#the way i would drop to my knees so willingly for this man

[sweetwhispersofchaos]

I’d like to crawl into that lap your honor

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!? THE HANDS, THE LEANING BACK AGAINST THE COUNTER TOP, LEGS WIDE OPEN, OTHER HAND ON HIS THIGH?!?

[moonstruckme]

I absolutely adore your roommate James series! It’s so tender and soft and sweet and it feels like the literary version of a hug 😭 you nail it every time!

Thank you sweetness!!! I am giving you a hug actually <3

cw: threatening with a weapon

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Things have come to a point where James needs to admit to himself that he likes you as more than a friend. 

The problem is, he likes you as a friend so much. He’s no stranger to the dilemma of risking a friendship for something more, but he’s not a teenager anymore and you’re not Lily. James knows he wouldn’t be able to play it off as a silly, harmless crush with you. And, really, he wouldn’t want to. You bully your way into his thoughts all day long. Your sweet voice, the way you talk with your eyes, tiny moments like the way your lips parted when he’d first slipped and called you sweetheart. You’d schooled your expression into teasing exasperation almost immediately, but there had been a softening in your eyes that made him impatient to do it again.

If he told you all that, James would probably come home to find all your things gone. You can barely handle it when he tells you you look nice. He doesn’t want to lose you. 

So, against his wishes and all his instincts and proclivities, he’s going to let it lie. James wants to be your friend more than he wants to discover what else you could be together. He can love you this way, too. 

That doesn’t do anything to deaden the thrill that goes up his spine when he picks up his phone and hears your voice on the other end, though.

“James?” 

“Y/n?” He checks the number on his phone. It’s not in his contacts. 

“Yeah. Um, are you—are you busy?” There’s a wobble in your voice. James’ heart drops straight down to his stomach. 

“I’m not,” he says, stopping short of the field where his teammates are gathering and turning back towards his car. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah.” It’s clearly not, but he was silly to ask. Of course you’d say that. “I just, if you’re free, I was wondering if you could maybe pick me up?” 

That wobble hasn’t gone from your voice. James’ heart trembles in solidarity. 

He gets back in his car, starting the ignition with perhaps a tad too much force. “I’m on my way,” he promises. “Where are you, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m outside the Waterstones on Manor Road, you know where that is?” 

“I know the one, yeah.” 

Your voice sounds held together by fragments. “I’m sorry, it’s far.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, then regrets it instantly. This is hardly the time for a good-natured scolding. He turns out of the parking lot. “I’m coming. What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve—I’ve had my phone and wallet taken. I don’t have my key to the apartment.” 

“Taken?” James’ head buzzes like a TV turned to the wrong channel. “By who?” 

“A man, I—I don’t know. Um, I’m borrowing this woman’s phone, and I think I should give it back.”

His lungs feel small, panic choking him. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Be safe, yeah?”  

“Yeah.” A breath crackles through the phone. James wonders if you’d been choking, too. “Thanks, James.” 

“Just be safe.” 

The sun has dipped below most buildings by the time he gets there. It makes it difficult to see you, but James’ eyes work like a compass, finding your shadowy form curled up on the curb. The bookstore looks to be closed or close to it, no patrons walking by you as you sit with your knees bent close to your chest. 

You see his car pull up, and he’s halfway to you before you’re even standing. Your arms come around James as readily as his around you, your face squished willingly into the fabric of his workout shirt. Your breath seems to stutter out of you. 

“It’s okay,” he says, grasping the back of your head. He’s not sure if he’s talking to you, or himself, or either of you. He’ll tell whoever will listen. “You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s alright.” 

“Sorry,” you squeak. “I don’t know why I’m crying now.” 

“You’re okay,” James says again, just for good measure. His lips find the top of your head. “What happened?” 

“I think I was mugged,” you laugh. It comes out warped, completely unlike the sound he’s spent months chasing after. “This guy showed me a knife, and told me to hand him my bag and phone, and I just gave them to him. It was right out in the open.” Another jagged, heart-aching laugh. “I feel so stupid.” 

“Why would someone else mugging you make you stupid?” James lets you go enough to give you a little space, but his arms stay around you, his hand rubbing firmly over your shoulder blade. “Did you call the police?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. It already looks bitten to shreds. “No.” 

He nods, taking a breath. James isn’t typically the responsible one in his relationships. He’s not good at knowing what to do. It makes him think of being thirteen and seeing Sirius all bruised and broken, feeling his heart break and knowing that he had to fix things despite the both of them being too young to have any clue how to deal with something so huge. James is an adult now, but he still feels too young. 

“Do you want to go home?” he asks you. 

You bite down hard on your lip, but your eyes gloss anyway. “Yeah,” you say, voice breaking. 

James pulls you close and gives in to treating you the way he wants to, kisses pressed into your hairline and tender words pouring from his lips. He gets you into the car and takes you home. 

Throughout the rest of the evening, you’re at once more reticent and more talkative than you’ve ever been. You’ll stare into the distance for minutes at a time, but then you’ll speak up, seemingly randomly, about some small fact you’d forgotten or a thought that’s been pushing at your consciousness. You tell him that you don’t think you could describe the man well enough to the police. That you have no concept of how long you stood around before you thought to ask for someone else’s phone. That you sort of wish you’d refused to hand yours over, because really what was the worst that could have happened?

“Well, he could have stabbed you,” James says.

“Yeah, but how often is that really fatal? And he might not have. It’s embarrassing, all he had to do was show me the knife and I turned everything over. I probably would have been fine.” 

“I don’t think you’re automatically fine if you’re not dead, angel. You were still at risk of being stabbed.” 

“I’d still have my phone and everything, though.” 

“I think you’re worth a bit more than that stuff.” 

“Mm, agree to disagree.” 

James does things he doesn’t particularly want to do—phoning your bank, filing a police report online, texting your landlord about a new set of keys—and several things he really does want to do. Once you’ve changed into your cozy clothes he practically swaddles you in blankets, putting a hot chocolate in your hand and that show you’re always watching on the TV. He makes you dinner, teases you until he gets a real smile, puts your mum’s number in his phone and texts her to let her know you’re okay. James touches you amply, lips on your cheek and hand smoothing the hair from your face and one knee pressing into your leg through the blanket. 

And you let him. 

[cherry-leclerc]

fucked-up little thrill ☆ cl16

genre: pwp but also porn with plot (the best of both worlds!), humor, she truly is a maneater in disguiseee

word count: 8.3K

There’s a difference between warning and danger - you happen to be both. Though, Charles only sees the green light, go. Well, we can all imagine how this will already go.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+...oral (m and f receiving), fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, riding, slight cry, unprotected sex

inspired by this and this !

“She’ll mess with your head, man. You’re going to wish she had never looked your way.” 

“I told my mom about her. Crap, I bought her an engagement ring after a few days of knowing her.”

“Four words: Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“Do you know how fucked in the head you have to be in order to willingly go after her? Fucking pathetic. Sure, I did the same, but hear me out-”

Despite the warnings, he didn’t pay them any attention. He thought he was going crazy for sure when he saw two guys on their knees, begging:  Run, just do it. And whatever you do, don’t look back.

Charles wasn’t even listening. 

-

The nights were beginning to get warmer, yet there was still a slight breeze. Spring was rolling in. What an innocent season to meet the wildest card Charles has ever dealt. 

“...then she laughed so hard that, Jesus Mary and Joseph, my heart went bananas! Y’know what I did next? I asked her, ‘You want a slice?’ I meant the tiramisu, guys! She thought I was talking about myself! T’was the most embarrassing thing. Made me look like a bloody narcissist.” Lando whined as he leaned onto the table to hide his face.

George snorts. “Ah don’t worry mate, I would gladly take a slice.” Lando groans, further rubbing his forehead onto the table. So much so, that it began to squeak.

“Alright, calm down before you shed your skin off. It wasn’t that bad.” Alex voices, as he pops a curly fry into his mouth. 

“Easy for you to say! You basically have the person you’re going to get married to! You’re safe.” The Brit pouts. He then lifts his head up and wipes away a single tear. Everyone explodes into laughter.

“Muppet, c’mon we were kidding! Weren’t we just fooling around, Charles?” Carlos wiggles his eyebrows at the Monegasque. Charles rolled his eyes playfully.

“Yes, of course we were joking,” he starts. Lando looks up, seemingly feeling better as everyone began to agree. We were just playing around!

“Then again, how did you even fall for a girl like that?” Charles finishes his sentence. 

“Argh. You don’t get itttt,” Lando wails in defeat. “When you meet a girl like that, you don’t question it. You just thank God for sending her your way and then BAM! She just walks out of your life.”

Hm - Charles thinks to himself as he takes a sip of Martini - naive, naive little Lando. 

-

Charles met you that same night he was out for dinner with the boys. He was waiting for his car from the valet; shooting Joris a quick text.

"Sorry," he overhears a soft voice, but still didn’t pay much attention.

"Sorry? You’re sorry? We both know goddamn well that you’re sorry about nothing. Nada. Zeeerrrooo," a man's voice angrily shouts back, voice slurring. 

Charles turns and sees a man running his hands through his blonde hair, walking back and forth in despair. Then, his eyes move to find you.

Standing tall in the tightest, shortest, black dress he's ever seen. So, the little black dress truly does exist. Glowy skin shining through from the lights decorating the outside of the restaurant. Your legs appear miles long, feet paired with your nicest set of heels, Joli Queen Glitter. Red fucking bottoms. Christian Louboutin at its finest. Rich jewelry sits on your wrists, fingers, and neck. 

Even with all that in the way, all he notices is just how drop-dead gorgeous you are. Suddenly, his fingers get clammy. What the hell? His jaw was clenched. Literally, why? His pants were growing tight because oh God he was already har- Alright, now that’s just crazy, Charles. Get it together.

“Yes. Whether you believe me or not, I’m sorry. Maybe you just shouldn’t have set high expectations,” you spoke, looking down.

“Are you being fucking serious right now? You’re smiling? You think this is funny! Oh God, what the fuck is wrong with you, you crazyyyy bitch!” The man continues, sharply pointing his finger at you accusingly. He genuinely looks like he’s about to start crying for his mommy.

“Okay mate, I think that’s enough. Why don’t I call you a cab?” Charles speaks up from where he’s standing. You and the mysterious guy turn to look at him. 

You shoot a smile as the man's eye starts twitching.

“Oh great! Great, great, great,” the man chants. “What an idiotic thing to believe that you hadn't gotten rid of me already! How could I not see it coming?” He drops to his knees and starts rocking back and forth. “On my dead hamster's birthday!” Levi, Charles later finds out, cries out to the sky. “Couldn’t this have happened any other day?” Charles cringes. “Call me that shitty ass cab, dude.”

So, you stand close by as Charles helps plop Levi inside with the help of the cab driver. They buckle him up and off they go. 

Not before Levi pokes his out the window. “I swear I’m not being bitter when I tell you to fucking save yourself!”

Both of you are left there standing quietly. You pout your red lips as you pull out your phone to call a cab for yourself. 

“Need a lift?”

-

Glancing around silently, you sneak a look at Charles. Handsome, you ponder, just a tiny bit. Outrageous lie. You quickly scold yourself for being so untruthful. This man was the most beautiful kind you’ve seen in your entire life. 

“Take it that was your boyfriend back there?” He taps his fingers against the wheel.

“Mmm. Hardly. No, he isn’t - wasn’t - my boyfriend by any means. Some guys just instantly assume stuff over any girl that pays them any ounce of attention.” You lazily trace shapes onto your thigh. You tug your dress down a bit, licking your lips. “Thanks for helping me out back there. It was really sweet.”

He notices the way you never look up from your lap as you’re speaking. It’s kind of endearing, just how soft you can be. “Don’t mention it…it was…no problem.”

He walks you from his car to your house. It's small, pastel yellow with a mailbox that reads; No more love letters. Seriously. “Cute,” he comments. You blush.

“Oh, that. Sorry, I live with my two best friends and they wrote that as a joke,” you ramble as you click your heel shyly. “They said it would help out with my, and I quote, ‘secret admirers.’” You let out a tired laugh as you finally build up the courage to look at the man standing right in front of you.

“To be honest, that makes sense.” He tilts his head a bit, analyzing your eyes. “Beautiful girls should receive beautiful letters.”

Tongue tied, you stare back with a pleased smile. 

“This is so unlike me, but would you like to go out some time?”

Easiest question ever asked.

-

A few nights later, he finally decides it would be a good day to take you out to dinner. Testing went well and the car was finally on the right track. He took this as a good omen.

“How long have you lived in Italy now?” you quiz, as you bring your Shirley Temple closer to your lips.

“Oh, um, for quite a while now. I mean it’s really only for work. I go home any chance I get.”

“Sweet. Where are you from?”

“Monaco.”

Your eyes grow wide with excitement. “Really! Monaco is so beautiful!” Your childlike squeal makes him smile brightly.

“Have you ever been?” You sadly shake your head, hair bouncing back and forth. Soft floral fills the air.

“Nope, but I wish to one day. I just know I’ll love it so much…” You trail off. “It’s just that growing up my favorite movie was Monte Carlo. Would beg my mom to play it any chance I could.” Maroon coats your cheekbones. He furrows his dark brows in confusion.

“Monte Carlo? You know, starring Selena Gomez?” His soft features pinch together. “...Leighton Meester? Katie Cassidy?” You desperatelyspit your words, trying to assist. He continues shaking his head. Never heard of it.

Your mood grows sulky as you pout. Leaning back, you finally take a sip of your drink. Oh, well now I really want something stronger than this.

“I would love to watch it some time though!” Charles tries as his voice cracks. He winces.

“Sure!” Though, you're not looking at him anymore. Your eyes are trained behind him. He’s about to turn around and ask if you’re fine, when you finally speak up. “I think I’ll go to the bar for another drink. Be right back!” He huffs. 

You weren’t back for almost too long. Finally, deciding to go look for you, he stands and takes long strides all around the dark restaurant. When he finds you he sees you’re not alone. 

A man in an all black suit seems to be your new company. You giggle as he appears to slide some type of business card to you. Just as you're about to grab it Charles strolls over to you both.

“Is your drink finally ready?” he asks as he wraps a protective arm around your waist. You flinch. You hadn’t even seen him walk over.

“Charles!” you shriek, as you crumble the piece of paper into the palm of your hard, hurriedly. You pray that he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Something inside of him told him not to ask. “I was actually on my way back. Did you need anything? A drink?” you ask, furrowing your brows attentively. 

“No, thank you, amour,” Charles warmly replies, looking into your glossy eyes. You truly were the best thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“My apologies for getting in the way.” The man extends his hand out to Charles. “Aiden Quinn, pleasure to meet you.”

Charles may be upset that Aiden ruined his date, but he wasn’t keen on being rude, so begrudgingly, he shook his hand. “Charles Leclerc.” See, normally Charles isn’t the type to throw his name out like that expectantly, but he felt as if he had a point to make. He did, though. I was here first. 

The man grins ear to ear, nodding. “Yes, that’s where I know you from. I knew you looked familiar. Formula 1 driver, right? Ferrari?” He points with a knowing smile. 

“Scuderia’s number one driver, yes.” His grip around your waist stays secure. Meanwhile, your eyes are open to their fullest. Surprisingly, you had no idea. 

“Certainly. I’m one of the team's ambassadors, actually,” Aiden challenges. Charles clenches his jaw. “When you have million dollar businesses all around the world, you try to find a place to help. Ferrari really needs it at the moment.” You’re equally as shocked with Aiden as you are with Charles.

“Well then, I’ll make sure to dedicate my next podium to you I suppose." You shift uncomfortably. This reminds him you’re there. With him. Ha! Take that, Quinn! “Anyhow, I would love to chit chat with fellow fans, but I must say we have to get going.” He holds your hand firmly as he leads you out.

“Goodbye, Aiden!” you beam as you depart ways. 

-

“Formula 1 driver now, is it?” you curiously ask as you look over where he has one hand over the steering wheel and running the other calmly through his hair. 

“Thought you knew.”

“I had no clue! Zip!” you shriek as fling your arms through the air. He laughs as he pulls into an abandoned parking lot. 

“In the mood for something sweet?”

-

“Grazie mille,” the Monegasque says as he's handed cones of freshly made gelato. Smiling, he makes his way back to you. Hands you per requested raspberry, as he keeps his lemon one. 

“Molto gentile.” You inspect and nod your head in approval. Just hearing your tongue curl in Italian has him swooning. You take a lick and release a soft moan. “So sweet. Best I’ve ever had,” you declare as you continue enjoying your treat innocently.

Charles gulps, trying to cool down. “I told you it was the best.” He shoots a wink over to Luca, the owner, for keeping the shop open for a few more minutes. 

“You scared me a bit back there.”

“Pfft. With that Aiden guy…I’m sorry about that–”

“God no. Honestly, I completely forgot about that,” you mutter. “I meant with that whole, ‘In the mood for something sweet?’. Thought you were like the rest.”

The 25 year old keeps quiet for a minute. He gathers his thoughts before settling with, “I promise I’m not.”

“Keeping my fingers crossed you aren’t.” You look around with twinkling eyes. “You know, a date I once had asked me-”

You want a slice?

No.

“It shocked me how straight forward he was being. It wasn’t even our second date! I barely even knew the guy.” You frown at the memory. “Then he blamed it on the tiramisu.”

I meant the tiramisu, guys!

God no. 

“Never saw him again,” you finish as you finally focus back on him. A pale Charles is all you find.

“Woah, are you okay?” 

“Yes! I’m so good! You look lovely! Did I mention it already cause if I didn’t then call me the worst date ever!” He begins nervously laughing. His gelato dripping all over his arm.

“I think you did.” You smile as you hand him a few napkins. He returns the gesture, thanking you. “And don’t worry about it, leave that spot for Lando. Now he might take the crown.”

Charles let out a groan.

-

Charles went back and forth deciding whether he should reach out to you. He liked you. A lot. Nonetheless, he was hesitating because he just couldn’t do something like that to Lando. The Brit was as bummed out as one could get. So, it's settled. Bye bye baby.

“Of course. Tonight at 8,” your voice confirms on the other side of the line. Charles celebrates with a quick dance.

“See you then.”

-

He decides today that he wants to switch things up. Do something that would make him stand out from anyone that came before him. 

“Monaco?” Leaning on the hood of Charles' car, you feel you have to be dreaming. He nods his head lively.

“I could show you around, y’know be your personal tour guide.”

“You should have warned me! I don’t have anything ready!” you yelp as you hold your hands over your heart, frantically. He would be more worried if it weren’t for you smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“We still have time. Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

-

When you make it to Monaco you’re greeted by a young guy wearing glasses, driving a Ferrari Pista. Charles and him fit in a quick embrace before they turn their attention back to you.

“Ah yes, this is Joris. He’s one of my closest friends,” Charles states as you warmly reach for a handshake. 

Reciprocating, Joris says, “Very nice to meet you.” You smile, returning the greeting. “Must say, you are just as beautiful as Cha had mentioned, if not more.” You blush as Charles clears his throat awkwardly.

“D'accord, mec. Pas besoin de le dire au monde entier,” Charles mutters. “Thank you for picking us up.” Joris nods, carrying your luggages. You share a quick goodbye before he finally makes his way to another car. “That’s also one of my very good friends, Marta.” You smile and wave as they drive off. 

Monaco definitely met your expectations. Everything just captivated your attention so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you started to drool. 

“Holy shit. Your home is absolutely stunning!” you gasp. He wheels your bags in as he exhales.

“Merci. Make yourself at home.”

-

Thankfully, the flight was quick so you both have plenty of energy to go out for a late night snack. He takes you to his; Favorite place in the world! You’ll see.

A little stand sits in the corner of the street. 

“Lou makes one of the best crepes. Trust me, I’ve been a loyal customer since my school days.”

A little old lady is attending to customers, but stops as soon as she spots Charles. “Charlie! Chérie, je ne savais pas que tu étais de retour!” She makes her way around to hug him.

“Des projets de dernière minute, mais j'ai juste envie de manger une de tes incroyables crêpes,” he replies, as they pull away.

“And who is this pretty girl?” she questions as she looks at you, standing there patiently.

“Oop, hello. I’m a friend of Charles.” Lou smiles teasingly.

“Charlie, tu es là pour me dire que tu vas te marier?” Lou suddenly looks over the moon.

“Non!” he quickly shouts, so suddenly, you and Lou both jump a bit. Tight lipped, he apologizes.

“Like she said, we’re just friends."

-

The next morning after breakfast he recommends you bring something you can swim with. Skipping your way to his room, which he is kindly sacrificing for you, you roam through your luggage until you find a baby blue bikini. 

“You don’t get sea sick by any means, right?” He looks over at you with scrunched brows underneath a pair of glossy black Ray Bans. You shake your head.

“Great.”

You make your way to a tiny boat before he helps you settle in. You grab his hand softly as you step into it. A single touch of electricity seems to link your fingertips. It catches you both so off guard that he lets go of you so swiftly, you don’t even notice as you plunge into the water.

You let out a quick yelp before you go underwater and his hands fly to his head in embarrassment. You resurface with wet hair covering your face.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” he apologizes before extending his arm out for you to grab. Pushing your hair out of your face, you giggle. 

“It’s okay, I got it.”

Once you independently get on the boat, he unties the rope off the deck and takes a seat himself to drive you both to the unknown destination.

“Pretty please, can I know now where we’re going?” you squeal with puppy eyes. 

Lord help me, he thinks before replying. “We’re going to a little island I love. Îles de Lérins.” You look ahead, nodding patiently. “It’s beautiful, you’ll see.”

-

When you arrive it’s easy to understand that there doesn’t seem to be that many people. You basically have the place to yourselves.

He helps you off, not dropping you this time. There’s a small trail you both begin to take. It’s something peaceful, the moment you’re in. You almost wish to fit it into a snow globe. 

“My parents would always bring my brothers and I here all the time during summer when we were younger,” Charles confesses.

“You have brothers?” 

He turns to look at you, then continues ahead. “Yes. Two.” He kicks a rock out of his way, but something you didn’t know was just how clumsy this man child could be.

“Ouch!” you groan in pain as your hand flies up to your nose.

“Jesus! What’s wrong with me today? Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” He runs to you all panicky now.

You take it back. Break the goddamn snow globe.

You try tilting your head back to ease the blood pouring out your nose before he gently grips your face to gain your attention. You scrunch your eyes, sun suddenly blinding you. Quickly, he takes off his glasses and places them over your eyes. As you open them you notice he’s shirtless. He places his shirt on your nose to clean you up. You flinch a bit.

Instantly, you’re thankful for the sunglasses because wondering eyes were all you could give him. His lean muscles were just begging to be praised. 

You shake your head before taking the Puma shirt from him. “Thanks,” you mutter as you focus on a nearby tree. “Starting to think you might hate me or something.”

“Of course not... I could never hate you!” His voice cracks in nervousness. You snicker.

After a bit more wiping, you are as good as new. You both decide to take a dip while the water feels good. You strip from your Levi shorts and t-shirt. Dipping a toe to test the temperature, you shoot him two thumbs up. 

The ocean feels so fresh and silky against your skin. You can’t seem to remember the last time you’ve enjoyed someone’s company like this, even if they almost ruled you to the ends of Earth. Two fingers press against your neck. You spring one eye open and you see Charles biting down on his thumb. He relaxes.

“Sorry, I thought you crossed the line to the afterlife.”

You tread water to stretch your legs out. “I’m fine.”

He takes this time to note things he hadn’t paid attention to before. Like how your lashes pin against your skin since they’re wet. Or how a tiny bit of freckles are sprinkled on your nose. He curses himself for not having seen it any sooner. Pretty was an understatement. You were extraordinary. 

A few hours later you guys are back at his house sharing a pizza. Pepperoni, you both loved a classic.

“There’s no bruise,” he points out almost proudly. You shoot a playful scowl. He walks over to the T.V. and clicks the remote. “Monte Carlo?”

He loved it, the way you said he would. He especially enjoyed watching how much you loved it. 

“This movie was too ahead of its time,” you confirm as you dig your feet under the blanket you had curled into. 

“Well at least Grace and Theo got their happily ever after,” he pronounces. You shoot an impressed look. “What? I was listening.” You crawl up next to him and pat his cheek. His dimples pop out from how hard he’s smiling. 

He can’t help it the moment he reaches to cradle your face to press your lips together. He can’t help but let a moan slip out when you finally kiss him back. 

Finally, he picks you up to adjust you on his lap, which you comfortably settle into. You feel him underneath you so clearly you can’t help but move your hips. He feels so good.

The heated moment continues as he wraps his hands around the curve of your ass. You pull away as your lips move down to his neck. He almost gasps the moment you lick down his throat. It doesn’t help that you’ve been keeping your hips in motion. 

He almost passes out the moment your lips move to his ear and ask, no, beg; Let me taste you, please. How could he ever deny such offer?

Making your way down to your knees, he adjusts himself on the couch. He thinks to himself that if he were standing he would’ve made a fool out of himself because just the sight of you in front of him has him choking on his own breath. You just look so pretty.

You tug his shorts down, along with his boxers, and bite down on your lip as you grab his cock, softly. He has to stop himself from jerking into your hand. Precum sprouting from his tip. You can’t wait as you take kitten licks. Fuck, he whimpers. The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Wrapping your lips around him, your hands reach to balance yourself against his thighs. You moan at the feeling of having him inside your mouth, drooling all over his lap.

This itself, is too much for Charles and thinks he’ll barely even be able to survive as his head turns against the couch' pillow with closed lids. You start bobbing your head and one hand flings down to jerk off what you can’t reach. He groans at the feeling. 

You start off slow but suddenly start picking up your pace. He opens his eyes, dazed, to catch a glimpse of you on your knees and this sight is something he won’t be able to forget even if he tried. With glassy eyes, you look up at him. You make a show of releasing your lips from his cock as you lap your tongue along it. Before going back at it, you twirl your tongue a couple of times around his tip before giving it a quick suck, then deep throat him. 

He grits his teeth as if to help deal with any of this but when you start toying with yourself he lets out the loudest whine he’s ever produced. You look up smiling, grazing your teeth lightly along him and he hisses at the feeling. Proudly, you fit him back into your mouth. 

“God, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he manages to get out before you solely start jerking him off.

“What about my hands?” you seductively tease. The sounds coming from both your hands and his cock should be considered a sin itself. He groans as he looks back to make eye contact with you.

“Your hands too, baby.”

He knows he’s close the moment you twist your wrist perfectly. So so good. You know he’s close when he begins to twitch underneath your fingertips. 

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” he chants as you continue your dirty movements. He makes sure to look at you, focused, eyes drawn to his cock.

“Cum for me, Charles,” you coo as he finally bucks his hips into your hands and hot cum shoots all over your face. You wickedly smile as your lips reach his cock to continue swallowing the rest that is being released. He grabs you face to pull you off him and hauls you once again onto his lap. He’s about to kiss you before you pull away and point at the mess on your face. 

You wipe two fingers along your face and bring them to your mouth to clean them off. A pop is released when you let go. He shudders. 

This is the moment, Charles realizes, he’s so screwed.

-

When you make it back to Italy you realize that all you’ll have are a few fleeting moments together. With Charles going back to racing and you continuing your online classes, you’re both bound to be booked.

Though, Charles just isn’t ready to let you go. And a fucked up man will make fucked up choices when due.

So, he strings you along with him to the Miami GP. He realizes there’s a strong chance you might bump shoulders with Lando, but to be completely honest, he was past caring. He was completely smitten with you.

-

You wear your white summer dress as you are sprawled on his hotel bed. You’re a mess.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper as Charles fingers slip in and out of you. He’s feverishly kissing down the side of your thighs, bites left in between. You groan in slight pain as you tug on his soft hair. This man has brought out the moon and stars, for you.

“C’mon baby, look at me,” he whispers as he paints you with hickeys in between your legs. Somewhere no one else will ever be able to catch a glimpse of. You nod your head as you look down to find him gripping your dress over your thighs, eating you out like a starved man. You shut your eyes as you release a few soft pants, the heels of your feet press deeper against his Ferrari polo.

“Open you’re eyes.”

You shake your head. You wish you could look at him, you really wanted to, but it’s just too much take in. You wanted to make this last.

But Charles was greedy. He wanted to taste you. He stops everything all at once. You let out a cry. Fuck him.

You bring your arms around his neck, loosely, as he kisses your shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”

“You weren’t looking at me.”

With all your strength you open your glittered eyelids. 

“That’s a good girl,” he coos as he picks you up and sits you at the edge of the bed. You look down at him confused as he gets on his knees in front of you.

“If you can’t look at me, then you’re going to have to look at yourself,” he directs as he begins to push your dress back up your waist. You lean against your elbows as you realize what other than Charles is in front of you.

A shiny glass mirror.

With a slightly open mouth you’re about to protest before Charles picks up right where he left off. He spits on your clit before rubbing it. You bite down on your bottom lip so hard, you draw blood. 

“Don’t tell me I have to get you to moan now?” Charles stares at you with furrowed brows. You shake your head no before he kisses your knee. “Good.”

He makes sure you look straight at your reflection before he curls his fingers inside of you. You mewl at the touch. Your legs beg to bring him closer.

He lets out a light chuckle before repeating his motion. With sleepy eyes, you stare at the way your legs rest against his shoulders. You had painted your nails bloody mary a few nights before, in support of him and his team. Your face all fucked up singly by Charles’ long fingers and delicate touch, red lipstick all over your mouth from how heavy your make out with Charles had been.

To him, you looked like an angel. 

You squeal as he presses his nose against your pussy. You grind against his face. He pulls away and you whine, looking at him desperately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he reassures you as he moves up to kiss your cheek and then your pouty lips. 

“Cha, please,” you beg hopelessly. He grins as he pushes your hair out of your face and runs his thumb across your lips trying to clean you up a bit.

You take a chance and wrap your lips around his finger, and you begin to suck. Expertly, you swirl your tongue. Eyes look back at him, almost challenging. He lets out a strained groan.

With all the willpower he has left, he removes his finger from your mouth. Nicely wet, he presses it back where you needed him the most.

“Thank you, baby, you shouldn’t have.” You cry out at the sudden size of his thumb now being inside of you. He switches out his thumb for his middle and ring finger. You throw your head back. All the back and forth almost has you blacking out a few times. Charles gives you a quick peck, fingers building speed, as he pulls your dress down a bit to release your plump tits.

Now he’s at a loss for words. Quickly, he regains his composure and starts sucking on your left nipple, legs squeezing around his waist as a reflex. One hand flies to the back of his head as one makes its way to cup his cheek adoringly.

He moans against you, sucking hard before moving his attention to your right nipple. The way you’re wailing against him has him painfully hard against his jeans.

“Yes, God yes right there, Charlie,” you let out as you grind against his hand. He detaches his lips from your chest as he smiles up at you. 

“I’m right here, baby. Cum for me, yeah?” You let out the most pornographic moan as you finish around his hand. Tears make their way down your cheeks. Cleans his fingers, he shuts his eyes satisfied, before he towers over your body, pressing kisses all over.

You giggle. “That tickles." The 25 year old’s heart doubles in size at the sound of your fucked out voice. 

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up before the race?”

-

The race results weren't the best Charles has had, that’s for sure. Head hung, he makes his way to his motorhome. There he finds you on the tiny little bed, curled up, watching the rest of the ongoing interviews. As soon as you notice him you jump up to your feet and walk to him.

It's almost as if you knew how down he was feeling when you wrap your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. He instantly feels better as his arms swaddle over your shoulders, chin atop your pretty hair.

“You did good,” you mumble. You press a faint kiss on his suit before looking up.

“I fucked up. I got P7.”

You frown at him before holding his face between your soft palms. “P7 is good, what do you mean?” He just shakes his head. “You’ve never heard of seven being a lucky number?”

He scoffs, but not at you, never you. More at himself. “Lucky?”

You pull away and sit back on his bed. “Oh yeah, seven bring all the luck in the world!” you squeal, as you plop on the bed. He laughs lightly as he lies beside you.

“Guess I’ll just take your word for it.” He hums with his eyes closed.

You turn on your side as you try to memorize his face. Like the small mole that sits on the left side of his face that makes him even more handsome, if anyone asks for your opinion. You scold yourself for not having noticed it before. As if to fix things, you name it one of your favorite things about him.

“You should. Things will get better, you’ll see.”

For once, he really believes it.

-

You both are walking out of the Ferrari home when you're suddenly stopped by someone calling Charles’ name. 

“Hey, Charles! Great race man!” A familiar voice rings through the air before you both have a chance to turn around. Both you and Charles, unknowingly of one another, want to make a run for it.

“Thanks, Lando,” Charles replies as he prays he might not notice you. But a girl as beautiful as you can’t go forgotten.

“Holy shit it’s you!” Lando wails as he instantly recognizes you from dinner a few months ago. You cringe. What the chances?

“Hi,” you squeak as you hide behind Charles a bit. You had no idea Lando was a Formula 1 driver too. You ought to do your research better next time.

“Mate! This is the chick I was telling you about over dinner last time!” Lando says, eyes almost popping out of his face from the shock he’s in.

“You don’t sayyyy.” Charles tries to hide it, though inside he’s freaking out as if he’s broken every FIA rule in the book.

“Hey, I want to say sorry for that night, I should have been more clear,” Lando begins to spill his apologies, as all you can do is silently stand there, accepting them all.

“Of course. Long forgotten,” you comfort the Brit. He’s actually a pretty sweet guy. 

“Charles, I’ll wait for you outside, alright?” you utter as he nods. Once you walk out, he turns to Lando frantically.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was the same girl you were upset about!” he tells him. Liar. “You must be mad at me and I get it-”

“Nope.”

Charles stares back, caught off guard by Lando’s response. 

“You’re not?” 

Lando rolls his eyes. “I’m not. I just hope you realize what she’s capable of.” He leans in closer to Charles’ ear and Charles leans in too, expectantly. “I’ve heard stories, man…”

Charles immediately pulls away. “Okay, we’re done here. Bye mate!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

But Charles knew you better. He saw the way you looked at him. The way you felt. You were different. Fuck your following reputation.

“Ready?” 

-

When you got back from Miami, something had shifted. He couldn’t quite name the moment it had, but he was sure of it. He didn’t care though. He would put up with just about anything as long as that meant having you around.

“And then he told me to test the car again, said it was fixed. Fixed my ass!” Charles tells you over FaceTime. You were sitting in your bedroom, painting nonsense on a canvas. You wore some old overalls with loose space buns. Strands of hair would hit the paint from how messy it was.

“No way,” you say, not looking up. Charles smiles fondly.

“You look lovely by the way.” Though, you don’t seem to catch his affirmation for you. Your eyes are focused on something out of frame, in front of you. A quick smirk appears on your face but slips so fast that he almost begins to think he’s imagined it.

“Thank you, Charles,” you reply with a much bigger smile now. “Hey, how about I meet you at your house at 9? I’ll cook you a nice meal, promise.”

Like always, he knows he shouldn’t ask and also knows he can’t say no to you.

“I’ll be waiting.”

-

That night when you step into his house he notices things he wishes weren’t there. Like how your hair was a tad bit messy or how there were light bruises on your neck. He knows those didn’t come from him. He’d always been mindful to mark you in places no one else could admire, just him. Something bugs him knowing someone has seen them already.

“I’m so sorry I’m late." You rush in with bags from the nearby market, the one just around the corner from his flat.

“No worries. So, what will we be cooking, my little chef?”

That night you seem so infatuated by him, he truly thinks this all was his imagination. Maybe the wind blew your hair on your way here; he should have offered to pick you up. Maybe he forgot he had also marked your neck; he’ll make sure to be more careful next time.

He wraps his arms around your waist as you cut pieces of basil. Giggling, you turn around to peck his lips. Craving more from you, he lifts you up onto the kitchen island. He stands in between your legs as you stare up at him, ever a vixen.

As you lock lips, he picks you up, you yelp all giddy. He makes his way over to his bedroom, your lips lingering on his neck, he almost drops you from how good it feels.

“Careful, don’t need another wack in the face,” you mumble from his neck, light spirited. He rolls his eyes at your comment, but yeah, he should probably focus. 

Finally reaching his room, he kicks the door open so hard, it flies and instantly makes a hole through the wall. You gasp as he groans.

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” he murmurs as he takes you to his bed where he drops you. You giggle as your hair covers your face, he makes his way to hover over you and brush it away.

“You know I would do anything for you?” he asks, tenderness lacing his voice.

You stare back at him with bright and eager eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

He smiles as he leans down to kiss you and you instantly melt into the mattress beneath you. He kisses you so fast, so hot, that it has you feeling lightheaded. I’ve been kissed before but never, ever, like this, you think as he slips his tongue as a quick trick. You moan with pleasure. He smiles into the kiss. 

He picks his head up to get a good look at the angel the universe had ever so nicely sent his way. He caresses you gingerly. “Are you sure, chérie?”

You nod up and down eagerly, ready for more he’s willing to give. You are so desperate you would gladly take anything as long as it's from him. A flash of sadness strikes your face before it’s replaced with a warm smile. 

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he comforts you as he begins to take a step back. You quickly hold onto his veiny arm. 

“I want to,” you confirm. You bring him back to you as you kiss him for the millionth time that night. Even that would never be enough. 

His hands make their way to slip your dress off. Once you're left in your matching lingerie, you push him on his back and straddle him.

“Holy shit,” he nervously laughs as you started to unbutton his linen shirt. He pulls his arm out as you sloppily brush your lips down his smooth chest, fingers tracing his firm abs. Then, as you’re about to pull his pants down, he grabs your hands firmly. You glance at him, confusion written all over your face.

“Ladies first,” he teases. You roll your eyes, but still slip out a quick, okay, before settling under him once again. He kisses down your neck gently as you hum out, finding peace with his lips hovering your body. Every new kiss he places on your soft skin makes you feel thousands of butterflies. You’d never experienced something like this before, you’ve never felt so flawless. 

Clumsy fingers roam your back as he unclips your bra then strips you from your panties. Seeing you completely bare has his dumbstruck. This is something he could easily get used to. 

His hands make their way to squeeze your tits, your head digs deeper into the mattress as you release a soft whimpers. Charles grows harder by the second, already getting rid of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he can.

He tugs you closer to him by your legs. A laugh rolls past your lips. Resting both arms by either side of your head, he pushes into you. Synchronously, you both let out a moan. You dig your nails into his shoulder as he grips onto the sheets. 

You feel so tight around him that it takes all of him not to lose control. You throw your arm over your face, face scrunched.

Putting his feelings aside, Charles leans down and plants a kiss on your arm. “C’mon baby, not again. Look at me.”

“I can’t…,” you cry out weakly, “...too big.”

“You just have to adjust,” he reassures you as he begins to move in and out of you. Your arms fly up to his neck and you grab on tight, as if he’s keeping you ashore. You moan loudly.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers as he thrusts deep inside of you. Your velvety walls feel like home to him and he never wants to leave. 

You squirm when his cock hits your sweet spot. You yell into the nothingness and your grip on his hair tightens so much, he groans at the sensation. His hips pick up speed, and suddenly, he’s kissing you again. You whine into his lips, needy for more. Harder. 

As if he could read your mind, that's exactly what he does. Your lips form a silent O as you stare at him with eyebrows drawn together. He just feel so fucking good.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, voice deep. You shiver at the sound. “God, you feel so good, you’re doing so good,” he praises you as he now looks into your eyes. You wail in response, too fucked up to form any kind of sentence.

“I love you so much,” he announces so suddenly, you almost push him away. He keeps moving rapidly as he makes out with you eagerly.

As you kiss him back you realize something scary; you love Charles Leclerc. You think you’ve loved him for a while now, but having never been in love, you didn’t seem to notice the feeling. But you do now.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his lips. When he pulls away you notice you’ve never seen him smile so big. You like being the reason behind it.

He immediately pounds into you harder, not holding back anymore and you’re both a mess. You moan so loud, you’re almost embarrassed but Charles seems to love it.

“If you love me,” he pants, “then tell me his name.”

He continues normally, but you swear you feel your heart stop. There’s no way.

“What are you talking about?” you manage to spit out, but the way he’s handling your body has you seeing stars.

“Please,” a desperate look flashes across his face, “just tell me his name.” His watch covered hand makes its way to your clit and he pushes his finger against it. God, his fingers are so-

“There’s no one.” Liar. “There’s just you.”

With that, you flip him over so now you’re on top of him. Hastily, you start to ride him, making sure to move your hips just the way he likes it. His head falls back against the bed frame as his fingers dig into your hips. You bite your swollen lips in slight pain, but also, just by looking at his current state.

Cheeks slightly pink with sweaty hair covering his face. Long disheveled hair that you pressed him not to trim quite yet. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Please,” he chokes out, “just tell me his name and I swear I’ll never bring it up again.” He opens his eyes to look up at you. His voice hitches when he sees you hopping on his dick, tits bouncing up and down. You throw your head back and circle your hips much harder.

“Fuck.” Charles gasps as he reaches up to attach his lips to your chest. He licks before softly biting down against your bud. You exhale sharply. He then lays back and holds onto your hips harder before helping you move on top of him. Wrapped around him, the motion between both of you picks up so fast you start shaking your head no.

“Yes, amour, say it. Please just tell me before I lose my fucking mind,” he grunts as he stares down at your juices as they make the filthiest sound against his own. 

“I swear Charles, I promise, that I have never loved anyone the way I do you,” you confess as you sink your nails against his chest, red marks instantly mapping themselves down.

“Beautiful fucking liar.” Charles smirks as he moves his fingers against your clit rapidly. With that, your walls clench around him as you cum so hard around him he can’t help but follow. You moan loudly as you fall against his chest as he groans lowly. 

Trying to even your breathing, you grab onto his hand. Instantly, he brings it up against his lips. Just the touch of his makes you want to ride him until you can’t no more. 

You meant what you said that night. Though you both should have known better. Being naive can’t always last forever.

-

“Then she left a note saying it’s best we just remain friends,” Charles reveals a few nights later over dinner. Everyone shares glances of empathy to the distraught Monegasque. Even Lando.

“It’s alright man, you’ll be over her before you know it,” Lando states as he shares a knowing smile. Charles bites down on his tongue knowing all this pent of anger wasn’t towards Lando. Not even for you. 

He would like to say that he learned his lesson and that he should have listened to everyone, all the warning signs that glowed above his head. But he knows damn well he would do it all over again if given the chance. He would say, do anything, to change your mind. To make you stay, but people like you never settled. 

Moping, Charles changes the topic as he begins asking how everyone’s break was. He didn’t really care, but he tried to pretend. 

Out of breath, Oscar rushes over to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he says as he sits down in between Lando and Charles.

“No worries, mate, Charles was just filling us in on his expired love life,” Daniel fills in, nonchalantly. Charles immediately shoots a dry frown. Daniel shares an apologetic shrug.

“Oh. That sucks man,” the young Australian replies as he gulps down some water. “Speaking of love lives, you guys won’t believe it! I just met the prettiest girl of my entire life just now outside of the restaurant!”

[chris-prank]

I am absolutely obsessed with Esteban. Can you please do him with a darling who is just as obsessed with him as he is with them?

Also if you're accepting anons I'd love to be one :)

I’m so happy that you like Esteban 😭 idk why, but at first I was convinced that people wouldn’t like him as much as my other yandere ocs. And yes, I totally accept anons, I think it’s a nice way to recognize you guys! 😆

A yandere reader would be the perfect match for Esteban. You mean to tell him that you want to be with him all the time willingly?? Just put a ring on his finger already! 

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Esteban walked through the corridors with a grim look on his face. The meeting he had been promised to only last thirty minutes ended up taking almost two hours. It had to happen on the very day he was supposed to have dinner with you. The worst part is that he had forgotten his phone in his office and no matter how many times he asked his secretary to call you on the company phone after his meeting you weren’t answering. 

On his way he had dismissed every employees that had tried to come up to him, despite the fact that it looked important. As he opened his office door, he was presented with a sight he never in his life expected to see. You were there, in front of him, sitting in his chair, tapping your finger on the desk. Logic was thrown out the window as a large smile formed on his lips.

“Love!” He exclaimed happily, running up to you with open arms.

You stopped him in his tracks, putting your hand on his chest. He could see now that you had a disappointed look on your face. Esteban figured the reason why and before you could say a word, he dropped to his knees, trapping both of your hands in his. 

“I’m so so so sorry! The stupid businessman I had a meeting with had to drag that thing on and on, I never thought it would be this long!” Between his explanations he kept kissing your fingers, “and I-I forgot my phone here, in the office, that’s why I couldn’t tell you! Please f-forgive me!” 

You leaned down, leveling up your face with his. “No need to justify yourself, I already checked the camera feeds silly. Now what about that dinner?” You whispered with a lovesick smile. 

The man let out a sigh of relief. “I should have known, you’re so resourceful my love.”

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I just love the idea of Esteban being perfectly fine with the craziness of yandere reader (and them also being fine with his). 

[simplyholl]

Fireworks

Summary: Loki uses an illusion while you have fun during a fireworks show.

Pairing: Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ Only.

See My Masterlist Here

“We can’t, not here.” You protest, trying to talk some sense into your fuck buddy, Loki. “No one will miss us.” He tempts you, raising a suggestive eyebrow. You can’t resist him, it was like trying to hold your breath. Eventually you would give in, needing him more than you ever thought possible.

The Fourth of July was usually reserved for barbecues and pool days, but this year Tony wanted to throw a lavish dinner party to impress some higher ups who still had their doubts about the Avengers. So here you were, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes wearing stuffy suits and elegant gowns eating prime rib and lobster instead of wearing swimsuits and stuffing your faces with hotdogs.

You all had been warned to be on your best behavior, especially Loki and Thor whose Asgardian liquor often times made them and everyone they shared it with bad decision makers. You wished you could blame the alcohol when you took Loki’s hand, letting him guide you out of the dining hall while everyone started to gather outside for fireworks. But you didn’t drink anything except for water. You didn’t have an excuse, momentarily dickmatized, you went willingly.

“Nope. Not tonight, get your asses back here right now.” Tony stops you, pointing to the wrap around porch the others were gathering on. You sigh, giving your best puppy dog eyes to him, hoping it would work. If anyone understood the importance of getting off, it was Tony.

“Don’t give me that look. If we didn’t have the very people who could shut us down in attendance, I would even cover for you. But we have to make it seem like we are the best people they know.” Tony explains, adjusting the collar on his dress shirt nervously.

Loki turns, following him out, never letting go of your hand. Once Tony does a headcount, Loki brings you to the darkest corner of the porch. A flash of green passes by so quickly, you’re sure you imagined it. But this is Loki, and he was always up to something.

“What are you doing?” You whisper so no one can hear you. One of the old men look in your direction, you fake a smile and wave at him until he takes his attention off you. In the distance Mr. USA himself, Steve Rogers sets off the first firework. An explosion of red lighting up the sky.

“Do you trust me?” Loki whispers in your ear. “Yes, but now’s not the time to live up to your namesake, Mischief.” You answer, eyes narrowing suspiciously. You would both be in big trouble, possibly kicked off the team if you did anything to portray the Avengers in a negative way tonight. “To everyone else, it looks like we are enjoying the fireworks. They can’t see what we are really doing.”

He leans down to gently kiss your shoulder, long fingers sliding your dress straps down your arms exposing your breasts. You gasp, trying to cover yourself. The nosy old man from earlier looks over at you, but doesn’t notice your uncovered body. He looks away as another firework illuminates the darkness.

“I would never let them look at you like this.” He purrs. His rich voice washing away any doubt you had. He nuzzles his head to your chest, his fingers lightly pinching your nipples. You moan, and Natasha turns, looking at you questioningly. “They can’t see what we are doing, darling, but they can hear us.”

“Loki, we have to stop.” He instantly goes still. “What’s wrong?” You rub his cheek to reassure him. “I can’t be quiet. They will hear us.” You can see the gears turning in his head, his eyes lighting up when he gets an idea.

Loki drops to his knees, large hands sliding up your thighs until he reaches your panties. He works them down your legs as you watch in anticipation. He wads them up, his obscenely big hand covering them completely as he brings them to your face. His thumb taps your bottom lip, beckoning it open. When your mouth forms an O, Loki places your panties inside. “There that should muffle any sound you make.”

You watch in disbelief, turned on by his antics. You feel the unmistakable warmth of your arousal drip down your thighs. Loki lifts your gown, settling on his knees once again. He places your leg over his shoulder, your fingers tangle in his curls as he dives in.

His talented tongue swirls your clit before dipping inside you. He thrusts his tongue, while the tip of his nose rubs against your most sensitive part. You shudder, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you.

Loki takes your clit between his lips, sucking gently as his tongue flicks in unison. Your legs tremble as his soft licks grow firmer. You groan, your panties keeping the sound from reaching the ears of the others. But Loki hears it, he loves that you will do anything for him.

You’re typically a rule follower, always early for your appointments, avoiding trouble at any cost. Until he showed up, he turned your world upside down. You would never consider letting someone eat you out in front of company, depending on him to use his magic to conceal you. You would never trust anyone else like him. He supposed that was what he liked the most. You trust him completely.

He strokes you with his velvet tongue once more, adding two fingers. The intrusion sends you spiraling. Fireworks exploding behind your closed eyelids mirroring what was happening around you. You bite down on your panties, fighting every primal urge to scream Loki’s name.

Loki turns you around, pressing you against the building. He quickly slides his pants down, reaching below to gather your dress, bunching it up on your side. His large hands run along the curve of your backside, giving it a squeeze. He parts your legs with his own, positioning himself.

He bottoms out in one thrust, you moan loudly, praying the panties will do their intended job. You always feel so full, so complete when you have sex with Loki. No one could ever compare. He slides his hand between you, thumb working your clit as you clench around him.

The sounds of skin slapping against each other is unmistakable. You can’t be bothered to worry about it when he rearranges your guts like this. You’ll feel it all night and tomorrow. You always do. Your side will ache, too sore to bend over. It was a delicious reminder of him.

The finale of the fireworks coincided with your orgasm. You were thankful for the noise of the pyrotechnics. Every drag of his cock made you scream as you came around him. He was close behind, spilling inside you as your visitors clapped when the show was over.

Loki turns you around, retrieving your panties from your mouth and using them to wipe away the mess he made of you. He kisses your shoulder before pulling your dress straps back where they belong. You extend your hand reaching for your panties, but he shakes his head placing them in his pocket instead.

Another flicker of green surrounds you, dropping the illusion. Loki motions to your hair, letting you know you have more than a few tresses out of place. You’re smoothing your hair down as Natasha comes over, a knowing smirk on her full lips. “It sounded like you two were doing more clapping than our visitors over there.” She says, laughing as she walks away.

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @wolfsmom1 @loz-3 @kats72 @crimson25 @litaloni @zombiesnips-blog @gruftiela @mochie85 @cakesandtom @eleniblue @violethaze @lokidokieokie @buttercupcookies-blog @mjsthrillernp @chantsdemarins @lulubelle814 @anukulee @theallknown213 @alexakeyloveloki @tmilover1993 @fandxmslxt69 @artemis-13 @fictive-sl0th @nomajdetective @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @kathren1sky-blog @javagirl328 @kcd15 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @soggylampshade0 @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @mischief2sarawr @ozymdias @freegardenbanananeck @lamentis-10 @jainaeatsstars @aoirohi @mushycore @marygoddessofmischief @queenshu @jasmine-pudding @kcd15 @jiyascepter @daddieslut1 @macnbriee @sammichdog

[achaotichuman]

Recently I delved into the depths of my docs to find the first fanfiction I wrote for ACOTAR that never saw the light of day.

Obviously it's horrible writing, but I like the premise and since I am addicted to piling more projects on top of my scheldule I rewrote the first chapter and redid the plot for it.

Originally these events take place a year or two after the war with Hybern, and everything is the exact same EXCEPT for somethin Tamlin is doing.

I changed it so that this is a fic of what would have happened if Tamlin didn't give over that drop of power to bring Rhysand back.

Anyway, here's there rewritten chapter. Tell me if you guys like it!

“Be happy Feyre.”

The words nearly tumbled out of his mouth. The carefully loving words that wrapped like ivy around his throat, choking him, those last cords of love that had twisted into something else. That had made him soft for her. He had offered his heart like ripe fruit on a silver platter for her to take and now look at where he stood. 

Bloodied, gore and guts clinging to his armour like a second layer of skin, mud caked on his legs and arms. Hair a mess, dirty and disgusting. His people, his armies, whom he had gone to his knees to earn the trust of them back, after she twisted their minds, undid their memories, stared in every personal thought to create a new story for all of them. One that fit her narrative. 

The damage she had caused, the things she had taken. What she had done, what she had cost not just them but all of Pryhtian. Destroying the Courts she had saved not even a year ago. 

Now, on her knees, holding the man who had assaulted her night after night after night whilst she vomited, cried and danced and laughed, and been drugged. She screamed his name whilst she cling to his lifeless form. 

The good for nothing bastard Lord was finally dead. Tamlin should have breathed a sigh of relief. 

Instead every High Lord stood around awkwardly, as one after the other they had willingly handed over their magic despite what this man had done to them. Despite how much they all hated him. They did it for his grief-stricken mate who screamed for them to help. To bring him back the same way she had come back. 

But he was dead for what he had done. Giving over power to remake the Cauldron, the mother had taken his very soul with the magic, the price paid to put the world back together. 

Truly, who were they to defy her?

Tamlin stood up straight, when Feyre stared up at him, eyes filled with tears as she saw his stone-cold face. 

“Please,” She screamed, “Please I’ll do anything!”

Green eyes cut from her to the other Lords. None made eye-contact with him. All looking elsewhere, anywhere, the grey-red clouds above, the torn battlefield layered with bodies on decaying bodies, the rivers running red with blood. Some of them, no doubt reminded of Amarantha’s reign of terror by the bloodshed, looked to the muddy ground. 

But none dared look in his eye, all knew what she had done to him. Her reasons for doing so. They also all knew what he had done to her. 

But staring down at her now, thinking back on all of it. 

Thinking back on the slander of Court, the destruction of his people. The lying, the scheming, the pure hatred. 

Then there was one final thought that struck true. 

What would they have all done if it had been him dead on the floor and not Rhysand?

The image of his bloodied mother, his dead brothers, even as cruel as they were, flashed before his eyes. 

“No.” He said. Standing tall and true, “I will not hand over my magic.”

“You fucking monster!” A girl with gold streaked blonde hair lunged at him from out of nowhere. Morrigan. 

She didn’t get far, from where she was knees deep in the mud. A flash of gold and a short-sudden scream from her. She was pinned to the floor with golden threads. Not painful, but certainly startling, and no doubt humiliating. 

Tamlin couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Feyre stared up at him. Her wet blue eyes boring into his own with a deep-cut grief that would have broken him just a few weeks ago. 

Now. 

Now all he felt was mild pity, and a distant sadness, for the girl who had been killed under the mountain and never brought back. 

“Who's to say the real Rhysand would even return?” Tamlin said, voice mockingly kind, “When the first time we brought a human back, she was not the same at all?”

Feyre’s saddened eyes turned wrathful, her beautiful face twisting into a deadly scowl. All that hatred, focused solely on him. 

“You were what led me to my death! And now you refuse to even help him!” She screamed, the pain and grief tearing through her, along with the emptiness of where her mating bond used to be no doubt fueling her rage. 

“You led yourself to your death as did he.” Tamlin said, perfectly calm and stoic. She wouldn’t get a rise out of him. Not anymore. 

Tamlin looked to the others, “Think about all that male has done to us. Think of what his mate has brought down upon our lands. And maybe rethink tossing your magic carelessly at whatever dead corpse lays before you.”

“He is not a corpse!” Feyre shrieked. Her cries and screams becoming distant. Vague. As weariness bore heavy on him. For the mortal, the living, unfortunately exhaustion was a natural occurrence. 

Tamlin’s eyes went down to Rhysand. Least he’ll never be exhausted again. 

The thought was cruel, and maybe he was a horrible man for feeling relief. Staring into that lifeless face, knowing he was dead forever. Gone. Bound to never bring him misfortune again. 

“You are a heartless male.” A seething voice said somewhere near him. Tamlin looked towards where a limping Illyrian with blue siphons hissed, looking like he wanted to tear the High Lord to shreds but his own limitations and injuries prevented it. 

A cold, humourless smile broke out on his face. The Spring Lord looked down upon Feyre. 

“Give him your own magic.” He said, tilting his head, “Why don’t you hand over those drops of power you claim to make yourself so, so powerful?”

She was silent, as tears continued to stream down her face, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Oh right, you can’t.”

He would leave after this and never see her face again, he hoped, but he didn’t bite his tongue to prevent the final blow, “Our magic is the only thing holding you together. You claim yourself so powerful. Above the rest of us entirely. The self-proclaimed High Lady of the Night Court, equal to the most powerful in all the Earth. But you really aren’t. You need our magic to survive.”

Tamlin looked back at Rhysand, and didn’t hide the relief on his face, “You can’t bring him back without us.”

The Nightmare was gone. Now all that was left was the cleanup. 

Feyre screamed, whether it was an insult, her hatred or simply incoherent, he didn’t know. He winnowed away. Back to Spring. 

It was time for a cleanup. 

And he had plans to make things right in his Court. In Prythian in its entirety. 

***

I probably will not continue this fic since I have so much I need to write already, but I think its fun to go back and reflect on my old ideas and rewrite to compare to how my form was before and how it is now.

[trenchcoatimpala]

Cobblestone Love

Hello, everyone! I have just dropped my new fic Cobblestone Love on ao3! Updates will be every Tuesday!

Castiel Novak was raised with only one purpose: to be King. With an arranged marriage between himself and Princess Megan Masters of a neighboring kingdom approaching, he finds himself wanting to spend a night in town, enjoying his freedom before his royal duties catch up to him. Dean Winchester works his farm by day and Ellen's tavern by night trying to make ends meet so he can put his brother, Sam, through medical school. When a mysterious stranger with dark hair and blue eyes, claiming to be a knight for the King, sits down at the bar, Dean's life is forever altered.

You can read a teaser below:

A man plopped down beside Castiel with a nasty leer on his face. “So you’re rich, pretty boy?”

Castiel met the man's gaze, he saw nothing but dishonesty there. “My wealth is of no concern to you.” 

“It is when you come parading in here with gold coins fit for the King. I reckon you could spare a few more coins for some poor folk like me.” 

Castiel let his expression harden. “And I reckon you think you can take it from me if I don’t give it willingly.” 

The man grinned at him, revealing a few missing teeth. “You reckon right.” 

A moment later a pair of hands was on the lapels of his shirt and he was being pulled to his feet. 

“You stop that this instant!” the barkeep woman shouted. “Put him down!” 

“If he can spare you some change then he’s got to have more where that came from. I’m just going to shake him down, see how much more coin he’s got.” Castiel found that amusing, especially since the man threatening him was a great deal shorter than Castiel himself. 

“That would be a horrible mistake on your part,” Castiel said. 

Castiel had been trained to fight by highly respected knights, he could hold his own in a battle and he was very good with a sword. It was a pity he didn’t bring his sword with him, but he’d opted not to as it would have been a dead give away that he was from royal descent. He would have to win the fight by his own fists instead. 

As he was gearing up to get free of the man's grip and send him to the ground, the man was suddenly being ripped away from him. A whiskey rough voice spoke in anger and mockery as Castiel tried to get his wits about him again. 

“You really don’t want to do that, Marv. How many times do I have to kick you out of this bar!” 

Castiel watched as Marv was shoved roughly through the door by a tall man with light brown hair and an impressive set of bow legs. When he turned around again, Castiel felt his breath steal itself away from him. The man was gorgeous, there was no other word for it. His face was dotted with a fair few freckles and his jawline was sharp and decorated with the thinnest layer of scruff. He was dressed in high riding boots with a tan tunic that was tucked into his brown leather pants. He wore a matching leather vest over his tunic and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. This man clearly worked with his hands a lot and by the muscles in his arms and back he looked like he was good at it. 

“I’m so sorry about him,” the man said, and there was that perfect voice again. 

“It’s no trouble,” Castiel found himself replying, it was a wonder he’d been able to recover his voice. 

The man extended his hand. “I’m Dean.”

Castiel took it. Calluses brushed against his skin as his palm slid into Dean’s. It was a warm handshake, he found himself rather enjoying the touch. “I’m-” he paused, he shouldn’t say his name. The purpose of his trip outside of castle walls was to go unrecognized and mingle with the common folk to experience their way of living, so that once he took the throne he’d know how best to help them. No, it was best he didn’t reveal who he was, besides, he was never fond of how once anybody learned his identity they felt the need to drop to their knees and genuflect in the name of the crown. It was rather unsettling and it made Castiel uncomfortable to be the receiver of such respect. “James,” he decided to say. It was his middle name and a common enough name to get him through this moment. “But everyone calls me Jimmy.” 

“Well, Jimmy,” Dean said with a smile, “I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of your evening. If Ellen or I can get you anything just say the word.” 

Ellen, Castiel took it, was the woman behind the bar. “Thank you very much, Dean.” 

Dean’s cheeks pinked slightly in the lantern light. “Don’t mention it.”

Up close, Castiel could see that Dean’s eyes were the most emerald of green, and he could almost picture himself getting lost in those eyes and never having to worry about leading a kingdom or marrying a girl he was not in love with, nor could he ever be. Alas, his daydreams were for naught, and after tonight he was to return to the castle and take his rightful place as King. 

He sipped slowly at his mead and let himself slip away into the hum of people around him. He wasn’t eavesdropping, per se, but he couldn’t help but hear what people were saying. A young family to his left, with a weary looking mother and an exasperated father, tended to two young children, a boy and a girl. The children were pretending to fight with sticks they must have picked up from the ground outside. Their parents were trying to stop them from running about, but the children bore no mind. 

Head on over to ao3 for the rest :)

tag list, ask to be added or removed

@undeadcas @tearsofgrace @hellerstiel @casgetoutofmyass0907 @wantstoflyafraidtofall @gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat @thepixelagora@thelahatiel  @im-sam-fucking-winchester@piebook67 @bestiarum@theedeangirl@november5th@bixlasagna@ancient-fangirl@famouspsychicpizzabandit@you-cant-spell-subtext-without@bumbledumble1@cascigarette@addicted2demons @our-stars-graveside @fivefeetfangirl

[mixes-archive]

König NSFW Alphabet 😊

Requested by: my bbgs and a lot of simps. In all my time as an archivist (maybe a few months at best), I haven't seen something requested as much as this.

This is mostly gender neutral and includes stuff for both afab and amab readers

A = Aftercare

(what they’re like after sex)

"Ach du heilige... Schatz, geht's dir eh gut?"¹

Very worried.

No matter if he's been top or bottom, dom or sub, gentle or rough, he'll be so worried he hurt you in any way.

Give you a quick massage and clean you up. Depending on if you're doing anything after, he'll either take a bath with you or just a brief shower.

B = Body part

(their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He really likes his arms, mans trained years for his muscles to be as defined as they are and being able to carry you with them just gives him a real boost of confidence.

Is weak to your thighs <3 Could spend hours just laying on or massaging them.

C = Cum

(anything to do with cum, basically)

Yum yum in his tum tum😋🍽️

No matter how he made you cum, mans will absolutely devour that shit, no exceptions.

D = Dirty secret

(pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

AFAB: Would love for you to sit on his face while his mask is on, just imagining feeling you through the fabric and how you soak through it makes him hard

AMAB: sucking you off with the mask on, half the fabric draped over your stomach, hiding his next move and having to look directly into his eyes. He gets weak in the knees at the thought.

E = Experience

(how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Man had zero rizz in his childhood, you're his first everything actually. If you don't have any experience either, you're kinda fucked lmao

F = Favorite position

(this goes without saying)

Any with direct eye contact, or you being on top of him.

G = Goofy

(are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's funny, but not intentionally. He's really creative when it comes to swears, so it's easy to make you giggle with them.

H = Hair

(how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Bald or something, I don't know how this works with men and I am NOT about to Google it.

I = Intimacy

(how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

König is dropping all the nicknames he can think off, constantly caressing your face or body. He'll also try to set the mood as best as possible beforehand.

J = Jack off

(masturbation headcanon)

Does it a lot tbh. He's big big and knows it can affect you for a few days after, so he'll only fuck you if you ask.

K = Kink

(one or more of their kinks)

Mask kink, size kink, praise kink goings both ways. What else is there? Oh yeah.

This man definitely has a mommy kink, you cannot convince me otherwise.

L = Location

(favorite places to do the do)

Probably the couch or the bathtub, he isn't into other people potentially seeing you at all.

M = Motivation

(what turns them on, gets them going)

You. That's it. You could be wearing a hoodie that should've been washed long ago and he'd go "omg I'd hit"

N = No

(something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything to do with degredation. Doesn't like insulting you and likes being insulted even less.

O = Oral

(preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

König would willingly be between your thighs until his lungs give out. He's really big, so this is the best option in his opinion. (also just really into the way you react to him and your taste).

Would only let you suck him off occasionally and after a loooonnggg while of being in a relationship. You'd have to beg him to do it lmao

P = Pace

(are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

König likes being slow and hitting all the right spots, but he can speed up if you ask politely enough. Much prefers to go slow in a borderline teasing way tbh.

Q = Quickie

(their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Prefers taking his time, but with how packed your schedules can be, there's not really another option. Sometimes when you're on a long term mission, you get so desperate you have a quickie, but that's the last resort.

R = Risk

(are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes and no. He'd like to experiment with you a bit, but there are just some things he wouldn't do like public sex, non-con, etc...

S = Stamina

(how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

König lasts for HOURS. This is a trained military man, his stamina is through the roof and on its way to space. You could be panting, struggling to catch your breath or move, and he'll ask if you want another round.

T = Toys

(do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Didn't see the sense in toys before meeting you, but he has a small bullet vibrator for you stashed away somewhere.

U = Unfair

(how much they like to tease)

When he gets the opportunity, he does like to tease a little. Would stop if you ask though.

V = Volume

(how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Swears a lot. Like a lot a lot. He's still more vocal than you'd expect otherwise. Lots of grunts and moans between the swears.

W = Wild card

(a random headcanon for the character)

You wore thigh highs once and he can't get enough of them now. He tends to rip them, but is constantly buying new ones to make up for it.

X = X-ray

(let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Big. Too big, perhaps. Long and girthy. Have fun getting that anywhere in you.

Y = Yearning

(how high is their sex drive?)

Very high, is down to clown almost every single day. And with that I mean he just wants to make you scream his name so loud the squad members become concerned he's holding you hostage.

Z = Zzz

(how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Honesty, he's more awake after than he was before. Makes him feel like he just injected five shots of espresso right into his veins.

¹ "Holy... Treasure, are you okay?"

A/N: Being a lesbian in this economy is hard, but I'll gladly take the L so you can all continue to simp for the only relevant austrian representation in this day and age

[elllisaaa]

hello sweetie <3 hope you’re having a wonderful week!!

i would love to hear your thoughts on a question 🙋🏻‍♀️ who in enhypen would ask for permission to cum without you even making them? like they’re so whipped that they easily go submissive for you and do things that you thought you’ll have to ask for, but they end up surprising you… (hope i make sense with this)

hii love ! it's been a little harsh because exams are soon (but we're surviving), hope you'll have a good week too ! well, i hope so with what you sent once more... you know my love for subby men, i couldn't be more happy to answer to that

SIM JAEYUN

jake is first on this list obviously ! this man is so fucking whipped for his girl, it’s not even a question if he’s going to do absolutely whatever you want him to : he will. i see him as a switch, but i think he leans more on the subby side. yes, he’s totally able to fuck you into oblivion if he wants too, but most of the times, you hold the power in the bedroom. no matter if you praise him or degrade him, he loves it.

you can literally ask him anything and he’ll do it. but it comes to a point where you don’t even need to ask anymore, jake is doing it all by himself. when you’re asking him something, he willingly waits until you give your permission to talk. when you ride him, he doesn’t touch you until you allow him to. even when you've been playing with him for the longest time, he’s still asking you permission to cum every single time. 

“please, please, please… i’m so close, please, let me cum…” the moans jake’s letting out are sinful, and they make your panties stick to your core. you smirk down at him, seeing how tears are gathering in the corners of his eyes, how tight his fists are clenching on the sheets. “do you think you’ve earned it ? have you been good ?” he’s quick to nod his head, “yes, please, i’ve been so good for you, please.” - “that’s right, such a good puppy” 

KIM SUNOO

a pillow prince through and through, i’m convinced of that. he loves when you take care of him and he doesn’t have to do anything else but take it. and since he’s extremely sensitive, that makes it even more fun for you. sunoo is reactive to every one of your touches, even the most subtle ones. that’s why it’s so fun to edge him : the more orgasms your refuse him, the more whiny and disinhibited he gets. 

that’s what you need to do to get him to beg for you. he might be sweet but he still has a little bit of an attitude that needs to be tamed. it takes one ruined orgasm for sunoo to lose it all and beg you to let him cum. that’s when he decides to be a little brat, but most of the time, he’s so obedient. when you start to get the ropes or ribbons out to tie him up, he offers his hands out to you without you even needing to ask. but one thing is that he needs to be praised, needs to know he’s doing good for you.

“am i doing good for you ?”, sunoo asks with pleading eyes, interrupted every now and then by a moan because your hand on his sensitive cock feels too much, but also too good to ask you to stop. “yes, baby, doing so, so good for me. you wanna cum ?” sunoo almost cries out in relief to your sweet praises, but even more so to the promise of finally getting his orgasm. “please, please, i need to cum so bad, please let me…” - “then go on.” as soon as he stopped trembling, you detach the pink ribbons that were keeping him tied up, kissing his wrists and his whole face to reward him. he’s your perfect pretty boy after all.

LEE HEESEUNG

most of the time, heeseung prefers to dom, but it all starts with that day you came home from work really frustrated and your sweet, loving boyfriend offered you to use him in every way you wished to get the tension out of your body. problem ? he ended up liking it way more than he thought he would have. every time you are even slightly mad, he’s ready to drop on his knees or let you ride his face without you even asking. his number one priority is to make you feel good, to be good for you. 

the feeling of surrendering completely to your control gives him a rush that he cannot explain. heeseung just knows that he loves it when you humiliate him, call him names and slap his face. and even if he always does exactly what you ask him to, you still degrade him, which pushes him on to go further and further and even anticipate all your desires. 

“look at you baby, crying just because i’m touching your dick, huh ? how pathetic.” your fingers gripping his jaw forces heeseung to look down at his reflection in the mirror, seeing how he’s slumped against your body, your hand sliding up and down his swollen cock. and he can’t help but moan at the sight. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry your hand just feels so good…” - “is that so ?” another noise escapes his mouth as you speed up your rhythm. “can i cum ? please… i wanna c-'' he's interrupted by yet another whimper and you just smile at seeing him so desperate, his hands gripping your thighs for support even if he’s not allowed to touch you. “well, do it but just know i’m not finished playing with you.” - “ah ! thank you, thank you !”

[sarahscribbles]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟑.𝟔𝐤

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐀𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧; 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧; 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You desperately try to reassure yourself that it’s a trick of the light. The Sakaarian bathroom is so cavernous and so blindingly white that, for the shortest of seconds, you’re almost able to believe it.

Almost. 

But, the more you twist in front of the garishly ornate mirror, the harder it is to fight the truth that you look every inch the escort that Loki had believed you were. It’s been half an hour since you locked yourself away in the bathroom - or so you think - but in that time you’ve failed to summon even a modicum of modesty. 

Modesty. It’s one word you’re certain the Grandmaster is unfamiliar with. 

Your hair and make up - the only parts of your appearance that you have control over - are subtle and understated. You might even go so far as to say you look elegant, but the slip of bright fabric that’s supposed to be a dress makes it impossible. The golden train flowing from the back is voluminous and almost pretty, but the hem at the front barely reaches your knees and doesn’t move no matter how hard you tug. Neither does the gaping neckline budge even an inch to cover your chest. 

Hot tears of humiliation begin to prick at your eyes and you feel your lip wobble. You feel exposed, like the Grandmaster is making you parade around his planet naked. Your body is on display for him and all his sick little friends to leet at, and you know they will leer.

And because you rely on the Grandmaster’s good graces for survival - you’ve been here long enough now to hear talk of his Champion - you’ll have no choice but to let them leer. 

Not attending the soiree isn’t an option. Tonight, you’re the Grandmaster’s little whore. 

The irony of the situation isn’t lost on you. Countless times you had taunted and mocked Loki about being the Grandmaster’s pet, but, dressed as you are, it’s painfully obvious to anyone who looks your way tonight that you’re nothing but his toy. 

It’s that solitary thought that makes your stomach churn. What if the Grandmaster insists that you return to his rooms tonight? Loki may have gone willingly, but you’d rather die than have that man’s hands anywhere near you. 

You make one last attempt at tugging the hem of your dress. You know it isn’t going to budge, but a quiet cry of frustration leaves your lips before you can stop it. It’s nearing an hour since you locked yourself away in here; long enough, you hope, that Loki will be long gone when you emerge. It would be nothing short of humiliating for him to see you like this - dressed in little more than the Vanir whores wear in the city brothels. 

You pray and hope and pray some more that he’s long since left the Penthouse. Let anyone but him be witness to your humiliation. 

But, when you eventually do pull open the heavy door to peer out, your heart drops right to your stomach when you see him preening himself in front of the mirror. 

Vain little peacock.

His eyes flick up to catch yours in the mirror, and your lip instinctively curls in a sneer while his rises in a smirk. “My, don’t you look like quite the little whore,” he says smoothly while turning around to face you. “Should I vacate the rooms tonight? Or do you prefer to spend the night in your customers chambers?” 

He picks up his martini glass from the side in one elegant sweep, and you instantly make it shatter in his hand before he can raise it to his lips. His sharp hiss of pain is satisfying, and you feel a faint glow of pride at how the liquid has lightly stained his leather, but it does nothing to cool the hot humiliation burning through your blood. 

“It’s adorable how you think you’d be sleeping here tonight. I imagine the Grandmaster likes to play with his toys to finish off a night of revelry, and is there really any need to ask who kneels for whom?” you bite back scathingly, watching his lip curl in anger. “Tell me, Loki, does he make you beg?”

You catch the immediate lift of his chin and the subtle flex of his fingers by his side. His eyes glint dangerous as they bore into yours, like tiny fires on the Vanir hills at Yule, but he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t so much as spit a curse in your direction.

The silence is more frightening than any outburst and you know instantly that you’ve struck a nerve.

Loki takes one step forward, to which you instinctively take one back. He notices - of course he notices - and you see the corners of his mouth twitch in a smirk of victory. “You might want to be careful, Princess. Who’s to say I won’t beg the Grandmaster to allow you to meet his Champion?” he says slowly, each word dripping with venom.

You’ve yet to meet the Grandmaster’s Champion - few have - but the whispered stories of gruesome injuries and painful deaths has the blood in your veins run cold. What chance would you have against such a beast? You, a princess with no warrior training and limited magical prowess. You wouldn’t last ten minutes in the arena. 

It’s something Loki knows all too well. It’s the one thing he knows with unwavering certainty that he can hold over you. 

You fight to prevent the fear from showing on your face. The locket around your neck is almost burning your collarbone, but you will yourself to focus on the piece of your mother’s magic that’s safely locked inside. 

This locket will guide you home.

Her voice fills your memory. It centres you and, for the briefest of moments, you’re back in Vanaheim and tucked in her warm embrace. 

All until a sneering, mocking voice breaks through the fog. 

“Nothing to say now?” Loki taunts, easily reading the fear that’s pulled your body taut. “Pathetic little girl.”

Something hot coils in the pit of your stomach, like a serpent ready to strike, but before you can draw enough breath to spit venom, he’s roughly pushing past you to pull open the Penthouse doors. 

You’re disgusted by how the echoing bang makes you jump. 

The Grandmaster’s soiree holds none of the subtle elegance that the word typically calls to mind. It’s raucous and gaudy and the trilling noise that’s supposed to be music is like nothing you’ve ever heard. 

It’s not Vanaheim, and it’s that simple fact that makes another wave of homesickness roll over you. Not for the remnants of the family you’ve been plucked from, but for the soft beauty of the Vanir hills as they rose above each window in the palace; for the lush green fields and quiet gurgle of the rivers in the distance; for the laughter of your friends as you attended the seasons fete. 

There’s none of that beauty here. 

Everything about Sakaar is gaudy to the point of being unnatural, right down to the electric coloured liquid that’s still sitting untouched in your martini glass. In spite of the overpowering urge to drink enough that you forget about being stuck on this Hel of a planet, you can’t bring yourself to drink whatever was pushed into your hand the moment you walked through the door. 

It could be laced with poison for all you know. 

Although, with the way you’ve been ogled since you arrived, perhaps it would bring a blessed end to your humiliation. You pull absentmindedly at the hem of your dress again and try to ignore the burning stare of the man sitting directly across from the bar. He’s been watching since you arrived, taking some kind of sick pleasure in your obvious discomfort, and, when you happen to catch his eye this time, he winks lewdly and gives a subtle thrust of his hips. 

Revolting. 

You make a face of obvious disgust and turn to lean on the bar. At least, with the ridiculous golden train at your back, his view is mercifully obstructed. You finally find the courage to take a sip from your glass, finding that the sweet taste of whatever is inside is surprisingly tolerable. Perhaps you can hide at the bar for the night and watch everything unfold. Surely someone will get drunk enough to tell you the best way to escape.

Your eyes lazily roam the room until they find Loki holding court from one of the canary yellow sofas by the window. A glass of purple liquid is held precariously in one hand while the other is resting around the waist of some pretty little thing perched on his knee. The way she’s gazing at him with those big doe eyes makes you snort and take another swig from your glass. The vapid little thing likely has no idea she’s little more than a toy for him to relieve his frustrations. A man like that isn’t capable of genuine emotion. 

Still, though, you find you can’t look away. You’ve grown so used to the coldness and hostility that seeing this man smile and laugh so openly feels like witnessing something you shouldn’t. He’s all bright eyes and pink cheeks. You might actually say that he looks handsome. 

Evidently, whatever is in your drink is strong.

You finish it quickly, followed by a second and a third, all while keeping your gaze trained on Loki. It isn’t intentional, you’ve just never had the chance to properly study him until now. You see how his eyes flick subtly to his audience after each sentence, like he’s looking for their approval and acceptance, and only when those around him begin to laugh does he commit to his own. 

His performance intrigues you the longer you watch - because you’ve found you can’t stop watching him. It’s so wildly contrasting to the man you share a living space with that you begin to wonder which is the mask and which is the real him. 

Not that you care enough to find out. 

“I’d stay away from that disaster, Princess.” A familiar smooth voice purrs lazily at your side. 

It’s impossible to ignore how your heart stutters momentarily in your chest when you realise it’s Scrapper. She’s nursing a half empty tankard of ale while leaning over the bartop, and you catch the way her fiery eyes run over you from head to toe in your ridiculous dress. You brace for the mockery that’s sure to come, but, instead, the corner of her mouth lifts in a suggestive half smirk. 

Molten heat quickly explodes beneath your made up cheeks. 

You attempt to hide it by scoffing into your drink. “Believe me, I wish I could.” 

Scrapper hums quietly in agreement. “He doesn’t strike me as the most agreeable roommate,” she muses aloud, but her eyes stray to where Loki is now lavishing attention on the girl in his lap. “Then again, what do I know?”

Something in her voice makes you perk up, and with the Sakaarian alcohol in your system making you brave, you can’t help but taunt her. “Jealous?”

Scrapper snorts loudly. “Not of her,” she says simply and takes another long swig from her tankard.

Your brows furrow. Not of…?

Oh. 

Oh.

“He’s absolutely loathsome!” You swiftly force the words out, vainly hoping for a distraction from the ball of excitement that’s started to fizz deep in your stomach. You shouldn’t be attracted to her, to this woman who dragged you before the Grandmaster as though you were nothing but chattel. 

You shouldn’t be, yet you’re already feasting on the memory of her warm skin against yours.

Scrapper slams her drink down so forcefully that you wince and watch the amber liquid slosh along the sides. Evidently, there’s no love lost between her and Loki, and it briefly makes you wonder about their history. 

“He is, but he’s the Grandmaster’s favourite. No one can touch him.” She turns to you then, and her usually guarded eyes are heavy with warning. “Be careful.” 

The faint note of anxiety in her voice propels Loki’s earlier threat to the forefront of your mind. 

“Who’s to say I won’t beg the Grandmaster to allow you to meet his Champion?”

At the time, you had thought it nothing more than a jibe; a snarky retort in the face of your taunting. Now, though, it doesn’t feel like such an empty threat. 

Anxiety rolls over you like a wave on a rocky sea. You focus intently on the glass in front of you, running your index finger furiously around the rim until it begins to hum. A vain little peacock he may be, but you’d put your life on Loki’s ability to fight - and to fight well.

You, though, have no such advantage. Not even your magic would hold up against this Champion. You’d be foolish to even try. 

“He threatened me with the Grandmaster’s Champion earlier. Said he could easily arrange an introduction.” You find yourself telling Scrapper, but why you aren’t sure. 

Perhaps it’s because of the genuine fear rolling in your stomach or the alcohol that’s lacing your system and lowering your inhibitions. What you do know is that this woman to your right isn’t the same one that dragged you through a junkyard and presented you to the Grandmaster as chattel. This Scrapper is still undoubtedly fierce, but she’s somehow softer around the edges. You don’t trust her - and you know she doesn’t trust you - but there’s something in the air that’s linking you both together. 

Likely, your shared hatred of the Grandmaster’s little pet.

Scrapper mutters something in a language you don’t understand, but from her tone of voice it doesn’t sound amiable, and it’s swiftly followed with “I’ll train you myself if that’s ever the case. 

It’s an answer so unexpected that, for a moment, you’re stunned into silence. A wave of your anxiety recoils and you actually find yourself smiling. “It seems I’ve grown on you,” you eventually tease her. 

Scrapper laughs and downs the remainder of her drink in one swig. “Don’t flatter yourself, Princess. I’d do just about anything to wipe that smug little smirk off his face,” she says and glares at Loki still sitting on the other side of the room. 

The blue liquid in your glass rises precariously to the top as you tip it towards her in a half toast. “As would I. Perhaps I’ll rise in your favour when I tell you the first thing I did upon meeting him was blast him halfway across the Penthouse. There was no smugness when he was lying in a crumpled heap at my feet.”

A rush of pride rushes through you when she laughs - this time loudly and so earnestly that it fully reaches her eyes. “We’re certainly not friends, but I respect you a little more, Princess,” she says eventually, her voice returning to that familiar purr. 

Scrapper doesn’t take her eyes off you as she raises a toned arm to grab the attention of the colourful man behind the bar, signalling with a subtle flex of her fingers to bring another tray of drinks. 

You don’t object to the alcohol, and neither do you object when, a few hours later, she locks her warm hand around your wrist and drags you from the bar. This woman could be leading you to your death, but you still trail happily along in her wake, close to giddy with the potent mixture of Sakaarian alcohol and her skin touching yours. 

Scrapper leads you to a cloakroom of sorts, though it looks more sterile than any cloakroom you’ve seen on Vanaheim. It’s a mess of coats, cloaks, and other bits of fabric in a kaleidoscope of colours, and suddenly you don’t feel as out of place in your ridiculous dress. 

“This is cosy,” Scrapper says quietly, and you see her run her eyes slowly over your figure once more. 

The alcohol you’ve consumed makes everything feel light and bubbly like champagne. It’s blanketed you in a comforting warmth and made you bolder than you’ve ever been in your life. 

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you reply in a conspiratorial whisper, giving Scrapper what you know to be a lopsided smile. 

She raises her chin and gives you that same knowing smirk that makes your stomach somersault. “Would you let me seduce you?”

She’s still holding your wrist and uses it to guide you back against the cloakroom wall. She isn’t much taller than you, yet it still feels like she’s gazing down at you. Her eyes are blazing and you find you don’t care if it’s because of the alcohol. 

How could anyone turn down this woman’s advances? 

“Yes,” you answer, and your heart rate spikes the second the word has left your lips. 

Her smirk grows and she moves her body closer to yours. It’s firm and toned beneath her armour, something that reassures you deep in the back of your mind. You can feel the heat radiating off her, and when she reaches out a hand to grip your chin between her thumb and forefinger, your knees instantly turn to jelly.

“Good,” she murmurs, running her thumb along your bottom lip. “Then why don’t we pretend that we like each other, hmm?” 

You feel her fingers ghost over the exposed skin of your thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake and alighting a fire in your blood. Your breath stutters and you involuntarily spread your legs, hungry for her closeness. 

“Yes,” you say again because it’s the only word your frazzled brain is capable of forming.

Scrapper doesn’t hesitate and curls her hand around the base of your skull, pulling you in firmly until her lips are on yours. It’s rough and dominating and, when her tongue traces the seam of your lips, you swear your knees are going to buckle. 

She presses her body firmly against yours, resting her free hand on your hip while yours are locked around her waist. Her kiss has lit a roaring fire deep within you, and when her teeth nip at your bottom lip, you can’t quiet the groan that rumbles in your chest. 

You feel her smirk against your mouth and her hand on your hip squeezes down. “Aren’t you a surprise?” she murmurs, sounding slightly breathless. “I wonder what other little secrets you’re keeping, Princess?” She twists a hand into your hair and tugs.

The moan you release is guttural and the inferno burning in your core is close to swallowing you whole, but you barely have time to breath before Scrapper is greedily pulling you back in.

You don’t know how long she keeps you pressed against the cloakroom wall - and, frankly, you don’t care - but when she breaks apart, you fight the urge to whine. 

“No pouting,” she teases and twists her fingers with yours. “I only thought you might wish to go somewhere more private?”

The emphasis on the last word sends you dizzy and has you itching to squeeze your thighs together to relieve some of the ache. 

“Lead the way.”

The soiree is only beginning to die down when you finally wander back through from Scrapper’s rooms. A few women with the tallest hairstyles you’ve ever seen are still dancing to the strange music, and the Grandmaster is still loudly entertaining a handful of guests in the far corner of the room. 

You think you can successfully creep out and find your way back to the Penthouse - even though you’re still giddy and slightly flustered - but then you see him. 

Loki. 

In a testament to how happily intoxicated you are, your first thought isn’t how much you want to blast him through the windows, despite how your mother’s locket is building heat for the first time since your argument. 

An infuriatingly smug smirk curls across his face as he takes you in from head to toe. “Plenty of happy customers?” he taunts you, still holding a martini between those elegant fingers. 

“Mmm, I might ask you the same thing, though I imagine yours have little choice in the matter,” you say before the gravity of your words fully registers in your mind. 

Almost in slow motion you watch the smirk leave Loki’s face and he grips your arm so hard that you hiss in pain. “I would never take something that wasn’t freely offered!” he spits, and you see the dangerous light return to his eyes again. 

You hold his gaze, barely blinking as you search those green eyes. He’s telling the truth. In that respect, you’re safe. Inhaling quietly, you pull yourself to your full height before him, hiding your surprise when he releases your arm without further prompting. 

“That was completely out of line and I apologise. I’ve had too much to drink this evening,” you say, hoping he can hear the sincerity in your voice behind the many glasses of Sakaarian Dream you’ve downed. 

For a second, Loki does nothing, but he eventually offers you a curt nod. It’s the most civilised you’ve been to each other since you arrived. 

You gaze at him for a second longer, and words that were only meant to be thoughts bubble from between your lips. “You know, if you weren’t such an ass, I would actually say that you’re rather pretty.” 

You give no further thought to the words you’ve just uttered, even with the open look of confusion that Loki has adopted. With a final lazy glance around the large room, you turn somewhat clumsily in the direction of the elevator to the Penthouse, feeling Loki’s heavy gaze on your back the entire way.

[ghcstao3]

If I were to portray someone unbelievably pathetic and without any hope, would you give me another part of your #anyway mildly supernatural au?

I'll get down on my knees and pray to any god you want.

Just please give me more please.

do not even Fret i would have written more for absolutely nothing in return anyway because i just love writing AUs so much (if you could not already tell)

fun fact this is version 2.0 of what i wanted to write because tumblr didn’t save a draft and i lost everything 🫶 not edited

-

So much and so little time feel like they’ve passed simultaneously as John waits out the rain with Simon—and oddly enough, not once has he seen the bottom of his styrofoam cup of coffee in spite of the plentiful sips he’s certain he’s taken.

In any case.

He and Simon chat aimlessly to fill the minutes, hours, whatever it’s been—something just beyond small talk, though not by much. Not until Simon decides to face John with a rather puzzling question.

“So, then, what brings you here?”

John furrows his brow. “My car broke down,” he says slowly. He can’t help the confusion and tinge of curiosity that melt into his voice, nor can he help wondering why Simon would ask for an answer he already knows.

Yet Simon shakes his head. “No—what brings you here?”

A frown tugs at John’s lips, his eyebrows drawing ever closer. “Dinnae ken.” He shrugs helplessly, tries a different reply, “A road trip?”

Simon hums only as acknowledgment. It’s clear in the way he narrows his eyes and scrutinizes John’s face that it’s still not the answer he’s looking for.

“You’re lost,” Simon concludes.

John scoffs. “Am no’!” He exclaims, frustration laced in his tone as he folds his arms almost defensively across his chest. “I was followin’ a GPS!”

“You are,” Simon insists. “Just not in the way you think.”

With a huff, John drops his arms, instead reaching to curl his fingers back around the still-warm cup of coffee. His frown deepens. “How do you mean?”

Simon tilts his head, gaze ever-analytic. “You’re lucky,” he replies cryptically. “Or unlucky, depending on how you choose to look at it. Not many humans manage to get here.”

Now John is beyond confused. Of course, Simon had been all sorts of vague and avoidant throughout their interactions, but this? John is beginning to think this man might not be all… there.

“Human…?” John swallows. He shifts his weight between weary feet. “Why would I be anything but?”

Simon takes a step away from the counter, rounds past John only to stop at the large window looking out into a small, crumbling lot and the forest beyond the road, all blurred by heavy rain. John realizes with a start that he hadn’t really seen Simon move before that—hadn’t seen deliberate steps, the way he almost glides across the space; graceful, soundless.

It’s almost—dare John say—supernatural.

“Well, you see, Johnny,” Simon says with a mild air of amusement, and John has barely any time to process that Simon knows his name despite it never having been given as he continues, “there’s often a lot more than meets the eye in this world we live in. It just appears you’ve looked in the right place for once.”

“I don’t understand.”

Simon turns back to him, then, the glint in his eyes that same hint of unnatural as his movements. They flash, a glare almost like that of a cat’s in the dark of night.

“I don’t expect you to.”

Simon looks away from John again, a broad figure against the pale grey light that filters inside. John’s heart stutters even as he willingly brings himself closer to Simon.

“The rain will stop soon,” Simon states disinterestedly. It hardly appears like the storm would let up any time soon—the sky is still stained with dark and angry clouds—but Simon says it with such unimpressed, unwavering confidence that John thinks he may as well believe him.

“Will it?” John challenges anyway.

Simon shrugs. “Not unless you don’t want it to.”

John huffs out a quiet laugh. As strange as Simon and everything he’s said is, and as much as John has questioned everything else, he decides he’ll humour the man.

“Maybe just a bit longer, then.”

After all, John hasn’t hated lingering in the store. No harm in indulging in such silly thoughts as controlling the weather.

Simon nods. The corners of his eyes pull upward as if he’s smiling beneath the mask he’s still refused to remove. Briefly, John wonders what other things Simon may be hiding beneath it.

Simon concurs, “Then so it is.”

[the1975attheirverybest]

Being Funny In A Foreign Language

Chapter 10- When We Are Together

A/N: the VERY LAST FINAL CHAPTER is here. I hope you like it! Feedback is appreciated and encouraged. Thank you so much to everyone who has read and provided feedback on the chapters of this fic. It was fun to write. Yall made it fun.

Warnings: kink. Smut. A single mention of ADHD. A single mention of addiction recovery.

——

Even though she knew that it was physically impossible, Amelia swore she’d developed superhuman hearing to be able to hear Matty’s conversation with the tall, beautiful blonde woman across the bar. Even over the ambient chatter of the place, it was obvious that the two were flirting. That much she didn’t need to hear. She knew, from experience, how smooth and charming Matty could be when he really wanted to. Not that he had to try, really. Looking the way he does, in the all black outfit, especially that leather jacket he had on, anyone with a pulse would want him.

After what felt like an inappropriately long time, Matty finally meandered back over to the table, his refilled drink in hand, sliding back into the conversation with George that they’d put on hold earlier. Amelia couldn’t believe that he didn’t even bother to look her way of explain his delayed return. She tried to let it go. And she would’ve succeeded, if it weren’t for the fact that the fabulous blonde suddenly approached their table, leaning into Matty’s seat to whisper something into his ear. Amelia tried to employ her super hearing abilities but all she could hear was Matty’s giggle as the woman touched his arm. She almost walked away, but then she looked at Matty again, smiling,

“Do you have a girlfriend, Matty?”

Matty’s smile slowly faded as the question set in. He turned to Amelia, shooting her an apprehensive look. Her eyes darting away, she stirred her drink with its straw, pretending that she hadn’t just been eavesdropping with every fiber of her being.

“Erm….no.” Matty looked up at his new blonde friend, “ I don’t have a girlfriend….it seems.”

The woman said something about how shocking it is that a man like him wasn’t already in a relationship. “Guess it must be my lucky day.” She grabbed his phone off the table, putting her number in. “You should text me sometime.”

Underneath the table, Amelia’s hands itched to get a hold of Matty’s body. His admirer was hardly gone before she had the idea to get back at him by running the tip of her shoe along his leg. He jolted at the surprise sensation at first, confused, assuming she’d accidentally bumped her leg into his, he brushed it off. But as Amelia got bolder, her leg moved further up his body, stopping at the knee a few times. She could see him glancing over at her out of the corner of his eye. He was beginning to catch on. Spurred on by his continued composure, she hiked her foot up higher, first onto his thigh, then, finally, onto his groin. It was a subtle maneuver. Risky. She had to lean forwards, resting her arms on the table to scoot forwards and reach him. Any abrupt motions and it would be obvious that something was going on with her legs. So it required finesse. A level of calm that she had no idea she could muster. Jealousy really is a powerful thing.

She was entertained by the way that Matty’s hands gripped the edges of table until his knuckles had turned white. The coy smile of acknowledgement he’d flashed her earlier had disappeared. He sipped on his drink to distract himself, but the more she rubbed him, the harder it got for him. In more ways than one.

“Night Mark! See you in the morning!” She bid him goodnight sweetly. The wholesome smile dropped from her face as soon as Mark’s door clicked shut. She pushed Matty up against the wall, in the middle of the hallway, her hands, at long last, all over him.

Matty willingly allowed himself to be handled by her in whichever way she liked, his body moving in sync with hers. He rested his back against the wall, eagerly parted his lips, let her bite and nip at them, moaning and whining into the kiss. Vying for more control, she brought her hands up to his face, fixing him in place as the kiss grew longer, needier. When she pulled away from him, it was aggressive, like tearing flesh away, the suddenness left Matty breathing audibly, hungry for more, reeling at the loss of her body overpowering his. He felt lighter without her chest pressing into his, constricting the air in his lungs, and he didn’t enjoy the newfound lightness. He found it overwhelming. Like a piece of paper without a paperweight, blowing in the wind, his knees bent slightly before he regained balance.

They barely made it a few steps down the hallway before Matty found himself pinned against the wall again. This time, Amelia’s hands were around his neck, her hips pushing against his, a knee dangerously close to his groin.

Shamelessly, Matty pushed his hips into hers, rubbing against the edge of her knee for some friction.

She gasped when she noticed what he was up to, stopping her kissing and backing off of him. “Tsk tsk tsk. Matty! Are you already- Jesus Christ, you impatient little- what do you think you’re doing here, hmm?”

Matty smiled, a wide, toothy smile.

“Oh, you better believe I’m about to wipe that smug look off your face in a few moments. Room

Key?”

He pulled the key out of his pocket, grabbing her hand and rushing them both towards the room.

“On your hands and knees, c’mon.” Amelia pointed with the cane to the spot where she wanted Matty positioned.

“Okay, but- but- erm before you- hit me, can I just say I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would bother you.” Matty proceeded to kneel and get on all fours, in nothing but his underwear, as he spoke.

“What?! How dumb to you think I am? You’re going with that as an excuse???”

“Genuine! I- didn’t want to be presumptuous. You didn’t seem particularly bothered by-“

“You’ve got to be fuckin kidding me.” Amelia laughed in disbelief.

“I’m not kidding-“

“Enough out of you! Lose the underwear. I want nothing separating between you and this cane.”

“Fuck.” He shivered, “this is going to hurt.” He mumbled under his breath. But Amelia heard it.

“Would you rather I use the belt? Flogger? What hurts most?”

“Cane hurts most.”

“Cane it is, then.”

Amelia raised the cane in the air, but before she could swing it back down over him, Matty interrupted.

“Erm- I am- to count out each hit?”

“Right. Yes.”

“Okay.” His head dropped.

“You know the rules, yes?”

“Mhm. Count them out. Say thank you after each time, and tap out if I need it.”

“Exactly.”

He glanced over his shoulder “I really am sorry.”

Which prompt her to sling the cane and hit him instantly. The surprise of it made the pain even worse she literally heard the moment that the pain knocked the wind out of his lungs, muting his scream.

He took a moment to breathe, and then with a shaky voice. He started to count. “One. Thank you. Please- m- May I have another?”

“Straighten your back, Matty.” She demanded.

“Right. S-sorry.”

“Quit saying that!” She brought the cane down on him again. Tears quickly pooled in the corners of his eyes.

By the tenth strike, Matty was crying. By the twentieth, she’d had asked, “who do you belong to? That woman at the bar? Any random girl that pays you any attention?”

He shook his head, unable to stop the tears long enough to answer.

By the thirtieth hit, Matty was out of it, deep in subspace, head full of pain and pleasure, he’d long lost count. Instead, he had, for some inexplicable reason, taken to repeatedly whimpering “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.” Over and over again.

When her own arm began to hurt, Amelia dropped the cane, her anger disappearing with it, she hurried over to Matty’s body, which had collapsed into a mess on the floor as soon as she’d stopped.

“Hey, hey, Matty? Eyes on me, babe.”

Relieved to see him attempting a smile, she kissed his forehead gently, then helped him sit up. “You good to keep going?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Good. Cuz I’m going to fuck you into submission.”

“Open up for me.” The dildo strapped to Amelia’s waist rested against his lips. Hesitantly, Matty opened his mouth and took it in. Bit by bit, at first, adjusting to its size, then, when Amelia felt comfortable that he was ready, she held him by the back of the head, and thrusted completely into his mouth, getting closer and closer, with each push, to reaching the back of his throat.

Matty moved his head, sucking in, his cheeks hollowed, his tongue moving around the you in his mouth. His breathing shortened but Amelia wouldn’t allow him any relief, even as he was gagging, drool dripping down his chin, eyes watering, she kept him there, admiring the dazed look in his eyes as he stared up at her, unflinchingly, as if to show her with his gaze, how good he was being.

Matty coughed and heaved as Amelia pulled away gently patting his back? Urging him to get into position. He wiped his own saliva off his face with the back of his arm before crawling on his knees to the top of the bed, lying on his stomach.

“Hold on. Need a pillow or something under your waist.” She slid a pillow under him to prop him up and protect his back from any extra pressure and Matty, in his subservient state, thought the gesture was the kindest thing in the world. Smiling and melting into the bed, he whispered “thank you. So much.”

He felt the cold sensation of the bit of lube that Amelia had applied to his skin, pushing a finger into his hole to make sure he was relaxed and ready, then an immense pressure. He moaned as she pushed into him, the feeling overwhelming. Slowly and carefully, Amelia slid all the way in and began to thrust, listening to him mumble unintelligibly.

“Oh- my- fuck…so. Fuckin. Tight.” He winced every time that anything came into contact with the fresh cane welts on his ass, pain mixing with pleasure. Just what he needed to overwhelm and shut down his brain.

“Tell me, Matty, who do you belong to?”

“You. Oh. My. God. I- I belong to- to you. I’m all yours. No one else’s” he rambled on.

“Who owns this ass?”

“Fuck!!! Ah- feels so good…”

Realizing that he was a bit too lost in pleasure, she slapped his injured ass causing him to scream. “I asked you a question. Who owns this ass? Who owns your pleasure, hmm? Tell me.”

“Oh godddd. You do! You. Always you. Nobody else makes me feel like you do. I- ahhhh…don’t care how many girls try…how may women I see around me- it’s always been you. I’ve belonged to you even before I knew it.”

His broken answer satisfied her, putting out the fire within. She smiled down at his supple body, her heart warming at the sight.

“That’s right. It’s just you and me. No one else.” She stated, more for herself than for Matty who had already surrendered his whole being to her.

“A- Amelia? It feels - too good. I- am so close.”

Hearing that, she became determined to take him over the edge. “Oh yeah? Better brace yourself then baby.”

She thrusted into him, harder and faster. His moaning turned to crying, and then screaming.

“Cum for me, Matty. Let go. You’ve earned it.”

She tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, looking into his eyes. “What is it?” She whispered, kissing him.

“Hmm?”

“You look like you wanna say something. What’s on your mind?”

Matty’s eyes darted away. “Well, I just- I want to apologize about the girl in the bar.”

“You don’t have to. It’s over now. You’ve redeemed yourself.”

“No, I know. And- don’t get me wrong, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Genuinely. But-“

Amelia’s brows furrowed. “But what?”

“be fair, we never actually said anything about- I mean…a- are we in a relationship? Are we going out? Like, dating?”

Amelia stuttered, finding herself speechless. She couldn’t believe that he even had to ask. Though, strictly speaking, he was right. There was never a conversation. But only because she’d assumed that there didn’t need to be one. That it was obvious.

“Am I your boyfriend, Amelia?” He smiled, hopeful, at the sound of his own words. “Is that what I am? Cuz I quite like the sound of that.” He giggled.

“Yes, Matty.” she rolled her eyes, faking annoyance. “You are my boyfriend.”

“Hold on! If I’m your boyfriend….that makes you…??”

She shook her head, “that makes me your girlfriend, yes.”

Matty couldn’t help the smile that lit up his whole face. “How cool is that? Hello, yes, this is my girlfriend, Amelia.” He laughed “everybody give it up for my girlfriend.”

“What-“

“My girlfriend is here tonight. There she is, shout out to her what a beautiful-“

“Are you…practicing for live shows? Right now? In the middle of-“

“She’s looking beautiful tonight don’t you guys think? Look at her- oh wow. I’d you’ll excuse me. Think I’m gonna kiss her now.” He leaned in, locking their lips together.

***

Matty heard her spring to her feet, as soon as he walked through the door even before he could see her.

“Hi. You’re back.” She rushed over to him. “So? What’d the doctors say? Do they know what’s wrong?”

“Well-“

“Did they write you a prescription for anything? Do they think you’ll feel better soon?”

Matty squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his temples. He could feel the onset of a throbbing headache.

“Amelia, please. Calm down. You’re suffocating me.”

Seeing the way that her face dropped in response made him instantly regret his words.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it.” He said softly, extending his hand out for her to take it and pulling her to the bed with him. He throw himself onto it, with Amelia standing in the space between his legs, still holding hands.

“So…” he sighed loudly. “They said it’s definitely the mental illness.”

“Good! That’s good right!” She caught herself being her enthusiastic and tried to hold back.

“Yeah, I mean, the upside of that is- soon as I get that shit under control, everything else goes back to normal. Well, you know. As normal as can be for someone who’s a little bit fucked up.”

This time, Amelia managed to hold her tongue. Smiling and nodding along.

“The thing is, finding the right medicine can be a while.”

“Yeah! I looked into it and I read that- sorry. Sorry. You talk. I’ll listen.”

“No; it’s just….on top of that being a general challenge for everyone, well, recovering addicts like myself are generally advised to steer away from certain pills. And then there’s the ADHD….and finding the right dose or whatever. It’s a whole fuckin thing. Gives me a headache if I’m being honest with you.” He was ready to change the subject. “Just…whatever. Can we do the kissing now?”

“Matty! This is good. You’re doing the responsible thing.”

He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her waist, “I know.” They kissed. “And I have you to thank for that.” Matty paused again for another quick kiss. “You- make me a better person. You make it feel like there’s a version of life where maybe I get to feel better.” This time, it was Amelia who leaned in for a kiss. “But I really don’t wanna talk about this boring shit. Makes me feel unsexy and old and broken. Let’s…be young and alive. Let’s fuck! Over and over again.”

***

Louis looked at his brother, incredulous. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.” He pulled out the ring box from his pocket placing it, carefully, into Matty’s open palm.

Matty’s heart skipped a beat at the feeling over the velvet container in his hand. He popped it open, hardly believing his eyes. “It’s just like I remember it. Only smaller.”

“I know. Always looked bigger on nana’s finger.”

Matty tore his eyes away from the ring to look at his brother. “Louis, I think it’s us who were smaller.” Cautiously, he snapped the box shut.

“I can’t believe you’re marrying Amelia!” Louis nudged him with his elbow, giggling uncontrollably.

“Well, I haven’t asked her yet. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Right! Have you decided about how you’re gonna do it?”

“Yeah, the boys are helping. I think-“ Matty smiled as the realization hit him. He was talking about proposing. To Amelia. Changing both of their lives. He blushed, giggling softly.

“Well??! Go on! What’s the plan?” His brother stared at him, impatient.

“Right. Yes. I’m taking her on our first official, like, ‘date.’ Her favorite restaurant. And, while we’re out of the house,” Matty’s heartbeat pounded stronger as he spoke. Visualizing the moment in his mind with a smile

On his face. “The guys are going to get in there and arrange the flowers and candles. Hand picked by mum of course. Then I’ll let them know to get the fuck out of there before we get back. And I’ll just…do it as soon as we walk in.”

***

“Sir?” The waiter raised a single eyebrow, hoping the heavy pause was enough to nudge Matty into politeness.

“Sorry, mate. Just 10 more minutes? She’ll be here! Any second now.”

“Apologies sir, but- we’ve got reservations…”

“Look, look! She’s texted!” Matty pulled out his his phone. He did, indeed, just receive a text from Amelia.

Please don’t hate me. I’m so sorry. I can’t come. Working all night. They hated all the designs I showed them and the deadline is Thursday.

We’ll have our first date someday….soon. Dont wait up for me, I’ve got my own keys. Love you.

Matty felt his heart shatter in his chest. He stood up from his chair. “Well. I guess you get your fuckin table - sorry. Shouldn’t swear in this fine dining establishment….im goin home. Tables free.”

As he walked to the train station, he texted the boys to undo their work, recollect everything, and leave.

***

“Well, so, what’s the plan now?” George asked, handing Matty a drink.

“He chooses another day and we start over, obviously.” Adam chimed in; he received a supporting nod from Louis.

“I don’t know…this feels…wrong.”

“What does?” Ross muted the tv that had been murmuring in the background, and leaned closer.

“It feels like bad luck to just….re-light the candles and re-scatter flower petals.”

“So?? Buy new ONES MATTY!” Louis had clearly gotten slightly too invested in this proposal plan, the thrill of being the ring delivery man getting to his head.

“What if I just picked a new plan? An island getaway. Like over the weekend or something. After this- this design she’s working on is finished, she’s going to need a break anyway. A beach proposal would be nice?”

“Shall I find some options? Islands and hotels?” Louis pulled out his phone, and without waiting for confirmation from Matty, began digging.

“So….what’re we going to do with the several million tons of flowers that you’ve ordered?” George asked, pointing to the giant pile of flowers in the middle of the room.

“Well you obviously can’t leave them here. I can’t let Amelia see them. Take them home. You each give some to your partners or something. Take them to DH. or find a grandmothers grave or something. I don’t fuckin know. Just- get them outta here.”

***

“Thank you, honey.” Amelia whispered as Matty brought her some coffee in bed, kissing her forehead before climbing back under the duvet to sit next to her.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in” she spoke into her mug, taking the first sip. “I’m so looking forward to work slowing down a bit. This week was mental!”

Matty couldn’t help the involuntary smile that always took over his face whenever he heard her voice, saw her face, or was in her presence. Even disheveled and tired, morning breath and all, she was the most perfect woman he’d ever seen.

“Speaking of rest. What do you say to a quick trip somewhere. Maybe the weekend? We could extend our stay if you fancied. But just a few days off the grid. Reckon it’d do you some good. No work. No email. No indecisive clients changing their minds at worst possible time?”

Amelia squealed excitedly, setting her coffee down on the nightstand to avoid spilling it. “Ooo what’d you have in mind?”

“I was thinking…somewhere warm? A beach maybe?”

“Oh.”

Her lackluster response confused Matty.

“What? You don’t like the idea?”

“It’s- just….beaches need warm weather. It’s the dead of winter.”

“I’m sure we could find someplace warm. We’re not limited by geography. We could go anywhere!”

She bit her lower lip, avoiding his eyes.

“You don’t look enthused.”

She cocked her head, somewhat embarrassed. “I appreciate the idea. I really do. You’re so sweet to think of this. But- well- international travel- you’re always on tour and I- it’s just stressful !”

A strange sense of doom began to set in Matty’s heart. But he was careful not to let any of it seep out to Amelia, keeping a smile on his face.

“Alright. That’s okay. We’ll find something else to do-“

“I’m sorry! You were trying to be sweet and romantic and I’m such a downer!” Amelia leaned into him, clinging to his chest guilty and desperate.

“Don’t be sorry. This- this was meant to be for you. So, if going somewhere far away stresses you out, then what’s the point of doing it. We’ll just do something else. It’s fine.” He kissed her head, throwing his arm around her. “Whatever you like. Where would you like to go?”

“Honestly? Nowhere. Just wanna be here. With you. Our bed is perfect.”

“Well, then, there’s no place else I’d rather be.”

Matty sighed, making a mental note to inform Louis that Plan B was a no-go as well.

***

“We should get a puppy.” Matty said from the other side of the couch, a joint between his fingers.

“Pardon?” She giggled, setting her book down and crossing her legs.

“Puppy. You and me. It’d be great, don’t you think?”

“Matty, need I remind you of the dogs you’ve attempted to own? And how they’ve all ended up in other people’s homes? You’re basically an illegal dog fostering operation. You just get dogs and then place them with people who never signed up to be dog owners in the first place.”

Matty laughed, that long drawn out laugh he always did when he was just a tiny bit stoned.

“Yeah, I do that quite a bit. don’t I?”

“Mhm.”

He brought the joint to his lips, taking a drag. “Well, usually it’s cuz I’m on tour so much. But if we adopted the dog together that wouldn’t be a problem. You’d be here.”

“Hmmm” Amelia considered the idea for a moment. Picturing a sweet fur baby in the middle, between the two of them, snoozing on this couch made her heart flutter. “That would be cute, actually.”

“Unless, of course, I decide to hire you again. To come on tour with me.” Matty mused.

“You assume I’d just drop everything and do it.”

“Yeah but maybe we could bring the dog with us? Reckon we could sort it out….”

“I don’t know. Two people sharing a pet is always dangerous….” Amelia said, second-guessing the idea.

“There’d be vaccines and shit. And we’d have to get it a passport. Do dogs need passports?”

They were clearly branching off into two separate conversations by now.

“Matty, seriously. Isn’t it too soon? I mean, what if we broke up? It’s like…like having. Child. I couldn’t handle separating it from one of us. Having to see it on certain days. It’ll pee everywhere. Even potty-trained pets can start shitting everywhere when their routine is uprooted. We can’t do that to a dog!”

Matty let her words hang in the air for a moment, a smile on his face.

“Fine. Then marry me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Easy enough solution. Marry me.”

Amelia’s mouth fell open. She stared at Matty, stunned. Unclear on how serious he was being. Even if it was a joke, no immediate retort was coming to her mind at the moment.

Matty took another drag of his blunt and then sat up straight to be able to slip his hand into the pocket of his joggers, pulling out the ring box.

Amelia’s eyes tracked his movements, widening in shock at the sight of the box.

“Hold on, sorry” matty whispered, setting his joint down. “Right, then.” He cleared his throat, got off the couch getting down on one knee.

“Amelia, my love, will you marry me?”

“M- matty!”

“I love you. You make me a better man. You’re my best friend. You’re my soul. My muse and my critic and my everything. I wanna be with you forever. Do you wanna be with me forever?”

“You’re insane! Matty! We’ve never even been on a real fuckin date. ‘What happened to- to- get dinner with me sometime.’ ‘See you on Tuesday.’ What the fuck?” She laughed, running out of breath, her face felt hot like fire.

“I think we can both agree we’re way past that.” Matty said, perfectly calm. “You…you know me. You know what I’m like when I’m at my very best and when I’m at rock bottom. In fact, you’ve seen me at some dark and pretty fuckin pathetic moments. And you never turned your back on me. You- make me feel like I might get better. Anytime that I’m with you. Around you. Any time that we’re together. It feels like maybe there’s a version of me that gets better. You make me wanna be a man. As for me? I know you.” His smile widened as he prepared his next words,

“I know how you like your coffee; I know that you like it when people notice your makeup. Even though you try not to draw too much attention to the effort you put into it. . I know that you love your little sister more than anything. But you’re insecure about not being there for her as much cuz she lives so far away, so….sometimes you overcompensate by being a bit overbearing. I know what you like in bed. I know cuz I fuckin taught you. I know that you like when I kiss your forehead and talk to you after sex. I know your favorite tattoo of mine is the WE ARE KINGS one just above my hip. You always give it extra kisses when you can.”

She nodded, welling up with tears.

“The way I know you and feel known by you….its different. treating it like any ordinary relationship just…” he took a deep breath. “Maybe I’m just a traditionalist deep down underneath all that other shit. but….i can’t think of a better way to honor our intimacy than marriage. Let’s get a dog together and never have to split custody. Will you marry me?”

Amelia burst into tears, and a fit of laughter. In between giggles, and wiping at her cheeks with her hands, she attempted to say “yes” but her laughter got worse every time that she tried.

“Sorry, sorry. One- second.” She took a deep breath. “Fuck I can’t believe we’re doing this. But…yeah. Yes! Yes I’ll marry you, Matty.”

***

Matty panted hotly as his body jerked and his hips bucked up, off the bed. He stroked himself inside his boxers, swiping at his sensitive tip, and whining against the pillow as he drew closer to the edges of bliss.

“Fuck, fuck, fu-oh…”

His mind played, on a loop, a distant memory of her hands all over her body, her silvery voice echoing through his mind, cooing sweetly.

“Oh, sweet angel, you’re doing so well.”

“You look so pretty like that. Did you know that? Did you know that you’re the most perfect person on this planet?”

“Good boy, Matty. Taking it so well.”

His toes curled, digging into the mattress, with a strangled moan, he let go, the rush of release overpowering him, ropes of cum spurting onto his lower abdomen, dripping from his body.

“Hi darlin,’ it’s me. Again. I know I’m probably fillin’ up your voicemail at this point, but - ermmm- I miss you, Amelia. I’m sorry. All that shit I said the other week- I didn’t mean it. Just…so, so sorry. I’m - come home, please. Come back to me. I- can’t live without you. and honestly? I shouldn’t have to. You’re my-“ the monotonous voice of the machine interrupted him to let him know that he’d reached maximum recording capacity and that his message was sent. His finger hovered over her name on the screen as he considered calling back, maybe leaving another message. But he’d run out of ways to apologize and to beg. He’d try again tomorrow. He set his phone down on to the bedside table and reached for the lamp, flicking it off, he laid his head down on his pillow in the pitch black room. Another sleepless night.

[emma23]

Til death (or divorce) do us part:

Marc Spector x reader

————————————————————————

The quiet ticking of the clock in the corner was the only sound in the lavish office as you stared at the man seated across from you. He was impeccably dressed, not a single hair out of place, with eyes that practically glinted with smugness. Marc Spector. Your worst nightmare wrapped up in an annoyingly handsome package.

He leaned back in his chair, casually crossing one leg over the other, a smile playing on his lips. "You’re upset."

"You think?" you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. Your voice came out sharper than intended, but you didn’t care. You had just found out that your father had arranged your marriage to this… this mercenary. The man who had been a thorn in your side for as long as you could remember. "You’re not my enemy, Marc. You’re just the biggest mistake my family ever made by associating with."

Marc chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly charming. "And here I thought we had something special." He let the sentence hang in the air, as if savoring the absurdity of his own words. "Look, Y/N, it’s simple. Your father wants this alliance. My father wants this alliance. So, we get married, smile for the cameras, and then go our separate ways."

You felt your jaw tighten. "Separate ways, huh? Like when you 'accidentally' end up in my meetings? Or when you 'coincidentally' show up at every event I'm at?"

Marc shrugged, a casualness that made you want to scream. "I like to stay informed. It’s called keeping your friends close and your enemies closer."

"I'm not your friend," you hissed. "And after this stunt, I'm not even sure I'm your enemy. I'm just the poor soul trapped in a deal made by two controlling old men."

His eyes sparkled with amusement, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Touch me, and I'll remove your head," you hissed, feeling the burn of frustration course through your veins.

Marc’s smile widened into a grin that was both infuriating and, you hated to admit, a little attractive. "It's adorable that you think knife play doesn't turn me on, Ms. Y/N. Or should I get used to saying Mrs. Spector?"

The audacity. You took a step closer, looking down at him, your fists clenched at your sides. "If you think for one second that I'm going to play nice just because some piece of paper says I should, you're in for a rude awakening."

Marc’s eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, something flickered in them. Was it respect? Admiration? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar, infuriating smirk. "Maybe I like a challenge."

"You don’t know anything about me, Marc."

"That’s where you’re wrong." He stood, towering over you. You tried not to let his proximity bother you, but your pulse quickened against your will. "I know you more than you think. I know the way you get that little crease in your forehead when you're annoyed. I know you drink your coffee black because you think adding sugar is a weakness. I know you’re the first one to step into the ring when things get messy because you’d rather face a problem head-on than talk about it."

Your mouth went dry. How did he know all that? "Are you stalking me?"

He laughed, the sound warm and unsettling. "It’s not stalking if it’s research. You’re an enigma, Y/N. And I like to solve puzzles."

"Well, here’s a puzzle for you," you shot back, trying to regain your footing in this verbal sparring match. "Why would I ever willingly marry a man who clearly enjoys pushing my buttons?"

Marc stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Maybe because," he said softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I’m the only one who knows which buttons to push to get a reaction out of you."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, one that had nothing to do with the coldness of the room. His words hung in the air, heavy and full of something unspoken. He was right, and you hated him for it. In all the time you had known Marc Spector, he was the only person who could get under your skin, make you feel alive in a way that no one else could.

Damn him.

"Fine," you said finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. "You want to play this game? Let’s play. But don't think for a second that I’m going to make it easy for you."

Marc’s grin was almost wolfish, and he took another step closer, his hand coming up to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The touch was so gentle, so unexpectedly intimate that it caught you off guard. "Wouldn't dream of it, Y/N."

The Wedding Night

The ceremony was a blur of white roses, whispered vows, and a thousand pairs of eyes watching as you were pronounced husband and wife. Marc’s hand was a steady weight against the small of your back, guiding you through the motions, his smile never faltering. He played the part of the perfect groom to the hilt, and you found yourself doing the same, smiling for the cameras, laughing at his jokes.

You had to admit, he cleaned up well. In his tailored suit, with his dark hair slicked back and that confident smile on his lips, Marc Spector was every inch the handsome, charming husband. The kind of man any woman would be lucky to marry.

Too bad you weren’t any woman.

The reception was in full swing, the grand ballroom filled with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You found yourself swept up in a dance, Marc’s hand on your waist, guiding you effortlessly across the floor.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Mrs. Spector?" Marc asked, his voice smooth as velvet.

"Don’t get used to it," you replied, trying to ignore the way his touch sent a jolt of electricity through your skin. "This is all for show."

"Is it?" he asked, his eyes boring into yours. "Because you looked like you were having a good time back there."

You rolled your eyes. "I’m a good actress. Unlike you, I don’t show my hand to the entire world."

Marc’s grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, pulling you closer. "Maybe you should. It’s more fun that way."

The music slowed, and for a moment, you let yourself relax, let yourself sink into the warmth of his body against yours. It was easy, too easy, to forget who he was, to forget why you were here. In his arms, the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of your own making.

"You know," Marc murmured, his breath warm against your ear, "we could make this work."

Your heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

"This," he said, gesturing between the two of you. "Us. We’re more alike than you think, Y/N. We both know what it’s like to wear masks, to hide who we really are. Maybe we don’t have to do that with each other."

You pulled back, searching his face for any sign that he was joking. But his expression was serious, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite name. Hope, maybe. Desire.

"What are you saying, Marc?" you asked quietly.

He reached up, cupping your face in his hand. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a touch so tender it made your heart ache. "I’m saying that I see you, Y/N. The real you. And I like what I see."

For a moment, you let yourself believe him. Let yourself imagine a life where you didn’t have to keep up the walls, where you could let someone in. But then reality came crashing back, and you pulled away, shaking your head.

"This is just a marriage of convenience," you said firmly, stepping out of his arms. "Don’t make it more than it is."

Marc’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t argue. "If that’s what you want," he said softly. But there was a challenge in his voice, a promise that this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Late That Night

You had hoped to find some peace in your room, away from the noise and the crowds. Instead, you found Marc waiting for you, leaning against the doorframe with that insufferable smirk on his face.

"Get out," you snapped, too tired to deal with him.

"Now, is that any way to speak to your husband?" he asked, his tone mocking.

You glared at him. "Don’t push me, Marc."

He straightened, his expression turning serious. "I’m not here to fight, Y/N. I just want to talk."

You crossed your arms over your chest. "Fine. Talk."

Marc took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I know this isn’t what you wanted. Hell, it’s not what I wanted either. But we’re in this now. We might as well make the best of it."

You raised an eyebrow. "And how do you suggest we do that?"

A slow smile spread across his lips. "Well, for starters, we could stop pretending we hate each other."

You scoffed. "I don’t have to pretend."

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. "Then why did you kiss me back just now?"

Your breath hitched.

For a split second, you were sure you’d misheard him. But Marc’s expression was resolute, and the weight of his words hung heavy between you, undeniable and real. You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out.

"I saw the way you looked at me," Marc continued, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "The way your eyes lit up when we were dancing. You can keep pretending this is all just a game, but your body doesn’t lie."

You swallowed hard, trying to find your footing. "You don’t know anything about me, Marc."

"Maybe not," he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. "But I know desire when I see it. And I know that you feel it too."

Damn him. Damn his confidence, damn his arrogance, damn the way he seemed to always know exactly what you were thinking. You hated him, you truly did. But he was right. When his lips had brushed yours during the reception, you hadn’t pulled away. Instead, you’d melted into the kiss, just for a second, losing yourself in the taste of him.

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to regain control. "This doesn’t change anything," you said, your voice firm. "We’re still enemies. This marriage is just a business arrangement, nothing more."

Marc’s eyes softened, a hint of sadness flickering across his features. "Is that what you really want? To spend the rest of our lives pretending we’re strangers?"

You turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "It’s easier that way."

"Maybe," he said softly. "But it’s also lonely."

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. You’d always seen Marc as invincible, untouchable, but now he sounded almost... human. You chanced a glance back at him, and the look in his eyes nearly broke you. He looked like a man who was tired of fighting, who just wanted to find a moment of peace.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why do you care so much about what I want?"

"Because I care about you," he said simply.

You laughed bitterly. "You don’t even know me."

"I know enough," he said. "I know that you’re strong and stubborn and brave. I know that you’ve built walls around yourself so high that no one can get through. I know that you’re terrified of letting anyone in because you’ve been hurt before. And I know that somewhere, deep down, you’re just as tired of this as I am."

His words cut through you like a knife, each one hitting closer to the truth than you wanted to admit. You felt the tears sting at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away furiously. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

"Marc, I can’t—"

He closed the distance between you in two strides, his hands coming up to cup your face. His touch was gentle, tentative, as if he were afraid you might shatter. "Yes, you can," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "Just this once, let go of the fear. Let yourself feel something real."

Your resolve crumbled. With a shaky breath, you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. Marc’s thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

"Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Please."

The raw vulnerability in his voice undid you. Before you could think better of it, you surged forward, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss was desperate, almost frantic, a release of all the tension and frustration that had been building between you. Marc’s hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on as if your life depended on it.

The kiss deepened, and you felt yourself getting lost in the sensation of him. His lips were warm and firm against yours, his hands roaming your back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You let out a soft moan as his tongue brushed against yours, and he responded by pulling you even closer, his body pressing against yours.

For a moment, there was no past, no future, just the two of you, here and now, connected in a way you’d never thought possible.

In the Bedroom

The door to your bedroom swung open, and Marc’s hands were on you again, tugging at the buttons of your dress, his lips never leaving yours. You stumbled backward, almost tripping over your own feet in your haste. Marc caught you, his hands steadying you, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Careful," he murmured against your mouth. "Don’t want to fall for me too quickly."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "Shut up."

He grinned, a real, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. "Make me."

You did, crashing your lips back onto his, your hands tangling in his hair. Marc’s fingers worked deftly, unbuttoning your dress and sliding it off your shoulders. It pooled around your feet, and you kicked it away, not caring where it landed.

Marc pulled back for a moment, his eyes raking over your body, and the look in his eyes made your skin tingle. "You’re beautiful," he said softly.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks. "Stop it."

"I mean it," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. He traced a finger down the side of your neck, making you shiver. "I’ve wanted this for so long, Y/N."

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. "Marc, I—"

He silenced you with another kiss, this one slow and tender, full of unspoken promises. His hands slid down your back, pulling you against him, and you could feel the hardness of his body, the heat radiating off him. You wanted more, needed more.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Marc let out a low chuckle. "Impatient, are we?"

"Shut up," you muttered, but there was no heat in your words.

Finally, you managed to get his shirt off, and you ran your hands over his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath your fingertips. Marc let out a groan, his head falling back, and the sound sent a thrill of pleasure through you.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he said, his voice rough.

"Then show me," you challenged, your voice a mere whisper.

Marc’s eyes darkened, and he didn’t need to be told twice. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and laying you down with a gentleness that belied the fire in his gaze. He hovered over you for a moment, just looking at you, and you felt exposed in a way you never had before. But instead of fear, all you felt was a strange sense of rightness.

Marc lowered himself onto you, his body pressing you into the mattress, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. His lips found yours again, and you lost yourself in the taste of him, the feel of him.

His hands roamed your body, caressing, exploring, and every touch sent a wave of pleasure coursing through you. You arched against him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as his mouth moved to your neck, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin.

"Marc," you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. "Say it again," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

"Marc," you repeated, your fingers threading through his hair. "Please."

The word seemed to break something inside him, and he kissed you with a hunger that took your breath away. His hands slid down your body, pulling at the waistband of your underwear, and you lifted your hips, helping him remove them.

There was no more teasing, no more waiting. Marc slid inside you with a smooth, fluid motion, and you let out a gasp at the sensation. He filled you completely, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, and for the first time in a long time, you felt whole.

You moved together, the world falling away until there was nothing but the sound of your breathing, the feel of his skin against yours. Marc’s lips found yours again, his kisses growing more urgent, more desperate, and you matched his rhythm, meeting him thrust for thrust.

The pleasure built inside you, a slow, burning fire that spread through your veins, and you knew you were close. Marc must have felt it too, because his movements became more frenzied, his grip on your hips tightening.

"Y/N," he groaned, his voice ragged. "I can’t—"

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Don’t stop," you whispered.

And then you were falling, pleasure crashing over you in waves, and Marc was right there with you, his body tensing, his head thrown back in a silent cry. You held each other through it, clinging to the connection, to the feeling of being one.

When it was over, Marc collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. You lay there, your heart still racing, the aftershocks of pleasure tingling in your limbs. For a moment, everything was perfect, and you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could work.

"Y/N," Marc said softly, his voice breaking the silence.

"Yeah?" you murmured, your head resting on his chest.

"I meant what I said," Marc whispered, his fingers brushing over your hair, a comforting rhythm that made your heart flutter. "About caring for you. About wanting to make this work."

You listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, each thump grounding you, bringing you back from the haze of pleasure and confusion. The vulnerability in his voice was a stark contrast to the arrogant, infuriating Marc you’d known for so long. It was disarming, hearing him like this.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to stay in the cocoon of warmth his arms provided. You wanted to believe him, to let yourself imagine a future where this wasn’t just a forced arrangement but something real, something worth holding onto. But the scars of the past were too deep, and the walls you’d built too high to be torn down in a single night.

"You can’t just say things like that," you said softly, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "Not when everything is so… complicated."

"Life’s always going to be complicated," Marc replied, his hand tilting your chin up so you could meet his gaze. His eyes were earnest, open, as if he’d stripped away every layer of bravado just for you. "But I’m willing to fight for this. For us."

You wanted to argue, to point out the ridiculousness of the situation—the forced marriage, the political alliances, the years of enmity. But something in the way he looked at you made the words stick in your throat. His eyes held a quiet promise, a hope that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"Marc, I don’t know if I can…" You struggled to find the right words. "I’ve spent so long keeping everyone out. Letting you in… It’s not that simple."

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle. "I’m not asking for simple. I’m just asking for a chance."

You closed your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips. A chance. It sounded so easy when he said it, like all the pain and fear could be swept away with a single word. But reality was never that kind.

"You don’t get it," you said, pulling away slightly to put some space between you. "This marriage—it's a business deal, Marc. Nothing more. Feelings just complicate things. They make us vulnerable."

"Maybe I want to be vulnerable," he said softly, his eyes searching yours. "Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t care."

His honesty took the breath out of your lungs. You had always seen Marc as the unbreakable one, the man who never showed weakness. Seeing him like this, admitting that he cared, was more than you’d ever expected.

"I don’t know how to do this," you admitted, your voice cracking. "I don’t know how to be with you without thinking about all the ways it could go wrong."

Marc leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "Then we figure it out together. No more games, no more pretending. Just you and me."

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. For a moment, everything else faded away—the political machinations, the arranged marriage, the years of distrust. There was just Marc, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Okay," you whispered, the word barely audible. "But I’m not making any promises."

"That’s all I’m asking for," Marc said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "One step at a time."

He kissed you then, slow and tender, as if sealing the unspoken agreement. You let yourself melt into the kiss, losing yourself in the sensation of his lips against yours, the feel of his hands on your skin. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

The Morning After

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred, the warmth of the sheets and the steady rhythm of Marc’s breathing lulling you back to sleep. For a blissful moment, you forgot where you were, who you were with. All you knew was the comfort of the bed, the feel of Marc’s arm draped over your waist.

Then reality came crashing back, and your eyes snapped open. You turned your head, seeing Marc still asleep beside you, his face relaxed in the soft light of dawn. He looked peaceful, so different from the sharp-edged man you were used to. Vulnerable, almost.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, pulling on a robe and tiptoeing to the window. The city below was just waking up, the streets coming alive with the hustle and bustle of a new day. You wrapped the robe tighter around yourself, trying to gather your thoughts.

Last night had been… unexpected. You had let down your guard, let Marc in in a way you hadn’t allowed anyone else to. And now, in the cold light of morning, you weren’t sure what to make of it.

"Morning."

Marc’s voice startled you, and you turned to see him propped up on one elbow, his hair tousled, a sleepy smile on his lips. He looked so different like this, so… normal.

"Morning," you replied, your voice hesitant.

Marc sat up, his eyes studying you. "You okay?"

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure it was true. "I just… need to think."

"About last night," Marc guessed, his expression turning serious.

You nodded again, biting your lip. "This changes things, Marc."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But maybe that’s not a bad thing."

You turned to face him fully, crossing your arms over your chest. "What if it is? What if this is just another mistake?"

Marc stood, crossing the room to stand in front of you. He took your hands in his, his gaze steady. "Then we deal with it. Together."

You searched his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was conviction. He meant it. For better or worse, he was in this with you.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice trembling. "But we take it slow. One step at a time, like you said."

Marc’s smile was soft, genuine. "One step at a time," he repeated, pulling you into his arms.

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

A Few Weeks Later

Life didn’t change overnight, but it did change. Slowly, bit by bit, you and Marc started to find your rhythm. There were still moments of tension, moments when your old habits and walls threatened to resurface. But each time, Marc was there, steady and patient, reminding you of the promise you’d made to take things one step at a time.

You found yourself laughing more, the weight of your guarded past easing with each passing day. Marc had a way of making you smile, even when you didn’t want to, his quick wit and dry humor cutting through your defenses like a knife.

"Who knew you could be so charming?" you teased one evening, as you both sat on the couch, a glass of wine in hand.

Marc shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "I have my moments."

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. "You really do, don’t you?"

He leaned in, his eyes softening. "Only for you."

Your heart skipped a beat, the sincerity in his voice taking you by surprise. You leaned in, brushing your lips against his, a soft kiss that held the promise of more. When you pulled back, Marc’s eyes were shining with a warmth that made your heart swell.

"I think I’m starting to believe you," you said softly.

Marc’s smile was slow, spreading across his face like the dawn. "Good," he whispered, his hand cupping your cheek. "Because I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life."

You kissed him again, the world falling away until there was nothing but the two of you, wrapped in the promise of a future neither of you had expected but both were willing to fight for.

And for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[siremasterlawrence]

The Sweet Stuff Hits The Senses

Thomas Maxwell Raymond Bates is my best friends dad who I am madly and extremely in love with since I was a kid and today is the day that all changes when I decide to makes a cup of coffee to say thank you for inviting me.Unfortunately! I had bought a huge can of it that it would need to be used frequently so I had a idea of sorts and left the kitchen to go retrieve my bag which wicked intentions on my mind for a hot minute I thought I would try and chicken out.I flip the top up poking a hole in to the sheet of foil covering up the can letting the aroma fill the room with such a sweet bitter taste and I unload the vial in to the contents of the can as the mixture completely sinking deep in to the room.I shut the can tightening the cover as lift it up on the air shaking it up as it mixes all of them together the aroma getting stronger then before and it is crazy when the smell is so wonderful filling up to the brim of the home.The coffee pot is washed and on top of one counter as I fill it up with the beams with a volume of water and pour in a huge amount of my new coffee mix and place it on to the stove as it begins to leave a intoxicating stench.Exiting through the glass screen door as the notes of Hypnotic coffee buds thriving as they are getting stronger and bolder slipping under the Master bedroom and in to it diving deep through both of his nostrils making his shiver then wake up.

“Oh Hey Lawrence!”

“Mr Bates”

“Call me Tom”

“I’ll grab some coffee “

“Sure Tom”

“Agreed “

“Mmmmmm…..”

“This taste so sweet”

“But it’s bitter “

“Why don’t you just drink it?”

“I’ll take a sip”

“Gulp it up “

“All of it?”

“Be a big brave man”

“Ok Lawrence “

“Call me Master Lawrence “

“Yes Master Lawrence “

“Mwahahahahaha “

“What is so funny?”

“Because you just submitted “

“Wait! What no?”

“Drop to your knees”

“Oh My God!”

“You at enjoying this just admit it”

Kneeling next to him cupping his chin and lift it up forcing the cup down his mouth as he pours it in to his throat it is descending into his bloodstream becoming one with him as it all fades into nothingness because I am all powerful.I glass watching Tom look like a damn pussy because he has lived a life based on how he looks, attitude and uber masculinity but now all that world is differently because he is all mine for a lifetime no going back as he is my slave.He reaches his arms around my waist holds on very tight wrapping them as he grows on me even tighter then I can imagine and he is digging my knees in to my pants inhaling all of my scent through his nostrils and he loves it.

“Oh Master Lawrence!”

“Will you serve me willingly?”

“All do my life “

“Give me everything you are “

“You already have it “

“Everything you own “

“It’s yours”

“I am your life “

“You absorb me in to your soul”

“You exist for me”

“Nothing else but me matters”

“I am all you know “

“I am all you are aware of”

“You give yourself willingly to me”

“You have no power”

“No need and desire “

“I am your life “

“Stand up “

“Yes Master Lawrence “

“Disrobe “

“Let’s go to your room”

“Take these clothes and get dressed”

“Yes Master”

“You love me completely in all ways”

“Yes! I love you “

“God! I do Master”

“We have lost of plans today “

Heading in to his bedroom the door close behind us as I pin him to the wall before he enjoys my gaze upon his massive body go limp when he gets undressed and he quickly gets dressed.I command him to stare in to the long length mirror his reflection is beautiful to behind he of course is no longer admiring himself only me and he loves me truly so I grab his ass and pat him tightly.

“Today is the day of great change”

“You are a new man”

“You were born to be better “

“Used by me”

“You will be better “

“A man worthy of notice “

“Assholes are all over l

“You will learn to be better”

“You will learn to grow “

“You will be so much more improved “

“People are evil “

“You will be a beautiful golden light “

“You will shine above them “

“You will dress to perfection “

“Enjoy work”

“Take care of me”

“Worship me”

“Learnt to be it all”

“I hate others”

“I will train you to be the most likable”

“Kind and caring “

“Supportive and hardworking “

“Giving me life “

“Breathing in to a new you “

“You will forget all else “

“Love me”

“Protect me”

“Care for me”

“Be all mine”

The end

[kp-alice]

size kink with mingyu ?

Hi! I'm guessing you're sending this for my ongoing sub!svt event, but please read the instructions again!! I'm writing about who would be into certain kinks, not about specific member-kink combinations people send me!!

I'll accept it this time, though, because I like discussing this specific kink anyway, lol. Enjoy!

Oh and lastly - two of these automatically assume you're smaller/shorter than the member in question, mainly because I'm not sure how many people out here are noticeably bigger than them, haha. The rest can go either way, though! Hope that's okay.

SIZE KINK WITH SUB!SEVENTEEN

Okay, I admit, I agree with you on who'd take first place for this kink. There's just no way it isn't Mingyu, lol. Anyone who's watched this man for at least a little bit (and noticed his suspicious tendency of dropping to his knees and generally making himself appear smaller) can easily see that size kink is absolute Mingyu territory. He already pegs me as the type to want someone who can toss him around a bit, but having said person be considerably smaller/weaker/both than him?? That's Mingyu's heaven right there. Not only is the physical difference satisfying to look at, but it perfectly underlines the whole humiliation of being (very willingly) overpowered by someone else.

So please, take note of how adoringly he looks up at you whenever you have him on his knees, and make good use of it in the future. Laugh in his face as you push your foot down on his crotch, tug him down to your level by his hair when talking, restrain his hands with your smaller one and roam his broad chest to your heart's content - he'll love it just as much as you, if not more <3

For the most part, Wonwoo belongs here for the same reason as Mingyu. Like him, Wonwoo would love the deliciously embarrassing contrast between your sizes, especially when you're on top of him. He'd watch with curious yet meek eyes as you get comfortable in his lap, smoothing your gentle hands across the expanse of his chest, only to make him let out a startled pained noise as you scratch your nails all the way down, leaving a beautiful row of hot, red lines across his skin.

However, that's not the only reason he'd like your smaller size. Because besides the purely sexual, almost masochistic appeal of it, the difference is also kind of comforting for Wonwoo. Knowing that he's willingly letting you take over, yet could actually break free from you if he tried, makes him subconsciously feel more comfortable and calm. It's not like he doesn't trust you, of course not! It's just that the softness of your size would help him ease into a submissive headspace a lot easier, allowing him to be more vulnerable with you and finally let you pamper him without feeling bad about it. In a way, your presence evokes the softest side of Wonwoo, because when he sees you and your gentle frame, no matter how intense the scene is, he knows he's always safe with you.

Woozi can go both ways. If you're taller/bigger than him, he'll tend to fall into a more obedient and subservient, almost desperate-to-please subspace. Unlike in his daily life, he'd actually enjoy feeling small next to you because he knows you'll never make fun of him for it and cherish him just the way he is - and in return, you've earned his utmost loyalty and submission.

On the other hand, if you're shorter/smaller than him, Woozi will find himself feeling a lot softer and more peaceful around you. You don't look down on him like a lot of other people do (mainly physically, but in other ways as well), and that knowledge gives him a lot of unspoken comfort. With you, he can become as small and vulnerable as he wants without fearing any judgment from you.

Either way, the size difference between you and Woozi is mainly a thing of comfort for him and he cherishes it dearly <3

Lastly, I also feel like Seungcheol might enjoy the size difference, though definitely not as strongly as the others. With him, it's more so just one day noticing how small/big you look on top of him and going "Huh, neat." in his head before moving on. In other words, for him, it's more of an appreciation than a kink per se, lol.

Thank you for reading! And remember, feedback is always appreciated! ♥  

[hiswordsarekisses]

😲‼️💯

“The way of the cross is brutal. It is bloody. The cross says, “The only way to reach out and grasp true freedom is to have your hand nailed down.”

Paradox.

To walk in the valley of the shadow of death is to come face to face with all the things that are working death in you. It is to walk the narrow path of life through the valley of death, and as you walk, you encounter your own ego, your own selfishness, your longing for approval, your desire to be accepted among men, your self-pity, your pride, and other such things we like to keep hidden behind that fig leaf. It is to wrestle against the muscle of your own reasoning. It is to willingly drop to your knees in submission, when you’d rather stand tall in your love of authority. It is to be willing to surrender when you would rather be in control. Paul said, “I die daily,” and so must we (1 Cor 15:31).

I think we are reluctant to admit our struggles with these things because we are ashamed. We are so used to hiding behind that fig leaf, of attempting to cover our own nakedness with the illusion of self-sufficiency-- “Nothing to see in my own heart, move along…” Then there are annoying people like me who shout from the city gate, “Come see how ugly we are, come and face all your warts.” That is because until we are ready to face our own wretchedness, until we are ready to look in the mirror without any filter, I dare say that we can have no real depth of intimacy with Jesus Christ. The land of the flesh is superficial and if we insist on dwelling there, then our pursuit of Christ will remain superficial as well.

We can follow Christ around and merely listen to His teachings, just like many others did in Jesus’ days on earth. But Jesus said, “For those who have ears to hear…” (Matt 13:9). It is one thing to listen, but it is quite another to truly hear what is being said. In Jesus’ day, many listened for a little while, but there will come a time for us just like it did for them, when Jesus will turn around and say, “For those who have ears to hear: There is one thing you lack. And you can follow Me this far and no farther unless you are willing to deny yourself and put your flesh to death” (Mark 10:21; Luke 9:23,24). The price of our freedom was paid for by the flesh of Jesus Christ, but there seem to be so very few who are truly willing to join Him in that death.

Beloved, Scripture clearly teaches that we are to join Christ in His death (Rom 6:4-6), that we are to flee from sin (2 Tim 2:22; Rom 13:14), that we are a new creature who is having Christ formed in us in ever-increasing glory (2 Cor 3:18, 5:17; Gal 4:19; Col 1:27). And this only happens through our cooperation with His Spirit Who works within us unto that end. There are sins of the flesh and there are sins of the heart, therefore I will confess to you that it was much easier for me to face the truth that I was an alcoholic and cut off my hand to stop drinking, than it has been for me to walk through the valley of death and face the evil ugliness of my inner man. But we must face this true condition. We must see the depth of our need, before Christ will begin to practically work Himself into us to meet it.

It is time for many in the church to stop playing with the cross, and climb onto it. Because seed cannot sprout unless it dies.

(John 12:24) Truly, truly, I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a seed; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.

(Phil 3:10) I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to Him in His death..

(Matt 13:3-9) And He spoke many things to them in parables saying, “Behold, the sower went out to sow; and as he sowed, some seeds fell beside the road, and the birds came and ate them up. Others fell on the rocky places, where they did not have much soil; and immediately they sprang up, because they had no depth of soil. But when the sun had risen, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away. Others fell among the thorns, and the thorns came up and choked them out. And others fell on the good soil and yielded a crop, some a hundredfold, some sixty and some thirty. He who has ears, let him hear.”

(John 15:8) This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

(Psalm 23:3,4) He restores my soul; He guides me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.”

-Kalli Womack Cook