#her entire purpose is to know you - every bit & every inch

[unstable-samurai]

Instructions

Irene x Male Reader

word count: 3.2K

—

You drive up to Irene's mansion, where every inch of the lawn looks meticulously manicured, and the fountain at the entrance shoots water in a pattern that can only be described as "obscenely expensive." You still can't believe you were hired to train a woman who doesn't seem to need a single day in the gym, but money is money, right?

You step out of the car and walk to the front door, a massive wooden structure that probably weighs more than your car. Before you have the chance to knock, the door opens as if the house has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Irene appears, and the first thing you think is that the photos simply don't do her justice.

She's like an upgraded version of a classic diva, someone with a beauty that would be admired in any era of humanity, now enhanced by all the improvements time could offer. Black hair cascading in soft waves, feline eyes that devour you in a fraction of a second, and a posture that makes you wonder if you're standing before a queen or a trap disguised as a woman.

"Oh, I was excited to finally meet my personal trainer," she says.

"Ms. Irene," you reply, offering your hand in a gesture that feels outdated in her presence. Her hand is soft and firm, and the grip is just enough to make you feel that you are, without a doubt, in foreign territory.

"Come on, I'll show you the house," she says, turning quickly without waiting for a response. You follow her, walking through a house that is a maze of marble, stainless steel, and glass. Every piece of art on the walls screams in a flamboyant way, "I have more money than you can imagine," and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air, as if even the aroma of the house was custom-made.

"This here is the living room," she says, passing through a room larger than your entire apartment, and you pretend not to be impressed. "And over there is the kitchen. You might need something to drink after the workouts. Or during, if I decide to tire you out too much."

She smiles again, and this time you can’t help but smile back, with that kind of irony that only arises when you know you're in trouble.

"This is the bedroom," she says, stopping in front of a closed door. You feel the tension rise a bit, and she notices it. "Not that you’ll need it, but I thought you'd like to know where it is." She opens the door and reveals a room that looks like it came straight out of a decor magazine: an immense bed, silk sheets, and a view of the garden that seems hand-painted.

"Nice place," you say, more out of politeness than anything else.

"Thank you. Now, the gym," she says, as if this was the true purpose of the entire visit. She leads you to a room where all the exercise machines seem to shine with newness. "I need to stay in shape, after all," she says, leaning casually on a treadmill, her posture suggesting that the idea of sweat is something completely alien.

"Shall we begin, then?" you ask, already pulling out the water bottle from your bag, trying to appear professional.

You decide to start the session with the basics, which seems like the best approach when dealing with someone whose idea of physical effort probably consists of reaching for the remote control.

"So, Irene, have you trained before?" you ask, but in your mind, she doesn’t exactly look like the type who frequents a gym.

She smiles, that smile you're already beginning to associate with trouble. "Only if you count marathon shopping trips and half-hour Pilates sessions with my instructor who told me to breathe deeply and think of happy places. Does that count?"

You smile back. "Well, let's start with something simple. A warm-up. Just to prepare the muscles."

"Oh, I love a good warm-up," she replies.

You guide her through some basic stretches, and of course, she starts asking for help. "Can you show me how to do this one? I've always had trouble with it," she says while trying to touch her toes.

You approach, placing your hands on her waist to guide her, trying to ignore the fact that she’s perfumed for a workout. "Like this, push a little further forward... That’s it."

She lets out a soft sigh, almost inaudible, but you notice. "I don't think I've ever had someone help me like this," she says, making you realize that "help" has multiple connotations for her.

"Practice makes perfect," you respond, trying to stay focused.

After the warm-up, you lead her to the weight machines. "Let's start with something simple, like the leg extension machine. This will work your quadriceps."

She looks at the machine as if it were some kind of medieval torture device. "Quadriceps... Right. And this does what exactly? Makes me gain muscles?"

"Exactly. You sit here, adjust the weight, and lift your legs to extend the knee. It’s great for toning the thighs."

She sits down, but instead of following your instructions, she just pretends to be confused. "I don't think I'm getting it. Can you show me again?"

You lean in to help her adjust the position of her legs, and you feel her gaze fixed on you. "Like this? Is it good now?" she asks, her voice softer than it should be for a simple exercise instruction.

"Yes, it's perfect," you reply.

"So, have you been training for a long time?" she asks as you guide her through the exercise. "It’s noticeable, you know... by your physique, the way you explain…"

"I’ve been training for a few years. It’s a passion of mine."

"Passion? Interesting," she says. "And are you single? Or is there someone waiting for you at home after you spend the day helping women like me stay in shape?"

You hesitate, realizing that the conversation is veering off course.

"I'm single. I guess my work takes up most of my time. What about you? You told me your husband is always traveling, right?"

"He's away most of the time, yes. His work is... demanding. But luckily, I know how to take care of myself," she says, lifting her legs on the machine with a little more enthusiasm. When Irene was done, she paused to drink water, then walked between the machines until she chose the next one. “Hey, help me here. I don't want to mess up the movement, I need your guidance." She says, standing in front of the lat pulldown machine.

"Oh, great. This one’s for your back and shoulders," you explain, adjusting the weight. "You hold here, pull the bar down, and then release slowly, feeling the resistance."

She looks at the machine as if it were an abstract art piece.

"Looks complicated. Show me how it's done?"

You demonstrate the movement, feeling her eyes on every motion of your body. When you finish, she positions herself, but instead of pulling the bar, she holds it for a second, looking at you with a false expression of confusion. "I think I’m not doing it right. Can you guide me?"

You approach again, this time placing your hands on her arms, helping her execute the movement. "Like this," you say, your voice a little lower. "Pull with your back muscles, not just your arms."

"Since you’ve been working out for a long time, you must be very strong," she comments as she pulls the bar, her muscles tensing softly under your hands. "And you must be used to lifting heavy, right?"

"It depends on the workout," you respond, trying to ignore the fact that every word she says seems to have a double meaning. "But it’s always good to vary, to do a bit of everything."

"So, how many of these should I do?" she asks, as if she’s genuinely interested in the answer, but her eyes say something else.

"Let's do three sets of twelve reps," you reply, trying to keep a professional tone. She does the first set with you close by, watching every movement, and then asks for your help with the next machine.

The dynamic continues until, by the end of the workout, she’s sweating, but in a way that looks more like a healthy glow than discomfort. She stretches, her muscles relaxing, and looks at you with that same smile that started everything. "I think you made me work pretty hard today. Maybe I’ll need a massage afterward," she says, her tone provocative.

You smile, unsure whether to take her seriously or laugh. "Massages aren’t part of the package, but we can talk about a relaxation stretch."

"We’ll see," she says, stepping closer with that smile that always precedes trouble, the kind you should have learned to avoid. “It seems like I’m the only one sweating here,” she says, with a sweetness that’s pure venom, before leaning in and, without warning, licking your cheek.

You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. "Ms. Irene, what is this?!"

"I told you, you’re not very sweaty. And I licked you to prove it," she responds with the casualness of someone asking the time.

"But what the hell does that mean? I came here to work—"

"And you’ll get paid at the end, of course!" she interrupts, her smile widening in a way that only makes things worse. “I just want… to have a little fun with you. Include that in the deal. You could earn a bonus for it, if you’d like.”

She takes another step forward.

“Irene, you’re married. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not a good idea.”

“No one needs to know, sweetheart,” she whispers, as if it were a secret you truly wanted to hear. “You’re too young to be so worried about life.”

You try to speak, but the words come out jumbled, as if your mouth forgot how to work.

“I-I… This isn’t right.”

She laughs, a sound that makes you feel like a mischievous boy caught in the act. “I bet I’ll make you change your mind once you see what you’re missing.” With a quick, decisive movement, she removes her top, revealing small, pale, perfect, and provocative breasts. Her smile widens, and you feel your face flush with heat. Worse than that—you feel your cock pulse in your pants.

“What do you think?” she asks, each word dripping with irony and certainty.

“Cover yourself, please!” Your voice comes out louder than you intended, but the plea is almost pathetic.

“Oh, don’t play the saint with me,” she retorts, suddenly stepping closer, grabbing your hand with firm resolve and placing it on her breast. The touch is warm and soft. You swallow hard, but it feels like the lump in your throat is stuck there for good. And the worst part? You can’t pull your hand away.

“What do you think? My boobs are small, but they fit perfectly in your mouth,” she teases, her voice lower, more intense.

“This isn’t right, Ms. Irene…” you try, but your resistance is fragile.

“Shh! Just call me Irene,” she orders, and before you can protest again, she seals any chance of escape with a kiss—warm and commanding, as if she already knew you wouldn’t say no.

Before you could even process what was happening, Irene had already wrapped her hand around your cock. With force. With a desire that you felt reverberate down your spine. “You’re so hard for me,” she whispers, her lips pulling away from yours, but the heat of her proximity still clinging to your skin.

“Irene…” you murmur, the name escaping as a whisper, almost a plea, but for what? For her to stop or to keep going?

“That’s right,” she continues, giving you no room to regain control. “I want to hear you moan my name while you fuck me good.”

Before you could refuse—or worse, agree—she pulls you toward a weight bench like she’s practiced the move a thousand times. It’s astonishing how a woman so small, so delicate, can exert such absolute control over you. You feel like a toy in her hands, powerless to resist.

You take off your shirt while she kneels to untie your shoes, making sure every detail is perfect, that you’re comfortable—but not for you, for her. When she asks you to take off the rest, you comply without question, feeling the cool air caress your exposed skin. She compliments your physique, her words sliding over your skin like hot oil. Her hands roam over your muscles, her fingers tracing the contours of your biceps.

“You’re so hot,” she murmurs, kissing your chest, her lips warm and soft. The excitement builds within you, uncontrollable, wild.

You sit back down on the bench, Irene kneels between your legs, her smile a mix of wickedness and pure desire. She takes your cock with a confidence that makes you hold your breath, her touch firm, almost possessive. “Wow… you’re much bigger and thicker than my husband,” she murmurs, licking the tip, teasing, while her eyes remain fixed on yours. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have something like this… I’m going to love gagging on this cock.”

She slowly opens her mouth, her lips stretching around the head of your cock, and the sensation is mind-blowing. You watch, mesmerized, as she starts to take you in, inch by inch, until her mouth is completely full. “Oh, yes,” she mumbles with difficulty, her words muffled as she struggles to accommodate your size.

She begins to move her head up and down, faster and faster, the wet, warm sound of her mouth creating a steady rhythm. Her small mouth adjusts to your cock, fighting the instinct to pull away, but instead, she pushes forward, making it clear she wants more.

The sight of her, drowning on your cock, is almost unbearably arousing. You can’t resist, your hands go to her hair, pulling to gain more control. With a decisive move, you push deeper into her throat, and the muffled moan she lets out is a mix of pleasure and challenge. “Just like that,” she moans, tears welling in her eyes from pleasure and effort, but with no intention of stopping. She wants this as much as you do.

You feel her throat tightening around your cock, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you as she takes you as deep as she can, not giving up even when her air becomes scarce. The mix of pain and pleasure on her face only fuels your desire further, and you continue, deeper and deeper, until she finally has to stop to breathe, gasping, but with a satisfied, lascivious smile on her face.

Irene stands up, her gaze burning with a desire that mirrors your own. She starts to take off her leggings, revealing she’s not wearing any panties. The sight of her like this, naked and ready, is enough to take your breath away.

Without a second thought, you grab her firmly, your hands holding her slim waist as you lift her off the ground with an ease you didn’t even know you had. Irene lets out a low, sensual moan as she wraps her legs around you, locking her ankles behind your back, pulling the two of you even closer. With a decisive movement, you press her against the nearest wall, the cold concrete contrasting with the growing heat between you.

“Ohhh, yes,” she moans as you penetrate her for the first time, her head falling back, hitting the wall, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You’re so thick!”

With each thrust, Irene responds with louder, more desperate moans. “Just like that, baby… more, please, more!” Her voice is a mix of command and plea, her nails digging into your shoulders, pulling you closer, as if she wants to merge with you.

“That’s it! Oh, God! You fuck me better than my husband!”

That somehow spurs you on, every movement becoming deeper, stronger, as if you’re trying to shove every inch of yourself into her. Irene bites her lip, her face in pure pleasure, and then she starts babbling, as if facial expressions weren’t enough to describe what she’s feeling. “Yes… fuck me… fuck me hard… do what my husband never could…”

But she’s not the only one on the edge. The heat of her body, the almost painful tightness around your cock, every moan and sigh, it all makes you want more, makes you lose control.

After what feels like both an eternity and an instant, you feel like you need more. With a quick move, you pull away from the wall and carry her to the bench. Irene drops to the floor, turns around, positioning herself on all fours while you sit down. She positions herself, slowly lowering onto your cock, moaning as she feels you stretch inside her, filling every inch.

She leans back against you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body sinking even further into your lap. Your hands immediately move to her small breasts, squeezing them, while your lips find her delicate neck, biting and sucking the soft skin. Irene lets out a loud moan, the sound of pure satisfaction, and arches her body, pushing herself even deeper.

“Yes… leave a mark… mark that you were here… that you fucked me like no one ever has,” she pleads, her words breathless, interrupted by moans that only grow louder as you squeeze and thrust into her.

You don’t hesitate, biting harder, leaving a visible mark on her neck, a testament to what’s happening. Irene shudders in response, her pussy tightening even more around you, each of her movements sending waves of pleasure through you, making you forget any shred of morality. She moves against you, her rhythm frantic, the need for more, always more, evident in every gesture.

“Yes… yes, baby… fuck me until I can’t take it anymore,” she moans, her hands reaching back, grabbing your neck, pulling you closer as she continues to move, to lose herself in the sensation.

Irene, breathless, leans in closer, and with a soft voice, almost a whisper, says in your ear, “I want you to fuck my tight ass.”

Her words are like a match striking the box, igniting something fierce within you. Irene rises off your lap and walks to a corner of the gym, where she grabs a bottle of lube. She returns with a mischievous smile, shaking the bottle in the air. “I brought this just for this moment,” she says.

“You had this in mind from the start, didn’t you?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Irene doesn’t bother replying. Instead, she kisses you before lying down on the padded floor, her pale skin contrasting with the dark material, her body exposed in a posture of pure submission, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Come here, you naughty boy,” she calls, her voice like poisoned honey.

You kneel beside her, your hands trembling with desire as you reach for the lube. Irene smiles at you, then gets on all fours and arches her back. With steady movements, you pour the gel into your palm and begin applying it to her ass, feeling the warm, soft skin under your fingers. Irene lets out a low sigh, closing her eyes, savoring the sensation. "That's it... get me ready, I want to feel every inch of your thick cock inside me."

You don’t waste any time. With one hand, you spread the lube around and inside her ass, your fingers gently penetrating to prepare her. Irene bites her lip, her body slightly writhing, a mix of pleasure and anticipation. "Feels good, keep going... make me ready for you."

When you feel she’s sufficiently lubed, you apply the rest to your cock, rubbing it until it’s fully coated, hard and throbbing.

Irene changes position, lying on her back on the floor. You position yourself between her raised legs, and she looks at you with eyes full of desire. "Come on, don't wait any longer," she begs, her voice low and sweet. You press the tip of your cock against her tight entrance, pushing slowly, feeling the initial resistance. Irene lets out a moan of pain mixed with pleasure, and you keep going, advancing inch by inch, feeling the heat and pressure around you.

"Ahhh… yes," Irene moans, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the padding beneath her as you penetrate her slowly. "It's so big… so tight…"

You keep pushing, feeling her ass open up, millimeter by millimeter, her body adjusting to your size. The heat, the pressure, the sensation of filling her completely is indescribable, and the low moan she lets out only fuels your desire. "Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me deeper," she pleads.

You obey, pushing deeper until you're finally all the way inside her. Irene lets out a muffled moan, a sound of pure satisfaction, her body arching with pleasure. "Yes… like that… don’t stop," she begs, her eyes shining with wild desire. You start to move, slowly at first, savoring every second, every contortion of her body, every moan that escapes her lips.

As you gain rhythm, Irene’s moans grow louder, more desperate. "Yes… fuck my ass… do what I never let my husband do… ahhh… harder… please," she moans, every word an encouragement for you to go deeper, to push both of you to the limit.

And you do, increasing your speed and force, your hands gripping her thighs firmly, guiding each thrust with precision, feeling her body tremble with pleasure until it all comes down to heat, sweat, the pure desire consuming you both.

Irene then begins to tremble, her body stiff with imminent pleasure. She looks at you, her eyes burning with lust and urgency. "Mmm, I’m about to cum, babe… Let’s cum together?" she asks, her voice broken by moans.

You feel her body pulsing around you, each contraction almost pushing you over the edge.

"Do you want to come inside my pussy? Fill it with your cum?"

The desire and madness of the moment take over you. “Can I?” you ask, your voice tense, almost disbelieving.

“Of course you can,” she replies with a wicked smile, "I'm on the pill, darling. I want to feel you unload everything inside me."

With that, you both move into the classic missionary position. Irene spreads her legs and bends them, her feet planted on the floor, while you kneel between her thighs, your cock positioned exactly where she wants it. Irene wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth and tightness of her pussy confirm your decision: you need to cum inside her.

You start thrusting into her, each stroke deeper and faster than the last. Irene moans loudly, the sound of her moans echoing through the gym. “Ahhh, yes… more… harder…” she screams, her eyes closed in pure ecstasy. “Fuck my pussy… Make me your cum dump.”

You’re on the verge of exploding, your entire body tense with the anticipation of climax. Irene feels it and, between moans, murmurs, “I’m almost there… I’m going to cum…”

“Me too… I’m almost there…” you reply, your breathing fast.

She opens her eyes, her gaze burning with intensity. “Have you ever cum inside a stranger before, huh? Ever filled a married woman with cum, you pervert?” She asks, her words hitting you like a wave of heat.

Those words make you lose control. With one last, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, feeling your cum release into the depths of Irene’s pussy. She screams as she cums at the same time, her body writhing beneath you, her legs tightening around your waist.

“Ahhh… I can feel it all… it’s so warm… so good…” Irene moans, her words loaded with pure pleasure, her breathing ragged as she feels every hot stream filling her. You keep moving, even as the orgasm leaves you breathless, prolonging the pleasure for both of you.

When you finally pull away, your cock slipping out, cum begins to slowly drip from her pussy.

Irene smiles, a satisfied and wicked smile, as she looks at you, her breathing still uneven. "That was… exactly what I wanted," she says, her eyes gleaming with contentment, as the cum drips between her thighs, and you watch, fascinated, as she uses her fingers to spread her lips, letting the cum flow freely. She collects some of the semen with a finger and brings it to her mouth, tasting the result of your mix.

Irene kneels beside you and leans in for a deep kiss, her lips warm and moist against yours, while her hands glide over your body, caressing you with a certain tenderness.

“So, handsome, what did you think of the workout?” she asks.

You, still with your body pulsing with residual pleasure, respond with a smile, “I loved it. It was… incredible.”

Irene smiles back. “Good to hear that,” she says, with a note of amusement, “you can consider yourself my official personal trainer now. And the best part, you’re still getting paid for it. Isn’t it the best job in the world?”

You laugh, a mix of incredulity and amusement, realizing that your concept of ‘job’ will never be the same. “So that’s it? Daily sex with a gorgeous woman and I’m going to get paid for it? What are the downsides?”

“There aren’t any. As long as my husband never finds out, of course. But that’s my problem. Your only requirement and concern is to keep me satisfied.”

With that, she gets up nonchalantly, and starts gathering the clothes scattered on the floor.

You also get up, and as you’re dressing, you can’t help but think about the absurdity of the job you’re accepting.

When you’re almost ready to leave, Irene approaches, casually adjusting her hair.

“Don’t forget, tomorrow is training day again,” she says, her voice full of light arrogance. “Same time. Don’t be late. I want more of that… energy,” she adds with a smile.

You nod, laughing to yourself as you try to regain some of your composure.

“Sure, I’ll mark it on the calendar.”

[s1lly-c0r3]

HI OMG i saw your cuddling post with the tulpar crew and i was kicking my feet LIKEE

CAN I REQUEST UHM the tulpar crew with a clumsy gn reader and how theyd react to reader getting a pretty bad injury?? like, easily bruises, wakes up with random bruises n scratches, keeps falling over/knocking stuff, and one day they get a really bad injury?? i dont mind how they got it!! CAN BE ROMANTIC OR PLATONIC IDM

HOPE THIS IS OKAY GAH I WOULD LOVE TO READ MORE OF UR WRITING 🫶

Omg im so glad you liked it<33 I love this request sm. Not kidding i saw it RUSHED to start writing Remember that this is for entertainment purposes only!!

Clumsiness || Curly, Jimmy, Daisuke, Anya, and Swansea

CURLY

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He seems to always knows when you're upset or in pain.

I mean, he's the captain. How could he NOT notice his beloved partner limping around.

"Did something happen? Are you alright? Have you gone to Anya yet?" - Basically, interrogating you

Made you sit down, crouching in front of you. He imminently finds that injury.

"Oh, hun, what did you do now?"

After he heard you had fallen down the steps whilst wandering, he sighed.

He simply picked you up, if you're hurt, you're not going to hurt yourself more trying to walk around.

He took you to Anya, i mean, he's strict on the roles so it's obvious he's going to have the nurse help!

He stood by you the entire time though, his knuckles nervously pressed against his lips as if you shattered a bone.

Even after bandaged up, he's pampering you and BEGGING you not to get hurt like this anymore.

"Cmon darling, I can understand the minor ones but this? You have to be more careful..."

Keeps you beside him the rest of the day, if you even move an inch he's pulling you closer with a bit of a fear you'll get worse.

JIMMY ┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Didn't notice at first, he doesn't really notice when you're hurt unless you're complaining, and even then, he doesn't do much.

The second you yelped when you stood up he seemed a bit more concerned then usual.

"What? What is it?" - He tried to sound annoyed, but there was a strong sound of worry in his voice

He forces you sit down, his grip a bit too tight.

Instantly inspecting every part of your body until he found the wound on your leg.

"How the fuck do you manage to do this?" He said, a bit pissed you managed to hurt yourself this bad.

He thought it was stupid when you told him you fell down the steps, wanting to smack the shit out of you for being this stupid.

After a sigh and a mental break from how clumsy you manage to be, he stole some items from the medical room (he refuses to let anyone else touch you)

Obviously patched you up, poorly, the attempt is what matters right.

"You're lucky I kinda care about you, don't pull this shit again."

DAISUKE · · ──꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ── · ·

Hes slow, lets face it. He won't notice until he SEES how bad you're limping or you openly complain about the wound

"HUHH?? ARE YOU OKAY??? PLEASE DONT DIE ON ME!!"

Takes you straight to Anya, doesn't even let you explain yourself. Looking as if he's almost in tears begging Anya to save your life.

After he finds out it's just a injury on your leg he's a bit more relieved

Still though, he's clinging onto you for life and pampering you

"Oh god, please don't EVER be that clusmy again bro..."

ANYA •☽──✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧──☾•

She's a nurse, cmon? The second anyone has a bit of a grunt or a limp she knows something is up

"Is something wrong, dear? Did you hurt yourself again?"

She sits you down first, asking where it hurts and feeling the injury

After you explained to her you simply fell down the steps, she couldn't help but chuckle softly at your clumsiness

"Oh dear, how silly of you"

Patched you up after that, even kissing the bandages to "ensure they heal faster"

Wanted you to stay beside her in the medical room the rest of the day, claimed it was so she could make sure you didn't hurt yourself more, it was. But she also need the reassurance you werent going to kill yourself just walking down some steps.

SWANSEA ⊹˚₊‧──────‧₊˚⊹

he's got two kids, noticed the second you limped a bit into the utility room.

Was a bit ticked off you had managed to hurt yourself so badly that you were limping.

Sat you down on a stool, his arms crossed as he acted like you had just snuck out.

"What happened? Did someone hurt you? Did you hurt yourself? Do I need to get anya?"

even after you tried to convince him (he wasn't convinced) it was nothing he still questioned you

Eventually you told him, there was no getting out of it.

"Jesus, kid, you're gonna get yourself killed at this rate."

Patched you up himself, didn't think it was worth bothering anya again

Extremely gentle, though he did flick the back of your head for being so dumb

-----

GAH THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORTTTT !!! I finished this up in class so hopefully I didn't make too many mistakes <33

[sliced-peaches]

hitman!Haechan x reader | 1.2k | frenemies..?

he really has the best seat in the house tonight

💿 now playing: sour diesel - zayn // ordinary life- the weekend // zeal - tchami // igloo - kiss of life

a/n: I should be working on my wholesome jaehyun fic but I had this bouncing around in my brain since the tour trailer dropped and watched a bunch of action films. it’s coming soon, I promise. enjoy the beginning of something darker for now 😈

mentions of: MURDER, guns, violence, drugs, nothing really explicit but be warned. 127 members listening to haechan thirst over comms, red velvet Irene, idk I think that’s it

You’ve just walked into the rooftop lounge and it’s the highlight of Haechan’s day. He’s a rooftop away, eyeing you through the scope of a sniper rifle, and you’re stunning. The way you saunter through the crowd of dancing bodies makes every head turn, confidently swaying your hips as you head straight for the bar.

He’s never seen you in anything like this before, a little sparkly dress (if he could even call it that) covering little to nothing and a pair of pretty heels. It’s not really your style, but damn did you knock it out the park tonight. It almost makes him forget you could kill a man at least seven different ways unarmed.

Knowing you, you most likely still found a way to conceal a weapon under the solid one by one foot of fabric that made the entirety of the dress. But with his finger on a trigger he can’t let himself get too worked up over hypothetically trying to find a knife on your person.

“Got a visual on our angel,” he says into his earpiece. “She’s beautiful.”

He can feel Johnny rolling his eyes before said man’s voice crackles over.

“Thank god she’s not on comm, she’d rip you a new one.”

Honestly you could point a gun to his head and he’d probably cream his pants. He keeps that one to himself though, Johnny would probably cuss him out in three languages and throw him off his game.

“I love a woman who can kick my ass,” he dreamily sighs. It earns him a few curses from Yuta instead.

“Shut your weird ass up, targets moving.”

You sit at the bar, dress riding up just a bit when your ass touches the seat. The little extra inch of exposed skin is what really does it for him, like your entire back on display wasn���t enough. He can’t believe you look like this under your usual tact gear.

When the bartender takes your order, you tuck your hair behind your ear and point at a bottle behind him. The way you tilt your head slightly at him as him tripping over his feet, and Haechan grins. You were playing the role so well- this was the sweetest he’s ever seen you.

You were so cute while playing dumb and innocent.

When the team had to regroup after a botched run-in with this city’s most wanted drug lord, you and Doyoung had been adamant that none of the men on the team should engage with your target this time. Last time had been too close of a call for Johnny and Yuta- they got a little too up close and personal with the authorities, almost blowing everyone’s cover. The offensive, more direct tactics just weren’t cutting it and were getting too dangerous.

It was time to go on the defensive and try a more subtle approach, as Doyoung put it. And so they decided that one of the ladies would have to go undercover for this one.

Between you and Irene, it was decided that you’d be the one to go in. While they had said it was because you’d had more experience, it was really because Irene couldn’t pretend she liked men talking to her if her life depended on it.

At first, Haechan had been a little apprehensive.

“This guy can’t be that stupid, right?” He asked back at the hideout, cleaning a piece of his gun with a cloth.

It was a valid concern, even to you who disagreed with him often (sometimes just for funsies). You could do recon, you could blend in, but it had been a while since you purposely stuck out in the crowd. Would you be able to sell it?

But Jungwoo was quick to dismiss any doubts, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Men like that only care about two things: money and pussy. And they’d die for at least one of them. Throw a little something at him, I think you got this one in the bag.”

When the man of the hour walks in with his crew and you immediately catch his eye, Haechan feels it in his gut.

You were going to execute this flawlessly.

“Target spotted.”

Just like they predicted the man makes a beeline for the you while his men spread out in the crowd. You just sip out of a pretty glass and pretend that you’re none the wiser while you wait. You even throw in a little fake jump when he slides in next to you to ask what you’re drinking. Oldest line in the book.

What a loser.

Haechan watches in amusement as you bat your lashes at the man, flashing him the prettiest smile known to man. Serving yourself up to him on a platter.

He has no idea what kind of venom you have running through your veins.

Doyoung and Yuta check in over comms.

“We’re in position. Ready when you are.”

“She’s doing amazing, just a little longer.”

You continue to flirt with the target, throwing your head back in laughter at something he says while Haechan aims right between his eyes. He considers asking if whatever he said was really funny or not later, but that might be disrespectful to the dead.

“I have a clear shot.”

He stills as your hand runs up the man’s arm, stopping to rest on his shoulder.

“Wait for her signal.”

Then you slide out of the barstool, press up against him to whisper something in his ear. The mans eyebrows shoot to the sky.

Oh, how Haechan wishes he could be a fly on the wall instead of a sniper on a roof.

You begin to walk away from the bar, a hand intertwined with the targets as he brainlessly follows. Haechan waits patiently as you raise your free hand to the sky.

He sucks in a breath…

And there it is.

You take one small step to the left. He breathes out and takes the shot. One is all it takes.

“Got him.”

The target crumples to the floor.

“All right, let’s move!”

Chaos erupts, everyone ducking for cover and trying to escape as shots ring out. You quickly grab the gun out of the dead man’s holster and jump behind the bar to take cover. He expertly takes out someone who’s spotted you before they could chase after you.

Yuta and Johnny make quick work to clear the opposition as they make their way to you. With no one to answer to, the dead target’s crew is easy to take out or discourage altogether and soon the rooftop is cleared out.

Haechan stands up to get a better look. You stand there as Johnny checks you over, a scowl on your face when he laughs. The tall man points to where he stands on the roof, and you follow his arm to see Haechan waving frantically.

He waits with a shit eating grin on his face while Johnny passes you his earpiece.

“Fuck you, you got blood on my dress.”

“I’m sure with your cut you can buy a new one. But I’ll make it up to you.”

He howls when you flip him off.

[00valentina-writes00]

✞⛧Lunar Bonds (Abby x Reader)✞⛧

Warnings: Themes of transformation (werewolf AU), Brief descriptions of pain during transformation, intimate moments (NSFW content, 18+ around the end)

Word Count: 6.2k

Last draft y’all

You’re lying in Abby’s dorm room, the space cozy and familiar now. The walls, plastered with posters of old rugby teams and a few weathered photographs, make it feel like home. You’re stretched out on her bed, the warmth of her body against yours grounding you in the most intimate way. Abby’s lying on your stomach, face-up, her back pressed against you as she reads through a textbook for one of her classes. You can feel the steady rise and fall of her chest, the beat of her heart thumping softly beneath your palm as you rest your hand on her side.

Her golden-blonde hair is tied back into a loose ponytail, but a few strands have escaped, falling over her forehead. You can’t help but brush those stray strands back gently, fingers skimming her soft skin. The texture of her hair is thick and silky beneath your fingers, the color so familiar to you now. It’s a simple thing, but it feels intimate, the small act of tending to her, of being close in this way. Abby’s always been the kind of person who carries herself with purpose—always strong, always confident. But here, with her head resting on your stomach, she’s different. She’s calm. Vulnerable in her own quiet way. And you love it.

You watch her as she flips through the pages of her textbook, her sharp blue eyes focused with laser intensity. It’s clear she’s absorbed in her studies, not even noticing the way your fingertips trace lazy patterns across the side of her face, memorizing every detail. The way her jawline is so sharply defined, the soft dusting of freckles on her sun-kissed skin. You love her face, every inch of it. There’s a concentration in her eyes that never wavers, like nothing else in the world matters except the words on the page in front of her. It’s endearing, and it makes you smile without realizing it.

But as much as you enjoy watching her, the silence is starting to weigh on you. The quiet rustling of pages, the occasional deep breath Abby takes when she hits a particularly hard paragraph—it’s all so still. And you? You’re growing restless. You want to get her attention, want her to focus on something other than her book, just for a little while.

You pull your hand away from her hair, a mischievous thought entering your mind. With a grin, you gently tug on one of the strands of her ponytail, just enough to make her feel the pull. Abby doesn’t jump or react like you expect. Instead, she gives a small sigh and rolls her eyes, clearly aware of your antics but not giving in just yet. The corners of her lips twitch upward, a subtle sign that she’s amused, but she doesn’t look up from her textbook.

“Abby,” you murmur playfully, running your fingers through her hair again, this time a bit firmer. “I thought you’d rather be hanging out with your girlfriend than burying yourself in that damn textbook.”

The words are lighthearted, teasing, but there’s a hint of something deeper—an invitation to share a moment with you instead of the work she’s so intent on. You wait for her to react, holding your breath, wondering if she’ll finally pull herself away from her studies. You know she’s driven, sometimes to a fault. She has this singular focus that can be both impressive and, well, a little annoying when you just want her attention.

She tilts her head back slightly, her gaze lifting to meet yours, though her eyes don’t leave the page entirely. Her expression is a mixture of annoyance and affection—classic Abby. The smirk on her lips says she’s well aware of your teasing, but she’s not going to let it distract her just yet.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she says, her voice low, just above a murmur. It’s the same tone she uses when she’s half-amused, half-annoyed, the one that always makes your stomach flip with a mixture of warmth and affection. “You’re lucky I’m even paying attention to you at all.”

You snort, and her lips twitch again, though she doesn’t put the book down. You can’t help but laugh a little at her determination. She’s like this, always pushing through, always focused on whatever she’s committed to at that moment. It’s one of the things you admire most about her. But right now, you’re a little selfish. You want her eyes on you, her full attention. And maybe you’ll have to work for it.

“You always say that, but I’m starting to think you just pretend to love me,” you tease, pulling a little harder on her ponytail this time, just enough to make her shift slightly. “I mean, come on, you’d rather read than spend time with your super cute girlfriend. I’m starting to feel a little neglected here.”

Abby lets out a sharp huff of laughter, finally looking up at you with a playful glint in her eyes. “You’re a lot of work, you know that?”

“Am I?” You raise an eyebrow, meeting her gaze. “You’re the one who chose me. I’m just… charming.”

“Charming, huh?” She quirks an eyebrow, her lips pulling into a smirk. “I think ‘distracting’ is a more accurate word.”

Before you can respond, Abby shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow. Her blue eyes lock with yours, a quiet, affectionate energy in her gaze. “I’m sorry,” she says, the rare apology coming with a softness you don’t always get to see. “I didn’t mean to make you feel… second place. It’s just that this test is really important.”

You smile, your heart warming at her sincerity, even though you know she’s still trying to balance her studies with her relationship. It’s that balancing act that often has her so consumed. But you understand. You really do.

“No need to apologize,” you say softly, brushing your hand through her hair again. You lean down and kiss the top of her head, breathing her in. She smells faintly of shampoo, clean and fresh, with a hint of something more earthy from being outside. “I just miss you sometimes when you get this serious.”

Abby’s gaze softens, and she places a hand over yours on her hair, her fingers gently squeezing yours. “I know. I’ll make it up to you when I’m done, okay?”

You nod, feeling content. As much as you wanted her attention right now, it was always like this with Abby. She balanced everything—her responsibilities, her dedication to her goals, and you. It wasn’t easy for her, but you knew she was trying. And that was all you could ask for.

“Sounds good,” you murmur, slipping into a comfortable silence again, the only sounds now the faint rustling of pages and the soft, steady rhythm of Abby’s breathing.

You shift slightly, your body settling against her as you return to just watching her study, your hand resting lazily in her hair. There’s something peaceful about this moment, something that makes you feel more connected to her than anything else could. Even if she’s lost in her book, she’s still here, with you.

——

The full moon is creeping closer, and you can feel the shift in Abby. It’s subtle at first, a slight tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes dart nervously when she thinks you’re not looking. But you notice everything about her. You always have. You’ve been with her long enough to see the small signs—how she starts pacing a little more, or how her hands shake just slightly when she’s reaching for something. You know what’s coming, and she does too. The full moon means Abby’s monthly shift, and no matter how many times it’s happened, she can never quite get used to it.

It’s not like she can control it. Not fully. The wolf inside her demands to be let out, and she has no say in the matter. Not once the moon is high enough in the sky. But Abby’s different now. You’re different now. And you’re here, as always, to help her through it.

She’s in her dorm room, the walls bare except for a few photos and posters of places she’s dreamed of visiting, and the room smells faintly of her—the combination of shampoo, sweat from a workout earlier in the day, and the fresh, crisp air that follows her wherever she goes. She’s moving about the room now, pushing the desk against the far wall, moving chairs out of the way with a kind of force that betrays her anxiety.

You’re sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her work. It’s a routine at this point, something you’ve done together for months now. There’s a certain quietness to the preparations, a shared understanding between the two of you. Abby never likes to admit it, but she’s nervous. The shift always hurts—always feels like her body is betraying her, stretching and cracking and reshaping into something far larger, far more wild. But it’s worse when she’s alone, when she doesn’t have you here to help her through it.

You stand up, walking over to her, and place a gentle hand on her shoulder. She tenses, but then relaxes under your touch, leaning into you just for a moment before returning to the task at hand.

“You okay?” you ask softly, your voice low, comforting.

Abby looks over her shoulder at you, her expression guarded but softened by the concern she doesn’t voice. She gives a small nod, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—something that tells you more than words ever could.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, but you can hear the uncertainty in her voice. It’s not that she doesn’t trust you; it’s that she’s not sure she can trust herself during the shift. She’s still learning, still trying to control the wolf inside her, and every full moon reminds her how much she’s at its mercy.

You walk over to the small window in the corner of the room, the light from the fading sun spilling through the curtains. The moon will rise soon, and Abby will have no choice but to give in to it. But for now, there’s still time. Time for both of you to prepare, time for her to breathe, to feel a little less out of control.

The two of you work quietly, moving furniture and clearing space. You take the bed apart, stacking the pillows and blankets in a corner. Abby always insists on making sure there’s enough space for her to move around when she shifts. She doesn’t want to risk breaking anything, or worse—hurting herself or you.

As you adjust the last piece of furniture, you catch Abby glancing over at you. She’s standing near the far wall now, her arms crossed, but there’s something in her eyes that’s different now. She’s looking at you like you’re her anchor, her tether to reality in a moment when everything else will slip away from her.

“You don’t have to do this,” she says quietly. “I can handle it.”

You raise an eyebrow, walking over to her. You know she’s trying to be brave, trying to convince herself that she’s fine. But the truth is, Abby’s never fine on the night of a full moon. She doesn’t like to admit it, but she’s scared. Not of the monster she thinks that’s inside her, but of losing herself to it. Of hurting someone she loves, of breaking everything she’s worked to build.

“I know you can handle it,” you reply softly. “But I want to be here. I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

She meets your gaze, and for a moment, the world feels still. She’s so strong—always so strong—but here, now, in the quiet of her dorm room, you see the vulnerability she keeps hidden so carefully behind walls of steel. You want to reassure her, but you know there’s nothing you can say that will make the shift easier. You’ve seen it happen too many times. The way she falls to the floor, her body jerking as her muscles stretch, her bones cracking and reforming.

“Thanks,” she murmurs after a long moment, her voice barely above a whisper. “You always know what I need.”

You nod, reaching out to take her hand in yours. Her fingers are cold, her grip tight but comforting. You squeeze her hand and pull her closer, wrapping your arms around her in a silent promise. You’re here. You’ll always be here, no matter what.

The light outside is dimming now, the last of the sun slipping beneath the horizon. The moon is rising, and you can feel the shift in the air. Abby’s breath hitches, her pulse quickening as the transformation begins to take hold. You can hear her heart beating faster, the change already starting deep inside her.

You help her to the middle of the room, where the floor is clear, and she sits down, her back against the wall. The tension in her shoulders is unbearable, like she’s trying to hold back a storm that’s already begun to break free.

You sit beside her, your hand resting on her back, feeling the heat radiating off her. “It’s going to be okay,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if you’re saying it for her or for yourself. You’re not afraid. Not exactly. But it’s hard to watch her go through the change. It’s hard to see the pain, the rawness, in her eyes when she can’t control it.

Abby’s body trembles, and she lets out a low groan, the transformation beginning in earnest. You watch as her spine arches and her muscles bulge, her breathing shallow and labored as her body starts to change. The sound is awful—cracking, snapping—but you don’t flinch. You don’t look away.

And then, as quickly as it started, it’s over. The room is still again, the air thick with the remnants of her shift. Abby, now in her wolf form, is huge. Her body is covered in thick, silvery-blonde fur, her blue eyes still unmistakably hers, glowing softly in the dim light. She whines, a sound that’s both familiar and foreign, and she looks up at you with a vulnerability you’ve never seen in her before.

You reach out slowly, your fingers brushing through the thick fur along her neck. Abby leans into your touch, her head resting against your knee like a giant, furry puppy. The moment is surreal, but somehow, it’s comforting. You can feel her warmth, the softness of her fur against your skin, and you know, deep down, that she’s still Abby. A wolf may have taken over her body, but she’s still in there. She’s still her.

You pet her gently, your fingers moving along the line of her back, soothing the trembling muscles underneath. She’s warm—so much warmer than she normally is—and despite the size and power of her wolf form, there’s something incredibly peaceful about this moment. The world outside is gone, replaced by the quiet of Abby’s dorm room and the soft rhythm of her breathing.

It’s not perfect. Nothing ever is. But in this moment, there’s nothing but the two of you. Abby’s head rests against your leg, and you run your hand over her fur, feeling the rise and fall of her chest. Her wolf form is fierce, wild, but with you, she’s safe. She’s at peace.

You lean down, pressing your cheek to her fur, letting the night slip away as the two of you settle into the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

—-

The light filtering through the curtains is soft, the early morning sun still lazy, casting a warm glow across the room. You’ve always loved this quiet time—when everything is still, and the world outside hasn’t yet caught up to the reality of the day. But in Abby’s dorm room, the morning always feels different. It’s a moment when the chaos of the night before—her shift, the fear, the primal force of it all—has faded, and it’s just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet comfort of being together.

Abby is lying next to you, curled up on her side, still in the tangled mess of blankets from the night before. Her breathing is slow and even, the gentle rise and fall of her chest reassuring. She’s peaceful now, her transformation over, but there’s still a trace of the wolf in her posture. Her body is relaxed, but there’s a faint tension in her muscles—like she’s still recovering from the strain of the shift.

You watch her for a moment, your eyes tracing the curve of her back, the way the sheets pool around her. She’s so… still. And it’s in these quiet moments, when Abby is soft and vulnerable, that your heart catches in your chest. She’s so strong, so full of fire and grit, but here—like this—she’s a different version of herself. She’s human. She’s yours.

A soft chuckle escapes you as you take in the sight of her. Abby’s face is pressed into the pillow, her blonde hair tangled in wild strands around her head. And then there’s the drool—just a little, but enough to make you smile. You reach over, your fingers grazing the pillow as you gently wipe away the small trail of saliva that’s left behind.

She’s so unguarded when she sleeps, when she’s not the fierce, unstoppable force she is during the full moon. It’s these moments, when she’s at her most vulnerable, that you can’t help but fall a little bit more for her. You can’t resist the pull, the tenderness in these small details. The way she looks now, peaceful and utterly unaware of your adoration, is a contrast to the intense, untamed energy she holds when she’s awake.

You press a kiss to her forehead, soft, lingering. You don’t expect her to wake up, not yet. She’s always so deep in sleep after the shift—like she’s recovering from something more than just a physical transformation. But as you pull back, you can’t help but smile. There’s something so… cute about her in these moments. The kind of cute that makes your heart squeeze and your breath hitch.

She stirs slightly, a faint grunt leaving her lips as she shifts just enough to roll onto her back. Her chest rises and falls more deeply now, the motion so slow and languid. You watch her, your fingers still brushing through her hair, feeling the softness of it between your fingers.

You can’t resist. You bend down again, pressing a kiss to her lips this time. It’s gentle at first—just a brush of your lips against hers—but then, you pull back slightly and see her eyes flicker open. She blinks a few times, the remnants of sleep still clinging to her like a fog. She groans, rubbing her face with her hand as if trying to shake off the weight of the night.

“What time is it?” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep and still laced with the softness of her wolf form. The way she sounds when she wakes up always makes you smile. There’s no mask here. No guard. Just Abby, raw and unfiltered. It’s endearing.

You laugh quietly, your fingers lingering on her shoulder as you sit up a little more. “It’s too early for you to be worrying about time,” you tease softly. The way you say it is lighthearted, playful, and it draws another sleepy chuckle from her.

Abby blinks at you again, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep. You love how she looks right now—vulnerable, unguarded, and soft in a way you don’t often get to see. Her blue eyes are still a little glassy from the night before, but the tenderness in her gaze when she looks at you is unmistakable. You know she’s still adjusting to the world around her, and that includes moments like this—when the weight of the full moon is behind her, and she’s just… Abby again.

She shifts slightly, sitting up with a quiet groan, the blankets falling away to reveal her bare skin. Her body is still warm from the transformation, the muscle tone you’ve come to know so well soft and still a little tender from the shift. But the real beauty of her is in the way she looks at you as she stretches, her arms reaching above her head before she lets out another yawn.

You can’t help but smile. There’s something so human about these moments—so utterly ordinary, and yet so entirely perfect. The way she stumbles over her words when she’s half asleep, the way she rubs her face and shifts around like she’s still trying to find her bearings. It’s the way she’s completely herself in a way you don’t think she’s ever allowed anyone to see before. And you treasure it, all of it.

“I feel like I was run over by a truck,” Abby mutters, her voice still rough with sleep. She looks over at you, and the playful glint in her eyes is enough to make your heart flutter.

You grin, leaning over to press another kiss to her lips. This time, it’s longer—lingering, slow—and you can feel her responding to it before she even fully wakes. She lets out a small sigh, and the moment stretches between you, filled with warmth and the quiet intimacy you’ve come to cherish.

Abby sighs, the sound more content than frustrated, and turns toward you, her head resting on your shoulder as she settles back down into the sheets. Her breath is warm against your skin, the softness of her body a welcome contrast to the tension that still lingers in her muscles. You can’t help but smile, even as you feel the weight of her head against you, the weight of the night’s exhaustion still pulling at her.

“Five more minutes,” she mutters, her words muffled as she drifts off again. The soft rhythm of her breathing fills the silence, and you can’t help but laugh softly. You know she won’t sleep for much longer. She never does, once she’s had a moment to gather herself.

You stay there for a while, watching her, the quiet comfort of the morning wrapping around you both. The tension of the night before is gone now, replaced by a kind of peace. Abby is still Abby, no matter what form she’s in.

And as the minutes pass, and the room grows quieter, you find yourself wishing that time could stand still. Wishing that this moment, just the two of you in her dorm room, could last forever.

—-

The soft hum of the Xbox filled the room, the distant crackle of gunfire and explosions from the TV blending into the background. Abby was leaned forward on the couch, controller in hand, her focus laser-sharp as she navigated the virtual battlefield. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a thin line as she muttered curses under her breath. You sat behind her, legs tucked under you, your fingers idly playing with the ends of her blonde braid. It was a quiet evening, the kind that felt comfortable and familiar, but there was something about the way she was so absorbed in the game that made you feel… lonely.

You leaned forward, your breath brushing against her ear as you whispered, “Abby, baby… I’m lonely.” The words were playful, but there was a hint of longing in your voice that made her pause. Her character on the screen stood still for a moment, and you could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she processed your words. Then, with a soft beep, she set the controller down and turned to face you.

Her bright blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of amusement in her gaze. “Lonely, huh?” she asked, her voice low and teasing. You nodded, biting your lip to suppress a smile. Without another word, she closed the distance between you, her lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It was tender at first, a gentle exploration of each other’s mouths, but it didn’t take long for the heat to build. Her tongue brushed against yours, and you let out a soft moan as her hands found your waist, pulling you closer.

Her lips trailed down your throat, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Her hands slid up under your shirt, her fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you shiver. She pulled back just long enough to tug the shirt over your head, and then her hands were on your bra, deftly unhooking it and tossing it aside. Her mouth found yours again, her tongue tangling with yours as her hands explored your body, palming your breasts and teasing your nipples until they were hard and aching.

You gasped as she pushed you back onto the couch, her lips moving down the valley between your breasts. She murmured soft praise as she kissed her way lower, her hands working to remove your pants and panties. “God, you’re so beautiful,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire. Her mouth continued its descent, leaving a trail of heated kisses on your skin until she reached the apex of your thighs.

The first touch of her tongue against your cunt had you arching off the couch, a moan tumbling from your lips. Her hands flew to your hips, holding you down as she began to eat you out with a fervor that left you breathless. Her tongue swirled around your clit, licking and sucking with a rhythm that had you seeing stars. The wet noises filled the room, mingling with your moans and whimpers as your hips began to grind against her face.

“Abby,” you gasped, your hands tangling in her hair. “Oh god, yes.” Her fingers joined in, gently pumping into you as her tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. The dual sensation of her fingers curling inside you and her tongue flicking against your sensitive bud was almost too much to bear. You squirmed beneath her, your body trembling as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” she murmured, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. Her fingers moved in time with the swipes of her tongue, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pressure building, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as she worked you over. And then, with a final, desperate moan of her name, you came apart, your body arching off the couch as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm subsided, Abby pulled back, a satisfied smirk on her face. She licked her lips, her eyes dark with desire as she looked up at you. But before either of you could say anything, your gaze landed on her ears—now sharp and wolf-like—and the fluffy tail that had appeared behind her.

“Abby,” you panted, pointing at her ears. “Why… why are you like that?”

She reached up to touch her ears, her brows furrowing in confusion. “I… that’s never happened before,” she murmured, a hint of frustration in her voice as she huffed. But you couldn’t help but notice the way her tail wagged slightly against the couch, betraying her true feelings.

“It’s kinda cute,” you murmured, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“Shut up,” Abby muttered, but her tail thumped harder against the couch, a clear sign that she didn’t entirely disagree.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the soft fur of her ears. She shivered at the touch, her eyes closing for a moment as she leaned into your hand. “Abby,” you whispered, your voice filled with wonder, “what’s going on?”

She opened her eyes, meeting your gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and something else—something that looked a lot like hunger. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice low and rough.

Abby’s gaze darkened, the hunger in her eyes growing more intense. Her tail thumped harder against the couch, and before you could process what was happening, her hands—now tipped with sharp, yet oddly alluring claws—gripped your waist firmly. She pulled you up from the couch with an effortless strength that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Abby,” you gasped, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, her voice rough and low, her breath hot against your ear. Her claws pricked slightly against your skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the power she held. She lifted you easily, carrying you toward her bedroom, her steps deliberate and sure. The way she moved—fluid, predatory, yet undeniably gentle—made your heart race.

When she reached the bed, she set you down with care, her hands lingering on your hips as she climbed over you. Her wolf ears twitched, and her tail swished behind her, brushing against your leg. Her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Then she kissed you—hard, desperate, and full of need. Her lips crushed against yours, her tongue slipping into your mouth with a hunger that made you moan into her.

Your hands tangled in her hair, tugging gently at the soft strands as she deepened the kiss. She pulled back only to kiss you again, and again, each one more urgent than the last. Her claws traced lightly down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your breath came in short, uneven gasps as she kissed you until you were dizzy, until you thought you might pass out from the lack of air.

Finally, she broke away, her chest heaving as she stared down at you. Her eyes were wild, her lips swollen from the force of her kisses. Without a word, she stood, her hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. She shoved them down, along with her boxers, kicking them to the side with a swift motion. Her shirt followed, tossed carelessly onto the floor, leaving her in nothing but her sports bra.

You couldn’t help but stare. Her body was a masterpiece—muscular and strong, yet undeniably feminine. The faint scars that marked her skin only added to her allure, telling stories of a life lived fiercely and unapologetically. Her wolf ears twitched again, and her tail swayed lazily behind her as she climbed back onto the bed.

She positioned herself above you, her thighs straddling your hips, her body hovering just inches above yours. Her hands braced on either side of your head as she leaned down, her lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice rough with desire.

Her hips shifted, and you felt the heat of her cunt press against yours. She ground down slowly, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your hands gripped her hips, urging her to move faster, but she took her time, savoring every second. Her breath hitched as she rocked against you, her tail swishing in time with her movements.

“Abby,” you moaned, your voice trembling as the pleasure built inside you.

Her lips found yours again, swallowing your moans as she continued to move against you. The heat between you grew, the slickness of her cunt mingling with yours as she pressed harder, faster. Her claws dug slightly into the mattress as she lost herself in the rhythm, her kisses growing more desperate, more needy.

You could feel her trembling above you, her body taut with tension as she neared the edge. Her hips moved erratically, the friction between you almost unbearable in its intensity. Your own body was coiled tightly, every nerve on fire as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy.

“Come with me,” she growled against your lips, her voice raw and commanding.

And you did. The pleasure exploded inside you, white-hot and all-consuming, as you cried out her name. She followed seconds later, her body jerking as she came, her claws tearing through the sheets as she clung to the last shreds of control. Her tail thrashed wildly, and her wolf ears flattened against her head as she collapsed onto you, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

For a moment, you lay there, tangled together, the only sound in the room the rapid beating of your hearts. Her claws retracted slowly, leaving small indentations in the mattress, and her tail curled around your leg as she nuzzled into your neck.

Abby stirred slightly, still lying half on top of you, her face pressed against your neck. Her body was heavy and warm, radiating the same heat you’d come to expect after her shifts. Her soft sighs tickled your skin, her tail twitching occasionally as her breathing slowed. The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the Xbox still running in the background.

You ran your fingers gently through her blonde hair, your touch light and soothing as you traced small patterns on the back of her neck. Her wolf ears twitched under your fingers, flicking slightly as you brushed against them. You smiled, unable to resist the urge to stroke the soft fur.

She let out a low hum of contentment, her body melting further into yours. “Mmm,” she murmured sleepily. “That feels good.”

“Good,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You deserve it.”

Abby shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look at you. Her blue eyes were soft, a little tired, but filled with something tender and unspoken. She reached up, her fingers brushing against your cheek as she cupped your face.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice low and rough from exertion.

You nodded, your hand coming up to rest over hers. “I’m perfect. What about you?”

Her lips twitched into a small smile. “I’m good,” she said softly. “A little… worn out, maybe.” She glanced at her hands, flexing her fingers as if she were still trying to get used to the claws that had appeared earlier. They were gone now, her hands once again human, but the memory of them lingered. “Sorry if I scared you earlier.”

“You didn’t,” you reassured her, your voice gentle. “It was surprising, sure, but… it’s you, Abby. All of you. I’m not scared of that.”

Her eyes softened even further, and she leaned down to press a slow, tender kiss to your lips. “You’re too good to me,” she murmured against your mouth, her voice laced with gratitude and something deeper.

“Not possible,” you teased, brushing your thumb over her cheek.

She chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through your chest where her body still pressed against yours. Then, with a small grunt, she pushed herself up and off of you, sitting back on her knees. Her tail swished lazily behind her, brushing against the sheets as she reached for the discarded blankets at the foot of the bed.

“Let me clean you up,” she said softly, her voice filled with care. She reached for a nearby towel, her movements slow and deliberate as she gently wiped away the mess between your thighs. Her touch was tender, reverent, as if she were afraid of hurting you.

You watched her, your heart swelling at the sight of her so focused on taking care of you. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Abby glanced up at you, her lips quirking into a small smile. “Always,” she said simply.

Once she was done, she set the towel aside and pulled the blankets up around you, tucking them in carefully. Then she slid back into bed beside you, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you close. Her body was warm, her scent comforting as you nestled into her embrace.

Her hand trailed up and down your back in soothing strokes, and you felt yourself relax further against her. “I love you,” she murmured, her voice quiet but firm.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your fingers tracing small circles on her arm.

The two of you lay there for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten. Abby’s breathing grew slow and steady, her body completely at ease against yours. Her tail occasionally flicked, brushing against your leg, and you couldn’t help but smile at the reminder of this new part of her.

“Your tail’s kind of cute, you know,” you teased softly, your voice filled with affection.

Abby huffed, burying her face in your neck. “Don’t start,” she muttered, but the way her tail wagged betrayed her embarrassment.

You laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re cute,” you murmured, your voice filled with love.

She sighed contentedly, her arms tightening around you. “Only for you,” she said softly, her voice barely audible.

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet aftermath of the night, the warmth of each other’s presence more than enough to chase away any lingering worries. For now, in this moment, everything was perfect.

@p3arlier

[mashiraostail]

main party.....kink list??? orrrr wah

ya officer thats them thats the horny mf

I know there r some well accepted fanon ones sooo im gonna try to get funky with it for u all but if some of these r overdone i apologize im simple minded

Lae'zel: Sensory dep I think?? Going both ways but I think she really enjoys the trust you puts into her when you let her blindfold you. She also thinks of it as a sort of milestone, when she trust you enough to let things go the other way. Something about the surprise of it, the not knowing what's next heightens the experience for her. Seeing you keening, and trying desperately to find her touch even when you can't see her does wonders for her ego. She likes a power play too, she likes to hear you beg, she loves a little bit of groveling she can't help it. She especially enjoys the feeling of your hands scrambling against her back and shoulders as you desperately try to ground yourself again. She may or may not push you just bit past overstimulation. She can't put it into words, she likes having that control, she likes knowing she could do whatever she wants to you, and knowing she would never actually hurt you in a weird way reminds her how much she loves you.

Gale: Body worship!! Bro shoulda been a cleric he loooovvees to worship sm. He can't even help it and he may not be doing it on purpose either. When he sees you naked he's about ready to drop to his knees and start sobbing, how could somebody so near perfect see him as worthy company? He will kiss and lavish every inch of you all night, if you don't snap him out of it he honestly might forego sex entirely in favor of just doting on you. His hands will NEVER leave your bare skin, once it's exposed he will keep an incredibly curious, wandering hand on you at all times. He just loves every inch of you, and I do mean every inch; he will never turn his nose up at any part of you, he's content to kiss and massage you all night if that's what you want. He can't help getting sidetracked here and there either, he simply cannot promise that he won't be overcome with the desire to fuck into your thighs, or rut against your stomach and chest and he will indulge himself. He's Mr. Pussydrunk, he can't help it. Maybe he's a little pathetic, and he can admit that. There is not any kind of sex that is not centered on you, he just wants to look and kiss and touch and have all of you.

Karlach: She loves a little bit of a risky tryst, she never wants to actually get caught of course but the thought is thrilling alone. Quickies in the bathroom, around dark corners, down secluded alleys and so on. She likes the challenge of keeping you quiet and she loves to see you embarrassed. "Oh no, Karlach we shouldn't..." but you can't resist her and that's what she likes so much about it. Of course she likes seeing her hand over your mouth, watching your head loll around as you will yourself to be quiet; but at its core she loves knowing you just can't deny yourself, you want her just as badly was she wants you. When you have some more privacy she'll take her time with you, make sure you feel the same love that she does when you just can't help yourself. But there are times where nothing seems better than whisking you away, rendering you stupid, and then sending you on your way.

Wyll: He's such a good boy i know i know but I am so certain that he loves leaving some marks on his partner. He honestly feels a bit bad about it at first, and you'll have to put it him at ease about it, tell him you enjoy it, and you're okay if he is. He may have some slight jealous tendencies so knowing that possessiveness in general is enjoyed by you is a huge help to him. He will NOT go crazy with it, he'll always feel a little ashamed of it, but he can't help leaving one or two small love bites around the collar of your shirt, promise him you don't mind and he may been keen on more heavily marking obscured areas like your inner thighs or your stomach. He won't mind you returning the favor at all, a few scratches down his back, some bites on his collar, it's all good to him. He likes to know that he's yours just as much as he likes knowing you're his.

Shadowheart: Lowkey ofc but she's a threesome girl I just know she is. She loves a good threesome, sometimes she just likes to watch sometimes she just wants you to watch her and sometimes she likes all three of you together. She's not the jealous type, she's not insecure, and she loves seeing you embarrassed by all the attention and stupid with pleasure. She also loves a little bit of the princess treatment too (a lot). Doesn't have to be Halsin, but she'd be thrilled at the proposal of course. She doesn't have a preference for the breakdown, men or women, whatever else, it's all good to her and each has it's own unique perks. She likes getting to really take you in, to see everything about your body and your face and the noises you make without worrying about focusing on making you feel good, she likes being a backseat driver and she likes the look on your face when you watch her. It's certainly not an every time thing, she likes having you to herself too, but when the situation is right she'll rarely turn her nose up at a worthwhile proposition.

Halsin: He's a giver, just through and through man. Similar to Lae'zel he likes being in control, but in different ways. He loves the idea of you just being completely in need of him and totally unable to deny any of your desires. He loves to take care of you, and seeing how easily you surrender to him. You can beg, he'll love it, though he'll never ask you to. No, he'll never deny you, he'll be sure you get everything you ask for in due time, he just loves to unravel you, overstimulate you, and just enjoy your body. He loves crowding you into a corner, taking up all your senses and listening to you keen for him. He wants to see you fumble over yourself, blush, or look away from him, he loves to see how easily he can suck the air out of your lungs. He's been alive for a long time and he'd be an idiot to not know the effect he can have on people, or to not be able to tell when someone is interested. He'll lean into the attraction that already exists, lingering touches, fond nicknames, eye contact, general closeness and so on, he just likes to see you fall apart.

Astarion: true love Praise/dirty talk, maybe a little denial at times too but he'll never push you too far, he may seem sadistic but he can't hold out on you very long at all. He likes see how nervous he can make you just with the things he says alone. I think he may bite you during sex if you tell him you enjoy it but I don't think it would be a regular thing and after you really truly get together you'd have to give it time before bringing it up. Obviously he has to feed to on some kind of blood to stay alive and if sex can make it enjoyable for the parties involved he won't turn it down. He could bring you right to the cusp of an orgasm then bite down, partial curiosity partial cruelty. Would it deny you or would it push you over the edge? He'd be happy with either result. He's got a big head but it doesn't hurt to feed his ego, and a little praise can take him a loooonnngg way, before, after, or during sex.

[lambilegs]

G!p Lee harker is so pathetic, I could imagine being her secretary and wearing the smallest skirts, intentionally bending over in front of her to tease her, she ends up getting hard at her desk 😩 SOMETHING ABIUT HER GETTING HARD AT WORK IS EVERYTHINGGGGGGGGGGG

secretary!reader x g!p lee harker ♥️ (contains: dirty talk, g!p lee harker, breeding, degradation, slight humiliation, semi-public sex, spanking, unegotiated spanking + degradation, reader is referred to as having a "pussy," "tit," and "cunt")

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

(anon ilysm for this idea, it is soooo sexy and hot AHHHH I love stuff like this hehe <33)

oh. oh. you fucking ate with this one.

once you and her have gotten to know each other more, you start seeing it. the way her eyes flick to you when you enter the break room, even if there are other people around. how she tenses up, skin warming, when you lean over to pick something off her desk or help her with the computer. how you've caught her staring when you leave her office. it fills your heads with all sorts of lewd thoughts -- like how she'd stare at you with her face between your thighs, licking the tender skin inside of them. it makes you shiver and clench down every time. part of you wonders if it's just in your head, though.

that is, until you one day walk from behind her desk and catch sight of her hard-on. you can see the shape of her cock, fabric of her slacks firmly wrapped around it. she's pushing her form deeper into the desk, clearly trying to hide it as you walk behind her, and you allow her to think she's succeeded, not saying a word.

that day, you fuck yourself in the bathroom, mind filled with thoughts of her cock -- having it in your mouth while you're sitting under the desk, being bent over the surface and having her pound you out, jerking it off for her. just, god, anything.

so, you devise a little plan. it's evil, honestly, but she's just so reserved and quiet, and you want to snap the restrain that always wraps her body in unassuming tension.

you start showing up to the job in skirts shorter than before, some of them barely reaching the bottom of your ass. the first day you walk into her office with one on, you see her throat move as she swallows hard at the sight, eyes skittering over you awkwardly before turning to eye something on her desk. she says nothing of course, darling thing she is. but, when you turn your back to her, you can practically feel her eyes burning through the fabric.

you start bending over obscenely. letting your torso hover over her lap as you stretch your body out to grab something on the other side of the desk instead of simply walk around her to retrieve it. rising on your tiptoes to get something on the top shelf, purposely extending the length of your legs so your skirt inches up your ass.

you relish in all her little reactions. you can see her eyes dart around and widen when you lean over her desk, and let your shirt fall dangerously low. her entire body freezes when you slide your body over hers to reach for something. you can hear her hard swallows, small gasps, and harsh throat-clearing. and every single noise is one you eagerly drink up.

after a few days of relentless teasing, you finally pull out the big guns, purposely spilling a bit of coffee on her desk. it's barely anything, just a few drops, but you fuss over it as though the dark liquid is flooding her desk, retrieving some tissues (which are usually never on her desk, but for some reason are today...) and patting down the cold surface.

"it's okay," she insists, hands gripping the arms of her chair, already lifting herself up.

but, you're faster than her, sliding into the gap between her and her desk, standing in between her legs and bending over her desk to pat at the damp spot of her desk. you can hear the hiss of a sharp inhale, and you know she must have the absolute perfect view of your ass, and the peak of lace panties underneath her sheer stockings.

her voice is heavy with deep, raspy breaths when she speaks. "what are you doing?"

you turn your head tentatively to her, nearly groaning at the sight of her brown eyes wide and bright, unflinchingly watching you from where she sits, legs spread and looking oh-so inviting.

"nothing?" you weakly respond.

after fifteen minutes of her hesitantly asking about your motives, and you having to undergo the embarrassment of explaining yourself so she knows with certainty, your back is pressed to her firm chest, her strong arms wrapped around you, one hand shoved deep into your panties, rubbing hard at your clit. your head falls back to her shoulder, mouth hanging open, and she licks along your jaw, hot breath hitting your ear. "this is what you wanted, isn't it?"

you can feel the solid shape of her dick pressing into your ass through your stockings, rubbing against the plush skin and practically begging to be touched. you start swaying your hips, bucking into her lap and grinding your ass into her boner.

she nips at your ear, quietly muttering, "off. now."

she proceeds to fucking rip your tights off, too impatient to wait for you to slide them off. you whine in protest, but the act shoots straight to your core, sending a bolt of heat through your body.

at the sight of your panties, a small smile curls at her lips, and she tucks one of her long fingers under the flimsy band, pulling it back before letting it snap against your skin, your succeeding moan making her simper more.

she sucks a stinging mark into your ass cheek, long fingers digging in and dragging your drenched panties down. when she removes her hand, you nearly whimper, until you hear unzipping her pants.

she's such a fucking tease about it, keeping you on her lap and sliding her perfect dick between your pussy lips, letting your juices coat her hard-on. she's not patient enough to take off your clothes, so she has you biting the ends of your shirt, lifting it up so her big hands can fondle and grope you through your bra, soft lips pressing kisses and marks to your back. when she nips at the skin, and you moan, she murmurs, "quiet."

"god, can't you go faster?" you whisper, trying to shift onto her lap.

her nails press in. "I can, but I won't go faster. stay still."

her hands gently grab your hips and she helps you rock yourself on her dick, the length of it sliding between your ass cheeks and against your sopping pussy. when you look back at her, you whimper at the sight of her biting her lip, eyes zeroed in on her dick rubbing against you.

she takes her sweet fucking time sliding it in, urging you to feel inch by inch as it pushes in, stretching out your walls and filling you with the deepest ache. the velvety skin of her cock slides just right against your hole, the sensation of her hitting all your most sensitive spots so pleasant.

you suddenly find yourself pushed in into the desk, your chest pressed into the edge as you lay your head down on the surface. she takes you so filthily, not even talking, just watching her cock disappear in and out as she tightly grips your hips, keeping you still and fucking up into you as though you're just something to use.

"you're so fucking mean," you babble. "so mean, just taking me like this."

a hum is her response. "after the stunt you pulled today, I'd say you're lucky."

you giggle softly. "why, you wanted to punish me?"

she brushes a soft kiss to you shoulder. "mm. wanted to bend you over my knee."

the mental vision has you gasping, and you start pushing back against her.

she pants softly at the ruthless movements, baby hairs clinging to her sweaty forehead. "you feel so good."

the praise sends you pressing your forehead harder into the papers of her desk, drool beginning to slip past your lips.

her pace grows faster, cock beginning to pound into you with the noise of wet smacks ringing in the room. as the sweaty heat between you two gather, your pussy beginning to tighten around her more often, her reservations seem to crumble, gentle nothings spoken against your back as she presses her head into it. "you're such a tease, walking around like that." her voice lowers, mumbling, "someone just wanted to get slutted out, huh?"

"yes," you admit between soft gasps, "wanted to be a slut you can use me whenever you want."

"that much is obvious," she says, her flat tone only altered by the short breaths she's taking. "how long?"

when you don't respond, your mind a hazy whirlwind of praise and degradation, she lightly swats your ass, a quiet cry leaving your lips.

she pulls you back to her so your back is lodged against her chest and torso again, arms hooking under your thighs and pushing them apart so they're dangling over her spread legs. you're totally exposed, and the humiliation of it has your nipples stiffening through your bra. at this angle, she rams her thick cock into you, hips easily lifting and keeping you bouncing on her lap. her mouth latches onto your neck, whispering, "I told you to stay quiet. anyone could come in and find you like this."

the idea has you shuddering in her tight grip, and she immediately catches on, fingers playing with your clit, voice muttering, "I see. so, you like the idea of being caught. everyone finding out just how dirty you are."

between her words and cock jamming into you, you can't hold back anymore, coming hard and squeezing down on her cock. the feeling has her biting hard into your neck, her pacing beginning to lose its consistency, messy and uncoordinated. with a few more clumsy thrusts, her breaths heave against your ear, becoming shaky as you feel her seed spilling into you, thick and sticky.

when she softens and slips out from you, you nearly protest before her fingers push into your wet mess of a cunt, coaxing her come deeper into you. the filth of it has your eyes squeezing shut, and she kisses your cheek softly, muttering, "yeah, I think I like you like this."

needless to say, you decidedly no longer get much work done for her.

reminder: please make sure to always talk about, discuss + consent to kinks before engaging in them!! in this fic, the lack of discussion prior to engaging in certain kinks is just pure fantasy, and does not and should not reflect real life!! stay safe baesss <33

[acknowledge-reigns]

Nonsense | Roman Reigns x black fem!OC - 18+!!!!

Warnings: Bratty sub, fingering, orgasm control/denial, Daddy/Sir kink, Praise (good girl) , teasing, begging, vaginal sex, semi-public play (possibility of being heard), pet names (babygirl, my love), dirty talk.

Description: Roman and Lilah have some fun on his private jet.

Other stories featuring Roman x Lilah include: Jealous, 34+35 and There Goes My Baby.

My entire Masterlist can be found here.

Again, MDNI!!! THIS IS AN 18+ FAN FICTION. As always my stories are about Roman Reigns NOT Joe Anoa'i.

Face claim: Jaylon Barron

From they moment they boarded the plane Lilah had been filled with anticipation. After a full day of being a brat Roman had instructed her to wear a short skirt and that she was not allowed to wear panties on their flight.

Luckily enough it would be just the two of them flying on his private jet to the Royal Rumble, aside from of course the flight crew who knew not to bug the tribal chief and his girl unless it was for emergency purposes.

Roman, his eyes smoldering with desire, leaned towards Lilah, whispering seductively into her ear. "How about we play a little game, babygirl?" he said.

Lilah's heart raced at the thought, her body tingling with anticipation. "What kind of game, Sir?" she responded, her voice filled with excitement.

Roman's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "I want you to close your eyes and let yourself be completely vulnerable to me." he whispered, his voice sending shivers down her spine.

Lilah's breath quickened as she closed her eyes, her heart beating with a mix of excitement and nervousness. She felt Roman's strong hands on her, his touch igniting a fire within her, never knowing where and what he'd do next but trusting him. With her eyes closed, Lilah felt Roman's hands slowly trailing over her body, his touch teasingly light. His fingers danced along the curves of her neck, down her collarbone, and traced the outline of her breasts over her shirt. Each delicate stroke sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, causing her to arch her back in response.

"You remember your Safeword, babygirl?" Roman asked.

"Pickles" Lilah responded.

"Good Girl" Roman said.

His lips brushed against her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine once again. "You're doing so well, my love. I need you to be quiet for Daddy, okay? Spread your legs for me."

Lilah surrendered herself to the game nodding as she leaned back in the luxurious leather seat spreading her legs wide, His touch grew bolder, his fingers exploring every inch of her body, setting her body ablaze with desire."Shhh.. Shhh. Such a good girl for your tribal chief." Roman said as he lifted her skirt, "Such easy access for me, babygirl. I bet you're already soaked for me, aren't you?" Roman said with his signature cocky smirk.

"Mm Yes, Daddy. Just for you, my tribal chief." Lilah said.

He then slowly, teasingly, began to trace his fingers along her inner thighs.

Lilah squirmed with pleasure, her body aching for his touch. Roman took his time, savoring every moment. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he plunged his fingers deep inside of her, causing her to cry out in pleasure.

"Looks like this little pussy is acknowledging me, baby." Roman teased as he fingered her roughly, his fingers moving with a force and speed that left her breathless. Lilah, lost in the throes of passion, begged for more, her voice hoarse with desire.

Roman chuckled a bit at her plea pulling his fingers out and leaving her wanting as he licks her juices from his fingers.

"Beg for it, Lilah," he growled, his deep voice driving her wild.

"Please, Daddy, " she whimpered, her voice trembling. "I need you."

Roman's lips crashed down on hers, his tongue invading her mouth as he claimed her as his own, his hands once again roaming over her body as he explored every inch of her. She writhed beneath him, her body begging for more.

"Please, Daddy," she begged, "I need you inside me."

He grinned wickedly, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. "Come on now, babygirl, you can beg better than that. Beg the tribal chief."

"Please, Roman," she cries out, her body wracked with need. "I need you. Right here right now, my tribal chief. I need you to fuck me on your private jet, daddy, please."

With a triumphant laugh, Roman plunged into her, his hips pistoning as he took her roughly, pounding her pussy.

She tried not to scream in pleasure, her body shuddering as she eventually came undone beneath him as the plane soared through the clouds, their passion reaching its peak as they enter the mile high club together.

After getting cleaned up and dressed Roman wrapped Lilah in a warm blanket he had requested from one of the flight attendants and held her close, whispering soothing words in her ear.He reminded her of how good she had been, how obedient and submissive. He praised her for her efforts, telling her how much she pleased him.

Lilah snuggled closer to Roman, soaking up the affection and praise. She knew that she had pleased him, that she had been a good girl for her tribal chief. And that thought filled her with a warm, fuzzy feeling.

"You want a snack, babygirl? some water?" Roman asked asked.

Lilah, still lost in the afterglow of their session, simply shook her head. She didn't need anything, not right now. She was content, happy even, to just lay there in Roman's arms, basking in the love and affection that he so willingly gave her.

The private jet continued to soared through the sky, taking them to their next destination. But for now, they were content to just be, together, in their own little bubble of love and affection.

[sebsbarnes]

jealousy || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

summary: he knew you were fuming about his actions and he loved it. the two of you loved making the other jealous. it was a sick cycle.

warnings: mildly toxic dynamic, semi-suggestive (no descriptions)

word count: 900+

tangerine masterlist

your eyes followed the two figures amongst the crowd as if losing them was a sin. your fingers drummed against the now wet glass of your drink as the heat inside the club combatted with the ice. you were infuriated, to say the least. truth be told you were jealous, hungry for the attention not being provided to you, but to someone else. you wish you could blame the way your body was pulsating on the ear-ringing music but you knew it was because you were watching tangerine dance behind a girl, his eyes now piercing into your own.

tangerine and you were...messy.

there was really no solidified relationship between the two of you, however, it was evident that the late-night rendezvous indicated you two weren’t just friends. there were many nights spent staying up until the sun rose and many days spent tucked under sheets. he was still staring at you, whispering things into the woman's ear causing her to giggle and all you could do was suck your teeth, seething in anger.

"well don't ya look fuckin' jolly," lemon chuckled bumping into your shoulder, taking the seat next to you. you broke the staring contest to glare at lemon.

"i get we're on a fuckin' mission but jesus could it look like he wants to fuck her anymore?!" you spit.

"relax champ. let him work his magic and we will be outta here soon enough," lemon said patting your shoulder.

tangerine's back was now facing you and lemon and all you could see was the woman throwing her head back in laughter, her fingers tracing up and down tan's back. you could vomit right there or you could kill her, she was the enemy anyway what's the difference? you felt your throat constricting watching his arm move to grab her face, planting a kiss below her ear. with force you swiveled in your chair to face the bartender.

"three shots of tequila please," you almost begged.

"any of those for me?" lemon joked trying to suppress his amusement at the situation.

the first shot slid down your throat burning the entire way down to your stomach, "over my dead body."

the other two shots went down with ease and the fuzzy sensation was coursing through your body. it helped the jealousy subside even though you knew they were still dancing behind you. just as you were about to close your tab, a large hand situated itself where your neck and shoulder meet and a black credit card was thrown on the counter. you rolled your eyes so hard that it hurt.

"gettin' drunk on the job hm?" tangerine quipped bending dangerously close to the right side of your face. you could feel his breath on your ear.

"at least i wasn't trying to fuck on the dance floor," you retorted looking at tangerine through your eyelashes.

he let out a short fake laugh running his hand down his chest to smooth out his vest, "you know i only save that for you, love."

you ignored him and the warmth throughout your body and stood up wobbling a bit. from the other side lemon balanced you and nodded his head for the three of you to leave. you sauntered behind lemon, tangerine behind you which he liked quite a great deal. you could feel his eyes burning into every inch of your body and you purposely swayed your hips a bit more. he knew you were fuming about his actions and he loved it. the two of you loved making the other jealous. it was a sick cycle.

the three of you were now outside heading towards the car when you heard a pair of heels behind you and then two voices. turning around you saw the woman from earlier, the lady the three of you were here to steal information from, now talking to tangerine with a hand on his chest. their voices were quiet and tangerine's eyes quickly glanced over at you as he shot the woman a feigned smile. at this moment you didn't even care. you stalked over to the two pushing the woman to the side gripping tangerine's tie with such force it nearly ripped from the collar. the woman had stumbled to the side but she was now an afterthought as you shoved tangerine against the brick wall nearby.

you grabbed his face resting your palms on his cheeks and kissed him roughly. your fingernails scraped across his scalp, his hair knotting in between your fingers. his hands found themselves on your waist pulling you in closer. tangerine's tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you gladly let him in. he could taste the tequila and he couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or the kiss making his head fuzzy. but he loved it and he wanted more. he wanted every inch of your body on him. he wanted you underneath him, your nails marking his back as he kissed the special spot on your neck.

"we gotta get the fuck outta here love," tangerine grumbled against your lips swinging your body into his arms and trekking to the car.

as you retreated to the car in tangerine's arms you glanced over his shoulder. the woman had stayed where she was in shock and all you could do was wiggle your fingers at her in goodbye knowing she was staying here while you left with tangerine knowing soon enough he'd find home between your legs.

[silverzoomies]

Antithesis

james patrick march x reader smut

warnings: smut, slow burn-ish, oral sex, one-sided pining, devotion, body worship, hand jobs, slight choking, pet names, oneshot

word count: 7640

a/n: my apologies if james seems at all ooc here. i try my goddamn hardest to keep characters as close to their source material as possible. but, when it comes to self indulgent smut, sometimes you gotta pull a few strings!!! oh, and i'd also like to apologize for the long length of this fic. and for how abruptly it ends hdsghkjdshkgsg it's a mess, sorry !!

bonus note ig: in 1920's slang, a "goof" is an idiot. james basically thinks of you as naive and dumb here. sorry!

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March doesn’t dislike you. “Dislike” is much too strong a word.

No, he tolerates you. Dare he think it, he might even be somewhat…fond of you. The two of you were born nearly a hundred years apart. And so, as expected, you were the absolute antithesis of one another. March built himself from the ground up. He started with little to nothing. Carrying with him a background he so dreaded to recall. Childhood memories best left buried deep. Never to see the shining light of day again. March walked with a prestigious elegance. Something all but lost to the world in modern times, he thought. He was high-class. New money incarnate. Fancy, social affairs and aesthetic, art-deco decor were his most treasured hobbies. Amongst his other, more…contentious interests. And you. What were you?

Some little goof. You poor thing. Your story was quite the tragedy, really. Born almost one hundred years later to middle class stock. An entirely different world from the one in which March knew. Your arrival to the hotel Cortez was…unfortunate. You were the embodiment of innocence. Overly polite to a fault. Kind to the staff and the hotel’s mysterious residents. Never going out of your way to disturb a single soul. And you always made sure to apologize for the times you did.

And like all lives brought to the Cortez, yours ended there. A shame. A pity. Truly. What a waste. After you died, you drifted aimlessly for a while. Exploring every inch of the hotel you could. Bearing witness to the unspeakable horror that burned like scorching fire from inside. The hotel Cortez was nothing short of the infernal regions made earthly.

Even so, you weren’t the least bit fazed by this fact. Death changed you. It changed your moral perspective.

But you were missing something. A purpose. Every soul, lost adrift, needed purpose.

Liz knew all. 

She knew everything about everyone. Including you. You’d sit at the bar, talking to her for hours on end. About your life. Liz’s life. The lives of the Cortez’s other, ghostly residents. She’d tell you of the hotel and its history. And you learned all there was to know. But in sharing your deepest thoughts, desires, and fears, you’d been a little too open. And Liz learned enough that, had a curious party asked about you? She could easily act as an informant.

You were a poor sap. Harboring a deep rooted, psychological need to please.

In death, you told Liz, you wanted nothing more than, simply…a person. Someone to dedicate yourself to entirely. Someone to love, to adore, to spend all of eternity caring for. Such an innocent desire, from such an unsullied soul.

You heard of him only in passing. James Patrick March.

You knew of his murderous atrocities. And you’d heard whispers of his bloodied history in hushed tones. Liz told you of everything March built, and what he’d become in the process. 

March assumed you thought nothing of it. Nothing of him. Because at the Cortez, he was often that. Nothing more than a rumor. Only making himself present whenever necessary. Any other day? He remained a chilling, ghost story. And that’s all he’d been to you.

Until the two of you crossed paths, that is.

March was polite and courteous, as he always is. And the soulless, empty void of his dark eyes met yours. Pure, beautiful, and innocent. The two of you couldn’t have been more different from one another. You, his polar opposite. If he were the infernal reaches of hell itself, you were the luminous kingdom of heaven.

Whatever you felt for him, it must have been instantaneous.

Because suddenly, your sorrow dissipated. A lifetime of suffering and anguish faded away into thin air. And finally, you were free. Joyous. You, the little goof. Your demeanor somehow became all the more polite and inviting. Ironic, really. Considering…the source of your happiness was the very personification of evil itself.

You’d skip around the hotel with a spring in your step. Greeting everyone who passed you in the halls with a chipper, sunny disposition. Parading around in those loose-fitting clothes. Your skin decorated in ink reminiscent of your rather quirky interests. Appalling, if you were to ask him. 

You were vexatious. And yet…

March found he appreciated your company.

You really were too sweet. Sickeningly so. Like cavity-inducing candy. Truly good at heart. There wasn’t a hateful, nefarious bone in your body. But you were deeply loyal to a fault. It was a weakness that kept you chained. It held you down. Never allowing you to reach your true potential. March could see it. He saw right through you, straight into your delicate soul. He saw your aura. Unsullied purity.

March learned all he could about you from Liz.

And once he had, he felt the need to test your unbroken clarity.

He showed you everything. Every secret. Every piece of gory history which revealed his past, his life’s purpose, his true intentions. The never-ending, torturous suffering he brought upon the innocent lives of the world. He confessed to you his killings. Even going into the dark, gritty details. March stared you down with an empty, far off look in his shady eyes. An uncanny gaze. And he expressed to you all his crazed, degenerate passions.

He expected you to react accordingly. Like any soul so pure and unblemished as yours should.

But death…

Death truly did change you. The hotel Cortez? It corrupted your moral code.

Perhaps he was mistaken. Maybe you weren’t as innocent as you often seemed.

You treated his passions like any other hobby. And you engaged in conversation about them casually. Beaming the brightest, most curious, smile. Your eyes glimmered with genuine interest and fascination. And March found he was more than happy to share that part of himself with you. Delighted to discuss his exploits with a newfound friend. A trusted friend.

He did long for someone to talk to…

And it was then, he realized. He knew. He was woefully fucked.

Because you. Naive, little goof that you were…

You’d found your purpose.

The one person whom you’d give your undying devotion, for forever and into eternity.

No one, not a single soul in the hotel had expected it. When you sat at the bar, sipping on your sweet sodas instead of anything alcoholic (ever the carefree babe, you were). You spoke of having ‘found’ your purpose. And there were smiles all around. “ Ooh’s ” and “ Aah’s ” exchanged through hushed gossip. Who could this person be, they asked themselves.

Imagine the residents’ surprise once they put two and two together.

Of all people. Him? Really? Were you mad as a hatter?

From then on, you followed March everywhere. Attached at his side like a leech. And though he considered you a dear friend, you weren’t much more to him than a loyal dog. You offered your help whenever you saw fit. And, somewhat reluctantly, he allowed it.

To his surprise, March found you respected his personal space. You’d disappear when he found your company too overwhelming. Sometimes, you were gone for days. Or even weeks. Off to explore the hotel again. Or to drift aimlessly as you did in the days before you’d found him. Uncertain as to what you should do in your lonesome. Sometimes, you’d listen to music. Clamorous racket of the modern era.

And eventually, always, you returned.

Sometimes, March found he missed your presence when you were gone.

And despite the admiration you carried for him, you valued March’s love for his dearest wife. The Countess. Often, you’d go so far as to listen to him drone on and on about her. And he could. If March were allowed the opportunity, he’d speak of her for centuries. He’d reminisce about his most cherished memories of her. His Elizabeth. Mrs. March. When March had his monthly dinners with his dearest, you felt it necessary to assist. You were insistent upon it, actually. Helping alongside Ms. Evers, you did what you could to make those nights as grand and romantic as possible. And when he banished Ms. Evers, you didn’t hesitate to take over entirely. Every one of those special nights, you were there to help him prepare.

Once the dinners themselves started, you’d run off. Leaving the pair undisturbed. And he wouldn’t see you again until the next morning. 

One night, March sat across from the countess at the table. She glared at him with a half-lidded, miserable expression. But March missed this glare. Because he’d been busy watching you leave. He smiled, raising his glass to you. And you waved him off, wishing him luck, before closing the door.

At that very moment, he made a decision.

The next night came, and there he sat. Present at the dinner table again. Only, you were his cherished guest of the evening. Dinner lay before you both. Though, in death, you never ate. March watched with a grin as you sipped some champagne. You fluttered delicate lashes his way. Devotion leaking like tears from your eyes. A delighted smile played across your lips. One always present in his company, he found.

“Darling! I assume you’re wondering why it is I’ve called you here tonight, hm?” He posed the question rather excitedly.

Your pretty, doe eyes widened at that. You poor thing. Your cheeks burned in a flurry of rose red. Even in the dim, candle-lit light of the room. Even at a distance, across the table, March could see your blush clear as day. He smirked into his glass. 

Never, in all the years since the two of you met, had he ever addressed you as darling.

The effect this seemed to have on you was very much apparent. He could see the shift in your expression. The way you’d fallen breathless under his cold-blooded gaze. March couldn’t help but find your obvious desire for him…amusing.

“Uhm…y-...yes. Well…sorta? I figured this was just another…casual, hang-out night for us!” Your quiet, timid voice spoke aloud.

March lowered his glass, and he hummed.

“Casual? I suppose one could consider this casual, if they’d prefer.” March said, “All the same, I’ve called you here because…I have a proposition for you!”

“Wh-uh…what kinda proposition, sir?” 

“Let’s not dance around the matter any longer, dear. Simply put, I’m well aware.” He said.

Confusion overtook your delicate features, and your brows knitted together. March sat still in his seat with a knowing smirk. You tilted your head, bringing your own glass down to the table.

“I’m…confused. You’re aware of what, exactly?” 

“Why, that you’re in love with me, of course.” March stated.

Your eyes widened further. March caught the awkward movement of one of your hands. It trembled where it lay on the table. And when you spoke again, you did so shyly. Your voice was as soft as the pink in your cheeks.

“A-Am I?” You dared to ask. As though he hadn't known all these years.

March’s knowing grin spread wider. A dark, domineering color washed over his eyes. And he fixed you with an intimidating look. One that could so easily kill, had you been anyone else. Even in death, you felt your stomach twist in fluttery knots at the sight. You dropped your bashful gaze to the table, too nervous to look him in the eye. You were being avoidant, March knew. And your denial only heightened his desire to bait you.

“I’m not stupid, old friend. For how long?” He asked.

“Since…” You swallowed nervously, shrinking in on yourself, “...the moment I saw you.”

March’s expression remained unchanged. His cold gaze unblinking.

“All this time?”

Taking a brave chance at looking him in the eye, you glanced upward. And you were met with that empty, black gaze. Pools of ink, much like an abyss, stared intensely at you. You didn’t need to say anything further. His suspicions were confirmed then. March’s brows pressed together in thought.

“I…see.” He said, and he brought his hand to his chin, “Well, in all those years? You’ve proven yourself undoubtedly loyal to me. You see, so often, when Ms. Evers was around. Though, I did care for her. She had these…maddening tendencies. She’d express her apparent distaste for my darling wife. And she was incredibly passive. Selfishly so.”

As March spoke, his tone shifted. Infected with a venomous sting, and unbridled hatred. His other hand, resting on the table, clenched into a fist. 

“As you’re aware…Ms. Evers…she deceived me. In the name of love, was her excuse. Such a…disappointing betrayal.” March lingered on the statement for a moment longer. 

He snapped himself out of his spiteful rage. Blinking, March perked up. And his handsome grin returned.

“But, you! You’re quite the opposite of her, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you say? Never once have you said an unkind word. You’ve always been so polite to my dearest Mrs. March. And so generous to me! I can't recall you ever acting selfishly. And for that, I must tell you, I am profoundly grateful. It's so dreadfully difficult to find someone you can trust these days.”

“O-Of course!” You nodded, speaking in a gentle tone, “I guess…I just don’t really care if you-uh…if you never feel the same way I do. Being by your side, sir…getting to see you every day…”

Dreamily, you sighed. Like a dame in a daze of infatuation. The sweetest smile graced your blushing face.

“To see that smile of yours. And those eyes…” You sighed once more, “To hear your heavenly voice…that’s enough for me.”

You allowed a little…indulgence to slip through your confessions. Admiration and adoration for March permeated within your every word. Looking at you, he could practically see with his own eyes the unconditional love scorching with a passionate fury in your eyes. He might’ve even felt for himself your amorous desire. It exuded like pheromones from your admittedly fetching body.

He almost found it…endearing.

March blinked, clearing his throat. He tugged at his collar.

“Yes…I trust your devotion knows no earthly bounds, my dear.” He said, bringing his hands together before him, “Which is why, I’d like to present to you…that proposition! I’m nothing, if not a man of mercy. And if anyone is more than deserving of my mercy, it’s you, old friend.” March pointed to you with a ring-clad finger. And curiously, you tilted your head. “If you recall…before my dearest passed? She and I often had those dinners together. One night a month! They were…so very special to me. Truly a gift. The only thing that kept me balanced in this endless, monotonous purgatory of my own design. …Such a treat it was…to share at least…one night with my beloved.”

“It must’ve been nice, sir. Especially after she passed? To have her around more often? I know that meant everything to you.”

“It did.” March smiled fondly. And yet, as quick as it came, his adoring smile fell.

A broken-hearted melancholy plagued his ghostly features.

“Though…our time together has…diminished these days. She avoids me anymore. Hasn’t spoken a word to me in…weeks. Do you know that, at last night’s dinner? She didn’t say a goddamn thing! And again, she’s run off in search of…the pleasures of other men…”

March stared off, his dead-eyed gaze dropping to the table.

“It’s a….barren feeling. The most desolate ache I’ve ever endured…” He confessed.

Sympathetic, little goof. You looked at him then with an expression of sympathy, and opened your mouth to speak. March interrupted you before you could even begin. The very, last thing he wanted was your pity. At the flip of a dime, March perked up once more. He clapped his hands together loudly, suddenly appearing chipper. Beaming a wide, uncannily sweet grin.

“But nevermind all that, darling! What I’m proposing…is of a similar nature. For you, if you’d like! If it’d satisfy your deepest, perverted desires? Then, for one night a month…I, James Patrick March, owner of the hotel Cortez and America’s most infamous executioner…am all yours!”

Your eyes flew open wide. Like a precious, vulnerable creature under the gaze of a vicious predator. And your darling face…it burned an even brighter shade of red. March’s smile crooked up into a smirk. Addicting it was…this influence he seemed to have over you. Precious thing.

“Wait…wh-...what??” You waved your hands, “Oh, no, no, no! I couldn’t ever ask that of you, sir! Please, really! Don’t even worry about it! I’m not-...I don’t have to have you in that way to survive our purgatory together!”

The silence that overtook the room was deafening. In the background, the ticking of an old clock rang on. Along with the distant, alluring melody of a gramophone. John McCormack. Roses of Picardy. March stood up after some time. And slowly, steadily, he made his way to you at the other end of the dining table. He approached you wordlessly, eyes like obsidian focused entirely on your own. Analyzing and observing. Once close enough, he reached a large hand out. His palm fell to your shoulder, squeezing you in a firm grip. Leaning in, March spoke in a low, gravelly tone.

“Are you suggesting that you’re…ungrateful? You do realize this is…a gracious gesture…coming from a man of my status…” He didn’t break eye contact with you for even a second. March’s grip on your shoulder tightened, “...don’t you, little one?"

Despite the menacing nature of his actions, you let your eyes so shamelessly trail up and down his fancily-dressed form. And March saw all of it. Every movement of your eyes. The motion of your throat as you swallowed. The not-so-subtle way you leaned into his touch. How your thighs pressed together as if to relieve some…personal tension.

He raised a brow. Curious.

Your eyes sparkled innocently up at him. And again, you fluttered those delicate lashes. 

“I’m not ungrateful, sir! I’m so honored. I mean, obviously, I’m honored! But…” You scoffed, as if in disbelief, “But, me? I mean…come on… you ? With me??” With a soft huff of a laugh, you looked down at your lap, “But…I’m not…Mrs. March. I’m…nothin’ like her.”

March hummed a sound which suggested his pity for you.

“You’re right. You’re not…” He muttered in monotone, “You lack everything my dearest Elizabeth has. Her grace. Her ethereal elegance. She…is a creature of divinity.” March paused for a beat, “But you’ve no confidence nor class, I’m afraid. You’re more…a being of the mundane.” 

Again, a sinister loathing invaded his gaze. 

“But…unlike Ms. Evers…wretched, old bat…” He growled.

A wild grin spread across March’s lips, his teeth sinking into them. He brought his other hand to your chin, gently tilting it upward. Upon your face, he caught a broken-hearted frown.

“You, darling…” He hummed, “You have been blessed with certain…more pleasant qualities…”

His hand on your shoulder grazed a thumb across it. March let his eyes drop to your figure, as if to suggest something. And in that instant, you felt your lifeless heart skip a beat. As though your soul were springing to life again. Born anew.

“I…have?” You furrowed your brows, “So…what you’re sayin’ is…this is you settling? For someone lesser?”

March hummed again, considering your words. He pulled both hands from you.

“I prefer to think of it this way. In return for your undeniable devotion and loyalty throughout the tenure of our friendship. I’m giving you the opportunity to be with me. Consider it a reward, if you will. However you wish, my dear. One night a month, you can have me. Romantically. Physically. Intimately.” 

“Uh…okay…wow! That’s-...that’s…very kind of you, sir.” You stared up at March with those doting eyes. Biting your lip, you hesitated to ask, “So…wh-...when would we-uhm…when would we start?” A pause, and you nervously stammered over your words, “I-if I were to-uh…accept your…generous proposition?”

Immediate eagerness. Exactly the response he’d suspected from someone as smitten as yourself. March leered down at you smugly, his eyes falling half-lidded

Desperate, little thing, weren’t you?

“Tonight, if you’d prefer! Or…any night of your choosing. Whatever you want, darling. I insist. This courtesy is entirely yours.” He suggested.

A moment of contemplative quiet passed as you thought it over. And March watched you like a hawk, patiently waiting. Though, he already knew exactly what you were going to say. Even before you’d made a decision. The rosy color blooming darker in your cheeks ultimately gave you away.

“T-Tonight then? If you’ll…have me.” You stammered, “I’m honored, sir.”

March wanted to laugh. To boast that he could read you all too well. But calmly, he nodded.

“Very well!” 

He walked off then. March pulled at the fabric of his bowtie, tugging until it came completely undone. Following that motion, he shrugged his jacket off. Folding it neatly and setting it aside, he moved to unbutton the first, few buttons of his dress shirt. March disappeared into another room, out of sight. But you heard his familiar, smoky voice call out.

“Come!”

Hesitating, you stood from your seat at the table. And with tiny, careful steps, you followed the sound of March’s voice. In a vintage loveseat, you found him waiting. He sat with his chin in his hand, a cigarette burning between two fingers. His legs were spread open wide. And he patted his lap.

“Best not to waste anymore time, dear.”

“Wh-...What are we doin’?” You asked, looking down at your hands as you fiddled with them. 

Poor dear. You were standing in the room so timidly. Looking innocent, and so very delicate. Like a frightened, fluffy, little deer. Easy game, for a hunter like March.

“Isn’t this what you want?” He took a drag of his cigarette, his tone low and vibrating. March spread his legs open further, “Don’t be bashful, now, little one. I’ll only bite if you ask it of me.” 

You seemed hesitant. Fearful of making any sudden moves. But, with a facade of confidence March knew all too well you didn’t possess, you approached him. And you lowered yourself into his lap slowly, struggling to maintain eye contact. Eye contact was one of March’s many, gifted talents. And being such a shy dame, you could barely keep up. Once snug on his lap, you took time to admire March. Carefully, you trailed your hands down his chest. And you let your trembling fingers brush the fabrics of his perfectly tailored clothes. Clothes once deep-cleaned of blood-stains by the very maid he considered an abomination. 

Your hands moved upwards, first tracing over the bloody slit in his neck. Before cupping his cheeks for only a moment. You brushed a small thumb over one of his dimples. March smiled at you, hardly invested in what you were doing. Allowing you to have your fun. You touched March with careful, delicate movements. Handling him as if he were your most precious, priceless treasure. You looked at him as though you couldn’t fathom the reality before you. As though being with him like this was a foggy, distant dream. One you’d never ask to wake from.

Daringly, you leaned in. And you let your cool breath ghost over his lips.

“A-Are you sure about this, sir?” You asked, timid as ever.

March appeared unbothered and uncaring. Yet, admittedly, he felt somewhat curious of your next move. How far could a shy, innocent thing like you take this…intimate interaction? March assumed you’d clock out after a bit of heavy petting. With an equanimous smirk, he nodded.

“Positively certain.” He muttered, “And please, while we’re together like this, darling? Do call me James. You can forgo the formalities.” 

You blinked, amazed. Looking into his eyes with all the love and adulation in the ever-expanding cosmos. Marveling in his presence. Your nose brushed his, and you leaned even further in.

And you kissed him.

It was a clumsy, graceless kiss at first. But as you continued, you found your confidence. A heated flow enveloped your every movement. And for the first, few kisses, March didn’t reciprocate. He kept a hand at the armrest of the loveseat. His other occupied with that cigarette. He didn’t care to touch you yet. But as your kisses drew him in deeper, as you mewled little noises into his lips…March found himself giving in. One of his large hands found your hips, squeezing there first. Before moving to wrap his arm around your back. He pulled you in close. And you ran your hands up through his hair. Freeing those irresistible curls of his.

Finally, at long last, he kissed you back. And in that instant, you drank in the motions of a man far more cultivated and refined than you could ever hope to be. In a thousand lifetimes, you could never live up to his status. And yet, he kissed you anyway. If you could taste, his lips would’ve tasted of champagne and nicotine.

“Wow-” You breathlessly gasped into his lips.

A flash of fire burned in his lidded eyes, and he peered up at you. March let out a soft, vibrating chuckle. 

“Eager are we, darling?”

“Uh…” Poor, little goof. Still so lost in your lovestruck daze, “I just-”

The urge to kiss March again proved far too much for you to resist. You leaned in again, capturing his skilled lips in another flurry of deep kisses. And when you pulled back, you shook your head. For a moment, you simply stared at March. Taking in his ghostly features. Admiring his handsome face, his black eyes, the curls of his hair.

“Thank you, si-uhm…James. Thank you. I…never imagined…you’d ever let me touch you. Let alone k-uhm…kiss you like this…”

He chuckled again, humming a deep noise in his chest. The sound sent a spark of something gratifying straight to your core.

“I told you, didn’t I? I am, after all, a man of mercy…”

You brought a hand up to his cheek, stroking it gently with soft fingers. March noticed that, whenever you touched him, you did so as if he were a timeless lover. 

“You most certainly are…” Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his forehead, “...so gracious.”

March hadn’t expected you to wiggle backwards. And where did you think you were going? Were you giving up already? Giving into your paranoid worries? You let yourself sink off his lap and onto your knees. Scooting your way across the carpet and in between his legs, you gazed up at March with those lovely, doe eyes.

“You know…I’d do anything for you, don’t you James?” You trailed your hands up to his trousers, your fingers fiddling with the buttons, “...is this alright?”

To say he was caught off guard by your boldness, would be one hell of an understatement. His innocent, pure-of-heart, little goof? Submitting to him on their knees so easily like this? How had he never suspected this of you? March’s empty eyes widened, watching you from above with a dark, predatory gaze.

“If it’s what you so desire, then…do continue. I’m not going to stop you. This is your night, little one. Don’t you remember?”

You stared at him for a moment longer, uncertain of yourself. Before finally working the buttons of his trousers open. Bringing a small hand through the slit in the fabric, you felt around. And your fingers brushed across-

An adorable gasp escaped your lips.

You…hadn’t expected him to be hard. If the surprised, embarrassed look on your face was anything to go by. Because surely, the James Patrick March himself couldn’t possibly be aroused over someone as mundane as you. Could he?

Sucking in a slow breath, you continued. Your fingers snuck their way through the softness of his undergarments. A bit of movement, and you pulled his thick cock free. At the sight of the twitching length, those sparkling eyes of yours lit up brightly. Beaming, as if mesmerized. You were practically drooling over his cock. And you’d barely touched it at all.

March’s breath hitched from above. He watched you attentively, focused on the movement of your small hand. It stroked and squeezed around the thickness of him. Somewhat skillfully, he’d have to admit. Almost as though you knew exactly what you were doing. How is it that here, touching him intimately, you weren’t the least bit clumsy?

You bravely tilted your head upward, meeting his darkening gaze.

“You said…I could do whatever I wanted?” You asked. Your tone had fallen considerably lower. It sounded seductive, even, “May I sing your praises, James?” 

March had never heard you speak in that tone before. He hadn't realized you were even capable.

Wordlessly, he nodded. You gave a few more firm strokes of his cock, leaning in to kiss the tip gently. And as the soft wetness of your lips brushed it, you hummed. Reveling in every second you had March like this. Even in such a filthy, perverted position. With the head of his leaking cock at your lips. Your eyes glimmered, acting as windows. And your complete devotion for him shined through like the light of the sun. Holding eye contact (when did you get so good at that?), you generously peppered his cock in mouthy, wet kisses.

“Just let me worship you, James…” You sighed, dragging your free hand down one of his thighs. Your nails drew lines into the fabric, “Let me appreciate you. That’s…really the only thing I could ever ask for.”

He kept watching you, occasionally taking long drags from his cigarette. March found himself in awe of your boldness and honesty. Though, if there was one thing he knew about you for certain. You were always honest with him. Turning your attention to his aching cock, you pushed the head past your lips. You lapped up the bead of precum leaking from the tip, mewling in pure delight. Suckling for a few beats too short, you pulled away by an inch.

“You…are the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen. Did you know that, James? Have I ever told you? I could stare at you all day. Every day. Forever, if you let me. You’ve got the most stunning, beautiful, brown eyes…”

You paused in the midst of your praises to push the tip of his cock past your lips again. Letting your tongue dance around it, you stroked the remaining length with your hand. And just when he thought you might give him more, you pulled away.

“You can’t imagine how thrilling it is to have those ferocious eyes looking down on me right now. Oh, and I absolutely adore your smile. How full your lips are. Kissing them was like a gift of temptation, straight from the depths of hell. And I am in no way deserving of such a thing…”

March was steadily beginning to lose his composure. That calm, unbothered demeanor of his teetered on the edge. Threatening to fall with every cutesy noise you made, and every flick of your tongue. With each confession of your deepest admirations, he felt himself breaking. March knew you loved him. He knew you found purpose in serving him. And yet, somehow, he hadn’t been aware of the extent at which your worship of him ran. He took another drag of his cigarette. March’s free hand found your hair, and his oversized palm settled there. He didn’t yet tug, but merely braced himself.

“No modern man dresses nearly as elegantly as you do. Those men at those high-class fashion shows? The ones they have here? They can’t even begin to compare. It’s almost intimidating…how refined and elegant you truly are.”

You halted your confessions, only to take the entire length of his twitching cock into your mouth. Moaning around it, you sucked hard. Letting your tongue drag along the underside, across pulsing veins. You pulled off all over again. And March’s grip in your hair tightened only slightly. You continued to stroke his cock, spreading the wetness your tongue left behind.

“You’re so intimidating. So good at striking fear into those around you. But, god…it only makes me more attracted to you. You’re intoxicating. I can’t get enough of you…”

Breaking eye contact, you focused on his cock. You stopped to admire the heavy weight of him on your tongue. And you had the nerve to giggle with the innocence of a dame in church. March remained speechless. He stared you down as you took his full length into your mouth again. Your praises fell short for a bit. Instead, you were fixated on pleasuring him with more enthusiasm. Your movements slowly grew rapid. But as you edged him further, you popped off. You nuzzled his soaked, aching cock with your cheek. And once more, you giggled. It was infuriating.

“I wish you could hear your voice. Fuck…your voice. Your accent. It’s to die for!” The smile you gave him radiated purity, and you bit your swollen lip between your teeth, “You’re to die for. Y’know? I’d die for you. Over and over again.”

Dragging your tongue up and down his cock, you peppered it in more, loving kisses. And you fluttered those pretty lashes.

“As many times as you wanted me to. If I could die by your hands, James, I would. If it’d make you happy? If cutting my throat and watching the life drain from my eyes would satisfy you…”

March’s grip in your hair tightened even further, clenching around your soft locks. 

Who knew his little goof could be such a shameless sycophant? Groveling over his deviant passions.

He was growing immensly impatient. You’d carried on this little charade of praises for far too long. When you lowered your mouth over his cock, March guided you. With the rough hold he had on your head, he forced you down. The action caught you by surprise. As the tip of his cock pressed into the back of your throat, you gagged, squeezing around the head. And a pleased grunt erupted off March’s tongue, cigarette smoke rising from his lips. Reaching over the arm of the loveseat, he put the cigarette out in an ashtray. And while doing so, March kept his half-lidded eyes, dark as burning coals, on you. His throbbing length filled your throat, and you took all of it. Every inch. You squeezed his thigh hard with a hand, letting your fingernails dig into the fabric of his trousers. As you clawed at his thigh for purchase, a wicked grin spread across his face. Salty tears stung your pretty eyes. They poured down your flushed cheeks completely out of your control. An embarrassing display. March’s breathing picked up in pace. He jerked you backwards, pulling you off his cock by your hair. Generously, he allowed you a moment to catch your breath. Not that you needed it, really. Being dead and all. Smirking down at you, he sank his teeth into his lip. And upon his pale cheeks, you caught the slightest hint of a pink hue.

You’d never once seen March blush on account of something you did.

“Y-You were…you were saying, darling?” March, usually so well spoken, stumbled over his words.

With a smile, you returned to your previous motions. Dragging your tongue lazily up and down his cock, you stroked him with a hand.

“U-Uhm…” That timid nature of yours returned. Perhaps on account of his manhandling? But you fought to shake it off, “Y’know somethin’ else I love about you, James? That look in your eye. I can’t even describe it. When you’re feelin’ bloodthirsty? When you’re thinkin’ about unleashin’ hell? You look divine like that.”

His gaze turned colder then. March’s fingers dug fingernails further into your skull. And the gesture was near painful. He didn’t seem to care, even when you hissed in response to the sting. Your puffy lips and mouth were drenched in drool. And your hair! His rough handling left it frazzled and wild. You looked an absolute mess of yourself. And in any other circumstance, March would’ve found it repulsive. At this moment, however…

“That…storm in your eyes. The passion that rages on once you’ve taken the life of another. There’s somethin’ so…irresistible about it. Makes me wish I could’ve dropped on my knees and worshiped you like this sooner.” You covered his cock in those mouthy, sloppy kisses, “I just want to submit myself to you, James. Let you have all of me.”

“Really now? Is that how you feel, little one? Truly? ” He spoke suddenly, catching you by surprise.

His fingers curled harshly into your hair, and he pulled you back in a rough, swift motion.

“Enough of this.” March said, “I realize, I said before, this was your night. And you should be the one calling the shots, with me at your leniency. However, since you seem to want my attention so desperately, darling. You’re going to listen to me now.”

You stared up at him with a wide-eyed, sinless gaze. And you didn't dare to say a single word. Good then.

“On the floor. And strip yourself bare for me, would you?” He commanded.

You let yourself fall backwards. And with the motion, March’s grip in your hair loosened. He let go, keeping his eyes on you, as you scooted back along the carpeted floor. The rough surface burned the skin of your elbows. But in death, it didn’t matter. Come tomorrow, you'd be left with not a single mark. Zero evidence of the night's events. Hastily, you shed your clothes. Your fingers trembled with every movement. March followed, standing slowly from his seat. He watched as you laid yourself naked and bare before him. And he pulled down his suspenders. His pants followed, leaving him in those soft undergarments. March hadn’t yet removed his dress shirt, and he didn’t bother to now.

He dropped to his knees on the floor, crawling over you with an animalistic gaze in his eyes. Immediately upon reaching you, he kissed you deeply. Drinking down every surprised noise you made in response. Your noises. Those mewls and squeals. He wanted to hear more. He had to hear more.

March wasn’t the fondest of missionary. But that devotion, that love, that worship bleeding profusely from your eyes. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of it. March found he needed to look at you. To watch you. His hands trailed down your body, touching you with precise grace. Each touch started with a delicate brush of his fingertips, steadily growing rougher. And there you were, pleasured by the hands of a murderer with almost a hundred years of practice behind him.

As he looked you over with those dark eyes, he could see you slipping so easily into madness. Submitting to him, an eternal ghost of pure malevolence.

And you were pushed even further over the brink once March buried two, long fingers in your cunt. All without a single warning. No preparation. He shoved his digits deep, watching you with a devious smirk. You breathlessly moaned, and your slick walls squeezed around his fingers. March knew every angle at which to twist and press his digits. Only to spur more of those lovely noises out of you.

His long, dexterous fingers pulled themselves from your cunt, and you longed for more. You ached for him, whining pitiful, little protests. And your desperate desire was soon satiated.

In one, rough motion, March forced his cock through your folds. He buried himself deep in a single thrust, growling a rough noise in response to your screams. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around him. And you pulled March closer, inching him impossibly deeper.

He hadn’t been this…intimate with another person in…what felt like a millenia. Having his cock buried to the hilt in the tight plush of your cunt…it was enough to make him lose it. March had to take a moment to gather himself. Before he began harshly drilling you into the floor. And the rug underneath you burned painfully against your skin. Though, in this position, you couldn’t help but find the sensation extremely gratifying.

Your screams were all the encouragement he needed. And you begged him to fuck you harder. To vent all his pent up anger and fury using your fragile body as his aid. March gazed down at you, his eyes carrying a near sinister edge. The pace at which he fucked you grew vigorous and unrelenting. A jolt of pleasure shot through your core suddenly, as March pressed his deft fingers to your clit. Rubbing slick, generous circles against the sensitive bud, he soaked in the sight of you falling apart underneath him. Your precious moans were like music to his ears.  March cooed quiet praises in a rugged voice, encouraging you to give in. To succumb to the sweet allure of release. He knew you needed it desperately. All the pent up desire you'd carried for him for so long must have felt torturous. A man of mercy, he was. He couldn't allow you to suffer like that any longer. Not after all you'd done for him. After having been so loyal.

He felt your release, as it hit you like a rushing wave. Your walls constricted around his cock in a tight pull, and your entire body trembled. Those delightful screams of yours were more than likely heard across every floor of the hotel. But March's mind was much too hazy with pleasure to care. He wanted the world to hear you. For you to let them all know just who it was you'd submitted yourself to entirely. And as you came down from your high, sobbing soft cries. You met his eyes. Tears rained down your cheeks, and you shivered under his cold gaze. How vulnerable you looked... 

One of March’s large, veiny hands found your neck. He squeezed with so much strength that, had you been alive; he easily would’ve cut off your circulation. However, in death, the ache that came with asphyxiation felt like euphoria. Under the pressure of his fingers and hands, you were ascending to the stars. Or, rather…considering you were getting mercilessly fucked by a devilish being such as March? Perhaps a more accurate comparison would be: March was dragging you violently down to an all too pleasurable circle of hell itself.

His cock hit your cervix with a few more, harsh thrusts of his hips. And you were left to suffer the ache of overstimulation. As he squeezed your neck hard enough to leave bruises, and tight enough to kill any living person. March reached his peak. A thick warmth burst from his cock, overflowing you from deep inside. His release filled you up until it leaked from your folds. Purity and innocence sullied. You were his little goof now.

You probably expected March to pull out, now that you received exactly what you wanted. Surely, March would move away from you. Only to clean up, redress himself, and go about his business. Keeping his distance until the next month came. And…he thought he’d have done the same. March didn’t care for you on a deep level of any kind. A loyal dog. That’s all you were. A follower. Indeed. A naive, not-so-innocent, little goof. Who also, just so happened to be completely and utterly in love with him. 

And March was not at all enchanted by your obsessive devotion. Why would he be? There was only one woman for him. His dearest wife. His Elizabeth. Mrs. March. If anything, you were simply a means of distraction. Easy company in light of his most lonesome days. His old friend. You weren’t graceful. You weren’t classy. You were, at your core, his polar opposite. Of course. Yes. In the euphoric haze of post-orgasmic bliss, he'd almost forgotten. 

But even so…

March found he couldn’t pull himself from you. For a few moments longer, he kept his softening cock buried inside your slick walls. There he rested, on his knees, staring down at you from above. His gaze was much less blackened. Instead, replaced with a warm brown. Leaning forward, March buried his flushed face in your shoulder. He nibbled the gentle skin of your collarbone, breathing out his exhaustion.

He chuckled a hushed, but maniacal noise. The vibrations of which tickled your bruised skin. Not to worry, those bruises wouldn’t be there tomorrow. Some possessive part of him wished they would be, though. March raised his head up, looking down into your eyes with a soft, more than satisfied smirk. The curls of his hair fell even more loose upon his head. And once more, he leaned in, only to brush his nose against yours.

“You know…” He mumbled in a croaky whisper. You felt him slowly, gently thrust his hips forward, “...the night is still young, little one. And there’s so much more the two of us could do together…should you be interested...” 

His lips met yours in a kiss far too intimate for a casual session of coitus. And you kissed him nervously back, as though you weren’t allowed to indulge yourself. That familiar sense of naivety and purity claimed you all over again. And for whatever reason, it made March want to kiss you more. To envelop you entirely, all his own. His old friend. His little goof. Poor, not-so-innocent sap.

Maybe he was...a little fond of you.

Only a little.

[multifandomslxt]

Pleaseeeeeeee Can you please write something Vernon and Bang Chan about girlfriend (reader) feeling insecure about her body and always covering her tummy? And feeling insecure about the big boobs and tights pleaseee? 😭😩🥺

I've never done body worship thingy before so i was kinda lost but I still tried my best. i didn't want to make this too sweet I needed to stir that smut in bihh

I hope you like it <333333

VERNON

Vernon had realized recently that every time you sat down with someone or a group of people you would always grab a pillow to hide your tummy or your purse or your hands. He didn't know why...but he found it weird so he asked you about it "Baby why do you do that" he gestures to your lap because ironically you were doing right now on your couch, in the comfort of your own home. You were still ready to deny it but he beat you to it "Don't lie" You sighed and told him how you just didn't like how your tummy spilled over and touched your thighs "I just feel really unattractive when everyone can see" At first, he didn't say anything, only staring at you with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. As you were about to tell him to forget about the entire situation he interrupts you "But you're hot..." he says it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. He just doesn't understand how you came to that conclusion. He moves the pillow from in front of you and rests it behind him and before you can use your hand to cover yourself you feel his warm hand start to stroke your stomach. Without warning he completely lifts your top with his other hand. Your tits were completely exposed. "see all this?" "I love every fucking bit. don't question me or second guess when I tell you how beautiful you are" he says sternly "and this" he slaps your thigh and grips it "fuck. if you knew what I go through every time i see them you would get all shy on me" "how about I show you?"

BANG CHAN

"You what?" the shocked voice of your boyfriend echoes through your shared apartment. Both of you were laid across your shared bed having your daily 'talk' You just told him that you wanted to go on a diet and naturally, your ever-so-inquisitive boyfriend asked why. You told him the truth of course "I just think I'm getting a bit...bigger?" You hesitate "specifically my thighs and stomach. Oh, and I also read somewhere that certain diets and exercises can help shrink your boobs so I wanna try that too" You finished and that's exactly how you ended up here. Your boyfriend was currently looking at you like you just grew a head out of your ass. however, that look quickly morphed into a stern one. "Oh shit, here we go." you thought. His jaw was clenched and his hands were rolled into fists. And the eye contact, oh the eye contact was lethal. "Get up and strip." he bellowed "Chan-" you began only to be interrupted by a sharp smack at the back of your thigh "Get up and strip and go stand in front of the mirror" you didn't bother to argue the second time, simply deciding to be obedient. In a couple minutes, you were completely naked in front of the mirror accompanied by nothing but heavy breathing and a burning gaze from your boyfriend who was now sitting at the edge of the bed, manspreading. "don't you fucking look away from that mirror. Keep your eyes on yourself" He announced. With purposeful steps, he made his way to you wrapping his arm around your bare waist and giving it a firm squeeze. "You think I'm gonna let you deprive me of this?" he groaned as he caressed your love handles. you whimpered, trying to not look away from yourself. "Every fucking curve, scar, roll, and inch of cellulite is mine." he whispered in your ear. As he said this his hands roamed all over your body before gripping your ass cheek. "Now repeat after me... and don't you fucking miss a word do you understand me?" "yes, baby" you replied you could feel him smile against your ear. "good girl" his hands left your ass and started to tease your clit. "say, I am beautiful." he starts "I am beautiful." you repeat immediately after, your voice shaky but thankfully you did well. "Every mark, every roll, and every curve" he continues still teasing your clit and making you clench your thighs together "E-every mark, Every roll, and -ah fuck- every curve" you cried out "Deserves to be loved and is loved." he begins to fuck you with his finger. You could feel your orgasm reaching. "Deserves s'to be loved and is Loved - Chan I'm gonna cum!" You screamed He nods at your words "Cum" and you did. it was so intense, your legs were shaking and your vision was blurry you were about to close your eyes until he gave you a sharp smack at the back of your thigh...again. "Don't look away from yourself" and you didn't. There standing in the reflection of the mirror was you. post-orgasm glow, with your stretch marks, cellulite, big thighs, and stomach on display. You were fucking gorgeous.

[the1975attheirverybest]

Being Funny In A Foreign Language

Chapter 4- Oh Caroline.

read all other chapters here

Warnings: brief depictions of mental illness. Light smut.

———

Matty crawled, shirtless, in the artificial grass towards peanut. He learned from doing this bit of the show every night that, there are some days when he finds it completely routine —just a performer doing the scripted bit that he worked hard to orchestrate for a very specific purpose—and there are other days, like today, when the entire experience feels uncanny. A real lived experience of his personal life being broadcast for the world to see. He is face to face(literally; their faces are inches apart) with his own naked likeness; comforting it, stroking its arm gently, treating it with care and tenderness.

He laid right behind peanut and wrapped his arms around his body double, spooning him in front of thousands of cheering fans. This was always the strangest part. He’s all too aware of the worlds eyes on his every move even as he attempts to drop the act and be vulnerable. The thing about manufactured vulnerability is, though, that it’s always inherently, at its essence, an act. some nights, he wondered, as he laid there next to himself, how much was manufactured and how much was vulnerable.

Tonight, his thoughts drifted back to that brief moment of respite that he experienced in Amelia’s arms. He kissed a line along the expanse of peanuts shoulders, tightening his arms around him. When the platform lowered again, taking peanut away with it, Matty rolled on his back. Tears rolled down his cheeks as the screens in the venue displayed a close-up zoomed in on him.

Moments later, the platform came back up, a guitar and a microphone ready for “Be My Mistake.”

***

Matty and Amelia never spoke of that night after it happened. They found it difficult to speak about anything at all. A fact that unnerved Matty endlessly. But he didn’t know how to be around her anymore. Every time he tried, he found himself clinging too tightly to a pretense of normalcy; trying so hard to act as though nothing had changed between them. He couldn’t bare the way it made him feel, even worse, he couldn’t bare the fact that it was his fault their friendship had now broken.

He leaned into the routines of tour life. Waking up, working out, writing, performing, and getting ready to do it all again in a different city the next day. That is, until he woke up on the morning of the first day of their week off.

His first mistake was not getting out of bed as soon as he’d woken up. What was intended as a relaxed start to the day turned into Matty not getting out of bed at all. After hours of endless scrolling, unanswered texts, and ignored notification, he set down his phone and noticed the lump in his throat. He turned to the other side of the bed, pulling the duvet protectively over himself and squeezing his eyes shut. He felt stuck. Like the whole world around him was moving at whirlwind speeds while he laid there, perfectly still. Even the thoughts inside his mind and the beating heart in his chest seemed to move faster than he could handle. He tucked his knees up into his chest and tried to breathe through the worst of it.

It was 6 pm before Matty had managed to get himself out of bed. And it wasn’t long before he returned to it. The first two nights of the week went by without him leaving his hotel room.

***

“Amelia! Joshua! Welcome back!” The couple turned around to find Mark, sipping on A cocktail at the hotel bar.

“Mark, you’re here.” Amelia hugged him.

“Did you kids have a good trip?”

Mark always made Amelia smile and put her at ease. She thought it was his warm paternal energy, a comfort to have around when you find yourself in a strange and unfamiliar place every other day while on tour. But, perhaps it was even more than that, Mark genuinely cared about each of the boys, their friends, and there partners. He was sincere when he asked to hear about their trip to Joshua’s hometown, and whether or not the weather over there was good. It was clear to everyone why Matty loved working with Mark.

“What about you? You guys must have cut your short trip if you’re already here drinking tonight.” Amelia observed.

“Oh we never went anywhere.” Mark sipped on his drink. “I mean, I think George and Charli are off on holiday. Reckon Adam’s out of town as well. Seen Ross out and about. Not entirely sure where Matty is but he’s in town.”

Amelia couldn’t shake that feeling in her gut. Mark’s words echoed through her mind as the elevator shot them up to the top floor. Not entirely sure where Matty is, but he’s in town. That doesn’t make any sense. Matty often used his days off in the US between New York or, if he was feeling messy, LA. For him to not pack up and go somewhere, when he has an entire week to do was he pleased, was very unusual.

She looked down the dimly lit hallway as she stepped off the elevator. Matty’s room was somewhere in the darkness. Something told her she needed to be there.

“Hun?,” she whispered, tapping Joshua’s shoulder. “Would you mind taking my suitcase and heading in without me? I- just wanna check on Matty.”

***

“Amelia” Matty barely mustered when he opened the door to her knocking.

She scanned him head to toe, noting that he was in a t shirt and boxers. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”

“Just….erm.” He scratched his head “thought you were room service or— house keeping or something.”

It was difficult for Amelia to keep a straight face while looking at the dark circles underneath his eyes, his unshaven face, his defeated look. But she knew Matty well enough to tiptoe around these observations. “Aren’t you gonna let me in?”

Matty hesitated, briefly, but it was Amelia. He could never turn her away. “Yeah. Right. Come in.”

She surveyed her surroundings, her heart shattered into a million pieces. The empty bottles everywhere, the clothes piled up in different corners, his guitar laying diagonally across the floor, various cables and wires everywhere, plates of uneaten food resting on the entertainment unit and the dresser. Everywhere she looked, there were signs telling her that she was already far too late.

“Oh, gosh. Matty…” words escaped her.

Matty averted his gaze, embarrassed.

Her hands reached out to him but Matty stepped back moving out of her reach.

“N-no, no. It’s fine. I’m…I’m fine. You should go-“

“Just wanna keep you company. Can I? Can I just sit with you for a little while?”

“Amelia, please-“

“You need help. Why won’t you let me help you?” She walked over to the couch, pushing the random books and papers that had covered it into a corner and sitting down.

Matty paced back and forth anxiously. “Because I don’t wanna get it wrong! I don’t want to do this- this- depression thing the wrong way-“

“Do you hear how insane you sound right now?

“No; you’re insane. You’re insane. I- listen to me. This thing within me- It’s not attractive or broody or anything. It’s- this!” He gestured passionately at his surroundings. “There’s nothing glamorous or artsy about how I feel. I cry a lot. And drink a lot. And I haven’t had a shower since the show a few days ago and- and I’m scared. All the fuckin time. I’m somewhere between terrified and completely numb.”

Matty felt the ground underneath him shift, losing balance, he quickly sat down next to her with a loud thud of his body hitting the couch.

“You get dizzy?” She asked, already knowing the answer. “Whens the last time you ate anything?”

“Depends….what day is it?”

“Oh for fucks sakes, Matthew!”

Matty leaned his head against her shoulder, cuddling into her. “I don’t want to eat. Please don’t make me do it.” He whispered as he closed his eyes.

Amelia remained perfectly still at first, allowing him to get comfortable. When she was certain that he wouldn’t spook or pull away, she slowly reached for his hair, stroking it gently as she spoke to him in her softest tone. “You been keeping up with the gym?”

Matty shook his head.

“Jiujitsu?”

“No.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Everything feels like sleeping. Like daydreaming or sleep-walking.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“What do you need right now? Can i- call down for some food? Do you…wanna go to sleep? I-“

“I need you.”He lifted his head off her shoulder and turned to look at her, pressing his forehead to hers, “please, Amelia? Just this once?” His nose brushed against hers, his lips a hairs breadth away from hers, begging for her to kiss him.

Amelia’s hands rested on either side of his face. “Will you let me take care of you?” She kissed him.

***

She pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. When she reached for the waistband of his underwear, Matty’s hands quickly stopped her.

“Uhh-umm I’m still- erm…having t-trouble there.”

“Oh. Ok-okay. That’s alright.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “Is there a…specific reason or— I mean is everything alright? Medically speaking….” Her words were clumsy, anxiety building in her stomach as she recalled how badly she’d fumbled this conversation the first time around.

Matty simply shrugged.

“You really need to learn to take care of yourself, Matty.”

Matty laid down, looking up at the ceiling. He whispered. “I don’t deserve to.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I’ve fucked everything up- I-“ he gasped as she brought her lips to the skin of his stomach, peppering him with kisses.

“I have an idea…” she mumbled, barely speaking in between kisses. “We should…come up with a system. Teach you how to let go.”

Matty’s brows furrowed. “System?”

She looked up at him through her lashes, pausing her loving for a moment to give me a slightly coy smile. “For your dopamine addicted weirdly wired brain….rewards for doing the right things, and….” She bit at his skin sharply, making him jolt and wince. “Punishments for doing the wrong things.”

“Might as well start there.” He spoke quickly. “I’ve done a lot of wrong things. Hurt you. Hurt the guys by risking their careers…well, if you believe Twitter, I’ve hurt entire demographics-“

She silenced him with a firm kiss. “I make the rules.” She whispered in his ear, smiling, “you hear that?”

Matty nodded slowly.

“We’ll come up with rules and expectations. They should mostly be around taking care of you. Making sure you get better.”

“Amelia, you don’t have to do all that. I-“

“Yeah, yeah. That conversation is for a bit later. For now, tell me, you ever been fucked in the ass?”

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

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144 sentences omg.

OKAY let's get going.

---

“I hurt you.” Eddie reminds him. 

“You didn’t mean to,” Buck replies, entirely confident in this assessment. Without letting go of Eddie, Buck pulls his head back and looks him in the eye. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

He hadn’t. He would never. Not on purpose. It had taken him so long to get control of himself. 

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie exhales shakily. “Buck, I’m so sorry.” 

Buck, still crying, shakes his head. He reaches a hand up to hold Eddie’s face, cupping his cheek. Eddie sinks into his touch, body buzzing. His head falls forward a bit, and Buck’s own sinks to meet it. Their foreheads press together gently. 

Eddie feels breathless. All the want in him comes bubbling to the surface. They’re so close their noses are touching. A slight tilt of his head and their lips would be touching. It would be that simple. Every yeaning question in him, not even an inch away from being answered. Eddie has worked so hard to reclaim his inhibitions, but surely he could abandon them for just a moment? Not all of them. Just some. 

Buck’s breathing is rapid and uncertain. Like maybe he is stuck in the exact same question which now traps Eddie. Eddie lets a hand slide down to Buck’s waist. Buck’s hand applies a little more pressure to Eddie’s cheek, guiding them closer. 

For a second, Eddie thinks they’re really going to kiss here, in the woods, when moments ago, Buck had a knife to his throat. He really thinks the answer to more than six months of brutal silence will be this. 

And then he has a very sobering thought. 

“Buck, did you marry my sister?” 

Buck pulls away from him. Eddie feels a sudden wash of cold. 

“You think I married your sister?” Buck asks, baffled. 

“She’s living with you. You went to church together. You were wearing a ring.” 

Buck groans. “Nobody has any faith in me.”

Eddie frowns. “Well I had enough faith to hope you wouldn’t slice up my jugular.”

“I didn’t marry Sophia, Eddie,” Buck replies shortly. “I’m not sleeping with her either.”

Relief surges through Eddie. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “Good. That’s good.”

That still doesn’t really explain any of what he saw, though.

“Sophia moved here to help me,” Buck continues, tone somewhat lecturing. Clearly this is a point of contention. Eddie kind of stepped in it, clearly. “Also, h-how long were you watching me?”

“Two days,” Eddie answers. “To help you? With what?”

“With everything,” Buck answers, voice a little wild. “Getting Chris back. Searching for you. I mean, she’s the only other adult that knows the damn truth, I-”

“Getting Chris back,” Eddie repeats, cutting him off. “What do you mean? Where’s Chris?”

Buck exhales heavily. “He’s flying back Thursday.”

Eddie’s knees go a little weak. Thursday? That’s soon. That’s so soon. That’s… That’s the day before his fourteenth birthday. Eddie could weep. Oh. Well, come to think of it, he is sort of weeping. He wipes his face with his sleeve. 

“Thursday?”

“Yes! And none of that would have been possible without Sophia’s help, so it’s sort of a huge slap in the face when everyone thinks she just-”

Buck stops mid sentence, realizing the state Eddie is in.

“I… I can see him on Thursday?” Eddie asks.

Buck’s shoulders drop. 

“Yes. Just a few more days, okay? He would have come home months ago, but with our restriction zone in red, the judge said he had to stay in El Paso.”

Eddie can hardly catch his breath. 

“Does he think I’m dead?”

“No,” Buck assures him. “I told him as soon as I could. Just him and Sophia know. Though people suspect, based on what happened to, uh, me… And the lack of your, well… Body.”

Eddie’s head spins with information. He can’t process it all.

“Does he think I’m a monster?” 

“No,” Buck says firmly. “No. He misses you. We all just miss you, Eddie.”

Eddie can’t handle it. He’s a second away from falling over. 

“I need to see my son, Buck.” It’s hardly more than a whimper. 

Buck steps forward and hugs him again.

“You will,” Buck promises. “You will.”

Eddie lets his head rest against Buck’s shoulder. His mouth is close to Buck’s neck. A dangerous place to be, all things considered. And though no part of Eddie will ever not want it, it’s so low on his current list of priorities, it’s hardly even an itch. 

“I have spent every day since you left trying to bring the two of you back together,” Buck whispers, thumb stroking comforting circles on the back of Eddie’s neck. “Just don’t go away again, and I will make sure you see him very soon, okay?”

There is an authority in Buck’s voice that Eddie doesn’t remember. A confidence.

---

EDIT: I counted to 114 instead of 144 because numbers get easily fucked up in my head I'm so sorry

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

wooooooooo! i'm on time this week!

thank you to the lovely @umbracirrus and @your-talos-is-problematic for tagging me!! <33

tagging @skyrim-forever @dirty-bosmer @changelingsandothernonsense @archangelsunited @oblivions-dawn

@orfeoarte @saltymaplesyrup @thequeenofthewinter @mareenavee , and YOU! no pressure as always, i'm very excited to see your wips!! >:3

this is a bit from chapter 32 of Cycle of the Serpent that i churned out at uh… 5 this morning? i think? anyways for a rough draft, i think it's fun. lets just say things are about to get weird in this arc <3

The manuscripts on display were the first things Athenath lead the other two towards. Peering down at the glass that kept them safely contained, Athenath leaned forward, trying to digest every ounce of information they could from the plaques and the pages themselves. Some of them were old poems and epics, some were histories, all against cushioning, dark velvet. Two pages of entire worlds, contained in glass and mahogany. The beauty of the calligraphy didn't slip Athenath's mind, either, every stroke of a quill in deep, vivid inks, faded only by the ravages of time, still left an impression on the Altmer as they examined the artful detailing of the letters. There, in one, an indrik portrayed in thin hues, and a poem to match its beauty. They looked up from the manuscripts, their eyes falling on a tapestry above the stairwell. A plaque sat against the wall, and on trepidatious feet, he inched to it, eyes scanning the text. 'Wolf Queen of Solitude' He narrowed his gaze, reading the text over and over, along with the name of the artist attached. He looked back up to the tapestry, the deep emerald and indigo hues of the background twisting into the image of an old woman, ghostly in her own right, pale and small in the thick colors, with a wolf making up the foreground, ice-white eyes watching over all who passed under the stairwell. The weaving of it was masterful in its own right, probably taking up weeks, months, or even years of careful consideration over the colors and the pattern, of the style and the technique. Every move seemed deliberate, every choice imbued with purpose. They turned, his friends already examining other works, with Emeros taking time to carefully read the faded correspondences on display, and Wyndrelis pouring his attentions into a painting, the details so fine that it was as though one could step right in. Athenath watched them for a moment, before speaking up. "Do either of you know who the 'wolf queen' is?"

Emeros straightened, rubbing at his eyes. "She was a ruler in Skyrim, was she not?" He asked, carding his fingers through his chestnut hair. "If I call, she had something to do with a siege of Solitude, but it's been quite some time since I've heard the name." "That would be Queen Potema," came a voice, carried on brisk footsteps from another hall. The trio turned, their attentions fixated on the Breton coming into view, his chin held high and a smile pushing the lines finely into his warm, square face. "She was the wife of King Mantiarco, who ruled Solitude up until the one-hundredth year of the third era." He continued, bringing his hands together in front of him, elbows wide apart, his posture high and keen like a preening bird. He turned his gaze from one to the other, the elves still and quiet before him. "I assume you three are applicants to the college?" A smile plastered itself onto Athenath's mouth, eyes bright as they nodded rapidly, raking fingers through a section of their curls. "Yes, we're hoping to join the Bard's College this term," he replied, stilling the excitement that rambled like a river under his voice, "we've completed our course selections, where do we need to…?" "Oh! If that's the case, I'll take them up to Viarmo's office," he extended a large, calloused hand. Emeros cleared his throat and tapped the papers atop a glass display into an even row before stepping over, passing them into the waiting palm of the Breton. "And who might you be, if I may ask?" Emeros arched a brow, the quizzical look on his face not tamping down on the Breton's grin. Athenath thought about elbowing him in the ribs, that same, boiling sensation, both inside him and all around him that they'd hoped had been snuffed out sparking for one quick moment, before again dissipating into nothingness at all, along with the urge itself.

The man laughed, adjusting the cap on his head. Dark and flat on the top, banded with a round, white material, which was wrapped with strips of blue ribbon, and plumed with two periwinkle feathers. "You're right, I guess I should introduce myself. I am Giraud Gemane, the Dean of History here at the Bard's College. You will be taking classes with me sooner or later, though I'd suggest sooner, as we've a lot to cover in my course." Emeros extended a hand, and Giraud shook it. He extended his own to Athenath, who shook it firmly, enthusiasm in their grasp. When he extended out towards Wyndrelis' direction, the Dunmer shrunk back and waved a hand. Giraud didn't seem offended by this, shrugging as he straightened out the papers in his palm. "Well, I'll see that Viarmo gets these," he turned towards the stairs, his fur-lined boots making great thuds against the tile, "and I hope I'll be seeing your faces in my course very soon." With that, Giraud ascended the stairs, his footsteps echoing after him.

[askror]

This is a little bit grim, but species of octopi capable of changing the color of their skin go pure white when they die. Did the same thing happen to Mimic? Cause if not...

Whisper had to see it.

It was in the morgue. Normally, she would have no reason to go such a place in Restoration HQ; she'd seen enough death in her life to satiate even those who hungered most from it. But this? This was different. As much as the thought turned her stomach, she had to see it and make sure it was all over. Call it the dark conclusion to a dark chapter of her life. Call it the excision of a disease that had been wringing the life of her for years. Call it a confirmation of her crime.

Call it what you wanted to call it, but the only way to bring things to a close was to see it. So she had left Tangle behind in their room, snoozing in that uncomfortable bedside chair, and made her way down the hallway of the Restoration's small medical wing to the room she knew was at the end of the hall.

The uncomfortable hospital gown clung to her body as she moved, and she tried not to watch the shadows dance and swirl on the approach to the double doors. They taunted her and only reinforced the nightmarish thought of finding nothing in there. That was the most likely conclusion to all of this, and the worst, wasn't it? The inevitable one was always the worst one. It wouldn't be there. Why would it? All of this would have been a trick. The great game of death would resume on into infinity, and she would never rest easy, no matter how much she pined for it.

That was what she was entirely expecting, but as she pushed her way in and bare paws touched the cold tile of the morgue, there it was: wheeled into the center of this cold, sterile room against a backdrop of metal cabinets meant to house other things much like it. Shapes beneath a plain white cloth lying still on a metal table; a simple but grotesque display.

Frozen. Watching for signs of movement. A breath, an involuntary twitch. Anything from the lumps below the fabric. A clue, a sign of the dark inevitability to come… Her hands shook. She could see her breaths as the corners of her vision blurred in sheer anticipation of panic-to-be.

Nothing.

Whisper began to make her way across the room. It felt like walking through a dream, like her feet were sinking into the floor below with each step, the world becoming an impeding mire that screamed and begged for her to not do this. It couldn't stop her, though. This was duty. If she took a life, she should have the dignity to view her handiwork, soak in the sin and let it fill her. What came after that? She didn't know. But one thing was certain: "it" could not remain "it" anymore, not if she ever wanted to even flirt with the possibility of healing someday. It had to become a "him." That was the first step.

By the faucets on the table was a smaller table of instruments. Scapels, scissors, other things. Mortuary tools she did not know the purpose of. All was pristine and clean in comparison to what she knew she would find beneath the cloth, which she now stood over. Her heart was slamming against the limits of her chest now, lungs protesting her actions as she slowly raised her hand to pull the sheet away from Mimic's corpse. The claw tips of her fingers came closer and closer to the still, rigid postmortem shapes. Only inches now. They pinched the hem-

When the hand grabbed her wrist, she felt a scream go stillborn in her throat, only moments before it tugged her hard down closer to the table. The other, slimy suction cups and all, grasped her throat and squeezed powerfully. In an instant, every sense was screaming with primal, unimaginable fear. Shrunken stiletto-wound pupils whipped around erratically, falling on the arms that had come from beneath the funerary draping to hold onto her. Milk-white, sickly cream color flesh. Bloodless and covered with a glistening sheen that looked terribly foul. An odor she hadn't noticed before permeated everything suddenly. Burning flesh. Decay. She felt sick.

Her arms weren't working now, no matter how she urged them. The shape was sitting up now, still swathed in white as its hand gingerly reached to the table beside it and took a scalpel into them.

"Let me show you," Mimic's voice said as the sheet began to fall away from his face. Two glinting, hate-filled eyes bubbling in dark seas.

"Let me show you how it feels, Whisper." The blade was raised over his head, and-

—

Whisper shot up in the darkness, a hand on her neck and another raised over her head to try and stop an oncoming blow. It took her a few moments to get her bearings and get her breathing under control; when she did and her eyes adjusted to the blackness, she found herself sitting in bed beside a still-snoring tangle. The rain beat furiously against the window of their bedroom. The alarm clock beside them was flashing 3:15 AM at her in an accusatory red.

She ran a hand across her face and through her long blonde hair; utterly drenched with sweat. Shaking. But she hadn't screamed. This time, she hadn't screamed. Tangle wouldn't have to wake up for it this time.

She sat there for a time but eventually slipped off of the mattress to get up and make herself some tea. There was little possibility she was going to sleep again anytime soon.

[acourtofthought]

Nesta and Az are similar:

Nesta watched the shadowsinger with a frankness that most people shied from. Azriel returned the look with a stillness that most people ran from. Even Feyre had been hesitant around Az initially, but Nesta considered him with the same unflinching assessment she laid upon everyone. Maybe that was why Azriel had never said a bad word about Nesta. Never seemed inclined to start a fight with her. She saw him, and was not afraid of him. There weren’t many people who fit that bill.

Az and Rhys are similar:

Az nodded knowingly. He'd always understood me best - more than the others. Save for my mate. Whether it was his gifts that allowed him to do so, or merely the fact that he and I were more similar than most realized, I'd never learned.

Rhys, Nesta, and Az are extremely similar.

When you look at who they're mated too (since that is the authors idea of a well matched pair), it gives us some idea as to what the personality of Az's mate might be.

Is Elain or Gwyn more similar to Feyre and Cassian?

Rhys and Cassian's mate are warriors who put on their Illyrian leathers when it's necessary.

Elain … She’d taken one look at us in the swaying grasses outside that wagon, the legs and assets on display, and turned crimson (Elain returned Az's dagger and walked away without looking back).

Gwyn was in Illyrian leathers. Nesta’s old ones, from the scent of them. (Also, Gwyn is a confirmed Valkyrie).

Feyre once said:

I hadn’t lied. It would be easy to fall in love with a male like him. But I wasn’t entirely sure that even with the hardships he’d encountered Under the Mountain, Tarquin could understand the darkness that might always be in me.

Who could best understand the darkness in Az, even partake in darkness themselves? We have Elain, who is bothered by cruelty, doesn't know the things Az has done and brushed off credit for killing the king compared to Gwyn who showed zero hesitation in talking about how she tricked the beasts into attacking the Illyrians and doesn't blink over Az slaughtering everyone in front of her.

Feyre and Cassian taunted both Rhys and Nesta.

His violet eyes twinkled. I made an obscene gesture before I broke into a run, heading straight for the worm. (Feysand Book 1)

“If you bring that male anywhere near her, I’ll—” “You’ll what?” Cassian crooned, trailing her at a casual pace as she stopped perhaps five feet from me. He lifted a brow as she whirled on him. “You won’t join me for practice, so you sure as hell aren’t going to hold your own in a fight. You won’t talk about your powers, so you certainly aren’t going to be able to wield them. And you—” “Shut your mouth,” she snapped, every inch the conquering empress. “I told you to stay the hell away from me, and if you—” “You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.” Nesta’s nostrils flared. Cassian only gave her a crooked grin. (Book 3)

Elain is willing to interact with Az but we see her hands trembling around him, her voice hesitant, she whispers "I'm sorry" when he calls her a mistake. That is not how SJM FMCs talk to their endgame person. Elain at least showed a bit of fire around Lucien even when she was completely depressed. Now she just doesn't talk to him but ignoring someone is a stronger and more purposeful emotion (remember Nesta "dismissing Cassian entirely?") than talking shyly to them.

Gwyn with Az:

Sort of. "I forgot something", he reminded her.

"At two in the morning?" Pure amusement glittered her in the stare.

Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him. “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger,” she tossed over a shoulder.

Az’s shadows danced around him. “Since there’s no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn’t bother to get a prize.” Boos sounded. Gwyn lifted her chin in challenge. “We look forward to proving you wrong.”

Feyre:

“You said I could be a weapon—teach me to become one."

Gwyn:

“Why did you sign up for this, then?” Nesta drank the glass Gwyn extended. “If you already have mind-calming exercises you’re accustomed to?” “Because I don’t ever want to feel powerless again,” Gwyn said softly, and all those easy smiles and bright laughs were gone.

Cassian:

Cassian raised his hand as Rhys and Mor chuckled. The High Lord’s general said, “I give him an hour before he tries to see her.” “Thirty minutes,” Mor countered, sitting back down on the divan and crossing her legs.

"If Lucien shows up"

"My money's on yes," Cassian said. "Want to make a wager?"

Gwyn:

“Should we bet?” Gwyn asked Nesta. “Shut up,” Emerie hissed, though amusement lit her eyes.

Another Gwyn / Cassian similarity is how they focus and plan for victory. Think of Cassian's "secret plan" with the snowball fight and think of how Gwyn approached the ribbon and leading the beasts to the Illyrians.

Gwyn is a combination of characteristics that both Feyre and Cassian have, two very important people in Azriel's life, two people Rhys loves dearly (Rhys who is very similar to Az).

It's funny how some anti's claim Gwyn is nothing but Feyre 2.0. First it's amusing because they themselves try to convert Elain into Feyre 2.0 though the text completely contradicts that. Second, there is a reason Gwyn can easily be compared to Feyre. If Feyre was Rhys's best match and Az is most similar to Rhys, then it stands to reason their mates would share similarities too.

Throughout the series we are reminded of how different Elain is from her sisters. How her strengths lie elsewhere, how she is an optimist trying to see the good in the worst situations, how she's light and sunshine while Nesta is a thundercloud, how no matter how much she claims to be part of the NC, [wearing black] it sucks the life out of her, how despite Elain's efforts to show Feyre how much she cares for her, Feyre still only thinks of her as a pleasant companion which Feyre even admits is a bit insulting.

I have no doubt we'll see Elain come into her own in her book but we've yet to see her truly shine around the people that are supposed to be her found family. Weve gotten no clues that the NC is where she belongs. It's quite the opposite actually. SF tells us that though Elain easily finds friends and purpose wherever she goes, it's the Spring Court that had been made for someone like her.

Not only does Gwyn already share similarities with Cassian and Feyre but she shares them with Az as well. A preference for solitude and shadows, that she doesn't mind watching and waiting (a big part of what Az does in spying), a competitive nature.

Not to be overlooked, their differences are also the right kinds for the right reasons. Az tends to hide within himself and Gwyn doesn't back down from the challenge of that. She's not put off by his tendency to withdraw and instead pushes in an attempt to bring him out of his shell.

There's a certain type of character that belongs in the NC, they're all a bit similar because of it and Az and Gwyn clearly fit that mold, Feyre and Nesta fit that mold. It is impossible not to notice the sister who does not.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.93 Everything to me

"Hey, Daddy!"

"Hi, Lessi. You look beautiful. Don't you want to get married and walk with me down the aisle?"

"Sorry, Daddy."

"I tried."

With the sims of honor, flower pal, and ring bearer all down the aisle, it was my turn. Mama stood there waiting to watch me like she had done my entire life. Her eyes were getting puffy and red. She had successfully held herself together all week, but now that the event was live and in progress, she began to fall apart. That's when a brilliant idea fell on me.

"Will you walk me down the aisle, Mama?"

Grooms never get the pomp and circumstance like brides. They just kinda show up at the arch and watch everyone else march down. But not this groom. It was my moment, and I had to share it with my biggest cheerleader. A wide grin grew across her face, and I just knew she was going to break down any minute. But she didn't.

"Of course I will! Oh, this is so special. Thank you, my beautiful son! Don't tell your sister, but you're my favorite."

"Everyone knows that, Mama."

"Oh. Well, I said it finally!"

We made it halfway down the aisle before she broke down, and I laughed. Dad looked like he was fighting a losing battle as well. Out of the four of us, he was the most emotional, so I wanted to see how long it would take before he let go, too.

Finally, stationed at the arch, the moment had come to lay eyes on my bride. We didn't purposely avoid each other that afternoon, but it just so happened that I hadn't seen her since we got up that morning. When she stepped into the aisle, my heart swelled with joy and an overwhelming sense of gratitude. It was an honor to call her mine and to know I was hers. Everything faded, and her radiant beauty gleamed, like a bright star slowly inching toward me. I couldn't take my eyes off her if I tried. No one, not even Chi Chi, could stop me from savoring every bit of that precious moment. Sophia was everything to me.