#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?!?

[simpjaes]

ELABORATE ON OBSESSED!WORSHIP THE GROUND YOU WALK ON!HOUSEHUSBAND JAKE PLEASE!!!!!! MY MIND IS GONNA EXPLODE – byeol

i'll be the husband jake plug no worries. warnings: jake is suppppppppperrrrrrrr needy omg.

It's normal, natural to him to do these things.

You're so tired after a long day, he gets it. the days feel longer to him sometimes though, despite your tired feet and aching back. You're his wife, he needs you.

So what if he's unemployed? He's employed to you. Will do anything for you. everything for you. happily and willingly, with so much love in his eyes every single fucking time he hears that lock on the door click open.

Time to reiterate. He needs you.

It's been weeks. He gets it. Stress, big promotion you're going for or something. He can't say he cares too much lately due to the neglect he's been dealing with.

After all the cleaning, he massages you, bathes you, tucks you in, kisses you gently, and doesn't dare ask for more from you. After all, you're expected to do so much, from so many people. Not him. Not ever. Until now. He's a man. For three days now he's been trying to remind you. Trying all sorts of subtle tricks. Some blatant ones too. Generous groping that goes rejected. A few heavy makeouts dwindling to a pop kiss and a tired "goodnight." More subtle ones, where he simply tries to dress well for you, clean far better than usual, make your favorite foods. He knows it's not because you don't want him but...you're so stressed. He could kill two birds with one stone if you'd just... "Baby." He had said last night, sinking under the blankets and prying your legs apart. "Just rest, this is all i need." He continued, implying that he would be perfectly happy helping you relax with some bedtime head. You had closed your legs on him, pinching your brows together with the same stressed out face. All day today, his brows have been equally knitted together. Stressed. Fucking horny. Is it cringe for him to do this? Yes. Does he care? No. Fuck no. And so, you come home just like any other day to the smell of dinner. It's sweet smelling, which is an indication that your husband wants something. Never does he serve dessert for dinner, but tonight feels like a welcome change because everything else just started not only feeling, but tasting too mundane. You were more surprised when you werent greeted by Jake at the door. He didn't take your things, or slide your jacket off of you. Which, that's fine. You don't need him to wait on you hand and foot. He just tends to like doing that for you anyway... You search in curiosity for him, following the sound of clanking pots and pans. The sound would give you a headache if it weren't for the image of him as you enter the kitchen. There he is. Hair pinned back with one of your headbands, apron on... only an apron. Cock lending quite a large tent as he turns to you. You know he's trying to smile genuinely, but you see a hint of pain behind his eyes. Desperate pain. Almost like he's begging you for something. Anything. And he is begging. Only when he drops to his knees and looks up at you with those eyes do you recognize how terribly you've been neglecting him. So much so that you didn't even let him eat you out, which wouldn't have expected anything on your part aside from an orgasm. This moment feels almost emasculating for him, you can imagine. Like you've deprived him of everything he needs from you in order to maintain order in this household. Arguably, you have deprived him. You can tell by how big his cock looks peeking from the hem of the apron, and those sad glassy eyes looking at you as if this is a last resort. "Baby, ple-" Jake starts to plead on the floor, the dessert he was cooking long forgotten. You're speechless at the image, finally feeling a tingle between your legs for the first time in months. You feel so apologetic alongside the tingle, realizing how much suffering he must have gone through to be doing this. After all, there's no way in hell you could have satiated this need within you without him. How he's managed to do it all this time is beyond you. ''Jake," You interrupt him, dropping your hands to his cheeks and tilting his face further up to you. "What do you need?" You see those glassy eyes become more tearful, probably from happiness by now. No words and no apologies need to be said at this moment. He sees your realization, and understands the lack of seeing to his needs to an extent. But this... this can't happen again. Nothing is to be said after that when Jake immediately goes for your pants, missing the taste of you so badly. He was right in knowing that even just the smell of you could satiate him. And it does, his cock heavy and leaking just from the sensation of the apron rubbing against him paired with the scent of your pussy that has been long neglected.

And he devours you, getting off at least twice there on the kitchen floor with his palm desperately working himself to each high. You could tell he didn't want you to feel like you needed to do anything for him but...let him. God, fuck, you feel so guilty.

So you make up for it. Right here, sliding down on him raw, letting the mess he's made of himself make a mess of you too.

"Baby, wait-" Jake chokes, working against his words by helping you slide down on him entirely. "Fuck, you're-"

"Shh." You sigh deeply, realizing how much you needed this too. "Just keep going," He does. Fucking you so desperately that you believe he cums in you at least twice from you adjusting alone, messing your thighs with sticky fluids, the kitchen floor, and himself. So much of it, you're so full of it already. Plan B isn't such a difficult thing to buy anyway. Especially after he chooses to keep fucking you, as if he worries he'll never get to do it again.

[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. 

[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

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[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). 

[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.

[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 !”

[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

[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 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦��𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧; 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.

[brainr0t-landfill]

T

Jonathan Price x Transexual Reader

Chapter Two:Settling In

trigger warning:forced workout, forcemasc fetish, drug mention, past marriage, implied familial abuse

"I asked if I've done enough for salvation, they said you'll die if you leave it up to god." -Ethel Cain, Age of Delilah

İt's your first week home.

İt feels weird to call it that when it's so many miles away from the driveway with the gravel that would burrow in the shoes he refused to replace and the tiles you wiped on your knees. Freedom feels a lot like childhood, growing into yourself feels like lugging stinking trash out of a desolate beach.

You grab the old TV by the underside putting your back into lifting it, the muscles on your thighs scream your arms feel like rubber, sweat runs down your face stings your eyes the way to his old pick up feels longer than ever it's almost full and the sun is almost gone, gently kissing the surface of the tumaltous sea with peach hues.

His eyes don't feel like they used to, you drop the TV in the back he pushes on your shoulder rearranges your posture

"Feeling the burn yet sweets?"

"Y-yeah, I feels like my arms are gonna fall off"

He smiles, full cheeks and well groomed beard, his tabbacco stainedteeth.

"That's good lad, don't you love it?"

You nod as you stumble back to the piles and piles of washed up trash the sand is warm under your feet, his eyes are like a lighthouse, stage lights. The binder restricts but the shadow on the sand with the body you have in your dreams liberates in a way you can't out into words.

You grab an old plastic bucket it's colors long since drained off and stuff whatever trash you can find in it, bags, sandals, chewed plastic straws you cram it in with your bare feet they're tender and so are your hands you haven't worked so willingly in years, the handle snaps on the way back so you hug it to your chest, he claps when you place it in the back and he closes it.

"Ready to head home love? Just about ready for some supper huh? Looks like you could use a proper pint too"

"Yeah, could eat a horse."

When you sit down in the car he reaches into his pocket

"But first, a little reward no? Think you've deserved it"

A beat of silence you watch his hand still in his pocket

"Don't you?"

"W-what?"

"Don't you think you've deserved it?"

"Well I've been working really hard and I- I've been good a-and-"

He huffs, he doesn't like stuttering, doesn't like self doubt or stalling.

"Tommy, I asked you a very simple question."

"Yes, yes I deserve a reward yes"

You pant, and he fishes a vial out of his hand the labels on it clean and clear

"Coke?"

He chuckles shakes his head, he's almost always patient, in a good mood, sunny. Unless he isn't of course.

"No, no lad, testestorone. Ain't no shame in supplements"

You stumble, your mins short circuits fear like lightning in your veins desperation like dog teeth against your tounge. You gulp watching as he stabs the syringe in and slowly pulls the liquid into it.

" That's right Toms"

"B-b-but won't that make me a man-?"

He laughs, half humorous half ready to take you over his knee and correct you, he hasn't yet , he will at some point.

"That's sort of the point dearest. What? You don't want it or something?"

He asks as he lifts the basket ball shorts he's put you into, one of his old pairs, you'll get yours soon enough he says. He says that about everything he hands down to you, your husband never kept his promises for some reason you believe it when he says it.

"N-no I just I- are you sure I mean it's so- aren't we going a bit far-"

"Shut it Tommy "

He bites and stabs the syringe into your thigh pumps liquid hope into you as your breath stutters in your chest, he rubs at your inner thigh ay the hair that's accumulating there.

"That's a good boy now, good boy. Feels good don't it hmm? Gonna get a beard soon, we'll have to get you tweaked a bit, don't think you'll grown much taller but we have other things to work on. Don't we?"

He grabs a handful of your crotch and squeeze s, you can't imagine it, you pant like a dog for it the vial shines in the golden light of the setting sun.

He starts home the dreams your mother shamed into your run like water and clot like blood, you want his face with gratitude, with hunger, you want his pin scars, big nose, eyebrows that have never seem the metal of a tweezer, beard yellowed from alcohol you want it all.

"Humor me a night at the pub Toms?"

"Yes, sir"

[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.

[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.

[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

[elijahstwink]

Hello! This is my first time doing an ask thingy 🤭 But I was just wondering if you did male reader stuff for Elijah? If not, it's totally cool! But if you do 👀 Can we see Elijah turning someone new? Maybe someone he met at Rousseau's that he asked to be his new assistant. The reader starts catching feelings (cuz who would 🥴) and Elijah catches on, but doesn't say anything. Just walks around doing his usual things, knowing the smallest stuff sets the reader off (in both good and frustrating ways😏)

Hi! Thank you for the amazing request! I really hope you don’t mind that I changed the plot a bit. Instead of being Elijah’s assistant, the reader becomes almost like a apprentice. Elijah also doesn’t willingly turn the reader but it is still his blood that turns him.

𝓜𝔂 𝓑𝓸𝔂

C H A P T E R O N E

You accidentally become a vampire, killing the first person you feed off in a way that only a ripper could. Confused and alone you go to the only person you think will help. The man who turned you.

Warnings : Violence, the reader is not a child just looks like it.

You wake up alone.

Your head is pounding. Rain is hitting your face and you realise you’re lying on the side of the road. You shiver from the cold as you sit up. Why does the rain sound so loud? How did you get here?

“Excuse me sir? Are you alright?” Your head shoots up, you clutch it as pain stabs at the movement. A lady stands infront of you, no more than 30 years old. She looks concerned.

“I-I don’t know where I am” you mumble, trying to stand. She quickly puts her shopping bag on the ground before helping you stand.

“Thank you ma’am.” You shiver at the cold of the night. When you look into her eyes something weird happens. It’s like your whole body is pushing you to do something, to feed something inside you.

“Is there someone I can call? Do you……” Her voice fades into nothing. For some reason all you can focus on is the sound of blood pumping through the veins on her neck.

You don’t think twice as you pounce on her, almost like a natural instinct. You bite into her neck with sharp fangs that shot out your gums. The pain of teeth tearing through you mouth was covered by the immense satisfaction of finally feeding the hunger inside you.

Your mind shut off, nothing mattered but the crimson liquid flowing down your throat. The lady’s screams were nothing but white noise, the coldness previously overwhelming you had converted into a beautiful warmth. The feeling was different from anything you’ve ever experienced and you wanted more. More, more, mor-

The feeling is stripped away from you suddenly. You gasp in a breath of cool air before looking down. It was like you had been splashed with freezing water, or woken up by a bright light as you take in what’s in front of you. What you’ve done.

What was previously a young lady, who was trying to help you, is now a headless corpse, covered in flesh and blood.

You stand above her, horrified. The rain causing blood to run down the flooding street. You can’t scream, you can’t cry. You’re frozen, still taking in the insanity of your day. You clutch your head, pulling at you hair as odd flashes of memories flood your brain in small bursts.

You’re walking down bourbon street. People are partying in the night air and getting drunk in the nearby bars. You’re on your way to find somewhere to settle down for the night.

The splashing of water against plastic rings in your ears, separating from any other sound. You look down at the bag she was holding. A toy truck is half out the bag.

It hits you then. This was a person. She had a life, maybe kids. You drop to your knees, sobbing into your hands.

It’s like you suddenly teleported. You’re inside a large central courtyard, surrounded by balconies going up multiple floors.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, oh my god I’m so sorry!” You scream.

A hand rests on your shoulder. You spin around. A man is looking at you, his eyes red with veins emerging from the skin under his eyes and fangs sticking out from his mouth. You don’t have time to scream, he grabs you, biting harshly into your neck.

Even during the storm worthy rain and the sound of your own wails, your hearing inhumanly focuses on the sound of footsteps going down a creaky wooden staircase and a chain latch unlocking on the front door behind you.

You stumble to your feet, running as fast as you can down the road. You’re completely shocked for the one hundredth time tonight when you look back and realise you just ran the length of a football field in about two seconds. Turning around, you find a secluded bench to sit on.

You force yourself to breathe, the hunger begins to bubble inside you again. In a feeble attempt to distract yourself, you focus on the memories still floating around your head.

These ones are more clear.

Pain, so much pain. Fangs are piercing your neck. You’re about to pass out when a voice booms through the space.

“Kol!”

The sharp pain leaves your neck, the only thing keeping you upright is the hands holding you against a wall. You hear the person holding you sigh as footsteps approach.

“Brother what have we said about bringing locals into the compound?” The man scolds, “Wait- is that a child?” .

“Don’t worry Elijah, he looked homeless.” Kol explained, seeming completely relaxed.

There’s a sudden gust of wind, and the body holding yours is gone.You’re about to fall, unable to keep yourself upright, when a pair of arms catch you.

You don’t know how much time passes, perhaps you passed out. All you know is your now spring upwards, coughing and gagging around, a wrist? You realise your back is pressed against a strong chest, but not the same one as before. You try to push the wrist away, as a horrible metallic tasting liquid fills your mouth. But whoever this is, is stronger than you. The strangers other hand brushes your short hair out of your face.

“Shh, it’s alright. Just a little bit more, sweetheart.” A deep voice hums in your ear.

The wrist slowly pulls away and the hand from your hair retreats. You spin around, suddenly feeling energised and awake. A man stands before you, clad in a neat black suit and wiping his bloody wrist with a previously white handkerchief.

If you were in any other situation you would probably be completely flustered by the attractiveness of him. His strong jawline is littered with stubble and his onyx eyes are staring at you with a kind look. His brown hair was neatly styled.

“W-who are you?” You stutter.

“Elijah hurry up, we don’t have all night!” A man from the balcony above you calls out. You assume it must be this Kol guy.

Elijah grabs your shoulder gently, meeting your eyes. You suddenly felt as though your gaze was locked in place, unable to do anything but look into the hypnotising darkness of his pupils. You weirdly felt safe around him.

“You are going to forget everything that happened here tonight. Now leave.”

You open your eyes, jumping up from the bench and starting the walk to Bourbon Street. This Elijah guy must be able to help you.

Thanks for reading. Don’t worry it’s gonna get spicy soon enough ;)

Please send requests I love to hear from you all! Oh and point out if there is any spelling mistakes or anything, sometimes tumblr deletes entire paragraphs lol.

(Should I start a tag list? If so message me if you want to be on it!)

- 𝓓𝓮𝔁