousness, consent and reassurances!!, protected sex.

Rosaline came to decree that the dormitory showers were not equipped for the level of preparedness she needed to be that Saturday night. In her miniscule corner shower of her equally as miniscule dorm-room bathroom, it came to be known that shaving and exfoliating your legs was not quite an easy task. With her foot hiked up on one acrylic wall of the shower and her back pressed against the opposite one, hair plastered over her forehead with the water pelting down on her, she carefully dragged her razor up the entire length of her leg from ankle to thigh. After contorting herself into a myriad of different positions until she was as sparkling as polished silverware, Rosaline progressed from shower to vanity and desperately prayed that the fuze wouldn’t blow while she dried and styled her hair. 

She told herself it was just another night out—maybe to keep from overthinking it and risking cold feet or a change of heart—all she had to do was get ready (nothing too extravagant, just enough to feel good about herself), take the bus to George’s house, where she would spend the night. She had followed that same routine a few times already this term so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and yet, the weight of what tonight truly meant sat heavy in the back of her mind, impossible to ignore.

Tonight was the night she was going to lose her virginity. 

It was a completely made up social construct, she had always told herself on those nights where it felt like everyone around her had been having sex and, now, what she told herself as she sat on the bus and fidgeted with her purse in her lap, trying to keep the nervousness at bay. Sunset was falling upon Oxford and Rosaline distracted herself with the colourful bath of light that stained the ancient city and shadowed the streets. A comfortably warm, clear skied evening. Calm. 

As the bus drew closer to the outskirts of the city, thoughts of how the night was going to play out, if she was going to be awkward, lingered in her mind, despite the fact she knew that George had never and would never judge her. Still, vulnerability settled in her chest, making her heart race. They had shared so much already, but this next step—this final step—felt entirely new, a threshold she had never crossed before. No one had ever been this close to her, not like this. She trusted George, cared for him deeply, and was certain of her choice, and yet, a quiet awareness stirred within her: after tonight, she would never be this version of herself again.

Once she disembarked the bus at the stop down the street from George’s house, she lingered there a moment, staring at the white brick townhouse just a few short blocks away. The front porch light was on as if becoming her home. With a deep breath, she crossed the street before she could overthink herself into a tizzy. 

George’s house smelt delicious when she was welcomed over the threshold into the familiar foyer, and it wasn’t simply due to his usual tasteful cologne he wore. It smelt like supper, like a delicious home cooked meal, and George was barely able to close the door behind before she was complimenting it. 

“It smells so good in here,” she smiled despite the nervous energy bubbling in her stomach as she toed off her shoes. 

“Why, thank you,” George replied politely. He then set a hand at the small of her back to bring her attention properly to him with a soft, “Hello.”

“Hi,” she said softly and met him halfway for a quick kiss in greeting. 

He gestured her farther into the house, “After you.”

When she turned the corner into the main living space, she noticed that the usually empty dining room table was set with two full place settings and a row of flickering candles, the chandelier dimmed to an almost romantic warmth. The speaker on the sideboard was playing soft classical music just to make the whole thing feel more cohesive and peaceful. Rosaline swore for a moment she felt tears prick at her eyes and her breath shuddered in her chest, her dizzying worriedness fading away little by little. It was just George. 

George slipped past her towards the kitchen, giving her hips a squeeze on his way past, “Dinner is almost ready.”

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked, lingering in the passageway to the kitchen.

“No, no,” George assured her, “I have everything under control.”

The counters were crowded with cutting boards and food scraps and used mixing bowls and measuring cups and a half-soiled recipe book propped up against the coffee maker. George was bent over and reaching into the oven, donning an oven mitt on each hand as he checked the temperature of the meat. Rosaline couldn't help but eye the way his slacks fit over the curve of his ass or how his cream button-up pulled over the flex of his back as he reached into the oven. Was this the thrill of domesticity? 

George had made a full English roast of beef, julienned root vegetables, quartered potatoes, and yorkshire pudding beneath a homemade gravy and as they settled at the dining room table together, George poured them each a small glass of red wine. Rosaline set her napkin on her lap as she took in the feast. 

“This looks amazing, you really outdid yourself,” she said softly.

“Hopefully it tastes as good as it looks then,” George chuckled modestly, “I could never quite make it as well as my nan could.”

“I bet you did her proud,” Rosaline assured him with a smile. 

They were quiet as they started to eat, settling into each other’s company and the comforting ambience of the candlelight and quiet music. Rosaline kept stealing glances at him from across the table, feeling those butterflies in her stomach now fluttering in her heart as she sat there at what could have arguably been the most romantic moment of her life. A homemade meal, candles, music, how he even dressed up a little as if wanting to look good for her. It felt like a dream. 

Despite the way she felt comfortable around him at that moment, the awareness of what was to come was still lingering in the back of her mind and stealing her appetite. She didn’t want to be rude so she tried to keep eating, cutting little bites of roast beef or carrot at a time, nudging things around her plate to make it look more empty than it was. 

She was silly to have thought George wouldn’t notice. He watched her for a moment, eyeing the way she shifted things around her plate with her fork, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as if she were deep in thought. 

His voice broke her out of her trance with a concerned, “Is it okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, sorry,” Rosaline set her fork down and dropped her hands to her lap, fiddling with the edge of her napkin, “I’m just not really hungry, that’s all.”

“Oh,” George frowned slightly, “Is…everything alright?”

Rosaline nodded, meeting his gaze as she nudged up her glasses with the back of her index finger as she confessed in a near whisper, “Yeah, just a little nervous.”

George’s features softened and he reached a hand across the table towards her, his voice as gentle and patient as always, “Like always, we do nothing you don’t want to do. You hold the cards. And just because I made you dinner doesn’t mean I…expect anything. Alright?”

She knew that but she appreciated hearing it, that little bit of reassurance to ease her mind. She nodded in reply and set her hand over his, watching as his fingers collected hers and his thumb caressed her knuckles. Oh, she was utterly infatuated with him, and that simple moment only reaffirmed her certainty that he was the perfect person to share this final, defining step with.

The meal continued quietly, only the odd conversation lingering here or there, the shared moment housing the impending night to come. After a while, with Rosaline only having finished half her plate, she set her fork down and lifted her napkin from her lap to wipe her mouth, trying to distract herself from the nervous anticipation buzzing beneath her skin. George, resting back in his chair comfortably with his entirely empty plate in front of him, had been watching her in that quiet, knowing way of his, the candlelight catching in his eyes as he swirled the last sip of wine in his glass.

Noting her pause, he asked, “All done then?” 

“Yes, it was delicious,” she said kindly, “Sorry that I…couldn’t finish it.”

George shook his head as he stood up to start to clear their plates, “Don’t worry about it. I understand.”

“Can I help—”

Rosaline moved to help clear the table, but he gave her a look—one that told her to stay put, to let him take care of it. They exchanged a silent smile and she settled back into her chair again to let him clear the dishes himself. 

She lingered, alone, in the dining room, listening to the clink of the dishes and the running of water from the kitchen as he cleaned up, her fingers toying with the bottom hem of her blouse. Rosaline knew she was nervous—hence her lapse in appetite—but there was also a layer of impatience that was steadily growing as time ticked by. She checked the time on her phone out of habit, as if she had anywhere to be other than right there. 

From the kitchen, George called, “Shall I put the kettle on?”

She chewed at her bottom lip for a moment before replying, “I’m fine without, thanks.”

When he appeared in the doorway from the kitchen again, she couldn’t help but notice the slight concern on his expression. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his slacks with a gentle, “There’s no pressure, darling. Please don’t worry yourself sick over it.”

Rosaline shook her head, “I’m not worried. It’s just the anticipation, really.”

George pushed off the doorway and walked across the dining room to stand beside her at the table. He offered out his hand for her to take and spoke with a soft conviction, his words giving her space to change her mind, “Come upstairs with me?”

It was the invitation she had been waiting for. 

She exhaled slowly and set her hand in his, “Okay.”

She stood from the table and followed him across the living room and up the stairs. It was a path they had taken many times before, one she was all too familiar with, and she found herself subconsciously counting the steps as they ascended them. Fourteen. And then nine steps down the upstairs hallway to his bedroom. The same as always. 

His bedroom was just as tidy as she had always seen it with the bedsheets pulled tightly and the decorative pillows dotting the bed, not a single piece of clothing on the floor or tossed over the back of the chair in the corner. It wasn’t unfamiliar—she had been here before, had spent nights wrapped in his sheets, tangled in him. But tonight was different. 

Their hands parted once they stepped inside and Rosaline lingered in the doorway as he walked over to close the curtains and then switched on the warm lamps on the bedside tables. When he turned back to her, his expression was soft, contemplative, as if trying to read her. 

She took another step into the room and, knowing what he was thinking, offered a murmured, “I’m okay.”

George’s lips quirked slightly, “Yeah?”

Rosaline shared in his timid smile and they met in the centre of his room, “Yeah.”

Their hands met between them, careful and slow, as if they were touching each other for the first time all over again. Rosaline watched how his fingers traced hers, following the contours of her hands, until he captured her fingers and raised them to his lips to kiss her knuckles. His eyes raised to hers with their hands held between them, his gentle breath falling against her fingers as his thumbs delicately traced the shape of them. 

The warmth that his gaze inflicted into her bloodstream had her taking a half-step towards him, pulling her hand out of his to grasp the back of his neck, and she pressed her lips to his in a gentle yet sure kiss. 

It was as if a majority of her nervousness settled the moment their lips met, as if the familiarity of his kiss grounded her in the moment and kept her from spiraling into a mess of hypotheticals. She lost herself in it for a while, sharing kisses in the middle of his quiet bedroom as their hands wandered and lips and tongues explored, enjoying the moment of closeness with him. It wasn’t until she was suddenly being cradled by the plush mattress of his bed that she realized just how distracted by his lips she had been.

Clothes were slowly shed between passionate kisses, George taking his time to undress her and kiss over her skin as more of her body was exposed to him. It seemed to be a familiar routine by then as she relaxed into his mattress and let her fingers slide through his hair and over his shoulders as he moved down her body. She didn’t feel quite as anxious about being naked in front of him anymore, not even as he lowered his head between her thighs and started to lap at her pussy. 

Rosaline’s eyes fluttered closed as she succumbed to the feeling of his mouth on her—something she had really grown to love and crave over the weeks, and something he clearly enjoyed giving her just as strongly. He took his time with it, kissing and licking and suckling at her cunt like they had all the time in the world. He never made her feel rushed and that night in particular was no exception; he had promised her that he was going to make it special for her. 

And as he found home between her legs, he certainly succeeded in that, as the minutes drifted by and her skin grew flushed with pleasure. He kept luring her closer to the edge before easing up, keeping that anticipation and need building and building, wanting her to be as willing and wonton as possible. She withered at the addition of his fingers, one at a time, slowly, easing her into it, calmed by the steady pace of his tongue on her clit. 

Her back arched off the bed and her fingers tightened in his hair and across the sheets as he started to thrust his fingers into her in firm, shallow, angled nudges while his tongue flicked at her clit simultaneously. She let out a small cry of pleasure, wrinkling the sheets in her white-knuckled grip, trying to nudge herself up against his mouth even more. George moaned against her pussy at her eagerness, the vibration of the sound making her shiver, and, as he lay splayed out in only his briefs between her legs, he subconsciously rutted his hips against the mattress beneath him. 

But just as Rosaline felt that tight coil of pleasure starting to build in the pit of her stomach again, George’s fingers slowed to a stop. She whined faintly in dismay but before she could complain, he eased his two fingers a little deeper before spreading them apart in a v-shape inside her a little. She pulled in a sharp breath at the faint stretch as his slender fingers pressed against her tight walls and slightly tense muscles.

“Good girl,” he breathed, words slightly muffled by his mouth on her and the soft wet kisses he pressed to her clit, “Just breathe for me.”

Rosaline panted as she lay splayed out over his bed, legs parted absentmindedly and fingers threaded through his hair, buzzing with pleasure. George leaned his head back a little to get a proper look at her and, at the same time, pursed his lips to dribble some more spit onto her cunt so he could smear it in with his fingers. 

“I’m going to add another finger, okay?” he asked lowly. 

She had never taken more than two before but she trusted the process and nodded to him, following it up with a soft, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed, gently easing in his ring finger along with his middle and index.

Rosaline winced slightly but more so in anticipation than anything as the stretch was tight but not overly uncomfortable. He was gentle and patient and his tongue met her clit again to help relax her with the good feelings as his trio of fingers carefully prepped her. 

George’s breath was hot against her cunt, “There you go, good girl. Gonna get you nice and stretched out and ready for me.”

She could hear how wet she was as he started to thrust his fingers into her in cautious movements, the tight squeeze only seeming to make the sound of the lewd wet squelch more obvious. Her jaw was slack as she took his fingers, eyelashes fluttering in near awe at the feeling and how full and warm it felt before anything had even really happened yet. If anything, it eased the last of her nervousness and replaced it with an eager desire to satisfy her curiosity and her craving of what it would be like to finally and properly have sex. 

Rosaline tried to be patient as George fingered her and tongued at her clit in slow, sloppy motions, dragging it on and blurring her senses with rising pleasure yet again; those taunting waves of rising euphoria before he backed off again were starting to drive her a little crazy. So, she splayed her hand flat over the crown of his head and gave him a tiny push with a soft, “Please…I’m ready.”

George’s eyes snapped up to hers and he pulled away from her cunt with flushed cheeks and his mouth and chin glistening. He licked his lips—although it did nothing to help the mess—and then spoke gently, “You sure?”

She nodded and he carefully retreated his fingers and she adjusted herself on the bed with a soft, “Yeah…”

He leaned down over her to kiss her lips and her hands instinctively gravitated to his sides, feeling the muscle beneath his warm skin as he held himself up overtop of her. They shared a few sloppy kisses before he was moving off of her and shifting to the side of the bed to pull open his bedside table drawer. Rosaline took a breath, watching him as he fished out a modest bottle of lube and a brand new box of condoms. With his pinky, he broke the tape sealing the box and then opened the top to fish out one of the square foil packages inside before setting the box on the top of the bedside table.

In the warm light of the bedside lamps, Rosaline watched as George set the condom packet between his lips so he could shuffle out of his underwear and drop them off the side of the bed, leaving him as naked as she was. It wasn’t the first time she had seen him like that but he was just as gorgeous as ever and her gaze shamelessly traveled down his toned figure and lingered on his hard cock that stood up and out from his body, ready. For her.  

George held out the condom to her with a gentle offer, “Do you want to do it?”

She nodded and sat up a little more before carefully ripping open the first condom she had ever touched outside of high school health class. She set the empty wrapper with the box and George shuffled a little closer on his knees to position himself between her legs so she could reach him. He wrapped a hand around his dick to pull back the foreskin just enough, exposing the leaky head to her wide-eyed gaze. 

His other hand reached out to help her turn the condom the proper way up, instructing her in a warm whisper, “This way up. Pinch the tip there.”

She set her thumb and forefinger over the tip of the slippery condom as he instructed and then moved her hands closer towards him as he held his dick steady. His hand covered hers, helping her to set it in place.

“Now roll it down,” he said.

Her technique was slightly ungraceful from her inexperience, taking a few extra strokes to unroll it down around the shaft of his cock, but he didn’t rush her. When she removed her hands, he just rolled it a little bit farther towards the base but didn’t call her out on it.

Instead, he offered her an almost proud smile and a soft, “Great job.”

She held up her hands between them with a shy giggle, using the back of her hand to nudge her glasses farther up her nose, “My hands are covered in it now.”

George chuckled softly and leaned forward with his hands against the mattress on either side of her, “You can wipe them on me. I don’t mind.”

Rosaline hesitated a moment but then set her hands on his biceps, letting the small amount of lubricant from the condom smear onto his skin rather than lingering on her hands. She had to admit, she wasn’t crazy about the feeling of that substance. At the same time, George had popped the cap on the bottle of lube and squirted out a generous amount onto his fingers and over the protected shaft of his cock, taking his time to smear it all over and then applied some to her pussy too, slipping his fingers a little inside her to make sure she was plenty wet. 

When he reached over to grab a tissue from the bedside table to wipe off the worst of it from his hand, Rosaline took that moment to ask timidly, “Do you want me to take my glasses off?”

George’s expression furrowed momentarily as he settled back between her legs, “Why would I want you to do that?” 

“I dunno…is that a thing people do?” she mumbled nervously, still gently caressing his biceps and shoulders as if soothing herself, “Like, will they get in the way? Do they ruin the mood?”

George smiled down at her and before he even spoke, that look alone was already easing her nervousness. He assured her softly, “You look beautiful with your glasses. Please leave them on.”

Rosaline shared in his smile, a rouge to her cheeks as she breathed, “Okay.”

George leaned down to kiss her again, swallowing her lips up with his in sensual, passionate kisses, and her hands slid up to the sides of his neck to keep him there. She focused herself on his plush lips against hers to distract herself from the storm of anxious anticipation that was starting to swirl in her stomach again, her butterflies creating a tornado with how fast they were fluttering. The soft hum she let out against his lips was accidental, almost as if she were soothing herself, but George didn't flinch. 

Their kiss only broke once she felt something much larger than his fingers pressing against the slick skin of her cunt. Her little gasp had him dusting a kiss to her cheek. 

“You still okay?” he checked in with her. 

“Yeah,” Rosaline’s arms went around his back to hold him close, her legs pitched outwards on either side of him.

“You’re comfortable like this?”

“Yeah…this is good.”

George’s eyes met hers, speaking seriously to her although his words were gentle and kind, “If you need to stop, tell me, alright? No hard feelings.”

“I know,” Rosaline breathed.

George nodded ever so slightly once. She mirrored it; the both of them sharing the silent affirmations. 

“Take some deep breaths for me, darling,” he whispered, his voice rich and soothing and it seemed to work wonders to ease her racing heart. 

Rosaline stared up into his eyes as she took in a deep, cleansing breath and then slowly let it out, her hands pressed securely against his shoulder blades and the muscle of his upper back, holding onto him. Oh God, this was it; the moment she had been anticipating since high school. Everything else they had done so far had far exceeded her expectations so, despite her natural nervousness, she was also filled with a hint of excitement to truly and wholeheartedly experience everything. 

George took a few more deep breaths with her, connecting them in the moment, and then he was moving his hips a little closer, just enough to start to press inside of her. The first little bit didn’t feel like much of anything as her labia spread to accommodate him, welcoming him in for that first half-inch. She kept her eyes on his, motionless, speechless, trying to focus on the feelings, the moment. Him. 

But then, as he eased a little deeper, there was a sudden ache that pushed between her legs and had her instinctively tensing up with a surprised, “Ow.”

George stopped immediately, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry…” Rosaline’s exclamation had even taken herself by surprise, “Sorry, it just…kinda hurt there a little. I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

She nodded, “Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting it. Keep going.”

George leaned down to kiss her once more before he started to push into her again. But he barely got any farther, held back by the resistance of her tight cunt, when she let out another small “ow”. He stopped again.

Rosaline frowned and lifted her head up to look down between them as if she could see why it was hurting this much. People had told her that the first time would hurt but she swore that this was almost unbearable; was she just a complete wuss or did everyone else feel like this? Okay, she was only starting to panic a little. 

“Maybe we should stop. I don’t want to hurt you.” George offered. There was almost a slight fear in his voice, a vulnerability Rosaline had never heard from him before. 

“No, please, I’m okay,” Rosaline almost pleaded, resting back down on her back. Her hands grasped onto his back as she stared into his concerned eyes. “I want this. Please, I want this.”

“Okay…” George exhaled as if steeling himself for this just as much as she was. He started to push himself in some more, getting just a little bit farther, and Rosaline clung onto him tightly, holding her breath, trying to ignore the intense ache that shot between her legs. George must have seen the obvious wince of pain on Rosealine’s face as he stopped once more with a nervous sigh, “You’re in pain, love.”

Rosaline, getting absolutely fed up with her body not just doing what she wanted it to do, huffed in frustration, demanding desperately, “Just shove it in or something!”

George’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “I’m not going to shove it in, darling, blimey.”

Rosaline covered her flushed face with her hands to try and take a deep calming breath, muttering, “Fuck, this is stupid.”

George eased back—even though he had been barely inside her—and he leaned down to kiss her forehead with a small sigh before whispering right to her, “It’s not stupid. It’s your first time; it’s bound to hurt.” 

She removed her hands from her face and met his concerned gaze, a small pout on her swollen lips. As much as she wanted it, it felt like the world was against her, not willing to give her what she desired. It almost brought her to tears. Rosaline took a trembling breath and wrapped her hands around his biceps, confessing softly, “I want this so badly. I want you so badly.”

George’s fingers gently played with the ends of her hair that was splayed out over his pillow and the pitied look on his face had her heart in her throat. He sighed softly, as if at a crossroad of how he should allow that moment to progress, before finally offering in a soft, worried whisper, “Maybe if we try a different position, it’ll be easier and hurt a little less…would that be okay?”

Rosaline relaxed a little at his words, thankful that he wasn’t just going to give up on her that easily. She nodded, “Yeah…we can try.”

George shifted out from between her legs and she followed his guidance until they had switched spots so he was laying out on the bed, head on the pillows, and he helped her to get on top of him. She straddled his thighs and stared down at him and his handsome body beneath her. It almost felt like this was a dream; some crazy out of body experience. Her hands rested against his pecs.

“This is a little intimidating,” she giggled nervously. 

George’s hands found their way to her hips to position her over him properly and his thumbs rubbed gentle circles against her skin and he chuckled softly at her statement. He stared up at her with a comforting smile and a breathless whisper, “You’ll be fine, darling. Just take your time…do what feels right for you. There’s no rush.”

Rosaline shifted from her knees on either side of his waist to her feet, struggling to stay balanced on the soft mattress but George was right there to hold her waist and help to keep her steady. With one hand, he reached down to grasp his achingly hard cock and angle it properly for her, holding it in place as she ungracefully situated herself. When she got herself into position enough to feel the protected head nudging against her cunt, she shivered, her hands pressing against his chest. 

“Nice and easy,” George whispered softly.

Rosaline took her time to slowly sink down on him ever so cautiously, trying to breathe through it. The burning ache returned as he reached only about an inch in and her face scrunched up a little and she eased back up slightly with a quiet, anxious whimper. 

George’s voice was tight, “Does it still hurt?”

“A little,” she muttered, hands still flat against his torso for stability, “I’m sorry.”

He sighed, “Oh, Rose, darling, you have nothing to apologize for. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“No, it’s embarrassing—” 

The words were barely out of her mouth before he was reaching a hand up to gently take her chin in his grasp and he guided her eyes to his. There was an unmistakable seriousness in his kindhearted expression as he said, “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. If you want to keep trying or if you want to stop, whatever you want, it’s completely fine with me.”

“I really want this,” Rosaline breathed, her voice shaking. “Please…I want to keep trying.”

A small smile grazed George’s lips and he stroked her cheek with his thumb, “If you’re sure. I just can’t bear the thought that I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not hurting me,” she mumbled, although her attention was already turning back to the task at hand. 

She reached down to make sure his cock was angled properly against her and when she started to sink down again, her palms fell flat against his chest. She could feel him watching her, silently, his hands tight on her hips to stabilize her but not rush her, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over her skin. The pain was obvious but her determination was stronger as she breathed deeply and started to move in tentative little bounces as if to work her way down. 

George’s breath caught slightly but he played it off with a tight, “That’s it…”

Despite his quiet encouragement, she didn’t speak, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth and nose scrunched as she eased herself down little by little, pushing aside the pressure that ached across her hips and between her legs. The warmth that flowed through her veins was unlike anything she had felt before and, finally, once her bum met his thighs, she felt on fire. Rosaline stilled, then blinked, and then raised her gaze to meet his as if in complete disbelief that she had really truly succeeded, that they were officially and entirely joined together.

George smiled at her, a dreamy, lopsided, handsome grin, as if he were holding himself back from showing her just how incredible it felt, and his hands gave her hips a little squeeze. His voice was hoarse and strained, “How’s that?”

She could feel his rapid heartbeat under her hands, the feeling of his skin against hers feeling more intense than ever before. Rosaline raised a hand to set against her abdomen, right over where he was tucked inside her, “It’s…fine. It feels…strange.”

George’s eyes scrunched closed through a warm, low laugh, and his hands tightened on her hips as she shifted a little on top of him, choking his chuckle into a tight groan. His eyebrows furrowed in the middle, head tilting back just slightly, and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. There was an unmissable look in his eyes when he finally opened them again, the blue of his irises saturated by the dilation of his pupils, staring at her with nothing short of desire, something so intense she had never seen before. But she wanted more. She wanted him to look at her like that until the end of time. 

He spoke finally, “Darling, you…you have no idea…you feel so good.”

She gasped at the unexpected feeling of his cock throbbing deep inside her and her hand pressed down against his abs again with a breathy, “Oh my God…”

George’s next inhale was shuddery, his hands kneading the flesh of her hips as if a way to distract himself from just taking over. Rosaline knew the logical thing to do was move but she was frozen in place, staring down at him, her mind feeling fuzzy.

“I don’t know what to do now,” she giggled shyly, rubbing her hands over his chest, “I’m gonna look ridiculous and clumsy.”

George’s lips perked up at the corners and his hands trailed down from her hips to her thighs, rubbing gentle lines into her skin, “You won’t look ridiculous, darling. Just move however feels good for you, alright?”

Rosaline shifted off her feet to rest on her knees on either side of his waist instead and then slowly started to roll her hips against his. She wasn’t completely oblivious to some of the techniques—she had written plenty of erotica to understand the basic mannerisms—but doing it herself felt so strange and unfamiliar. Her hips rocked in lazy back and forth motions, testing the water, figuring out what felt good, her attention focused on George’s face as if also wanting to make sure he was enjoying it too. 

“Yes…” George exhaled, his eyes focused all on her like nothing else mattered, his hands firmly on her thighs, “Yes…just like that…you’re doing so well.”

“Is this okay?” she asked softly. 

“Yeah, it’s perfect. Does it feel good for you?” 

“Uh huh,” Rosaline barely replied before she changed up her movement from rocking to little bounces, her mind racing and curious to try everything she possibly could. 

That simple change had George’s eyes nearly rolling, his head tossing back against the pillow with a handsome groan, fingers pressing into her hips and starting to give her a little help finding a bit more of a rhythm as he groaned out a tight, “Ohh, good girl.”

“Fuck,” Rosaline whimpered. 

Everything felt like so much, so overwhelming, like suddenly every single nerve-ending in her entire body was ablaze. She had experienced pleasure before—by her own hand and also by George’s guidance—but this? This was a whole new world. It still hurt just a little as her body worked to accommodate the stretch it had never been exposed to before but there was something about that pressure that felt so insanely good at the same time. As she fell into the pleasure, into the lust, she stopped caring about what she looked like and started prioritizing getting more out of the moment.

She moved her hands off his chest and they fell on either side of his head, causing her to be leaning over him as she rocked back and forth on him, her clit now able to rut against his pelvis. She choked over a moan, hair falling over her face. 

“There you go,” George purred, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears before his hands were sliding down the curves of her body to wrap around her waist, grabbing onto her hips, her ass, “Perfect girl. Look at you taking all of me. Does that feel good?”

Rosaline could only nod.

“Yeah? Just like you wanted?”

The whimper that forced itself past her lips was almost completely involuntary, as if it were answering for her. His words and the weight they carried only spurred her on, more sweet sounds tumbling from her lips as she rocked herself back and forth on him a little faster, fueled by inexperienced desperation. 

“That’s it—” George groaned lowly, hands gripping her hips, “Oh, god, darling….just like that….move your hips for me…oh, you feel so good—”

“Oh my God,” Rosaline wrapped her fingers around the headboard, trying to use something for leverage as her thighs were starting to burn, a wince across her face as she shifted on top of him again, trying to adjust herself to keep going with those messy bounces.

George caressed her thighs tenderly, speaking to her in a warm breath, “Slow down, love. You don’t have to push yourself.”

“But I want it,” she whimpered, and then huffed as she shifted again to try and get back on her feet despite the way her thighs were trembling, “My legs are just so fucking weak, oh my God.”

He chuckled softly, understandingly, “Would you be open to changing positions then? Let me take over for a bit?”

The pitch had something in Rosaline’s chest taking flight and although she tried to play it off, the instinctive clench of her cunt at his words had a smirk playing at his lips. Of course he could feel it. With a bashful bite of her lip, she nodded.

“I’m going to move you onto your back, alright?”

“Okay.”

With her consent, he guided her down to rest chest to chest before hooking an arm around her back and rolling them over. He was so smooth with it that Rosaline gasped in surprise, now laid out on the bed again with him gloriously over top of her, still inside her, and bathed in the soft warm glow of the bedside lamps. That handsome smile of his was ever present on his lips. 

“Comfortable?” he checked in. 

“Comfortable,” Rosaline echoed in the affirmative. Her hands magnetized to his chest, sliding over his pecs and the faint dusting of chest hair between them, and then her fingers traced his collarbones and finally rested on his broad shoulders. She gave him a little tug and he took the hint, leaning down to capture her lips with his in a searing, passionate kiss. Tasting herself on his tongue would never get old and although it had grown to be a recurring theme, the added pleasure of doing so with him buried deep inside her made it all the more thrilling. She wondered if he could hear how hard her heart was beating. 

When their kiss broke, a thin string of spit broke between their lips. His eyes skimmed over her face as she laid out beneath him, hair fanned over the pillow and she was sure her cheeks were flushed a brilliant pink. George leaned down to nuzzle his nose against her neck and he placed a soft kiss against her pulse point, “Mm, you look so good like this, my darling. You feeling okay so far?”

“Mmm,” she hummed dreamily with a small smile at his affection, her hands sliding around his waist to caress his warm skin, “Yeah, I’m good. I’m really good.”

George’s lips grazed across her jaw as he slowly pushed deeper into her before easing back out, starting to find a gentle, shallow pace to start them up again. Rosaline’s breath shuddered and her eyelashes fluttered as he started to move, her hands pressed firmly around his back as if to cling onto him as he set a slow pace. He ghosted kisses across her jaw and her cheek with his forearms on either side of her head, keeping their bodies close as he made love to her for the first time. 

“You’re so tight, darling…so warm…God, you feel so good—” his words were shiver-worthy against her ear, his voice like honey. 

Her ragged breaths were falling with every gentle thrust of his hips against hers as if he were pushing the air into her lungs at the same time. Their eyes stayed locked in their close proximity, sharing oxygen, sharing pleasure, sharing the moment that was only theirs to have. Rosaline’s legs naturally parted wider, permitting him deeper, and although his gentleness felt good, she was burning for more. 

“Please,” she breathed, barely recognizing her own voice, “Please, sir.”

“What do you want?” he asked her against her cheek, his voice thick with pleasure, “Tell me.”

Rosaline squirmed underneath him, back arching and head tilting back and her hands wrapping around his biceps, “Mm, please, go faster. I want…more.”

“You want more, baby?” he purred tauntingly. He punctuated his words with a bit more speed, not wanting to give her too much for her first time but still wanting to be good for her. “Like that?”

“Mmm, yeah, fuck—” Rosaline’s fingers pressed into the muscle of his arms, fluttering eyes still locked on his. 

“Yeah?” George stared back into her eyes as his body moved against hers in slow but sure thrusts. 

It was almost clear across his expression that he was holding himself back but, at the same time, the way he looked at her made her feel like she was absolutely everything in the universe to him; like nothing else mattered. Oh, she wanted to live in that moment forever with him, wanting to keep him inside her for the rest of time. And when he leaned down to kiss her again, her whole body shivered with pleasure. 

They kissed languidly, sloppily, tongues meeting between swollen lips and off-centered kisses, all their focus on the way he slid into her and back out almost all the way, giving her every last inch in tender, generous, almost loving, strokes. His fingers tangled in the ends of her hair that splayed out across the pillow, gently touching her like she was an angel incarnate. Her hands were all over him like she didn’t know where to touch, like the sensations she was feeling were so intense that she desperately needed something to hold onto, her fingers dragging helplessly across the smooth skin of his back as she writhed beneath him and tried to keep kissing him. 

As if sensing her struggle, he blindly guided her hands down to the pillow on either side of her head so he could lace his fingers with hers in a snug grip. Rosaline could have melted on the spot at the gesture and if they weren’t still kissing, he would have been able to see the way her eyebrows quirked as if in a sweet pout. The bedroom was a steamy mess of body heat and pleasured sounds—their kisses, moans, the faint creak of the bed frame—and Rosaline was attuned to everything all at once. 

The taste of his mouth was like heaven and she kissed him back with a hunger that was unquenchable, clashing of lips and tongue in a dance of desire and passion and lust, her fingers tightening around his to clutch onto him, grounding herself in him. Deep inside her, the pressure of that glorious fullness sparked heat in every single nerve ending, luring him in with a warm and sure grip with every thrust. Part of her couldn’t believe this was really happening, that everything she had fantasized about was coming true right then and there. And with him; such a perfect vision of a man that her most elaborate fantasies couldn’t even comprehend. 

It sounded silly but she felt like so much had been leading up to this moment, a journey of self-discovery and freedom of passion and independence. The realization that it was all hers had her unable to hide the small whimper that fell into their kiss. She turned her face away from his kiss, letting his forehead rest against hers as he kept his tender pace and she desperately tried to blink away the tears of pleasure and relief that were blurring in her eyes.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” George whispered adoringly, “Such a good girl, so beautiful…taking all of me. Does it feel good, darling?”

“Yeah,” Rosaline choked out, voice quivering, hands tight in his, “Yeah, feels so good. Please don’t stop.”

“Won’t stop,” he promised, leaning down to lick his way into her mouth again before capturing her lips with his own. After a second, he spoke again, against her lips, “Won’t ever stop, baby. You have all of me.”

She could feel that pressure building within her, that familiar coil of pleasure tightening a little more second by second, but it didn’t quite feel like enough to get her there. She tried to scrunch her eyes closed to focus on the feeling, get herself in that mindset, wanting so badly to allow herself to come from this and this alone. Her needy whimpers muffled against his lips, hips trying to push up against his, desperate for more. 

Reading her like a well-loved book, George spoke, “You wanna come for me?”

Before she could protest that she likely couldn’t without more stimulation, he let go of one of her hands and snaked it down between their bodies to get his fingers on her clit. She was so fucking sensitive that only the first graze had her entire body shuddering, mouth falling open in a soft gasp, eyes locked on his. Between the lube and her own arousal that had only grown tenfold since they finally successfully started, his fingers could glide easily in quick precise circles over her swollen clit while not faltering the pace of his thrusts. 

Rosaline’s free hand flew to the back of his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his forehead right back down against hers with a choked moan. Her other hand, still clutching his against the pillow, only tightened its grip. The tears that brimmed in her eyes took her by surprise, not having anticipated that tears could come from pleasure; yet here she was. 

“Please,” her voice sounded unfamiliar with how quivering and pathetic she sounded but that was the last thing on her mind. “I want more of you. I want all of you.”

“You have me. You can have as much of me as you want.” George replied in an easy breath. 

Rosaline squirmed and panted beneath him, desperate to be satisfied. 

George, like he so often did, spoke her right into it, whispering auditory pleasure right to her, “Come on, darling. I know you’re close. I know you want to come for me.”

“Please, please—” she cried out shakily, tightening her grip in the roots of his hair. 

“Fuck, Rose, you’re getting so fucking tight—” George groaned lowly as if they were words he had been trying to swallow back, desperately trying to keep himself going, thrusting into her at that same dizzyingly tender pace, “Come on, darling, that’s it.”

His fingers slipped over her clit far too easily, helping lure her closer and closer and starting to tighten that boiling hot coil in the pit of her stomach more and more. It was getting harder to hold back her whimpers and moans and ragged breaths yet alone the tears that blurred her vision no matter how much she was trying to keep his eye contact. Forehead to forehead, they laid entangled on his bed, joined as one, both striving to reach that perfect peak. 

“I got you. I’m right here. Come on.” George whispered right to her, “Come for me.”

The sob that broke past Rosaline’s lips the moment her orgasm washed over her startled her. Her whole body trembled with it, shuddering under him, a single tear slipping from her eye and carving its way down her cheek as she writhed and moaned and cried out his name in waves of pleasure. George held her tightly through it, his words of praise a haze in the background of her euphoria, everything so red, hot, perfect. 

He didn’t last much longer after her, as if how fucking tight she got when she came around him being far too much for him to bear. The feeling of his cock throbbing inside her had her mouth falling slack, fingers clutching onto his hair, hips rolling up against his instinctively as if to chase every second of his orgasm. George always sounded like angels singing when he came but, in that moment, the sound of his moans sounded extra good, his panted breaths falling against her cheek as he released into the condom, nestled deep inside her. 

He slowed after a second, finally coming to a stop, still tucked inside her, giving them both a second to catch their bearings. Rosaline blinked up at him, staring into his dilated blue eyes that stared back at her with so much compassion that she almost shivered. 

“Was that…are you…” he stumbled out, clearing his throat to rid the rasp of his words, “How was that?”

Rosaline couldn’t help the honest to God smile that spread across her face and she pried her hand out of his to allow it to join her other around the back of his neck, replying with an angelic, “Incredible.” 

George mirrored her smile, almost a hint of relief on his face, “Good. Good, I’m glad.”

He dipped down to kiss her again, sharing that moment of breathless euphoria together for a few seconds longer. Then, he was carefully sitting back from her arms to kneel between her legs and he carefully pulled out. 

The feeling of pulling out felt so strange, almost a bit of an ache in itself, the sudden emptiness more of an adjustment as her muscles had to ease back into their normal state. She bit her bottom lip at the feeling, lifting her head up from the pillow to glance down to look at the both of them in their aftermath. The bit of blood streaked on the condom didn’t go unnoticed but George didn’t bring any attention to it as he carefully rolled it off and then reached over to the side of the bed to wrap the soiled condom in a tissue to be disposed of. 

Rosaline watched his simple action, asking softly, “Did I bleed a lot?”

George glanced back at her as if surprised by her question. But he took another glance between her legs and let his fingers slide across her messy pussy before shaking his head casually, “Not a lot, no. Just a tad. Is it sore?”

“A bit,” she mumbled. 

He settled down beside her and she instinctively snuggled up close to him, letting him pull her into his side under his arm as he pressed a kiss to her temple. Her eyes fluttered shut, her intense high fading into a pleasant, warm lingering buzz in the comfort of his arms. 

“You’re incredible,” George whispered into her hair, leaving another kiss there before speaking again, “Can I get you anything?”

Rosaline tucked her arm around his middle as he pulled the covers up around them and she replied softly, “Not right now.”

“Just a cuddle?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay,” he breathed into her hair as he pulled her body impossibly closer.

The heat of his skin felt like home beneath his soft bed sheets, snuggled up at his side and in the protection of his strong arms. Her glasses sat slightly crooked on her face from how she was resting her head against his chest but neither made a move to adjust them, preferring the imperfectness of their perfect moment. Besides, the sudden feeling of exhaustion that was overcoming her made her feel like nothing more than jelly in his arms.

Rosaline felt inexplicably tied to him in that moment; as if they had just sealed themselves together in a sense of emotional permanence. She never wanted to leave that room, that bed…him. Nothing felt like this. Ever. 

After a moment of their peaceful silence, she spoke into the warm air of his bedroom, “Thank you.”

George’s hand gave her shoulder a squeeze, “Why are you thanking me, darling?”

She turned her face towards his, still cuddled against his chest, meeting his gaze as she explained, “For being someone I can trust enough like this…and for being patient with me through this whole journey…while I figure myself out.”

He let out a soft hum in acknowledgement and pressed another soft kiss against her temple, “You don’t have to thank me for that, my love, I should be thanking you. I should be thanking you for placing your trust in me, for bestowing upon me this absolute honour.”

She leaned up just enough to steal a kiss from his lips and then another before he was cradling her head in his hand and guiding her to rest back down against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. Her eyes fluttered closed to bask in the moment, settling into the sound of his heartbeat.

Then, she asked a question that had been prying at her for who knew how long, “Have you ever taken someone’s virginity before?” 

“No, I haven’t,” George replied honestly, simply, the weight of it hanging in the air for a moment, “You’re the first.”

“So, we’re kind of like each other's firsts…in slightly different ways.”

She could feel the way he smiled against her temple, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, darling.”

He held her against his body so firmly, grounding her in the moment and his presence, his fingers gently threading through her hair and over her shoulder as his breaths fell calmly against the crown of her head. Rosaline, despite having come down from her orgasm, could still feel her heart racing from just being held by him. She didn’t expect to feel so at peace afterwards, so calm and relaxed and content, feeling safe and sure in ways she had never quite experienced before. 

After a moment, George spoke softly into her hair, words so gentle and so honest, “I’m so happy I got to be your first.”

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[avastrasposts]

Rosemary & Lavender

Plot: The victorious army is in town and Pero feels he deserves some R&R at the local tavern; a hot meal, a bath and a bed. And you just happen to be there to administer that bath. Lucky you!

Mercenary!Pero x female reader

Warnings: Explicit smut, dirt, blood, scowls and time period typical attitudes to safe sex. No use of y/n and the reader is pretty much a blank slate.

Word count: 4.5k

So @nerdieforpedro informed me about her Pero soon being in a tub in the fic she's working on, and that sparked a whole idea. She is wholly responsible for the below spa session. I can't believe I haven't written Pero getting a well deserved bath before! Thank you for the inspiration, Nerdie!

Also, huge thank you to the lovely @lady-bess who whipped up the banner in about five minutes flat when I twisted her arm with sweet words about Jack Daniels. Love you!

The soldiers were loud and triumphant as they rumbled into town, the victory had been resounding, the enemy thwarted and a much larger conflict avoided. The people of the town were out on the narrow streets, cheering the men as they marched onwards to the camp that had been erected on the other side. The victorious officers led the improvised parade, grinning at the boisterous men. The line of soldiers seemed to go on forever, but eventually the line trickled out and you closed the window to the upstairs room in the tavern your brother ran and hurried down to the kitchen. There would be a lot of work to be done when the men came in search of ale and revelry in a few hours. 

At the back of the long line of soldiers came those who didn’t really care what side won or lost, as long as they were on the winning side and got their payment, they were the mercenaries. Among them was a tall, dark haired Spaniard whose deep scowl kept most people at bay, Pero Tovar. He scanned the houses of the town as he followed the men walking past them, keeping his eyes open for a tavern who also offered rooms to stay in. He was still expecting his pay from the commander, but he’d found a few coins and valuables as he lingered on the battlefield after it was all done. His body ached, he was covered in grime, blood and mud, and he had no intention of sleeping in a tent tonight. The coins he’d found would buy him a bath, a bed and a hot meal away from the rest of the army. 

The tavern sign swung in the wind and he recognised the sign for lodgings. Taking no notice of the other mercenaries, he ducked his head and stepped through the low door, into the gloomy room inside. The innkeeper caught sight of him and raised a hand in greeting as he approached. 

“Welcome, and congratulations on your victory, soldier!” he boomed, “You’ve all done us a great service by keeping our border safe.” 

Tovar scoffed, his scowl deepening, he had no patience for the locals who were too cowardly to even attempt to defend their homes. 

“I want a hot meal, a bath and a bed for the night, in that order, innkeep,” he growled, tossing the coins on the nearest table. 

“Of course, sir, of course, take a seat and I’ll make sure your bath is heated while you eat,” the innkeep waved at the serving girl in the corner, who hurried through a door leading to the kitchen. Tovar sank down at one of the trestle tables as the innkeeper disappeared up a creaking staircase. Out of sight, he could hear him call to someone to prepare a hot bath in the available room, and then the stairs creaked as the innkeeper made his way back down. 

“Sir, my sister will make sure your bath is ready for when you’ve eaten, please let her know if you want more hot water or need anything else.” 

Tovar grunted and gave a short nod in reply, picking up his short knife and beginning to clean the grime from underneath his fingernails with the sharp tip. 

Not many minutes later the serving girl reappeared with a large bowl and a flagon. She set both down on the table in front of him and he inhaled deeply. Whoever the cook was, they did a fine job with the stew. It was thick and rich and he could see a bone or two sticking up. While the serving girl fetched him bread, he fished the longest bone from the bowl and sucked the marrow from it with a loud slurp before he tucked into the stew. 

It didn’t take him long to finish the bowl and mop up the remains with the last heel of bread. He pushed the bowl to the side and drained the flagon. 

“Girl, which room has my bath?” he called to the serving girl in the corner and she all but jumped out of her skin at his bark. 

“U-up th-e stairs and to the right, milord,” she stuttered, “l-last r-room.” 

He ignored her incorrect title for him and pushed to his feet, making his way up the creaking stairs and finding the room at the end of the hall. 

You straightened up as the door was opened and the lodger walked in. 

“Your bath is just about ready, sir,” you said, pouring the last of the hot water into the large wooden tub and checking to make sure it was hot enough. The delicate fragrance of rosemary and lavender filled the room, the sprigs floating in the water, the air warm from the fire burning brightly in the stone fireplace. You’d set aside a couple of your softest linen sheets for drying and a pitcher of cider was sitting on the small table in the corner together with bread and cheese. 

The man grunted in response and stepped through the door, his large frame taking up much of the space between the door and the tub. He was still wearing his armour, what little could be seen under the grime that covered it, two viscous looking swords equally splattered by dirt and blood on his back, and a knife in his belt. You couldn’t even see much of his face, most of it covered in mud, although it looked as if he’d attempted to wipe it off, patches of tan skin peaking through.

He sniffed the air, nodding approvingly as he saw the lavender floating in the steaming water and began to pull at one of the straps. 

“Do you require assistance removing your amour, sir?” you asked, putting down the jug and stepping to the side to make room for him by the tub. 

“Tovar,” he muttered, his hand dropping from the heavy looking belt around his waist, “don’t call me sir. And yes, if you’re willing, a helping hand is welcome, but I won’t pay extra for it.” 

You raised an eyebrow at his curt reply, but stepped closer, reaching for the first strap. 

“I won’t charge extra for it, we’re all very grateful for your service in defending the land around our town.” 

He only grunted at that as he stood still, watching your face as you unbuckled a piece of his armour. He hadn’t been close to an ordinary woman in months, only the whores that followed the wagon train, and he’d made sure to stay well away from them. He knew from experience that the easiest way to get something unpleasant festering in your cock was to share the same cunts as the rest of the army. But here was a real woman, clean by the looks of it, the shining hair uncovered, marking you as unmarried, skin clear of any blemishes, round cheeks and soft curves, was it any surprise that his cock twitched as you moved around him? Delicate hands unlatching and uncovering more of him with each piece that you removed.  

The pieces of his armour were placed nearby and he stood in his sweat drenched shirt as you worked on the last part. He could feel the foul smell coming off himself, but you didn’t flinch. He had a clean shirt in his pack, this one he might need to discard. Looking at the perfect swell of your ass cheeks under the dress, as you bent down to place vambraces on the floor, he wondered if he could offer you enough money to stay and bathe him, if he had enough coins to tempt you to do even more for him. His eyes were glued to you as you stood up straight and turned around. You felt his gaze slip over your body, greedily taking in each dip and curve, especially where your chest strained against the fabric of your dress. 

Without a word, you continued your task of undressing him, pretending to just keep going now that the armour was off. Your hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, and pushed it upwards, feeling his hard muscles under the warm skin as you caressed him under the guise of removing the last layer on his upper body.  

Tovar’s cock slammed to attention at the feeling; soft, warm palms, fingers slowly trailing over his chest, and sides, lifting the shirt over his head and dropping it down on the floor. Without stopping to ask, your fingers moved to the lacing in his breeches, and he toed his boots off as you looked up at him, meeting his dark eyes without hesitation. 

“You’re covered in all manner of grime, sir,” you said, glancing down to loosen another loop, “will you let me help you get clean?” 

“Pero,” he muttered, following your gaze down to where your hands were deftly working their way closer to the evidence of his arousal, his cock tight against the leather of his breeches. 

“Pero,” you echoed, slipping your hands around his waist and pushing his breeches down over his hips, curving your hands over his rear, grabbing it a bit more than necessary. His cock bobbed free, quickly growing harder as your hands caressed over his hips, sliding up along his sides, finding his shoulders and slipping down his arms, your fingernails leaving goosebumps in their wake on his skin. Finally your hand closed around his and pulled him towards the tub. 

“Get in before it gets cold, Pero,” you said, keeping your voice in the same low tone he’d given you his name in. 

He stepped into the warm water and let out an involuntary groan as his muscles first seized up and then relaxed, letting him slip deeper into the tub, the fragrance of rosemary and lavender all around him as he sensed your presence next to him. 

“I will smell like a well roasted side of pork when you’re done, are you bathing me or cooking me?” he mused as he sniffed the air, pushing away a sprig of rosemary. 

“You look like a very tough side of meat, I’d need to keep you simmering for days to get you tender and soft,” you said, laughing softly as Pero raised his eyebrows at you. 

“Tough side of meat,” he huffed, his hand coming out fast as a viper and swatting your behind as you bent to pick up the washcloth, “come here and finish what you started, mujer, or I’ll show you how tough my side of meat is.” 

You smiled at his crude humour, his hard erection clearly visible beneath the water, underlining his meaning. 

Rubbing down the wash cloth with sweet smelling soap you kneeled behind his head, “Close your eyes, Pero,” you said softly, “let me clean your face and hair first.” 

He could only grunt in response as you began to gently wipe at his face, tracing each line and angle, wiping weeks of grime away with every delicate movement. You’d guessed that he was a handsome man, even the dirt couldn’t hide that, but you were taken in as you rinsed the cloth in a bowl and reapplied it to his face, wiping gently. His skin was golden, a smattering of freckles over his nose, long dark lashes rested on his high cheekbones and the full lips were soft and plush looking under his scruffy facial hair. It really was too long, and his hair had begun to curl over his ears. 

“Pero,” you asked softly, “can I trim your beard and hair a little, keep it from getting in your eyes?” 

He only gave another low grunt in response, not even opening his eyes. You stepped away for the cutters, and then kneeled back down, using a small comb to untangle his locks, cutting until it was all even, revealing more of his handsome face. 

Rubbing the hard soap between your hands, you began to wash his hair, running your fingers through it to lift the grime and dirt. Under your hands, Pero moaned, an almost obscene sound, as your nails scratched at his scalp. 

“Mierda…” he groaned, “that’s good, keep doing that.” 

With a smile you continued, longer than necessary, to rub his scalp, massaging all the way down his neck and the tightly corded muscles holding his head up. Pero tipped forward, exposing more of his broad shoulder to you, and you soaped your hands again and worked through every inch of flesh you could reach, digging your thumbs into the knots and tight spots. Pero was breathing heavily, groaning every time you found a new kink to put pressure on.

“Señorita, I would pay good money to have you do this to me every night,” he mumbled, his head lolling from side to side as you worked your way up again, scratching at his scalp and rinsing his hair. Gently you pulled his head back and rested it on the small pillow at the lip of the tub. 

“If you pay better than my brother, I might take you up on that offer,” you smiled at him, even though his eyes were closed. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you moved to the side of the tub and picked up the washcloth again.

Pero peeled his eyes open as you began to gently rub at his chest and arms, rinsing away the dirt. 

“And he won’t come after me if I steal you away from this place?” he asked, letting his free hand reach out and trace across your shoulder, down your side, barely grazing the curve of your breast before he let his hand fall. 

“He’ll probably only see it as one less mouth to feed,” you said with a smile as Pero shifted his gaze to where your hand was now washing his leg. You moved the washcloth methodically, rubbing circles on his foot, his calf, then on his knee, moving to his thigh and letting your hand disappear under the water. Pero hissed as the cloth grazed against his erection. It had simmered down while you cut and washed his hair, now it was growing rapidly, and he bucked his hips as you nudged it again. 

“Mierda….” he muttered under his breath, tipping his head back, anticipating your hand closing around his hard length. But instead, you pulled your hand out of the water and began to work on his other leg, the same methodical motions, circling over his wet skin. His foot…his calf…his knee…his thigh…it seemed you moved at a snail’s pace. When you finally let your hand sink below the water again, he all but held his breath as your hand moved. The washcloth brushed over the tip of him, sending a shiver through him, as you rubbed the very top of his thigh, cleaning the crease where his leg met his torso. It was agony, pure, sweet agony, and he had to bite his lip, his breathing laboured. 

“Cariño lindo….” he finally mumbled, putting his hand in the water and finding yours, “stop tormenting me.” With a firm grip he made you drop the washcloth, letting it float away forgotten in the tub, and brought your hand to his aching cock, your hand closing around it as you met his dark eyes. He let go of your hand and it stayed, wrapped around his thick length, an impressive girth from what you could feel. With a sigh he tipped his head back again, and you felt his cock twitch under your fingers, prompting you to slowly drag your hand up to the tip, your thumb slipping over the fat head. Pero bit down on his lip, air escaping his mouth, and beneath heavy lids he watched your face as you moved your hand. Your tongue peaked out, the tip resting on your bottom lip, and he could feel you grip him firmly, the soft pad of your thumb caressing his slit again. The sensation made his hip jerk up and he wondered if you’d let him pull you into the tub. Or even better, let him toss you on the bed that stood by the window, pull your skirts up and see if you were as wet as he thought you must be. The thought of sinking his cock into that wet heat made him jerk his hips again, fucking up into your tight hand. 

The water lubricated your movements, Pero’s heavy breathing and almost pained moans egged you on, and your hand stroked him firmly. His eyes were glued to you, half closed and he was mumbling under his breath, his hips jerking his cock up into your hand. He was heavy under your fingers, smooth and hard, and so thick that your hand couldn’t really close around all of him. Through the now murky water you could make it out, jutting out from between his strong thighs, a dark thicket of hair surrounding it. You pulled down the foreskin and let your thumb slip around the smooth head again, making him gasp and curse, pleading with you to go on. The water splashed a little over the edges as you slipped your hand down, picking up the pace, Pero’s incoherent mumbling replaced by heavy breathing and groans. He tipped his head back, his eyes squeezing shut, your hand moving faster, lighting a trail of fire through his spine, the familiar tightness building in his heavy balls, his fingers were gripping the sides of the tub tightly, his knuckles white. 

“Please….” he groaned, a loud gasp escaping and you felt his body freeze, only his hips jerking erratically into your hand as you continued to stroke him, white liquid shooting out from his cock into the water. 

“Mierda…” he hissed, grabbing your hand under water, closing your fingers even tighter around his still pumping cock, making you rub him through the length of his climax, milking every drop from him. 

Eventually he slowed down, making you slow your pace to a stand still too. His head lolled back and his muscles relaxed, only his chest moving now as he drew long, deep breaths. 

“Cariño lindo,” he muttered, taking your hand under water and bringing it up to his mouth for a slow kiss, “tell me, are you as wet as I am?” 

His question, and the sinful look on his face, made your cheeks heat up, but arousal flared in your body too. 

He pushed himself up, hanging his arms over the side of the tub, water dripping to the rushes on the floor. With a sly grin and his eyes on your face, he pushed your skirt up, his hand slipping under and up, finding the inside of your soft thigh. With practised ease he navigated your undergarments and found the apex of your thighs. He found you dripping, the slick liquid coating the lips of your sex, and with a pleased groan, he pushed a thick finger inside. Your body convulsed and you had to grip his shoulders to stop yourself from falling into the tub. 

“Pero…” you gasped, his finger deep inside, curling back and making your cunt tighten around his digit as he gave you a pleased grin. 

“So wet, cariño,” he praised, “I had a feeling you would be.” 

He slipped his finger out and quickly pushed in another, stretching you as his thumb found the pearl at the top of your slit, swirling around it with his rough pad. Lighting shot out into every limb and your grip on his shoulders tightened, your breathing suddenly laboured as he began to drive his fingers in and out, the slick dripping down his hand. You whimpered and dropped your head, leaning against his shoulder, and you felt him turn his head and nip at your neck, adding to the onslaught of your nerve endings. 

“Come on, querida, let me ruin you for whatever slow farmer tries to fuck you when I’m gone,” he muttered, his hot breath in your ear as he curled his fingers again, grinning as he heard you whine at his words, or maybe it was the way his thumb changed the pattern on your aching bundle of nerves. 

Your teeth were leaving marks on his shoulder, your nails digging into them too. The breathy moans you were panting made his cock twitch and fill again, he felt blood rush to it as your cunt clamped down hard around his fingers. 

“Fuck it,” he suddenly groweled, water sloshing over the floor as he pulled his fingers from between your legs and stood up. You gasped in protest but he didn’t let you gather yourself, pulling you to your feet he stepped out of the tub and pushed you backwards onto the bed. He gave your behind a swat, urging you to shimmy up it, and followed you as he eagerly pushed your dress up around your waist again. His grin was hungry, and you saw his heavy cock swollen between his thighs again. With an impatient shove, he parted your legs and sank down, his wide shoulder holding them open. 

His first lick through your folds made you cry out, grabbing on to his damp curls as he opened his mouth to fuck his tongue as deep as he could inside you. The feeling made you dizzy as every inch of your skin seemed to burn under him, your arousal ramping up as you heard him growl into your cunt, his tongue lapping at you. He moved above you, pushing your legs further apart as he moved his hand up and mumbled something into your flesh. You tugged at his curls, pulling his face up to look at you and he gave you a grin. 

“Your taste is driving me wild, hermosa,” he panted, his short beard glistening with your slick, “I want to feel you come on my tongue, can you do that for me?” He gave you a mischievous grin and held up his hand, wiggling two of his fingers as you nodded weakly. His fingers slid down through your cunt and easily into your heat and he watched your eyes slip closed as you moaned, your head dropping back down on the bed. As you panted out his name, he picked up the speed of his fingers, bending down to close his mouth around your swollen bead, flicking his tongue over it before he lapped at it. Your cries, your fingers tightening in his hair, let him know he was working you the right way and he doubled his efforts. His cock was aching beneath him, hard and swollen, as you tried to close your legs around his head, your body arching up from the bedding. Panting hard you began to moan his name, rocking your face against his mouth with your fingers in his curls, he could feel you beginning to unravel, your legs shaking. With a final effort, he clamped his mouth around your sensitive pearl and sucked, pushing a third finger into you and curling back. 

“Pero…” you moaned loudly, “p-please…” A gasp escaped you, your breathing erratic and he felt your body go taught under him, your cunt going impossibly tight around his fingers. He felt his scrotum tighten at the thought of feeling that around his cock, as you cried out, your climax washing over you in wave after wave. He kept his fingers moving, flicking his tongue over your core and pushed your pleasure as high as he could. You were all but sobbing as he finally felt your legs begin to relax around him, gasping to catch your breath. He caressed your thighs, pulling out his fingers and pushing himself back up to sit on his haunches. His cock was painfully hard, bouncing back against his belly as he looked down at you, spent and sated beneath him. 

There was something predatory in the way his gaze roamed over your body now, your bottom half exposed to him, your top half still covered by your dress. He put his hand out and tugged at one of the ribbons. 

“Take it off,” he commanded, pushing aside the first layer. With trembling fingers, still shaking from his ministrations, you undid the fastenings, pulling the dress apart and wiggling out of it until it lay beneath you and you were as naked as Pero still kneeling between your spread legs. He was watching you with heavily lidded eyes, stroking his cock with lazy movements, the head red and weeping. 

“I want to fuck you,” he said, his voice low as he leaned forward and moved up over your body, “I won’t come inside you, but I need to feel this tight cunt around my cock tonight.” 

You nodded dumbly, you’d do anything to have more of him, he’d already given you more pleasure than you thought possible, and you ached to feel him inside you. 

His rough hand came out and grabbed your soft breast, teasing the nipple and watching it pebble under his finger tips. When he was satisfied, he let his hand slip down your cushy belly, noting how you shivered as he grazed your sensitive core. He grabbed your thigh and pushed it up, making space for himself. When he was satisfied, he closed his hand around his cock and placed it at your opening, watching as he caressed it through your folds, coating it in your slick, and then pushed in, sliding through your swollen cunt in one fell swoop. It made you gasp as Pero groaned, both his hands grabbing your hips and he pulled you onto his cock. 

“Cariño, so tight…” he growled, eyes transfixed at the place where his aching hard length disappeared into your wet cunt. He pulled out, and slid back in again, groans escaping through his clenched jaw as he began to fuck you. His fingers dug into your flesh as he held you in a vice, snapping his hips, chasing his rapidly approaching climax. 

You watched him, your own body spent and pliant under him, only there to let him use, to sink his cock into, as he growled like a feral animal, snarling when he felt your cunt tighten and clamp down around his cock. His newly cut hair was damp from sweat and bath water, he smelled of rosemary and lavender and every scar on his hard soldier’s body stood out on his flushed skin. 

He groaned, his eyes closing, squeezing them tight and his mouth hung open, his breaths coming out in short bursts. Suddenly he pushed your hips away, pulling out with a hiss and fisting his cock, furiously stroking himself. It took only a few seconds, and then his hot spend shot out, coating your belly and thighs as he snarled and moaned like he was injured. With fascination you watched the thick liquid burst from the shining head of his cock while he squeezed, his face screwed up like he was in pain. He tugged at it, milking it dry before he finally gasped, taking a deep breath and opening his eyes. 

Looking down at you, his eyes softened as he regarded you for a few long seconds, his hand still wrapped around his softening cock. With a sigh he crawled over you, dropping down on your side and pressing a kiss, wet and soft, to your cheek. 

“I’m sorry, hermosa, but I think we need another bath.” 

[pokechbi]

“I bled for you, dear. You are mine now.”

WHEWWIEEE this one’s a bit different than my usual ones. Hope you all enjoy! 💗

As always, EVERY single interaction is so so greatly appreciated!!

- (Obsessive/Psychotic) König x fem reader

- 18+ MDNI !!!

- CW: blood, SH

- Not my usual smut, pt 2 with more smut is otw!

💗💗

Maybe it was your eyes. Everyone always told you that your eyes were the most expressive part of you. Or maybe it was your hair. The way it hung loosely around your shoulders, sinuously curly and sticking to your forehead when you sweat. Or was it your body? The way your clothes fit snugly against your curves, accentuating the parts of yourself you tried hiding the most. You didn’t know what it was about you that captivated him so badly. That made him like you. That made him utterly infatuated with you. 

His failed attempts at subtlety rang through your mind at the end of your work days, your brain swirling with possibilities and hopeless, endless cycles of painful obsessions. His behavior was unhealthy. Obsessive. One of a stalker. But you found yourself thinking of him at night, your mind being your worst enemy. You knew he wasn’t right in the head. He wasn’t right at all. No one in his line of work could be. His hands were bathed in the blood of more men than you could ever comprehend. His mind was filled with constant thoughts of death, battle, fighting, killing. He was a beast of a man, physically and mentally incapable of compassion. In no way was he made for any kind of lasting relationship. And you knew that. Yet, as your fingers made their way between your legs at night, thoughts of him on the battlefield slashing, stabbing, shooting, strangling, penetrated your mind like a train in a tunnel too small. 

You’d see him at least twice a week in the infirmary. You’d stitched his mysterious wounds countless times, your flesh burning with every feathery brush of your hands against his skin. Like a snail to salt. You knew it was wrong. You knew as a mandated reporter, you were legally required to report any suspicion of self harm. But you didn’t. And you felt as if you were betraying your very existence to cater to the psychotic needs of the man who you knew had a few screws missing for your own selfish desires. He never spoke much. Just sat there, looming over your small frame, causing your breathing to heave and your hands to tremor. He made you tense. You made him tense. The palpable tension between you just a ticking time bomb, ready to impale any passersby with the sharp shrapnel of his infatuation with you. 

It seemed that every time he came to you, his wounds got worse. But they started small. Harmless. A gash in his porcelain flesh, just a few gauzes needed to stop the bleeding in order for it to heal itself. And as many times as you lied to yourself, thinking: maybe it was from training. Maybe he’d lost control of his knife, accidentally cutting himself or mishandling it. And deep down, you knew it wasn’t. You knew he had been purposely hurting himself. Just to see you. To you, it was charming. Fascinating. And it shouldn’t have been. Every cell in your body screamed for it not to get to you. But you saw his harming himself a certain kind of devotion to you. A showing of his ultimate loyalty to you, even though you hadn’t spoken more than ten words to each other outside of medical talk. 

He’d been acting this way for months now. Too afraid to approach you with his feelings directly, but not afraid to leave you with constant, subtle reminders of his existence. The smell of him left on the sheet of the hospital bed. The boot scuffs on the floor, yet to be mopped up by housekeeping.  The idea of him hurting himself just to come sit on the hard, too-small bed just to see you, conjured a feeling in you that made you nauseous. His behavior was sickening. It truly was. And you knew, with every visit how his wounds got worse, bloodier, deeper…it was only a matter of time. 

He sat on the bed, staring down at you through his sniper hood with his arms limp at his sides as you worked on them. His gaze burned a hole through your head, searing any incoming distracting thoughts with thoughts of him. What he must have looked like under that mask. What his skin felt like. What kind of sounds he would make when he fucked. How dangerously big his cock was. And no matter how hard you fought those thoughts with every fiber of your being, the wetness between your legs was a telltale sign. He had you. He needed you. And like a moth to a lamp, you found yourself secretly chasing that high that plagued your senses every time he was near. 

Your mind was hyper aware of his every move, every breath. The tension in the room constricts you, making you feel as if the air thickened with his very presence. Your skin burned with every graze of his, the hairs on your arms standing to attention. Before you even made it into the room, you knew he was there. Waiting. Stalking your every step until you made it into the room with him. And before you entered, the fuzz on your neck stood erect. Your gut sensing danger, a predator with nothing but sexually malicious intent awaiting your arrival. 

This was your last straw. There had to be a way for this to end. For the never ending silent fight, the vicious cycle of wanting him, hating him, being disgusted by him, being turned on by his very stance. You were almost done stitching him, your gloves bathed in his dark, thick blood. He never so much as winced as you secured the sutures, dabbing the wound with disinfectant. You rolled back in your chair, tossing your gloves onto the rolling metal tray beside you. And as always, he hopped off the bed, looming over you with a steady foot and a half above you as you briefed him on how to clean his wound. But before he could hastily make his way back to his quarters to do God knows what, you absentmindedly grabbed his bicep. He tensed under your touch, never turning to meet your face. Your throat dries painfully as you try to speak, your delicate hands and freshly done nails begging to dig themselves into his scarred skin as he fucked you in a frenzy of predatory sexual hunger. 

“König.” You manage to release. Your voice was practically a squeak, making you feel smaller under him than you already were. As if you needed to feed into his nauseating predatorial instinct even more. You cleared your throat, approaching him. With every step you took, his presence sucked away each and every atom of oxygen from you. A pitiless, dangerous black hole that threatened to drain the life from you with its bare hands. 

“What are you doing to yourself?” You ask, your voice breaking and cracking. You hated showing him that you were weak. That you were ready to be pounced at, mercilessly eviscerated. And in all honesty, you liked that you were. It was shameful. The way he stood, unspeaking and nauseatingly smug at your worry made you want to drop to your knees and get yourself off on his boots while he watched you shamefully. You wanted him to humiliate you. To degrade every ounce of dignity in you and then more. 

“I know this isn’t from training, sir.” You say, running your thumb gently over his fresh sutures. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your mouth and tongue suddenly dry and coarse. You pressed into the matter further, just wanting to beat at his chest until he spoke. Hating him for forcing you to care about him. You were done with this game. The cat and mouse facade that masked the filthy desires swirling between the two of you. He turned to face you slowly, craning your neck to look at his eyes. The egoistic smile in his eyes, the one he made no effort to hide behind his mask. 

“Little maus…” Although his voice was gentle, it still boomed through your eardrums. His German accent wet and thick on his tongue. You keep your grip on his arm, as if the feeling of your skin against his would keep your feet on the ground. “Can’t you see? I do it for you.” He lets out a sigh, reaching a hand up to graze your cheek. “I bleed for you, schatz.” He stepped closer to you, speaking as if it were completely obvious that he sliced himself, made himself gush impossible amounts, just for you. And a part of you always knew. You were always aware, always aware how it turned you on that such a man would do such things for a woman like you. 

He looked down at his arm, your grip tightening and fingertips pressing into his stitches. He lets out a sharp breath, his eyes fluttering closed as you absentmindedly dug your fingers into his gash. You stared at him, dumbfounded. You feel warmth pool under your fingertips, glancing down at his now bleeding flesh. 

“Fuck! I-I’m so sorry. Let me get some-”

“Harder.” He reaches forward hastily, grabbing your arm and stopping you in your tracks. Your lips hang agape, your face growing hot and your breathing growing heavier. He pulls at your arm, bringing you towards him. The room suddenly felt much smaller, threatening to crush you in its walls. The concept of what he wanted you to do made you woozy, your stomach queasy with disgust. But a deep part of you was fascinated by it, a sleeping beauty kissed awake by the nauseatingly beautiful devotion he showed to you. To want to please you. To show you how ready he was to drop dead. Just for you. Even if it were by the woman he loved most. 

You stare between his eyes, noticing how his gaze grew softer as you pressed your fingers into his bleeding flesh. He cried out, a disgusting mixture of pain and pleasure lacing his moans. You stepped closer to him, ignoring the feeling of his hot blood trickling down your wrist. You move your thumb around his stitches as you approach his chest, slowly running your hands up his muscles. You stopped below the hem of his mask, twirling it in your fingers. His hand shot up to your wrist, squeezing it with a force you could only describe as starved. Without words, he moves your hand to his stomach. You feel the muscles under his shirt flex as he guides your hand down his abdomen. You don’t think before you do it, but nothing in that moment could’ve stopped you from giving him exactly what he needed. He bled for you. Sliced himself wide open for you. He showed his devotion for you the only way he knew how. By shedding his own blood. Just for you. 

You work on his belt buckle, the warm blood weeping from his arm now trickling down to your elbow. As you got his pants open, you noticed it. He was already hard. Practically throbbing for your touch. His breathing grew strained, his head dipping down. You felt a smile twitch on your lips. The world around you seemed to be gone, and it was only you and him in this distasteful moment. You, him, his twitching cock and his bleeding arm.  As you took the tip of him into your hand, the warmth of his blood grew hotter as you pressed your thumb deeper into the gash. You stroke him, while simultaneously pushing your thumb forward, eliciting the pained and pleasured moans from the gigantic man before you. 

You see him look down, your small hands seeming smaller in comparison to the length and thickness of his dick. He reaches an ungloved hand towards yours, wrapping his large hand over yours. He guides your strokes, the combined warmth of his length and blood traveling through your body and settling in your core. He continued using your hand to jerk himself as his body twitched and slumped, knees bending slightly. You smile, no longer trying to fight the disgusting feelings that plagued your mind. You liked it. You shouldn’t have. But you did. The nausea that rose from your stomach only fueled you more, squeezing his cock harder as he continued stroking himself with your hand. 

“Harder, my love. Bitte, ich mache alles. Mach es härter.” (Please, I’ll do anything. Do it harder.) He breathed, his body jerking with painful bliss. You do as he asked, pressing your thumb into his weeping flesh harder. You weren’t concerned how much he was bleeding now, only getting him to come. This was an irreversible, irresponsible decision. You crossed a line with him, and a deep part of you knew. You fought the looming dread that threatened to ruin the moment. You belonged to him, and he belonged to you. And in some twisted, cruel way, you didn’t mind. It was dangerous. It was far beyond recovery. There was no way in hell he was letting you go without dying first. And your newfound sick, twisted desires catered to his very agenda. 

“F-fuck…I’m gonna…” His hand painfully squeezed yours, your fingers incapable of moving under his grip. You felt his cock twitch as you continued digging your thumb into his wound, the warmth of his blood bathing one hand, while the heat of his hot cum wetly coated the other. He lets out a string of moans and whines, his grip weakening over your hand. He breathes heavily into the air, your thumb releasing from his flesh. You let go of his cock, both your hands coated in the liquids that came from his soul. In some gruesome, macabre way, you enjoyed it. Loved it, even. The newfound feelings swirled through your mind and made your lips curl into absentminded grin. 

The sound of his belt buckle seemed to bring you back down to earth, causing you to rush to the sink and throw the faucet on. You washed your hands, looking down at your arm, now coated in blood. All of your feelings hit you all at once, feeling a strong nausea bubble in your stomach. Before you knew it, you were heaving into the sink, your knees wobbly and threatening to give out under you. You didn’t know why you threw up. You’d seen all kinds of gore, been covered in blood countless times. But this was something else. Something damaging. The looming dread growing darker over your head. You hear König shuffle, approaching you from behind. You feel his large hand caress your back, a soft gesture that did nothing to comfort you from the cold, dark things you’d just done. 

“I’m afraid I’ll need some new stitches, dear.” He says, a smile evident in his voice. You nodded your head, feeling airy as you stood up from the sink. You didn’t know what you would do now, the clarity hitting you like a truck. There was no escaping this. No escaping him. You sat him down again, resuturing his wound. 

“This cannot happen again, König.” You say sternly, hastily finishing his stitches and cleaning his arm with disinfectant. You stand from your chair, hands on your hips as you pace the room. He stood from the bed, walking over to you. Before you could squeak another word out, his hands were cupping both of your cheeks, your neck craning up to meet his gaze. 

“It can…and it will, schatz.” He says, a soft tremor in his voice. And in an effort to combat your fears of him, he swiftly throws the mask off of his head, hishelmet clattering to the floor. You look at him, lips parted. His strong jaw was lined with a dirty blonde stubble, his lips perfectly shaped balanced with the rest of his face. His nose sat crookedly between his eyes, permanently misshapen from breaking it so many times. His eyes, strong and grey, bored into your soul as if he was looking into every possible detail there was to know about you. He dipped his head down, pulling your face towards his as he crashed his lips into yours. You moan into the kiss, his hands keeping your head still as he forces you to keep your lips stuck to his. 

He parts from the kiss, looking between your eyes with a deceivingly soft gaze. He leaves you in a stupor as he bends to pick his mask up off the floor, slipping his helmet on over his head. You stand dumbfounded, tears welling in your eyes as you scramble to handle your newfound feelings. 

“I bled for you, dear. You are mine now.”

[oddeyechrollo]

Vampire!Chrollo headcanons

a/n: continuation of my vampyre!chrollo post…. i need to write this fic once and for all. little headcanons i wrote to help me figure out what direction i wanna go in. <3 no tws just mentions of blood. i should probs just make a masterlist for this au. excuse any typos this was all written in my notes app.

* vampire!chrollo enjoys bathing in the moonlight, has a few pools at his castle in different locations so he can clearly see the moon from wherever he is.

* not all of the troupe members are vampires, so he tries his best adjust to their needs. sometimes goes hunting before werewolf!uvogin arrives so he can have meat ready for him. keeps extra stitches and bandages incase Franklin or Bononolev need any.

* doesn’t drink from women or children, only men and animals.

* vampire!chrollo doesn’t rest most of the day, usually takes an hour long nap and either reads or cleans if he’s expecting company.

* used to let phinks cut his hair but he’s learned to do so without a mirror.

* Likes to steal / misplace things from the local village. thinks it’s funny when they make up random myths about him and learns to embrace it over the years.

* was a priest in his original human life, deflected from the church after the horrifying death of a childhood friend.

* formed the troupe after deflecting along with a few friends. fell in love with one of the nuns who left with him but she was killed, rebuked god after and mysteriously (i still can’t think of a good way for him to turn tbh) became a vampire.

* can be in the sunlight, but he chooses not to.

* vampire!chrollo was actually incredibly stupid and made nonsensical choices after being turned into a vampire, i have a headcanon that vampires aren’t the smartest after being turned bc a lot of their brain cells die out and take years to recover. he’s grown from that after centuries of being undead but he still regrets choices he’s made.

* has a collection of rosaries his ex lover made for him in life. wears a different one each day despite it being a representation of god.

* still puts flowers on her tombstone and regularly speaks to her. he knows he won’t get a response, but it’s the easiest way for him to grieve.

* kalluto, a local village boy, would sometimes sneak into chrollo’s castle out of boredom. chrollo tried to scare him away on a few occasions but he realized Kalluto meant no harm. decided to let him visit whenever once he realized how neglected he was by his family. eventually turned kalluto when he showed up one evening bleeding to death; it was out of mercy. hasn’t turned anyone else since and he has no intentions of it.

[writerwhowrit3s]

Stone Cold Grits: Sorrow’s Cords.

| Stack x Mary |

this was supposed to be smut but I got in my feels lmao. also just finished rebel ridge so get ready for terry richmond stuff… hehe…

Mary ran her fingers across her wet legs. The slosh, sloshing of the water underneath her rattled across her body. She picked up the loofa that sat on the side table by the tub, dipping it into the water before running the warm contents across her naked chest. The bubbles gurgled around her body, mimicking a glow. Her shoulder length hair was pinned up and back with a few bobbies, allowing her bare face to be free and the conditioner to blow cool air across her cheeks.

Her head was knocked back, eyes closed, ear filled with only the sound of moving water and the smooth breeze outside. It still shocked her how good her hearing has become. She supposed the dead needed better listening skills to search out for prey. Eh— didn’t matter to her, she and Stack stopped killing folks for a while now. Their last one was in 87’. Since then they restored to mugging blood banks and hunting animals in the woods. Wasn’t as good as a fresh, warm, heart-pumping body but it would do.

Mary mindlessly tapped a long nail on the bath rim. This house was in tip top condition. The people they stole it from was an older couple, both in their mid 60s. It was a Victorian style mansion, complete with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a grand dining room and an even bigger kitchen. Now what in the hell were two old men going to do with such a big ole’ house? After all they were basically on the brink of death— so they just made it easier for them. Mary grinned at the memory, remembering how Stack, blood on his chin, fire in his eyes, picked her up bridal style, declaring in a loud voice this was their new home.

“BABY!”.

Speak of the Devil.

“In the bathroom!”, she screamed back, lifting a foot and admiring the fresh pedicure she had given herself earlier that night. Dark red. Stack’s favorite color.

Mary snickered as she heard the sound of feet pattering around, looking for her. She dropped her foot as the door finally creaked open, revealing Stack with a wide toothy smile. He held up something, some records, the front stating clearly PEARLINES.

“My lil cousin done, done it again”, he laughs gleefully, smiling down at the fresh new records, “Says it’s his last one though… man… so proud of him. Came such a long way”.

A smile lit up on Mary’s face. Even after all this time, decades on decades on decades— Stack was still the loving, caring, man that she fell in love with. The one who loved and cherished his family. Protected those who were close to his heart. That was why she didn’t give him no shit when he went out to check up on good ole’ Preacher Boy. She knew why he did it. He wanted to make sure that the last of his bloodline was living out his life to the fullest.

“You should be”, Mary breathes, “I knew lil’ Sammie was gonna go big one day… boys always had that talent in him”.

“I know right..”, Stack sighs solemnly. He placed the records down on the sink, face etched with a something that Mary couldn’t put her finger but she knew exactly what was going through his head.

“Baby”, she cooed. Stack snapped his eyes towards her, and she reached a wet hand out his way, “C’mere”.

They held their gazes together. Stack silently trying to tell Mary that he was good but her eyes told him to get his ass over here. Stack walked to the tub before dropping to his knees, grabbing the woman’s hand and holding it to his mouth for a moment.

“I know”, she whispered, pushing her forehead against his, “I know, it’s hard… I miss them too… all of them”.

“Man if I could just… if I could just seem em’ one more time”, he sniffled, shaking his head in disbelief, “Fuck just wanna see my big brother one more time”.

“I know, baby”.

It didn’t matter how much time had passed. Stack would always mourn his brother. He knew that one day, someday, the time would come where he would get to see him again.

“Hey look at me”, She breathes, tilting Stack’s chin so his eyes would meet hers, “He looking down on us right now, you know? Smiling ear to ear. Up there with Annie, our niece, and my momma. I know they missin’ us too”.

Right now, in this moment, that’s all he could hold onto; his woman and the memories, good and bad.

“Yeah”, Stack grinned, nodding, “Yeah.. I knows it”.

“Cmere, baby”, Mary gently pulled Stack in and plants a soft kiss to his lips, “I love you”.

Stack grips the back of her head, pressing another passionate kiss to her lips before nuzzling her nose with his, “I love you more”.

After they pulled away, Mary lazily picked at the man’s beard, taking in his face. The little moles and divots in his skin. She rubbed her thumb across his bottom lip before a grin spread across her face, “Tryna get in here with me?”.

“Kind of question is that?”, Stack replies, causing Mary to let out a small giggle, “You ain’t even have to ask, gahead and scootch ya ass”.

[rrking]

Some General BG HCs

Me and my wifey often discuss Astarion things in real life, and there are a few that I thought I would share.

Spoiler warning⚠

Astarion

Random knowledge bank. Meeting your parents for the first time and your dad wants to talk about history? Ask Astarion, if he doesn't just know, he remembers.

Enjoys going to the library. Does not enjoy the rabble who also enjoy the library. You have to explain to him over and over about library cards and infrared scanners so he doesn't just nope out and steal the book. Also gets annoyed when books from his time are revised.

Don't want to touch the raw meat packaging? No worries, Astarion will lick it up for you. Imagine him leant against the kitchen counter sucking up the blood from that piece of paper at the bottom of the mince. (A wifey thought)

On the subject of blood, if you cut your finger in the house he will be licking that up for you with a leering grin. Dragging it out so he can watch how you roll your eyes at him.

Comes in late, as usual, but this time after taking out every fucking goose or pigeon in the local area. The council are unhappy. Astarion is ecstatic. Word of a bird plague is sweeping through the borough. You are not happy with Astarion. Astarion doesn't care about the council until they put your council tax up.

Glares out of the window at kids playing but won't admit they're kind of cute. Especially glarey when kids come to the door trick or treating. Bonus points if they're dressed as vampires... Maybe he'll compliment them. "Darlings, look at your adorable little capes! Does your mother know you lot are prancing around dressed like monsters?" Will absolutely deny any niceties when you look at him knowingly, a smirk appearing on your lips as you notice the bucket of sweets he's holding, still excited after giving the children far more than they needed. or asked for.

Moans and groans when you watch vampire films. "Darling, turn that nonsense off, would you? Were you curious about vampires, you have one right here."

Groans even more when you watch law and order style programs, particularly court ones. Bad memories. "And why did he not get the death sentence?!"

Serial social media meme stealer.

Always creeps up behind you when you are looking in the mirror, ready to scare you. Or shag you, you be the judge.

Gale

Want chippy but don't want to get up or wait for an order? Blink. Gale will blink there and back. What's faster than Uber Eats? Going via the Astral Plane.

100000% will make you a brew if you ask :) He turns up with your favourite mug and your drink exactly the way you like it.

The type of man to run you a hot bath ready when you get in from work or if you've had a hard day just because.

Definitely discovers Nivea for Men.

Remembers things like birthdays and anniversaries.

Sees shiny things and wonders if they're infused with the weave. Gazing through the jewellery shop window.

Suffers through Harry Potter at Christmas wondering where all the elegant wizards are.

Started a thing where you leave post it notes for one another with sweet nothings on. Today as you're walking past the calendar pinned to the kitchen wall, you spot a new post it note. This one is pink and bares Gale's graceful handwriting. It reads: "My most special one, everyday I wake up next to you I feel luckier than the last. Have a great day x" Such devoted notes leave you feeling warm inside.

Halsin

Prefers to buy 'living herbs' than ground jar ones because NATURE.

Is that person who goes past an adult shop and says loudly "let's go inside!"

Definitely gets stuck in garden chairs and the like due to being so massive. Don't get this man in a smart car.

Stands up at barbecues if the chair is too small. It probably is.

Literally has to be told to avoid the bear story to others because they will not understand but tells it anyway if he gets too drunk.

Actually finds it quite difficult to adapt to modern society almost more than Lae'zel.

If you live in the countryside, Halsin definitely finds it a little easier, but if you live in the city he is constantly asking questions. The thing that catches his eye today is a statue above the bank door - a lion with a key in his mouth. "Does that petrified displacer beast not wish to return to the wilderness?" "Halsin, that is a statue of a lion with a key in it's mouth." "...Oh. Why does it guard a key?" You look at him curiously, unsure of how to answer such an innocent question. "It's just HSBC's thing... I don't actually know."

Struggles to find clothes that actually fit.

Will share you a meme you tagged him in and never truly understand the new technology.

Totally enjoys long walks and feeding ducks. Eats all of the bread.

Tries to speak to the animals at the zoo. (Wifey)

Incosolably weeps at nature programs. Very confused when you try to explain that nature has to take it's course for them to film.

First thought upon seeing CGI animals dancing and talking : "IT'S A DRUID!"

Votes Green Party.

Lae'zel

Lae'zel struggles the most to integrate into modern society.

She takes up some form of fighting WWE and does not understand why the fighters don't actually hurt each other.

She complains about this after making absolute bank of course. "Ch'k! These istik talk about fighting for glory - Yet they simply roughhouse for pitiful coin." "Yeah, but look at how famous you are, Lae'zel..." Rollin', rollin', all my bitches rollin'.

Hates ood in Doctor Who for obvious reasons. "Tsk'va, ghaik!"

Wifey came up with 'Bae'zel'.

Karlach

Believes stupid spam emails you have to send onto others. (Wifey thought of this)

Shares that post of the missing dog on the other side of the world who was found 3 years ago.

Discovers TikTok, only shares animal videos and smashes TikTok dances.

Discovers aircon. 🥺

Discovers hot wing challenges... Excels at said hot wing challenges. and collects all the t shirts for winning food challenges.

Shadowheart

Posts things on Facebook like 'Shar/Selune keeps me in check. Like, share and comment 'Praise be to Shar/Selune' if she keeps you in check." Definitely gets flamed by the others.

Ends up with cute hobbies like paper quilling and crafts. Makes things for you. "You've really improved your crochet, Shadowheart! What is this one called?" Gives him a simple name like Bob or Clyde and puts him with the rest, cramming the mantle with them.

[ravenmichaelisstuff]

Monster!Soap x human!Ghost AU

Part 1?

Tw. Blood, lot's of it, violence

When Soap got accepted into 141 by Price, the Captain promised him that he wouldn't have to ever use his supernatural abilities on missions if not strictly necessary. Price knew what he was, how dangerous and terrifying he could become. He knew that Soap has strength that should not be used without considering other options, without thinking, reckless.

It's not like Soap wasn't capable of controlling himself, it takes a lot to throw him of balance. His previous CO didn't know a limit though. The moment that bastard found out about Soap's other side he made sure to use it whenever he could, making every mission an easy win- for himself.

For Soap it was bloody exhausting not only physically but mentally. It wasn't even just that, that he started to lose himself more easily but the faces of his teammates whenever he unleashed his rampage? The scared faces of his friends? The fact that after the first time his team saw his true self they never looked him straight in the eyes again. They never talked to him like they used to, holding themselves stiff and ready to bail. Terrified.

So Soap grew to hate using his abilities on field, near other soldiers. When he joined 141 he made sure to keep that part of himself hidden away even though Ghost and Gaz were informed about the fact that Soap wasn't human, but they didn't know the details. Werewolves, vampires or even shapeshifters- those were seen often at military bases in comparison to his kind. With how the scot carried himself and acted they probably assumed he was a werewolf but he was something else entirely. He would rather keep it the way it is especially that he took a shine to his new lieutenant.

He was able to go like this for months and in that short time 141 became something so much more than just a task force.

Everything was great until the absolute blood bath he is in right now.

They were supposed to retrieve important information from a building supposedly guarded only by a few humans eventually a vampire, in and out. But when they reached the office in which the files were supposed to be hidden, Gaz's radio cracked with Price's voice who was over watching the building.

Armored cars swarmed the building, they got surrounded and outnumbered in a blink of an eye. When first few gunshots flew by their heads he knew that there is only one way of getting them out of there in one piece.

He clicked his radio.

"Price! Permission?!" He screamed, looking over at his teammates trying to hold their positions against the enemy.

"... Granted. Keep them safe son." Prices voice sounded through the speaker.

Hell broke lose in mere seconds. Screams filled the building as well as the subtle dull sounds of bones being broken inside bodies. Dark navy flames consuming bodies, surrounding them and pulling of their limbs as if flames were solid body. John himself now *several* feet taller, hunched over a group of men desperately trying to shot at him, the bullets flying through him and into the wall behind him. He tore into them, blood splattering across the room.

.

.

.

"Johnny! They are all dead, quit it!"

A voice, familiar, deep and raspy- Ghost's. Soap suddenly felt like he could see again. Like the vision was blurry before but now it was clear. He saw his dark, burning claws covered in blood and- A pile of... Fuck when did he blacked out? Did he hurt his friends?

He can't breathe suddenly.

"Mate? You with us?" Gaz. Gaz stood beside him, on his eye level. He must have turn back, he feels sticky. Gaz is ok.

He felt hands on his shoulders.

"Johnny say something" Ghost said, concern seeping into his voice. He has to answer.

"Yeah, Fuck- I sorry-" Soap cringed at his own voice cracking. This wasn't supposed to happen, not around them. He wasn't supposed to scare them.

"Mate you have nothing to be sorry for." Gaz huffed relieved. "You saved us" the other sergeant smiled at him like he never saw what he just did.

Ghost squeezed his shoulders. "Come on, we gotta get you cleaned up sergeant. We have to get to Price and then to the extraction point. Is any of that blood yours?" His voice was calm, grounding - like nothing changed.

"No, No Lt. I am good"

And just like that Ghost gave him a pat on his shoulder and signaled to follow him to the exfil.

It left Soap surprised, the fact that his friends acted just as always. Like they didn't see what he was able to do.

But it's probably just shock.

The scot already felt the dread of loosing his friends after they would process what they witnesses. It never ended differently.

I am losing sleep over monster Soap

[blakeswritingimagines]

Rewrite the stars *Smut*

Summary: The day came to marry Aemond with end in sight, however after enough time with him even if he couldn't always calm his strange urges..... You seem to have grown fond of him and his weird ways.

Word count: 4.1k

A/n: Part 3 of "My sweet Y/n" but can be read as a stand-alone, Enjoy~

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Once in the safety of your private chambers, you couldn't stop thinking over Aemond's question even as you got ready for bed "You do want to marry me, right?". Sitting in the bath longer than used to simply because you couldn't stop yourself from thinking of all the different outcomes of marrying the prince, trying to fight against it still but dealing with more punishments that Alicent seemed fine putting you through or actually giving in to what the prince wanted. Once a fortnight had passed the wedding was ready to take place which helped as Aemond eased up even if only slightly, but you had a much better time talking to him even if he was still glued to your side or banned certain people from even just looking at you or how often Alicent would be staring you both down looking angry but say she was fine. Having been separated from Aemond for the last few days once everything was done and over with it would be more special when you both finally saw each other even as Alicent and Helena helped you get ready for the wedding. Helena tried to be ever helpful as she spoke softly to keep you calm but couldn't help as she spoke in her riddled way of what she saw happening once you married Aemond as if knowing something nobody else did.

You stared at the mirror as the maids finished dressing your hair in braids and wrapping your head delicately with a headdress of flowers. Aemond walked down a carpeted staircase and into a large room. He was wearing a black doublet, embellished with silver embroidery. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. At the other end of the room, you were waiting for everything to start in your wedding dress. The dress was made of white velvet, with lace trimming along the hems. You looked like a vision of beauty. Aemond looked at you with awe and tenderness once you started walking down the long aisle. He knew he would soon make you his wife. He could not wait to take you in his arms. There was a hush among the crowd as you made your entrance, Aemond's eyes solely on you. You were taken aback when he looked at you with nothing but pure awe. You rarely had men or most people look at you in this way. As he approached you, you gently took his hand and held it tightly. His warmth and tenderness were both comforting and exciting. You felt a strange sense of calm wash over you at the thought of finally being with Aemond even if things were still very difficult between you both.

Aemond slowly made his way down the carpet-lined room, taking in the beauty that was you. You looked like a vision in your wedding gown, your beauty rivaling that of the Seven themselves. Aemond couldn't wait until you were finally and officially his wife, to hold and kiss and love you with all his heart and soul without hiding it anymore. "You look beautiful," he said softly, handing you the bouquet of flowers. "I can't wait to marry you, my love." He looked over at the Septon waiting nearby. "Shall we?" You took the bouquet of flowers. "Thank you, Aemond." You looked up at your groom, smiling. "Yes," you said softly, "let's do it." You looked at the Septon with a nervous smile. "Let us be wed, ser." The Septon stepped forward. "Dearly beloved…" Aemond squeezed your hand as the ceremony began. In his heart, Aemond was already married to you. He had loved you since the very first day you both met.

You smiled softly trying to stay calm even with all the eyes on you and Aemond who seemed used to this. Aemond and the Septon took their positions. "Do you, Aemond, Prince of the Iron Throne, take Y/n to be your lawful-wedded wife, to love and cherish, from this day forth?" the Septon asked. Aemond nodded. "I do." The Septon turned to look at you. "Do you, Y/n," the Septon asked, "Take Aemond to be your lawful-wedded husband, to love and cherish, from this forth?" You took a deep breath in and out, your heart beating quickly, your mind racing with thoughts of Aemond and what suddenly life would be like now. You slowly nodded your head, and your voice trembled slightly as you replied quietly, "Yes." As you repeated your vows, it felt as though your chest was expanding with pride, joy, and love. This was it, you were getting married even if it was to Aemond, the man you had fought against, the man you had understood was different than others and was now standing in front of you. It was like a fairytale come to life except it was very real.

The Septon spoke. "Then, by the authority vested in me by the Seven Who Are One, I hereby pronounce that Aemond and Y/n are one flesh and one body, now and forever." Aemond and you leaned forward and gently kissed for the first time as husband and wife. Aemond's hands remained on your hips. Aemond smiled. The Septon looked pleased. The guests cheered and drank champagne. "My wife," Aemond whispered into your ear. Aemond smiled at the Septon. Then he looked at you. His expression turned serious. "My wife," he said in a quiet voice. He took your hand and kissed the ring. "You are mine, now," he said lowly. "And I am yours." His eyes darkened as he looked at you enjoying that now no matter what you were only his no longer even having to work under his mother.

Truly feeling like his property, even if you didn't understand if it was in a good way or a bad one. No one else would ever be able to touch you, love you, or call you 'wife.' This moment was truly a dream come to life. As Aemond kissed the ring on your finger, you felt a rush of warmth flush over your body that only added to the fire of nerves. You knew now that you belonged to him, you belonged to him completely and he belonged to you in turn. No one could take Aemond away, and that gave you such a sense of peace and comfort it felt like a burden lifted off your shoulders. You felt complete. You were no longer you, you were Aemond's, his one true love, and you would have to wear that title with pride.

You and Aemond turned to the guests who attended the wedding as they clapped and cheered. Your body burned from embarrassment as you fiddled with the flowers you were still holding. You felt like your whole body was on fire after everything was settled and set in stone Aemond took your hand. "Let's go have a meal and celebrate," he said. Leading you to a feast table, filled with delicious foods. On it were roast fowl, baked capon, sweetbreads, lamprey pies, and lemon cakes. "My love," Aemond whispered. "I promise I will protect you and your honor. I will be faithful to you and love you and cherish you." Aemond was smiling. He looked deep into your eyes. "With all these wedding festivities, I nearly forgot that we shall soon bed, to finally consummate our marriage," Aemond smirked. "Are you ready for that, my wife?" You felt slightly embarrassed but happy by the applause and the cheering of the guests. You smiled at Aemond as he led you to the feast table filled with delicious food. You took in the sight of the feast table before you both, full of delicious foods. You couldn't wait to dig in. As Aemond whispered in your ear and promised to protect you and love you, you felt a wave of relief and happiness wash over you. Your stomach turned just slightly at his next remark, but you tried your best to ignore it and focus on your new husband. Then he mentioned consummation. You cleared your throat a little at his words but felt yourself nod nonetheless. "I am," you said softly. It was a big night for you both and there was nothing better than to consummate your marriage, to finally be one in flesh and hearts.

Feeling a rush of butterflies at his words, your cheeks hurting due to the smile you couldn't get to leave your lips as you nodded your head. You were ready, you only hoped you could satisfy your new husband. You both had been so close to each other, but never truly together. Now you would be in the most intimate way imaginable. You nodded once more, your chest burning as if you were on fire not knowing what you were doing. You couldn't believe that the moment you had prayed for just to marry and be happy beside someone for the rest of your life for so long was finally here, and it felt like a dream. "I am," you replied softly. Your heart fluttered at your now husband's words. Both of you would no longer be separated by this night. Your bodies would finally be intertwined, with your souls bound together forever. "I have waited a lifetime for this moment," you softly confessed, "so you better be ready."

Aemond felt the blood rush to his face. His body was alive. His whole body felt warm. His heart pounded. "Ready?" He said. "I am more than ready." Aemond stared at your lips. "My beautiful, sweet, and chaste bride." Aemond was grinning widely. "Tonight," he said, "my chaste bride will be mine." Aemond gently pulled you closer. "Tonight we will consummate our marriage." Aemond looked at you with a lustful smile. "My love," he said, "I have been waiting for this moment since our first meeting. You have no idea how much I want you." Aemond was blushing. This wasn't like him at all being so open but at least he wasn't telling you all the things he did behind your back, but he somehow couldn't restrain himself around you. Aemond caressed your cheek with his thumb. "Y/n," he said, "let's go back to my chambers. We need to consummate our marriage."

You could feel a fire in your blood. Aemond's lustful words were making you feel things you never thought you could feel. You were becoming more and more excited by his advances, but part of you was scared and nervous. This would be the first time you truly made love, and you wanted it to be perfect. "Take me," you said softly, meeting his lustful gaze with your own. "Take all of me, my love," you whispered gently like you didn't want others to know as you leaned forward, your kiss lingering on his lips. You could feel his warmth coursing through your body. "My lady," Aemond whispered, "I will gladly take you." He softly leaned forward and kissed your lips fiercely. It was not the romantic kiss you had given each other at your wedding. This kiss was different. The hunger and lust in Aemond's eyes, the way he squeezed you firmly, and the way Aemond's kiss did not want to end, showing you a passionate side of your new husband you had not yet known.

Aemond felt a rush of emotions. Lust, love, and desire for you overwhelmed his body, coursing through his blood like wildfire. He had waited a lifetime for this moment, the moment when his beloved would finally be in his arms. He leaned forward, his kisses more passionate than any he had ever given before. He pulled you closer into his arms, his hands exploring your body and pulling you tighter against him. His lips searched for your neck, and he kissed your neck passionately. His movements were not gentle now. They were aggressive and passionate. Your body was trembling with excitement, feeling that same fire coursing through your body. You couldn't help but moan as Aemond's hands explored your body, and kisses rained down your neck. You were losing your mind, your desire taking over in a way you never would have imagined. You were becoming a woman that night, your body, your mind, and your soul belonged to Aemond, and no one else your blood raced through your veins, the rush of excitement, lust, and desire being too much for you to handle as your hold tightened on Aemond. You kissed him back hungrily, tasting his lips and feeling his hands as they ran over your body. The aggression of his movements made you feel like he was claiming you with each kiss. Each caress brought you two closer together, your souls and bodies intertwined. Your lips and bodies met together, creating an explosive passion.

Aemond sighed happily as the passion between him and you grew. The kiss was intense, hungry, and filled with desire. The two had slowly but surely making way to the privacy of your now shared bed chambers, away from the feast and people who wanted to talk to you both and meet you someone who was just a lowly servant now married into royalty. Now in the bed chambers. You were lying on his large, king-sized bed Aemond's face was flushed. His body was warm. You could feel his breathing become heavier Aemond stared you in the eyes, his voice becoming raspy. "Your husband desires you," he said, "more than he has ever desired anyone for the past two years." He pulled your body closer. "My lady," he said, "I must have you." Slowly, Aemond peeled your dress down, revealing your figure to his heterochromia eyes. Aemond's eyes were filled with a lustful gleam. He hungrily kissed your neck, leaving marks with his lips. He looked into your eyes. "Are you ready?" You felt yourself shiver as Aemond's lips kissed your neck, leaving behind marks as if he were claiming you as his own which in his mind he was. His words ignited a fire within you, one that could only be satiated by your husband. "I am, my love," you whispered gently as you felt his hands on your body, your heart was beating rapidly, your mind racing. All of you belonged to him, forever. "Take me," you whispered softly, unable to wait any longer. Your words were filled with passion and desire. You moaned softly as Aemond's kisses traveled down your neck again, sending a jolt of desire through your body. He was aggressive and passionate, and you were loving every second of it. As his lips touched yours, you let out a muffled cry of pleasure. You wanted him to take you right here, right now. You were married now, and this was finally allowed. You couldn't stop yourself from feeling this way and your body wasn't helping as it all but screamed at you everything you needed to know.

Aemond's hands explored every curve of your body. His fingers traced your curves, touching every inch of you. Aemond could feel every little gasp and moan of pleasure that you were making. Aemond pulled you close to him. He could feel his blood boiling. He was becoming hungry for her. Aemond's face was flushed he kissed your shoulders, your neck, your tummy, your hips. He kissed wherever his mouth could reach. Aemond slowly kissed down your body all the way to your thighs. He could hear you moaning softly under your breath. Aemond looked up to see you looking at him with lust in your eyes. He let his voice whisper seductively "We shall be as one," he teased, "as husband and wife." Aemond's heart was racing. He looked at you with a wicked smile on his face. "My love," he whispered, "you are as beautiful as a goddess." Aemond looked at you with unrivaled passion and obsession. Your beauty was enough to render him powerless. He caressed the curve of your hips. Aemond smiled. "So soft and supple," he whispered enjoying how you felt under his fingertips without shame or guilt like he used to.

You moaned softly as he kissed all over your body, his mouth wandering over every inch of you. His words only served to further fuel your passion and desire. The passion and lust between you both were palpable. You let out another moan as Aemond kissed your thighs, your breath growing heavy and your heart beating quickly. You knew what was about to happen. You couldn't wait much longer. "Please," you whispered softly, letting him know that you were ready for more. Your lips continued to moan softly. You were feeling so much pleasure, your whole body shaking. You felt Aemond's hand move to your thighs spreading your legs open, slowly working way up to a more intimate place as his fingertips teased your pussy. Aemond kissed your thighs slowly. He kissed your hips. He kissed your womb, gently, teasingly. His mouth slowly licked at your skin. Aemond smiled. "The moment we have long anticipated is finally here," he said. "I am going to take you." You were experiencing something you had never felt before. It was intense and overwhelming, but Aemond's attention and love for you felt so blissful. He seemed so dedicated to worshipping you. Aemond's tongue entered your cunt slowly with a groan at the taste of you on his tongue.

Aemond watched you closely taking in your reaction. He was gazing at you with complete and total adoration. He was obsessed with every part of your body, every inch, every curve, every part that showed your dripping pussy. But, above all, he was addicted to your sweet lips and your breathy voice. Your legs buckled and shook as you tried to endure the pleasure of Aemond's tongue teasing you as his nose bumped against your cilt. Your body was a blaze, and all you could feel was the overwhelming sensations of Aemond's touch. You were so close, and the feeling would only increase as he worked his way deeper inside you. "Aemond," you whispered softly as your head tilted back, feeling your body quivering in his embrace. "Oh, Gods." You could not remember the last time you felt something this powerful. Your mind was all but gone, and your body was nearing the edge.

Aemond smiled as he heard Y/n's voice become more desperate. She likes this, my sweet lady, Aemond thought. She is mine. The moans of yours fueled Aemond's love and passion for you tenfold. He was eager to give you pleasure, and he did not want to lose this opportunity as he continued moving his tongue inside of you letting you grind against his face, holding on to your thighs as he groaned before feeling the spasm as your legs shook while you came hitting all over his face. Causing him to pull away shocked at what just happened before grinning as he moved to hover above you still teasing you as he roughly spoke in your ear "Such a good little wife for me aren't you? gonna let me take you again and use you."

You were lost in the pleasure you felt at the touch of Aemond's mouth and hands. Your body was shaking with desire, your words becoming lost as you felt yourself reaching your climax. Your eyes widened in shock, a blush creeping across your face as the words he spoke left you breathless. Was he joking? You didn't have time to think, not with the way he was teasing you and looking into your eyes with a gleam of passion. "Take me," you begged softly with a nod of your head, your voice filled with need and pleasure.

Aemond's lips continued to tease you, and your moans kept flooding the room. Aemond finally gave you what you both wanted. He gave you his entire body, in every way possible. His body was warm and tender as if he had become one with you like he had been waiting. His fingers, his tongue, his lips, his voice, every single one of his senses existed to please you. Aemond felt your body trembling and shaking with the pleasures you were having. Aemond was loving every moment of it. Aemond looked at you with a content, blissful expression. He moved his hands to your hips and pulled you close. He wanted to savor this moment, to savor the loving feelings his wife was giving him finally after all the pining and waiting paid off. "Oh, Y/n, you are mine now," Aemond whispered seductively in your ear. Aemond kissed you softly as he lined up his cock that was leaking and thrusted into you slowly as he laced your fingers together holding your hands up by your head.

Closing your eyes as he slowly lined up, your eyes meeting just for a moment. As he thrusted into your warm pussy, you let out a soft moan, your body filled with a sense of pleasure and satisfaction that you had never felt before. "My love," you whispered. Your eyes remained closed as your bodies moved together. "Please fill me with your love." Your words were filled with passion and joy, the moment of your coming together was the happiest moment of your entire life. Aemond was in bliss. Your love, your soft, sweet lips, your warm body, all of you. Aemond loved you which he felt he had proven enough times since knowing you. He loved you so much that his thoughts were filled with you. This is what you mean to him. You are his happiness. Aemond was grunting with every thrust as he started snapping his hips faster. His hands slipped away from yours and were gripping your hips firmly. It was as if Aemond was a beast with a fiery passion inside him. He couldn't stop. He wanted to give you more love.

"You are mine," Aemond whispered, his voice becoming more and more sensual. "I have been dreaming of this moment," he said softly. "I have wanted you as my wife since I first saw your beautiful face two years ago." Aemond looked at you hungrily as he thought of all the depraved things he did before being with you. He was your husband now. You were now Aemond's lover. Your paths were intertwined and your destiny was to be together forever. He kissed your lips passionately. You were in total bliss as Aemond's body moved with yours. You felt the love flow through your body, filling you, and all you could think of was the man on top of you. You felt his love and felt every emotion he felt. Your hands grasped onto him, holding onto him tightly as you continued to make love with him. You let out another moan, your legs wrapping around his waist as he groaned and swore under his breath each time you tightened around his cock. Your eyes were closed as you felt your whole body shudder with pleasure and satisfaction. Love filled every inch of your body. You had never felt more connected to another being.

Aemond kissed your neck. He moved his body at a fast pace letting his cock slam in and out of you. He kissed your lips again. He kept doing this again and again, his kisses becoming more and more passionate and rough. Aemond's heart was pounding. Your moaning was driving him crazy. He was close to the edge. His body was moving faster and harder. The moment was quickly approaching. Your moans were louder and more passionate as you practically screamed his name. His body was trembling. Suddenly, he released deep inside of you. You could feel Aemond's body become more intense as his kisses increased in passion. Your own body trembled as your breathing became faster. The moment was approaching and you could feel your body prepare itself for the climax again. As your bodies moved faster and faster, you felt his kisses on your neck become more and more possessive, as if he was claiming you in every way possible. You let out a loud, satisfied moan as you felt pure ecstasy throughout your body. Your body trembled and your blood raced through your veins. It was the greatest moment of your life as you saw white in front of your eyes.

With that, Aemond made you feel things you had never felt before in your life. All in all, it was an incredible experience for you which was better than any fantasy he had ever had about you. When the two of you were finished, Aemond held you closely. Aemond's face was flushed, and he was breathless from their love-making. He whispered to get your attention, "You are my true love." He spoke while dragging his fingertips across your body. You held onto your husband tightly as you lay together on the bed, his words making your heart melt. You enjoyed his closeness for once, listening to his breathing, and knew that this moment would forever be etched into your mind. "I am yours, my love," you whispered back to him. "I am yours right here, right now, and forever." You brought your hand up and caressed his cheek, smiling softly as you looked into his eyes.

"I love you, Aemond," you murmured gently but honestly about the words he had been waiting to hear from you.

[mxtxfanatic]

Book of the Week: Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage

Author: Qian Shan Cha Ke (千山茶客)

Genre: ancient setting, josei

Rating: M (very mature, dark themes but not too graphic of depictions)

My Synopsis: What happens when a girl gets tired of being nice and decides to go apeshit? You get Shen Miao, our adorable 30+ year-old protagonist recently stuffed back into her 14-year-old self and ready to eat the flesh and drink the blood of her enemies! Using this new lease on life, she’ll methodically and maliciously ruin every antagonist’s life using the tools in her versatile skillset, including: knowledge of the future, a psychological understanding of assholes, weaponized gender stereotypes, and men. And lest we forget our love interest, Xie Jing Xing: the boy/man (cause god forbid the author know how old anyone BUT Shen Miao is…) who thought he had it all figured out until he discovered that Shen Miao is a horny drunk. See just how far they’ll go to bathe in the blood of their enemies while keeping their loved ones safe in this very long but extremely satisfying novel.

My Actual Review: It’s so satisfying to see a previously downtrodden character scheme her way into a happy ending, and Shen Miao fucking deserves it. Some reviews that I’ve seen have claimed that the LI eventually takes over her revenge schemes, but I didn’t see it. They just partner up and she uses his manpower to do what she wants. There are also places where their separate goals intersect, so it just makes more sense for him to do the cleanup. The thing about Shen Miao is that she has no issues with letting others do the work for her, especially if it’s against people she wasn’t invested in putting work against to begin with. It’s the empress in her, I fear. As for the main pair as a couple, I loved their every interaction, and their descent into romance felt natural and gratifying. Greatest thing about this romance is the fact that it truly kicks off because Xie Jing Xing did not know to guard against horny drunk Shen Miao lmao!

The translation is pretty good outside of some clunky grammar, but once you train your eyes to glaze over the the five-millionth time the translator inserts directly into the story to complain about how often the LI is described as hot (unlike every other character, I guess???) as if this book is their early 2000s fanfic, it gets even better! Another thing that may or may not be here nor there is that this author is really weird with age consistency. Like, “MC is forever un-aging while everyone else ages 2 years every few months” weird. Shen Miao is forever 14 until the time skip in which she is forever 16, while Xie Jing Xing goes from “the same age as the students” to “17/18ish” to “vaguely in his 20s” during the same course of time where we literally never see Shen Miao acknowledge a birthday in any year. As for more serious content warnings, this story involves underage relationships (including non-explicit sex, marriage, and pregnancy), rape as a weapon, (assumed) incest between cousins, child abuse, and described but not explicitly shown torture. Though there are some humorous parts, this is not a lighthearted story. Read if you want something dark with an ultimate happy ending.

Translation: complete

[thatmadshifter11]

The Shadowsinger and The Mistress of Love and Lust Pt.2

As the first rays of dawn break over the horizon, I finally allow myself to rest, leaning against him, our bodies entwined. His once bloody and torn wings are now starting to heal, the skin slowly knitting itself back together. There's still a long way to go, but we've made it through the night, and that's a victory in itself. I let myself relax against the man who I had loved for centuries the one who is now my mate, we haven't even gotten to talk about it the way we are bound to each other. To be completely honest I don’t know if I should even be sleeping beside him since he has said nothing to me other then “Mate” that doesn't mean he accepts it but it also doesn't mean he doesn’t.

I close my eyes, allowing the exhaustion to take over. But even as I drift off, I know that when I wake, I'll be ready to face another day, to continue the fight, to heal and protect my mate. I also know that he will do the same for me even if he doesn’t accept the Bond because that is just the type of man he is one with a heart. You may not be able to tell under all the brooding and shadowy exterior but he is one of the kindest most genuine men I have ever met.

His soft whisper rouses me from my sleep, "Thank you, Cici," and I squeeze his hand in response, and blush lightly noticing our proximity and the way we are both covered in his blood. “uh how about a bath?” I ask easing up from the bed moaning my exhaustion taking over me. Before my pain fully takes over I could’ve swore he said something about how he’d only take one if I joined him. I feel my old scars they are sore and my eyes are slowly lose their sight. I think quickly and using the last of my strength I winnow to Cassian and Nesta’s tent. “Cass? Nes?”

I stumble in blindly bumping into a wall- wait not a wall my best friend, Cass! “Cia are you alright?” he asks shaking me lightly and looking me over. “Where's Az is he ok” he asks frantic. “H-he's fine but I need help,” I say shakily. “My powers are weak and without anything to refuel them before I'm done with Az….” My eyes are welling up with my bloody gold tears and I let them fall.

Cass scoops me into a warm, brotherly hug. I hear Nesta approach, “What do you need to refuel?” she asks me and I can’t help but assume she is crossing her arms like I have watched her do for years when she gets curious. I smile, my senses and skills really show when I'm blind it almost makes me want to stay this way, but I will miss colors and glitter being able to see my family's smiling faces.

“Blood,” my voice shaky as I say it. Nesta huffs and hear footsteps shuffling around next thing I know I loose the presence of my best friend and I'm left myself. I can’t help but let my tears fall. I hear them again and Nesta approaches me grabbing my hands. “Eris said he’ll help he said he's done it before,” she says in a hushed tone.

Which brings me back to the time I spent with Eris camped in a cave hiding from threats, as he survived on animals we killed and my powers keeping him afloat as I kept myself replenished with his strong High Fae blood. He was the first High Fae I had ever drunken from. He allowed me to keep drinking from him as long as he stayed strong and healthy we survived 4 months out in the wilderness that way.

“Where is he?! I need it now,” I say agitated wanting to get back to my mate. “He is going to the healing tent to gather supplies,” “Alright thank you so much Nes,” I said leaning up to give her a kiss on the check which ends up rather sloppily on her ear. She laughs, a sound I haven’t heard from her in awhile. Eris helps me and gives me a few bags of fresh blood so I don't have to wonder around like that again. I rush back to Az fully recharged and ready to help him as much as I can.

[gripefroot]

Drabble request: Elain & Azriel getting ready and going on their first official "date"/outing that's not in hiding. Canon complaint or modern au, doesn't matter. Thank youuu 💙🌸

“Are you ready?”

The words were whispered against the nape of her neck, where a necklace had just been clasped. Smiling to herself, eyes closed, Elain teetered backwards into his tender kiss until Azriel’s hands caught her shoulders to keep her upright. Tickling shadows skated up her arms, left bare in the style of gown, and made her shiver. Or was that Azriel’s nose tucking into her hair? 

“I’m ready,” she said. 

Was ever a more obvious lie spoken? All day long something had buffered between the present and what was to come. Now those buffers were gone. Nothing to step between them and fate, nothing to cushion the landing. 

But Azriel didn’t point out the lie. He soothed her nerves with his presence, with his warm hands and lips pressing tiny reminders of love on her skin. When he peeled away, Elain sucked in a sudden breath. No more lingering. Anxiety pounced, claws tearing into her belly. 

“We can do it.” The words were quiet from her lips: Azriel walked around her to bow low. She didn’t curtsy, because her knees might give out with how badly they were shaking. He smiled as he lifted his face. Shadows stroked his face, wreathing him better than any crown. 

Her nerves quieted. 

He held out a hand. “My lady.” Amusement made his lips twitch. “May I escort you to dinner?”

As if she’d be able to eat a thing. Elain placed her hand in his offered once, his scarred fingers giving hers a comforting squeeze. 

“Yes,” she said. “Please.”

“You can lean on me, if you need to.” Azriel tucked her arm through his, keeping his eyes on her face as he straightened to tower over her. Elain put her opposite hand on his wrist for the added support. 

“I know.” 

She could live his smile. Revel in it, bathe in it, never look at anything else again. He was so generous with his smile, when it was only them. And soon it wouldn’t be only them. Soon the evening would snatch that smile away from him, and her, and she didn’t know when she’d see it again. 

One evening. One more evening. Perhaps not even that long. Perhaps an hour, and it will be over. 

To the door he walked her, while shadows snaked up to fuss with the latch. It opened with a click, the hinges moving silently as the door swung open. 

The wards Azriel had placed to keep her chambers quietly burst open, bathing them in what had been held at bay for the last hours: reverberating peals of bells, shouts and cries echoing up and down the open-air corridors. A few steps out of the chamber took them to a swinging rope ladder to the next tree; bonfires had been lit on the forest floor, surrounded by shrieking fae beating their chests. Elain peeked over, though Azriel hummed a warning. Both men and women cut their hair in shades of browns and reds and blacks and golds, throwing the offerings onto the fires and making the air stink. 

“Yes,” she said, dizzy from the height and leaning back into Azriel. “That is what I saw.” The reminder of the sickening vision made her blood rush with surety, and nausea. It was less pleasant to see with her physical eyes. 

“I’ll find that comforting, then.” Azriel covered her clenched hand with his. “We are meant to be here, my love. And to me, that means we’re meant to leave here.” 

Yes, they would leave. Neither would die in this place. But Elain hesitated to find comfort in that notion that Azriel did; not being destined to die didn’t mean undestined to be mortally wounded or maimed. She kept that to herself, stepping cautiously onto the planks of the ladder. Two weeks and she hadn’t become fully accustomed to walking a hundred feet over the ground. Even with the certainty that Azriel could catch her before she’d fallen ten feet, if a plank were to give out. 

The typical sentinels at each tree and each wooden room built among the branches were absent. Planked walls kept most of the noise out as they strode through the towering room to the next bridge; she could hear her skirt swish-swishing on the crinkled leaves strewn over the floor. 

One more bridge and they’d enter the dining hall. 

No time left to fret. No time left to fear. The hardest part had already been done. Elain’s hand dropped from Azriel’s arm, clutching at her skirts as if the sheer fabric would dry the damp sweat from her palm. Immediately cool shadows wrapped around her arm, swallowing up her hand as if to give it icy kisses, to freeze away her hot nerves. 

This was not the first time she didn’t want to attend a dinner party. With eternity stretching ahead of her, she doubted it would be the last. 

No sentinels to the great doors of the dining hall, either, but they didn’t need them: shadows nudged the doors open, inch by inch, while golden candlelight inside spilled out and blinded Elain’s eyes. She kept her chin high. Azriel’s forearm tensed beneath her hand. 

The hall was empty. 

Compared to their first evenings in the court, the hollowness made the giant space eerie. Echoing and cold, though warm light flickered from candles on the walls and in the chandeliers large enough to embrace thirty bodies or more in the iron circle. Red and orange leaves, twisted into garlands, were draped all the way through. The tables were set, too, though no dishes of food had been brought. 

If Elain were still human, she’d find the entire scene chilling. A well-dressed table, empty of life and sustenance. 

But they didn’t stop to stare. Azriel escorted her straight to her seat near the head of the table, releasing her only to pull out the chair. The legs scraped on the planked floors. Elain gave him a smile, as best she could under the circumstances, and sat. 

“How long will we wait?” she whispered when he took the seat next to her. He should have sat across; that was where he had been placed at the welcome feast and remained ever since. But that night…that night was different. The trees themselves howled. 

“Long enough,” was Azriel’s response. 

“You want them to know.” Elain had thought they would be concealed in secrets. By the lazy twist of smile he cast her, she knew she was right. 

“There is no way they couldn’t.” 

How could he be so calm? So assured? Her feet tapped in her slippers against the floor to relieve some energy. Her fingers twisted her skirt in her hands, eyes darting from each of the doors that led into the dining hall. Everyone must eat, after all, even on a day like that. Guests couldn’t be entirely forgotten. Although being able to slip away into the shadows without anyone knowing presented a mighty temptation…

It was too late to act on it. Thundering footsteps sounded, clattering the rope bridges as they drew nearer. Elain stiffened, and Azriel’s hand flew to her lap to cover her hand. 

It will be alright.

He didn’t say the words aloud, and he didn’t look her way. Hazel eyes trained on the west door, where smoke was visible rising from the bonfires below. 

This was how it was meant to be.

Cold comfort. ‘Meant to be’ did not include best possible outcome or most painless experience.

She’d scrubbed her hands for hours. Flaking off blood from beneath her fingernails, soaking it out of the folds of her knuckles. She still felt the itch of drying blood, still felt the way it had flowed over her skin. She shuddered. 

The door flew open. 

“Pardon us for not standing on niceties!” Eris’s welcome was more of a roar. Could Elain see licks of flame lashing up his fingers and through his hair? Or was that her imagination? He strode in with the fury and rage of wildfire, smelling of ash. His boots left sootprints. 

Behind him, the court. His mother, a brother or two, distant relations and fae of importance (true or believed) scuttled around for their chairs, looking harassed. More than one individual had not dressed for dinner; several had burned patches of clothing and one female still had curlers in her hair. Chair legs scraped the floor, the room heady with new, sweltering warmth that made sweat break out on Elain’s bosom. Eris was the only one that remained standing, beside his father’s chair at the head of the table with his hands clasped behind his back. 

He may as well have been a dragon from a fairy tale Elain used to fall asleep listening to in her father’s voice. Liable to burst into flame, or to rain hellfire down on the table to melt his guests. His eyes flashed piercing, painful light: she looked away. 

“Dinner will be served presently,” Eris said, his tone taking on some formality. His posture said otherwise. His posture said fight. “I appreciate the patience of all gathered here today.” 

It was quiet as a grave. Which suited. 

“All I can say for what has occurred this day,” his voice began to shake. “Is that the perpetrator will be found and brought down by the laws of the Autumn Court.” His searing eyes drifted across the table. Elain’s mouth went dry when they paused on her. But they continued to Azriel. “I had hope, Shadowsinger,” Eris continued in a carrying, sardonic tone, “that you might assist with our investigation. As that is where your particular skills lie.”

“I am gratified to hear you think so much of my…particular skills.” Azriel’s voice was lower than thunder, darker than night compared to the enraged prince. “But you hope in vain.”

“Ah.” Eris’s eyes twitched. “And may I ask - why?” 

Politics at the dinner table. Elain tired of it. It had been that way the entirety of their stay; courtiers humiliated and dragged and messy court business brought to Beron while he ate and others attempted to. 

“Certainly,” Azriel said. “I will not assist because I already know.”

Eris blinked. Hushed whispers traveled up and down the table, mouth to ear to mouth to ear with sleeves rustling. Only the Lady of the Autumn Court remained impassive. 

“You know,” Eris repeated. Some of his fire winked out. “You know who slayed my father, the High Lord of the Autumn Court?”

“I do,” Azriel said. 

Frost and flame met in a bridge, nearly visible, so thick was the tension. Eris puffed out his chest, drawing himself taller. Shadows flitted around the hem of Elain’s skirt, some seeking solace around her ankles as if she might spare them from the prince’s wrath. 

“Well?” Eris prompted. “Will you share with his grieving court, the party guilty of his death?” 

“Certainly,” Azriel said again. Elain noted the mirth hiding in the corners of his mouth - he was enjoying this. How he could tolerate these court games, she could only wonder. But his amusement made her want to laugh, too, and nothing could possibly make the situation worse than for her to laugh. 

He drew out the moment longer, taking his time to look up and down the table much as Eris had. Power pulsated from him, reminding everyone present of who he was and what he could do. Elain wanted to kiss him. To kiss that wry mouth and hold his taut jaw until he sunk and relaxed against her. 

“Beron,” Azriel said, the very name a curse between his lips “was killed by my wife.” 

Her ears rang with silence. Mouths fell open, gasps halted in crowded throats. Eris stared. Then, inexplicably, began to laugh. 

“You have no wife!” he claimed. “Even that gossip would have traveled from your sacred city. The only Shadowsinger in this land, the famed torturer of the Night Lord. Do you confess, then, that you killed my father? I might remind you that such action is a violation of all treaties between our lands! You have no right to enter our court and kill its people, let alone its Lord.” 

“I did not kill your father,” Azriel said. Calm as ever. And smiling. Not the smile he’d graced Elain with only a half-hour earlier, but something that hinted at a quiet death before dawn. “I really feel quite clear, Eris. I did not kill Beron, though I would have found it satisfying. I will repeat one more time, and only once: my wife killed your father.” 

The heat rose. Beads of sweat cascaded from the back of Elain’s neck to soak into the neckline of her gown. She hadn’t thought to bring a fan.

“And not only did she kill him,” Azriel’s voice rose a fraction, wings spluttering behind him as shadowy fingers gripped the edge of the table, spreading black. “But after the killing blow she stabbed him again and again. Do you hear me, Eris? Do you know what your father did?” 

Eris, sweating himself at the temples, was paler than the center of a flame. His lips lost all color. His mother stared into her lap. 

“Lord Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court, attempted to kidnap my wife, who is not part of his court, to take her forcefully to marry your brother. Do you understand, Eris?” 

The last words were a whisper. No one spoke. 

Finally Eris’s gaze slipped to Elain. “She cannot be your wife,” he said, though his voice lacked surety. 

“Then you knew of the plot.” Azriel’s smile was cold. “Does Autumn Court law outline punishments for accomplices?” 

Eris’s lips peeled back, a sign of predatory danger. For all of Azriel’s tenderness since the morning, for all of his understanding and serenity and patience, Elain sensed how ready he was to snap. Eris, too, though for a different reason. 

They’d had enough. Enough time to spit and strut and do whatever it was that made male fae so…so brash and possessive. Elain stood from her chair, keeping Eris’s attention - and indeed the rapt interest of everyone in the hall - on her. 

“I will extract no punishment for your knowledge of your father’s intentions,” she said. Her voice rang clear despite her knees knocking together beneath her skirt. “I prepared a written testimony for whatever legal considerations you may have, as has my husband as a witness.” 

Elain had little stomach for the intrigue. She could air out the entirety of the situation for the guests to hear; to explain how Beron had bound her with magic while she was in the garden after dawn and tied her to his horse to cart to the nearest temple where he claimed Lucien awaited her. Undignified work for a High Lord, and wildly underhanded, and she’d desperately wanted to tell him so. 

Azriel had found them before they’d gone more than a few miles. The companionable shadows that tickled her ankles now had rushed to him and wakened him in her chamber. He’d tracked them, concealed himself, and broken the spells on Elain. 

After that had been a confusing mess, ending with Elain covered in leaves and stabbing Beron with his own knife. More than once. And then she’d cried for quite a while after that, while Azriel plucked every leaf from her body. 

“I should have killed him for you,” he’d said. 

“No,” she’d said between gulps. “It is my right to extract retribution. Not yours.” 

At least, as it made sense to her. But she knew nothing of Autumn laws and little of Night laws. 

“You,” Eris said. “You, who were mortal last year?”

“Four years ago,” Elain said. “But I understand the passage of years means little to you.” 

“You cannot have the power to overcome a High Lord,” Eris said. 

Elain said nothing. She wasn’t Nesta, acid and biting, nor was she Feyre, passionate and sensible. She was only Elain, and she had no desire for any of this. She wanted to return to her chamber with Azriel and lock the door and return home to the townhouse for a reprieve. 

Because soon, she’d have to face down Rhys and she wouldn’t be able to fall back on a written testimony. And Eris might bluster and kick on Lucien’s behalf…but it was a show. A show like the flames curling around his fists, a façade of smoke issuing from his doublet to convince his court that he was riled up and saddled for revenge. Not that Elain and Azriel hadn’t gone straight to him after Beron’s death. 

The courtiers shifted in their seats, more openly whispering as they studied Eris, Elain, and Azriel. 

“Leave,” Eris said, echoing from the gleaming ceilings to the dusty floor. Elain swayed, relief that it was over making her limbs weak. “Now!” he roared, and Azriel seized Elain’s elbow before she could fall. She sent Eris one grateful look, to which he gave the slightest nod. And the Lady of the Autumn Court smiled. 

Chatter broke out before they’d even made it through the door. 

“See?” Azriel chuckled into her hair as he practically carried her over the rope bridge, one arm around her waist and the other clasping her hand. “Simple as anything. And now we don’t have to sit through dinner.”

Elain could have cried, but she laughed instead. She laughed and laughed and laughed. 

“Many here will not see your defense as just,” Eris had warned them. “Males have the right over their mates. What my father did was justified, according to our laws.”

“But,” he’d added, smirking at the blood on her dress. “If you were married…you would have a shield against my brother's claim.” 

Azriel had told her, before dinner, that he’d never expected to thank Eris for anything. But now he was in the princes’s debt. They both were. 

Elain buried her face into Azriel’s shoulders, whisked away by his cool, steady strength. Eris had offered deliverance. That was one almost-High Lord taken care of. 

The other would come soon enough.

[landure]

GEPARD APPLICATION: WRITING SAMPLE 1.3k wordcount

Belobog, last bastion of humanity, did not stand on its own. That larger than life fact is something every Silvermane Guard sworn to the Oath holds close to heart, closer than their fears, their love of hearth and safety, closer than the deaths that pile atop each other like firewood to be burned, than the ice and hail they mix with brave men’s blood and blood-tasting bravery.

And there’s so much of it - that brave men’s blood.

The naive soldier boys fresh out of Belobog Cadet School end up in only two ways; they die like cannon fodder in the first few seconds, swept up in their first expedition into the merciless Snow Plains, die beneath the shadows of the fortified walls in the Restricted Zone, or they harden to calcite and iron and ride above the storm. Gepard was one of those boys once, but more importantly he is a Landau through and through. Lions each and all, they have their own way of working through things, and that way has never stopped working for Gepard. Not yet.

…If you want to cry after your loss, Gepard, then cry.

But you need to stand back up even when you are crying.

Serval’s right. Always stand back up. Her big, little brother spits out the blood in his mouth and keeps going, his knuckles split inside the tight clenches of his gauntlet and the white glove on his opposite hand is abraded raw, but he ignores those too. It’s not the duty of the wall to give, but to divide; them from us; none of you will touch any of this, not on my life. On this shield. 

“Gunners forward! Stand clear of the Fragmentum volley and return fire on my signal! Halberdiers ready your charge!”

The Shadewalker banshees scream their shrill war cry, humans mouth grit in readiness. Geometric patterns tint the air in precursor, air chills on a monolith of frost made condensed, and behind his wall the gunners and halberdiers do exactly that. Gepard, their Captain, is strong in the sense that nature’s structures are strong, impenetrable and resistant, an unflagging mountain rising up from the earth sturdy and tall enough to divide it, on one side the Fragmentum, on the other his allies. On the average battlefield, they only lose one or two, on the worst, entire platoons or enough soldiers that they’ll be dissolved after the fighting is over. Ever since Gepard was made Captain it’s been the former more and more.

Well. For any effect that isn’t zero, he finds it hard to call that a strength.

❄

“The fortifications and logistics are complete. Good work today, Captain.”

“You too. I’ll take it over from here, Pela. Get some rest.”

He files his paperwork with Pela, gives the verbal report to Lady Bronya in curt, ready tones, gets home. It’s always the same after that.

Two feet in the door, shut door, turn lock, broad shoulders deflate. He lets out a hefty colossus of a breath fit for a whale, melting away all the day with it, pushing out all the exhausting impurities collected in enduring ice. The front lines are filthy business; he strips off the Geomarrow gauntlet, sets his boots aside for later shining, he tries to bathe. Tries. Out there contending with the worst of the Eternal Freeze, insulated clothing is an invaluable lifeline; in Gepard’s flat, it’s a sweaty death trap of annoyance.

Multiple layers of thick fur and starchy regalia may as well be densely packed strata, one great vampiric white-blue leech sucking on his blood slick skin like it can’t have enough. He tries once, twice, gives up with a bullish sound of frustration and merges face down with the couch. His arms and legs hang over the edges. It’s nearly too small for him to lay down on, but that’s never stopped the exhausted Captain from getting his shuteye, sleeping here more than his own bed for its proximity to the door.

Just like faithful Earthwork it’s never given up on old Geppie when it counts most.

The springs scream as he rolls over, he gives the pleated arm rest a tired pat like a dog, and stares thoughtlessly up at the lights. Do it later. Other levels of thinking can’t be applied to that though. The flower pots catch his eye guiltily in the corner. Most people check their flowers during the day, Gepard comes home late enough to see the flowers wilting. This marks the third time - maybe the flowers and horticulture, the softer, gentler cultivations, just aren’t for him.

❄

Gepard isn’t all that soft, not really.

He gets a lot of flack for that outside the hours his hardness is made for. Serval says that he could stand to be softer spoken, especially with Lynx, but he doesn’t really know how. Where does a soldier begin? An iron wall doesn’t stop being iron on account of a playful scolding that he can't be velvet, and doesn’t find it easy either. 

The soldier Gepard only gives the straight answers, walks the straight path. Little Belobogian boys ask how they can be like strong Captain Gepard and he tells them what he knows, honestly, without frills: train hard and drink milk. With the older ones he’s a little harsher.

Another servant of Belobog might say try your best, study hard and pursue your military education to its last legs, someday you’ll be just like me. Gepard, stern and unchanging, tells them not to join unless they’re prepared to give their lives. It’s smart word, hard word, but in that equally selfish. A proper protector of the peace enjoys the bright faces he comes home to, doesn’t want to see those same faces pale and frozen cold beneath the winding sheet tarps.

Gepard will be remembered a hero, a stark pillar of the Silvermanes, their iron wall through hard time and harder time again. As he patrols the streets he sees a group of loping, gangling youths and one of the girls makes him think of Lynx. Pela, to a degree. Soldiers as young as her aren’t rare anymore. They’ll continue to be common with the soldiers that die each and every day to Fragmentum invasions.

“You’ll go no further. I’m Belobog’s indestructible shield!”

“Years of cold hardens the will!”

Their wooden sticks and shields smash against each other, playing out a familiar scene. Gepard watches for a moment longer, arms behind his back and smart black boots clicked together by the heels, not soft enough to smile, not ignorant enough to see it as flattery.

❄

No one tells Gepard anything. Not that he’s a bad artist, not that he snores louder than anyone when he dozes off in the company office with newspaper fanned over his eyes, or that his face takes on a scary looking scowl the closer they get to confrontation with the Fragmentum forces. Some of the Silvermane don’t even need a clock, they get ready by the hour and minute hands of their Captain’s expression.

Some things never change.

Following the advent of two nearly world-ending calamities named Stellaron and IPC, a scowling wall of iron stands with his forces. It’s warmer here in the Underworld, something about being closer to hell, likelier to do with the great prevalence of Geomarrow mining operations, but there’s still a trace of frost. And Gepard on the orders of the new Supreme Guardian, Lady Bronya, will root it out.

The cold prelude of Fragmentum invasion nips at his cheeks but he’s long since learned to ignore it. He’s not a child anymore, he’s said to Serval countlessly, and Gepard isn’t a yellow-bellied private either floating in a lack of purpose like the naive soldier boy who dies first. A wall faces forward, doesn’t question what it protects, because instability is the bane of all upstanding defense, because doubt a disobedient and ineffectual soldier makes.

Gepard can’t deny what he's been taught, that the Architects are the best of Belobog’s interests manifest, he can even lesser deny what keeps him alive. He isn’t made to be soft, he’s made to be iron, and for all that that’s needed—that he’s needed—he wouldn’t change a thing. 

“Gunners forward! Stand clear of the Fragmentum volley and return fire on my signal!”

[cheegu3]

Hello, do you write for lsrfm because if you do can you write one about how they would react to you cheating on them (if you can't do all its ok at least do my wife yunjin please, and if you can't do it's ok)

yes to more girl groups !!! 🫡 I was excited to write this, couldn’t just stop at Yunjin 😭😭

tw / trigger warning; yandere themes, cheating, violence, possessiveness, jealousy, unhealthy relationships, non-con voyeurism, depression, guilt-tripping, sex, murder, blood, crying

Le sserafim - reaction to you cheating on them

Chaewon

She would completely lose it. Would find out on her own and not because you told her. Since she stalked you, she knew right away and connected the rest in her head.

When you came home she was already waiting for you. Things laid on the floor; smashed and ripped up, some were yours and others were just random things.

But she was ready for round two when you came home. Immediately, she'd scream at the top of her lungs and tears would flow down her face as she started hitting you, letting her anger out.

It would be impossible to get a word out until she had worn herself out a bit. Her makeup was completely ruined, the mascara had left streaks down her face and her eyes looked puffy.

'' I'm so sorry, '' was all you could say, hands up by your face in case she'd attack you again.

A few gasps of air left her trembling lips, '' No you're not! '' she managed to scream despite not having much energy left.

'' I am, Chae. Please, let's talk about this. ''

Your begging didn't make her sympathetic, her eyes only narrowed as she glared at you openly.

'' You'll get much worse than this tomorrow. '' she laughed manically, ready to drag you into a room.

Sakura

She seemed nice at first. Slowly her smile upon seeing you come home faded the more you talked, letting the harsh truth settle in.

But after some silence, she said that she forgave you. It felt as if a huge burden had been lifted off of your shoulders.

In the next few days, she made you feel guilty about cheating on her. Although she was a psycho girlfriend that you didn’t really want to be with; her kindness made you see her in a different light, therefor you started to feel horrible at the pain you’d caused her.

She made sure to show you how much she loved you, being more willing than ever to take care of you. She cooked for you, fed you, even dressed you and made baths for you.

One night you came home a bit later than usual. You were preparing for her to be angry and suspicious, accusing you of cheating again. But when you walked into the bedroom, an entirely different scene greeted you.

Your girlfriend laid sprawled out, naked on the bed. Both men and women surrounded her, taking turns to kiss or touch her while lewd noises left her hanging mouth.

It didn't take long for one of the people sitting on the bed to spot you in the doorframe. The shock had frozen you, so they didn't have to struggle to tie you down to a chair in the corner.

Then they went back to her. Sakura's eyes finally drifted towards you, the corners of her mouth stretched into a sadistic smirk.

'' How does it feel? ''

Yunjin

Without a word she pushed past you and left out the door. When you were frantically texting and calling her for the next few hours, she ignored it all.

Only when she came home in the middle of the night could you relax - but not for long of course.

As soon as the door opened, you ran over to give her a hug, hoping that it would calm her down since you had imagined she left to cool off with a walk.

You were way off. Your arms started stretching out to hug her and that's when you spotted the scarlet dots decorating her jacket and smeared streaks across her face.

'' Y-Yunjin? ''

She stepped forward, causing you to take one back. You were terrified now, not recognizing your girlfriend in front of you. Her face was blank and pale, the only color being the blood.

Your hand got grabbed in quite a hard grip and you were dragged to the bathroom and pushed in. At first, you thought she was going to lock you in there. Somehow it was worse; she got in after you as well and then locked the door, when she turned, her lips twitched and her eyes bore into yours.

'' What are you doing? ''

She walked past you and next you heard the shower turn on somewhere behind you. The next second, you could feel her cold fingertips start to pull at your clothes while skillfully removing her own at the same time.

'' I'm not letting you out of my sight, now's your chance to make it up to me. ''

Kazuha

You thought you were dreaming when she kicked you out. The last thing you saw before she slammed the door in your face was her furious expression.

In the silence that came next, it finally hit you that you got what you'd wanted for so long, to get away from her and be free. A smile spread on your face and even a small laugh slipped past your lips.

You went home the happiest you'd been in months, looking forward to the future now that it was looking much less bleak.

However, your euphoria didn't last long. About two weeks into your separation from Kazuha, you had a sour revelation - she was right all along, you couldn't live without her, she was all you had.

The money had started to run out and your apartment's lease was ending soon too. Worst of all was that you had no friends to turn to for help, because Kazuha had made you stop talking to all of them, convincing you they were horrible people.

In the end, you stood outside her door again feeling lonelier than ever while hesitating to knock on the door.

It seemed the universe made the decision for you anyway; you didn't have time to turn back and go home before the door swung open.

Your ex came out, hands full with trash. You weren't sure if you wanted to curse fate or thank it that she just happened to leave just as you were waiting outside her door like a puppy.

She didn't look angry like the last time you'd seen her, in fact her eyes had a slight sparkle to them when they spotted you - she still loved you.

'' I knew you would come crawling back. ''

Eunchae

She left you stunned and at a loss for words when she burst into tears. You weren't sure what to do. The pain in her crying voice almost made your heart twist in pain, even if you knew she was a bad person.

It would continue to do so for the next week when Eunchae rarely left her room. During the few times she opened the door, you dove in to clean up. It was always messy with the blinds being pulled all the way down and a bunch of things were stacked on top of each other.

A small seed of guilt had been planted inside you the first time you went inside the room and saw her laying there, staring blankly at the wall. It grew any time you were back in that place and even more when she'd look at you as if you had ripped her heart out. She was so empty, you felt hopeless and didn't know what to do.

Maybe you shouldn't have, but you started sleeping next to her, to give some sense of comfort and support.

It started with a few nights here and there, which then turned into every single night. The moment you'd turn away from her fake crying she'd smile, but you never noticed.

'' I'm sorry, '' you mumbled in the dark, closing your eyes while grimacing, you knew she wouldn't respond.

Of course it was all part of her plan. Yes, she did felt like shit after the heartbreak you'd put her through, but why was it so wrong of her to manipulate you into feeling bad for her because of it?

'' Thank you, '' she finally whispered back tenderly during the eight night in a row that you'd spent by her side.

Eunchae needed you to understand her pain by making you feel guilty so you could share some of it with her. She hoped it would soothe her feelings and make you become a bit nicer to her in the future.

So far everything was working out exactly the way she wanted it to.