#let me know if you want anything adjusted :)

[paarksunghoon]

FIXED COMFORT | SUNGHOON

SUMMARY: typically, sunghoon’s the one who takes care of you when you’ve had one too many. but once in a blue moon, he lets his guard down and allows you to care for him the way he does for you.

or, the one where sunghoon’s drunk at a bar and misses his girlfriend a little too much.

NOTES: idk I just feel like someone should let him sleep for six months straight!!!

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.4K (4444 exactly—she’s a shortie).

WARNINGS: fluff on fluff on fluff.

***

“Hey, do you think you could come get Sunghoon from the bar? He’s been asking for you for the past hour.”  

Jay’s phone call pulls you out from a deep slumber on a Saturday night that falls on a day with no plans other than pure relaxation. Sunghoon had been preoccupied with work and classes this past week and wanted to unwind by drinking at his favorite bar with his closest friends and all you wanted to do was sleep the weekend away. 

Since the two of you started dating six months ago after being friends for a little over two years, you both agree on the notion that you’ve found a good balance between time spent together and apart respectively. Nothing fundamentally changed with the exception of kissing and touching one another in the way a couple would. He still respects your independence and you respect his time away from you as well. 

Sunghoon learned quickly that you’re the type of person who values your alone time more than anything else. When he first started developing feelings for you, grappling with your absence wasn’t easy. He initially thought you weren’t interested in getting to know him the way he was with you because you weren’t afraid to decline invitations and telling people ‘no.’ Slowly, over the course of many months of pining and late night conversations, did Sunghoon learn that you’re typically your best self after a moment of isolation. 

Your boyfriend is somewhere in between an introvert and extrovert. He tends to be shy when he meets people he isn’t familiar with while his loud, rambunctious attitude is typically reserved for those who know him best. He likes to keep to himself for the most part, giving some of his personality away when he feels his walls start to crumble naturally. You love that he has a good head on his shoulders and that he’s able to tell you about his feelings while maintaining an air of confidence. He doesn’t inherently need anybody; he likes your company and will do anything to keep it.

Moments like this are when your heart feels softer for Sunghoon than when the two of you were just friends.

“I know you wanted to spend the weekend alone but Hoon’s been saying your name all night,” Jay says. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“No, it’s fine.” You’re sure Jay can hear your brittle voice. “Are you guys at the bar near your place?”

“That’s the one. Thanks again and I’m really sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t sweat it. Cook me something next week if you still feel bad.” 

“I can do that. Chili oil noodles with shrimp sound good?”

“It’s almost like you know me.” He laughs at your sarcasm. 

“Drive safe.” 

When Jay hangs up, you allow yourself a few minutes to adjust and wake up, stretching your body from the warm comfort of your blankets. You change out of Sunghoon’s shirt to put on pajama pants and another one of his stolen shirts, opting not to take a jacket since you figure you won’t be out for very long. 

You thank your past self for filling up your gas tank before tonight after having put it off for a few days. Knowing Sunghoon, he would still scold you for allowing yourself to run nearly empty before filling it up even if he was inebriated. Somehow, knowing this about him brings a smile to your face.

Sunghoon’s the kind of guy who likes to have some control over certain things. He likes order and structure, often waking up at the same hour every weekday to build a routine his body can remember. He’s been like that since you first met him but you think it’s part of his charm. Even from two years ago, when you met him through Jake Sim, Sunghoon has maintained a level of confidence and control that he does now. On the heels of an impressive skating career before pivoting to focus on higher education, Sunghoon had his preferences and will stick by them. 

His discipline is the first thing you noticed when you met him for the first time. Jay, someone you were already familiar with, agreed to cook dinner with your friend group under the condition that everyone helped him shop and chip in for the meal. Sunghoon held Jake back from buying unnecessary things like boxed chocolate milk and candy because Jay had desserts back at his place. He held a checklist of items whereas the rest of your friends ran up and down the aisles without thinking much about what needed to be purchased.

Sunghoon’s near-meticulous behavior is juxtaposed to your chaotic and rambunctious nature. You often follow your gut instead of setting a solid plan because you’re not concerned with meeting deadlines, sans education. Whereas you tend to lean towards a go-with-the-flow attitude, Sunghoon is the opposite. But that’s something he loves about you.  

At a surface level distinction, it didn’t seem like the two of you would get along as well as you did. It surprised Jake when Sunghoon asked for your number so he could text you about seeing a comedy film with him as no one else in the group wanted to see it. Including you at an impromptu study session with him (Sunghoon was organized and neat while your pens were spread all over and your study methods, haphazard) felt like watching two people clash. 

Rather, you and Sunghoon complement one another. 

The idea of letting himself go with someone who wasn’t part of his friend collective was unheard of. Getting to know a girl who didn’t share similar lifestyles didn’t appeal to him before meeting you, and you’re inarguably the most chaotic person Sunghoon knows. But he finds that there’s order within your chaos—you know who you are and what you want, and you will not compromise yourself just to please other people. 

It’s what Sunghoon loves the most about you. There’s a boundary you never let anyone cross under the assumption that your own safety net feels compromised. He’s watched you lose friends for this same reason and has always admired the way you carry yourself like you know you deserve better than people who disrespect you. He’s witnessed the grace you maintain when people who call you a friend voice words of kindness but speak ill about you behind your back. If anything, Sunghoon feels pity for anyone who crosses you to the point of anger. To be envious of another’s confidence is one thing. To make that known is another. 

Sunghoon learns that you let your inhibitions go because holding control over yourself feels like a burden. It feels like setting a standard you will never be able to meet. He never thought of order in that way before getting to know you. Your approach to life sparked a new wave of emotions within him to the point where he was open and willing to let you farther into his life. 

His days were ruled by guidelines he had to maintain and proper etiquette that followed him even off the rink. The poise he carried from his career on the ice bled into his personal life too. Although, he doesn’t mind that it does. Sunghoon values any form of structure because it makes him feel like he has a purpose and that there’s something to be accomplished at the end of the day. 

Most times, Sunghoon’s feels like people judge him for his regimen and can’t fathom why he appreciates control so much. They tell him to let loose and enjoy his time away from his career. People always think he simply doesn’t know how to have fun because he’s set in his ways and won’t let other people coax him into doing something he’s not comfortable with. But not you. Sunghoon has never felt like you‘ve judged how he chooses to live his life. 

Before he knew it, a year had passed and he started to call you one of his best friends. The friendship was gradual. Sunghoon didn’t have many close female friends in the way he does with Heeseung, Jay, and Jake. You’re the first person since ending his career who hasn’t tried to pry into the why. In fact, Sunghoon enjoys that you didn’t bring it up. 

(You did, in the form of cooing over his younger self skating in competitions for the first time or roasting all of the outfits he had to wear. But somehow, all of your jabs made him feel happier than when people complimented his performance.)

Eventually, being around you felt too right. He loved it when you took naps on his bed and felt comfortable raiding your kitchen pantry without permission. Sunghoon could leave you in his apartment without him being in it and feel at ease. In fact, he started to look forward to coming home to you. All it took was seeing you wear his hoodie because you got too cold and forgot your jacket, to make him drop his bag by the front door and ask you to be his girlfriend. He hasn’t regretted anything with you since. 

The weather is cold outside since it’s approaching the middle of autumn. You let your car warm up and blast the heat all the way up while adjusting your defrosting settings before heading to the bar to pick up Sunghoon. You sift through your playlists and settle on soft indie melodies before you drive away from the curb. 

You’ve never seen Sunghoon get drunk to the point of needing extra help. Usually, you’re the one who goes a little too hard whenever Heeseung brings out the alcohol or if Jake offers an edible or two. Sunghoon likes to sit back and stay sober (or sober up by the end of the night) when he notices you having too much fun. He doesn’t mind, though. Sunghoon likes taking care of you because sometimes it gives him purpose. You’ve never understood that sentiment but to each their own. 

The only times you’ve seen him completely wasted are usually when you’re equally as gone, like on your first road trip as a couple. The five of you rented a lakehouse a few hours from Seoul and spent an entire weekend basking under the hot sun and chose to forget about university stress before finals would inevitably kick everyone’s ass. All five of you were cross-faded (but not without Jay and Sunghoon both prepping water bottles and snacks for when the munchies would hit prior to taking anything). You watched Sunghoon relax to the point where he was much quieter than he normally was and when you asked if he was doing alright, he looked you in the eye and told you he loved you for the first time. 

I always have, I think, he said as he brought your hand to his chest. You might not believe me because neither of us are sober but I swear I’ll tell you in the morning. 

Sunghoon gets affectionate when he’s drunk or high, often to the point of asking for reassurance. The rational side of his brain is temporarily disfigured. You don’t mind being there to tell him that he’s the love of your life and you’d never go anywhere when he gets like this. Although, you’re usually just as gone and gush all of your hidden emotionally-charged feelings, which pair well with Sunghoon’s need for validation sometimes. 

Your friends love your relationship. They don’t think it’s too much or too little, going so far as to take photos of the two of you when you aren’t looking. Some are funny like the pictures of you sleeping on his chest with drool pooling out of your mouth. Others are romantic and whimsical, like the pictures of Sunghoon looking at you like you’re the sunshine to his moonlight. They can’t get enough of you two. Your friends love knowing people they care about are deeply in love with one another and your relationship is somewhat of a reminder that true romance does exist. 

Thinking about this makes your heart swell as you park your car and tuck your keys inside your purse. The bouncer checks your ID and lets you inside the bar, and you already spot Jay off to the side. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he gives you a loose hug. “And sorry for waking you up.” 

You wave him off. “It’s fine. I’ve probably woken you up for worse.” 

“Yeah, like the time you and Jake wanted ramen at 3am and wouldn’t stop calling me because both of you got a little too high.” 

“Can you blame us?! You were like, two blocks away.” 

“Yeah, but did you need to eat with me?” 

“Duh. You’re like, the best person to eat a late night dinner with.” 

The two of you laugh as he leads you to the group. You see Sunghoon slumped over the table with his head in his arms and the rest of your friend group tries really hard not to seem too excited when they see you standing next to Jay. 

“Fucking finally.” Heeseung stands and gives you a quick side hug before Jake does the same. “Love you guys and all but he started to become unbearable when he kept showing us photos of you.”

Jake snorts. “Poor guy was almost about to cry.” That makes your heart soft. 

“He looks so cute,” you coo, tilting your head to savor this moment. It’s abnormal for you to be the sober one but you’re starting to understand why Sunghoon doesn’t mind taking care of you when you’re like this. 

Jay comes to stand next to you. “He’s not cute when he drank half his weight in alcohol and wouldn’t shut up about how pretty your hair is.” 

“What, do you don’t think my hair’s pretty?” The messy, unbrushed hair is enough to make the guys laugh. 

“Nah seriously, thanks for coming,” says Jake. “We felt bad calling you but he refuses to get out of his seat.” 

“It’s fine.” You wave him off and step closer to your boyfriend, who still hasn’t moved from his position. 

“Do your thing and we’ll be here if you need help bringing him to the car.” Heeseung smiles gratefully at you. 

Even the back of Sunghoon’s head is unfairly gorgeous. His hair always looks nice, although you credit that to his younger sister introducing him to a world of hair care products during his skating years. It feels soft to the touch as you stroke the back of his head until Sunghoon slowly comes to. You feel his body start to stir.

“Baby,” you say quietly, bending down until you’re next to him. “Wake up for me.” 

“Hm?” Sunghoon mumbles from his arms. He feels the sensation of your fingers carding through his hair and pulls himself from the table, wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth before realizing you’re standing next to him. “Y/N?”

“I’m right here.” 

He pulls his head up until he’s sitting upright in the booth, squinting up at you to adjust to the bar lights that disappeared when he closed his eyes. Your boyfriend looks so innocent like this. He looks at you with a wide, round gaze as if you’d appeared out of thin air and he’s trying his hardest to figure out how you’re standing in front of him. 

“Is it really you?” Sunghoon asks in a quiet voice. His tone makes your heart flutter and you reach your arms out until you’re cupping his jaw and rubbing the pads of your thumbs over his cheeks. Sunghoon melts into your touch and you feel his body start to relax. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, bug. Did you have fun tonight?”

He nods in your hands, “Mhm. Just tired now.”

“Jay said you were asking for me.” 

“I always ask for you.” Your cheeks heat up and you try to ignore the snickers from behind you. 

“Why don’t we go back to my place, yeah? You can sleep in my bed instead of this bar.” 

“Can we? I love the guys but I just missed you.”

“Simp,” Heeseung whispers before coughing into his fist. 

Sunghoon stands from the booth once you’ve taken a step back to give him the space to move. He’s surprisingly able to stand on his own and clutches onto his jacket as he makes his way to the door. 

“Sorry guys,” he mutters to the guys. 

“Yah, it’s fine,” Jay says as he waves Sunghoon off. 

“Get home safe,” Heeseung says as he opens the door for the two of you. Sunghoon waves behind him until you guide him to the car. 

“Can you put your jacket on for me?” You catch it in your hands after he nearly let them fall from his grasp. 

“Shit, sorry.” You watch Sunghoon put on one arm and then the other. He looks so childlike in this moment as he concentrates his hardest to put the jacket on without stumbling. 

It reminds you that he doesn’t show you this side of him often. Sunghoon, ever the poised individual who likes to know what’s ahead of him, has let his inhibitions down. Seeing his figure slowly push his body through the warm fabric has you biting back a smile. 

“Need help?”

Sunghoon looks down at his hands that are trying to zip his jacket up to no avail. He feels like his hands are too big and the zipper is too small. “Please.”

Your steady fingers cover Sunghoon’s and take over the tedious task. The metal is warm from his fingertips. You can feel him looking down at you and you temporarily fumble with the zipper, which makes him laugh.

“Silly,” he mutters. “Ah, fuck. I don’t know if I can open the door.”

You roll your eyes and open it for him. “You’re funny.” 

He slides into the seat as gracefully as he can without hitting his head on the roof. Sunghoon struggles, but manages to buckle himself in and grins up at you when he hears the click of the buckle. When you look down on him, the lamp post from above casts a soft glow on his face. He looks so youthful at this moment. Sunghoon has let go of his thoughts and couldn’t think about anything but the present moment even if he tried. 

He waits for you and mumbles about how cold it is when you turn the engine on. The warm air starts to uplift his spirits and he looks at you with us head pressed to the headrest.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“What?” you ask. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Usually I’m the one taking care of you.”

“You don’t always have to be brave, you know.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything. He reaches out to envelope your hand in his and squeezes it until he’s holding it loosely in the quiet of the evening.

“I love you.” 

Your heart blooms. “I love you right back.” He seems satisfied with your response and lets go of your hand so that you can drive back to your apartment. 

When you park on the curb, Sunghoon’s sober enough to unbuckle his seatbelt and wait for you to turn the engine off before opening his door carefully. He steps outside and leans back on the car door until you walk around the hood of the vehicle and grabs your hands to pull you into him. 

You feel his lips on your before you register what’s happening. He tastes faintly of pineapple soju and beer, and his mouth is warm. Despite his inebriated state, Sunghoon’s able to hold you between his hands as he moves to place them on your hips to balance your body after you’ve stumbled into him. 

The kiss itself is slow. In fact, it feels as though Sunghoon has slowed time around so that the two of you could enjoy the late night kiss uninterrupted. You can barely hear anything besides the ringing in your ears after being caught by surprise due to your boyfriend’s abrupt movements. Your mouths move in slow tandem and Sunghoon nearly pushes his tongue inside your mouth before pulling away to rest his forehead against your own.

“My baby,” he whispers against your lips before giving you another quick peck. 

“You are so cute.” You blurt out this confession like you’re still pining after him. “Let’s go inside, yeah?” 

The apartment is warm compared to the environment outside and Sunghoon slips off his shoes in favor of wearing his designated slippers. He doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time he does so, letting you pull him into the hallway until the two of you reach your bedroom. The hardwood floors feel better than the uneven pavement from outside.

He loves it here. It’s a sanctuary away from his apartment with the friends he will probably invite to his wedding. But something about your green comforter and hand-painted artwork adorning your walls makes Sunghoon feel like he would live by your side for the rest of his life. The scent of your room–warm peaches and vanilla–tugs at his heart strings. This is where he belongs. 

Likewise, you love seeing Sunghoon behave like this. It’s not commonplace for him to let people take care of him in the way you are now. He’s used to people looking out for his career and best interest but he struggles with allowing others to handle him with such care. After a decade of enduring harsh criticism and physical endurance, Sunghoon struggles to relax and allow others to take the reins. It’s partially why he loves taking care of you. Being able to provide that kind of love and support makes him feel wanted and needed, even if you tell him he’s more than enough a thousand times over. 

You leave him in your room to change his clothes taken from his designated drawer while you prepare skincare and the works. You hear him shuffle outside and fall onto the bed once, prompting you to hold your laughter in as you wash your hands and pull out hair clips for him to use. 

“I can’t lie,” Sunghoon says as you emerge from the bathroom to see him in a big t-shirt and pajama bottoms, “I’m really looking forward to you doing my skincare.” 

You snicker and pull your desk chair into the bathroom. “Now you know exactly how I feel every time I beg you to do mine when I’m drunk. Sit and close your eyes, please.” 

He follows your instructions and leans his back against the furniture. Sunghoon doesn’t fuss when you pin his hair back until it’s secure and allows you to make him feel pampered in a way he typically wouldn’t. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” 

Sunghoon hums. “Yeah, I did. The guys picked me up from my place and we had lunch at that seafood spot we’ve been meaning to try.” 

“Was it any good?”

“So good.” He licks his lips. “God, I’m still thinking about that shellfish soup. We ordered enough food to feed a village but it was so worth it. I wanna go with you.” 

“We can go wherever you want.” He smiles at your soft tone. 

“We also went to the beach and met some guys at the skate park by the highway. They were pretty nice and let us use their boards for a little. Heeseung got along with them the best, I think.”

“Heeseung makes friends with everybody.”

“He says he’s not social but that’s a lie.” Sunghoon twitches his nose when he feels a damp washcloth on his face. “We went to the bar afterwards and split it by round. I got the first and honestly, I don’t remember much after that.” 

“How are you feeling now, though?” you ask as you finish patting his skin dry. “Do you still feel dizzy?” Sunghoon opens his eyes and watches you apply a serum before dabbing it all over his face. 

“Not as much as before. I think I’m just tired.”

“And clingy, apparently.” 

Sunghoon smacks the back of your thighs. “Shut up. You love it.” You silence him by kissing his nose. 

While he brushes his teeth, you situate yourself underneath your plush covers and allow the weight of the blanket to fall on top of you. The sweet promise of a good night’s rest feels imminent, especially when you see your boyfriend emerge from the bathroom. He turns off the light and walks towards the empty side of the bed before he’s slipping himself beside you. 

Sunghoon’s an equal opportunist when it comes to sleeping positions. He loves it the most when your head is on his chest and when your arms are tangled in one another because he likes knowing that the two of you yearn for each other equally. But when he gets like this, Sunghoon takes initiative to maneuver himself until half of his chest and head are on top of you. He situates his arm around your waist and pulls himself closer to your body until a deep, satisfied sigh comes from the back of his throat. 

He hums in appreciation when your fingers begin to massage his scalp. Sunghoon’s hair is soft and silky and on most days, you’re the only person who gets to touch it. The slowness of your movements paired with the soft kiss you place on his temple makes his eyelids feel heavy. 

“Sorry you had to come pick me up,” Sunghoon mumbles against you. “I know we agreed to give each other some space this weekend.” 

“You should know by now that I’d do anything for you.” He feels you kiss the crown of his head. “Plus, we both know you’d do the same for me.” 

Sunghoon nods. “I would. You’re my girlfriend. Duh.” His sleepy nonsense makes you laugh. 

“You can go back to hanging out with the guys tomorrow if you want.” He shakes his head. 

“I want to get breakfast with you.” Sunghoon finds your free hand and presses a sleepy kiss to the back of it. 

“Whatever you want. We can get breakfast.” 

“If we wake up early enough.” 

You laugh again. “Yes, if we wake up early enough.” 

Sunghoon mumbles a few incoherent words that you can’t quite make out because of your own tiredness. When your own eyes start to droop, Sunghoon feels your fingers start to falter and looks up at you to see you’ve fallen fast asleep. 

He kisses the underside of your chin and falls asleep too.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[hoshifighting]

omg omg knf i’m low-key feeling like a genius.

bb do you know that trend on tiktok where the bridesmaids give the husband naughty polaroids of the bride throughout the celebration I NEED HUSBAND!SVT REACTIONS TO THIS (u being the bride ofc)

also i’m saying need but if this is smth you don’t want to do feel free to ignore. ily mwah 💋

husband!seventeen reacting to your bridesmaids's giving them naughty polaroids of yours — tik tok trend

seungcheol’s in the middle of chatting with the groomsmen when he gets the envelope. he opens it, glancing down, and immediately freezes. his eyes widen as he realizes what he’s looking at. “you guys can’t just do this to me!” he tries to play it off, but he can’t help but sneak a peek at the photo again.

jeonghan's expression doesn’t change. he just stares at the photo, then looks up at your bridesmaids with a knowing smirk. he slips the picture into his jacket like it’s no big deal, but the second he catches your eye across the room, his smirk turns into a full-on grin. oh, he’s definitely going to tease you about this. “just wait, babe,” he mouths silently, making sure you know he’s got something planned.

joshua’s too polite to expect anything out of the ordinary, so when the envelope is handed to him, he opens it without a second thought. his eyes widen immediately, and his cheeks flush a deep red. “oh my god,” he whispers, quickly closing the envelope and tucking it away, glancing around nervously to see if anyone else saw it. he’s mortified, but there’s a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. he looks over at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

junhui the second his eyes land on the photo, his brows shoot up, and his mouth falls open. “oh… wow,” he mumbles, trying to hold back the grin creeping up his face. he looks around to make sure no one else can see, quickly stuffing the photo into his suit pocket, but his eyes keep darting back to u. he gives you a playful smirk across the room, biting his lip slightly.

hoshi opens the envelope, sees the photo, and immediately lets out a loud “oh my god!” his eyes go wide, and he’s laughing, blushing like crazy. “seriously? right now?” he says, grinning ear to ear, but he’s clearly flustered. he tries to play it cool, but u can see the blush creeping up his neck.

wonwoo doesn’t say a word—just slips the photo into his jacket, giving the bridesmaids a quiet nod. but there’s a glint in his eyes when he looks over at you. he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you adjusting his glasses, hoping that the dream of them hide his red cheeks.

woozi doesn’t know what’s coming when he takes the envelope, and when he opens it, his reaction is instant. his eyes widen, and his face turns bright red. “what the—” he quickly snaps the photo shut. he’s completely flustered, but he’s also low-key impressed. tries to act like it didn’t faze him, but the blush won’t go away. “you’re lucky it’s our wedding day, or you’d be in serious trouble.”

minghao’s expression barely changes, but you can see the slight quirk of his eyebrow. he glances at the photo, then at your bridesmaids with a knowing smirk. “you girls really think you’re slick, hm?” he says quietly, folding the photo and tucking it into his suit jacket. later, he’ll pull you aside, his voice low and teasing. “you’ve got some nerve doing this at our wedding, but I’m not mad about it.”

mingyu’s curious from the start, wondering what kind of wedding surprise your bridesmaids could’ve cooked up. when he sees the photo, his jaw drops. “no way…” he mutters, blinking like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. he blushes instantly, but his eyes keep drifting back to the photo.

seokmin’s the type to open the envelope with the biggest smile, thinking it’s something cute. but when he sees the photo, his eyes go wide, and he lets out a loud, “holy shit!” before clamping his hand over his mouth. his face turns bright red, and he quickly stuffs the photo back in the envelope.

seungkwan’s expecting a cute, heartfelt note or maybe some kind of sweet wedding surprise, so when he opens the envelope and sees the photo, he gasps. “oh my god, no way,” he mutters under his breath, his face instantly flushing red. he glances around nervously, quickly hiding the photo, but his heart’s racing. “you really had to do this today of all days?”

vernon pauses. his eyes widen slightly, and he lets out a quiet, surprised laugh. “wow… okay,” he mutters, nodding to himself like he’s impressed. he slips the photo back into the envelope, tucking it into his pocket with a smirk.

chan’s face turns beet red as he sees the photo, and he almost drops it. “what the—?! are you serious?” he sputters, eyes wide in shock. then he quickly glances over at you, trying to gauge your reaction. he chuckles nervously, clearly flustered but loving the chaos.

[kxsalt]

“Our liege will take her tea in her chambers today.” Alone in the kitchen, the young maid is surprised to hear his voice behind her. The man moves quietly for his size. She turns to look up at the bodyguard. All she can manage is a weak nod of acknowledgement. His eyes bore into the nervous lady.

The maid quivers as his hands reach out towards her. He grips her tie. One hand gently holds the knot, tightening it up close to her neck. “Ensure that your dress is proper. Etiquette is discipline.” She whimpers and nods as he adjusts her clothes. Passing through the kitchen, he continues his rounds. Droplets of water fall from the kettle.

“Besides, that makes it even more interesting to me.” The princess’s voice. Pushing the large doors closed with her round bum, the maid brings a tray of tea and biscuits. “My advice is to go slow. Warm up to it with time.” Her bodyguard counsels. “You always advise caution.” She chirps back. “And you love to rush, princess.”

The servant girl nervously pours the tea, praying that she doesn’t overhear anything she shouldn’t. “I’m not as fragile as I look.” The princess eyes the bent over maid as she talks. “Believe me, I know that better than anyone. But I wouldn’t be fulfilling my oath if I was careless with you.” She takes the teacup from the trembling girl. A sip. The conversation lingers as the maid waits to be dismissed.

“Show me. Just so I can get an idea of what it would be like.” The noblewoman takes another casual sip. “On her.” Confused, the maid looks between the two figures. One large, the other small, both intimidating. The bodyguard sighs and steps over to the maid. Gripping her tie for the second time that day, he pulls up the hem of her uniform. The girl’s bare ass exposed, she panics and tries to push away.

Men his own size can’t escape his hold. The young maid has no chance. He drops her to the ground in one smooth movement, catching her just before she strikes the floor. On her knees, he holds the scruff of her neck. Her panties are pulled down. The bodyguard opens his belt, spits on his hand, and smears the tip of his cock. The servant squirms helplessly.

“Easy, little one. It’ll be over soon.” The man whispers in her ear as he pushes his cock against her hole. She bites her lip and whimpers. The tip slips upwards as her eyes widen. His huge hand covers her mouth. A muffled scream as he forces his cock into her ass.

Slowly, he starts to rock his hips back and forth. The maid shakes and smacks the marble floor with her palm. She lets out a faint sob as he removes his hand from her face. Posturing upright, he spits again, letting it run where her open asshole and his cock meet. The bodyguard thrusts into the tight girl, working a bit more in each time.

“You’re being too nice.” The princess dips a biscuit into her tea. The order is implied. Grabbing onto the girl’s shoulders, the man starts to pound her ass. Horrified and overwhelmed, the maid covers her own mouth. “Is she tight? Does she feel good?” The regal woman teases. He grumbles, methodically breaking in the servant. “Yes, princess. She’s good.”

“I want to see. Bring her closer.” The bodyguard drags the girl across the smooth floor. Picking her up, he turns to face the noblewoman. He pulls open her shirt, revealing her tits. The tie is held like a leash. Her legs are pulled wide open. The princess smiles and sips her tea as she watches the giant fuck the maid’s tiny asshole. A single droplet falls from her pussy as the man bounces her bum on his dick.

The maid’s legs give out. He holds onto her hips. Hanging from his hands, bent over at the waist, he ruthlessly uses her ass. A few savage grunts join the sounds of fucking as he cums inside her. The bodyguard exhales and gently lowers her to the floor. When his cock pops out, a stream of his cum runs from her hole and splatters onto the floor.

Crumpled on the ground, she hyperventilates. The princess takes the last sip of her tea and places it on the tray. “Very good. You’re dismissed, maid.” She gestures at the dishes. “Just clean up before you go.” The girl’s head hangs low as she struggles to stand. More cum runs down her leg. She reaches out to take the cups.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” A wicked smile. “I said clean up.” The princess points at the mess on the marble floor. The bodyguard looms over her. Not lifting her head, the maid takes a cloth and kneels on the ground. She wipes away the cum. Searching the white marble, she finds another puddle between her legs. A droplet falls and splashes. She wipes that away, too.

“Fix your uniform.” The man orders. “Etiquette, remember?” Dazed, the girl looks down at her body. Panties hanging off her thighs, dress pulled up above her hips, shirt open and breasts out. A tear stains her blouse as she fixes her disheveled clothes. “That didn’t seem so bad. If the help can do it, I’m sure I could.” The couple watches her as she corrects herself. She feels their eyes.

“This one liked it. Usually, a girl would fight back more.” The maid curtsies and grabs the tray, desperate to leave. Her blood freezes as the bodyguard steps forward again. She can’t bring herself to look at him. His hands hold her tie and tighten the knot against her throat. “She did well. Good discipline. I like that.”

[rafecameroninterlude]

can i request a [🍪] chocolate chip cookie, for “bed chem” by sabrina carpenter

₊˚⊹ᰔ 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦

pairing: soft!dom!rafe x kook!sweetheart!reader

summary: ❝how you talk so sweet when you’re doing bad things. that’s bed chem.❞ — rafe loves coming home to his girl.

warnings: sooo much dirty talk, lots of praise, grinding (?), unprotected sex, brief mention of reader having a size kink, multiple orgasms, love biting, yk rafe has to talk you through it ;)

word count: 1.0k

a/n: me realizing this is the first explicit piece i write with rafe and kook!sweetheart!reader :0 feel free to participate in this little poll if you want to!

“fuck, just look at you..” rafe had you laid out on your bed, his lips whispering sweet nothings against your skin. “so fucking beautiful, ‘always ready for me to take you when i get home.” he ran his large hands up your bare thighs, his cock stirring in his briefs. you took your bottom lip between your teeth, his rough palms a stark contrast to your soft flesh. “this is all i think about when we’re apart.” you gasped when he spread your legs open, his eyes darkening at the sight of your glossy folds. “you’re already wet just thinking about it, huh?” you nodded, meeting his lust filled gaze.

“you’re so passive with me, baby, i love that. ‘love when i walk in here and you give me those ‘fuck me’ eyes.” he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your jaw as his hand trailed down to where you needed him most. you couldn’t help the moan slipping past your lips when the pads of his fingers found your needy clit, all of his attention zeroing in on the way you melted into his touch. “coming home to you like this.. fuck this is all i’ll ever need.” you swore you could cum from his words alone. cupping his face, you pulled him down to meet your lips. like always, he tasted like a little bit of liquor with a hint of mint.

“please, rafe..” you weren’t exactly sure what you were begging for, but since rafe always called the shots, you let him decide where this was going to go. you watched as he took himself out of his boxers, a shaky breath emitting from your mouth. you could never get used to the mere sight of him, the size difference of you two making butterflies erupt in your tummy every single time. rafe laid down, pulling you on top of him as his cock sprang up against his stomach. “grind on me, pretty girl, you know how i like it.” his hands rested in the curves of your hips as you dragged your soaked cunt up and down the underside of his length.

rafe groaned, his head falling back against your pillows as your sensitive bundle of nerves glided on top of his cock with ease. “shit,” he said through gritted teeth, “you’re doing so good for me, doll face.” you whimpered, feeling empty while fighting the urge to sink onto him. “wanna feel you inside me, ray..” your nails dug into the skin of his toned chest, your boyfriend’s mouth falling open in a silent moan. “not yet, baby, let’s go slow, ‘promise i’ll be fucking you into oblivion very soon.” your cheeks heated, muttering a pathetic ‘okay..’ before continuing your ministrations.

rafe was in absolute awe watching the way you moved on top of him, those little sounds falling from your swollen lips as you panted and whined from not being filled up. you jolted with every swipe of your clit against the head of his cock. rafe knew how sensitive you were, how it never took much to have you making a mess on him in no time. that fact turned him on more than anything else he could think of. adjusting the grip he had on your hips, you let out a yelp when he started dragging you up and down his cock himself. “i want that pussy greedy and sucking me in when i flip you over.”

you shuddered, feeling the familiar heat start to boil until rafe brought it to the surface. rafe thought you looked the prettiest when you were cumming, your expression ingrained in his brain forever. “oh, my g- fuck, rafe!” he knew it was good when you cursed out loud, your body trembling and shaking as your high washed over you. rafe pulled you into his chest, peppering your face with kisses until you were nothing but jelly in his arms. without giving you any time to recover, rafe pushed your face into the pillows, snaking an arm underneath your waist before thrusting into you without warning.

thankfully your scream was muffled, your fingers digging into the sheets for dear life. rafe’s skin was flushed to your own, the weight of him on your back making you mewl. “so fucking tight, holy shit.” he kissed the spot behind your ear, his arms enveloping yours. you intertwined your fingers with his as he thrusted into you, stretching you so deliciously. you moaned, the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix made you clench around him. arching into his thrusts, he rested his head in the curve of your neck. “you’re so fucking perfect, ‘taking it so good.” rafe bit your earlobe, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine.

you nearly lost it when he angled his hips, the thick head of his cock hitting the spot inside of you that made you see stars. “oh!” you gasped, your face contorting into one of pleasure. “i know baby, fuckin’ hell, i know.” he shuddered, feeling the start of his peak forming in his stomach. “gonna fill you up, ‘make you take every last drop..” he pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades before sitting up on his knees. adjusting your position so your ass was in the air, you lost all ability to form a single thought when he took your hands behind your back and plowed into you until you were crying out, begging for him to never stop.

when the band snapped, and rafe fell over the edge, he cursed against your skin, holding you still as your own orgasm hit you at the same time. he painted your walls with his cum, his hands never leaving yours. you loved squeezing around him, taking him for everything he had while his breath fanned against your skin. he stayed nestled inside you for a few minutes before pulling out with a hiss. you laid limp, your boyfriend pulling you close as he stroked the side of your face. wiping the stray tears from your cheeks, rafe admired your post-sex afterglow. “what are you thinking about?” he hummed, snapping you out of your daze.

“how you talk so sweet when you’re doing bad things.”

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Vox Kink Headcanons

Personal kink headcanons for my beloved tv man Vox. Not doing the more obvious/universally accepted kinks. Instead I'm writing about some of my more... niche takes.

WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader, but is AFAB for the last section; all the kinky shit obviously; Valentino mention (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Domestic Kink ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

For those who don't know, a domestic kink is being turned on by doing everyday couple things. Things like cooking, cleaning, that type of thing. Vox basically gets turned on by you two being a couple and taking care of each other. The man is so love starved he just gets sent to another planet by those simple everyday shows of affection.

If you start helping Vox get dressed in the mornings, he will melt into a puddle. Every. Time.

It started simple enough, Vox was in a rush so you thought to help him put on his coat. Sliding it onto him, adjusting the collar, straightening his bowtie... You didn't notice how still he went until you went to fix his sleeves and you looked up into his wide, almost feral eyes.

Vox desperately crashed his lips against yours as he pulled your bodies flush together causing you to squeak. Only then did you feel how hard you had made him as he grinded into you... Needless to say, Vox had to reschedule his entire morning.

Vox will come home to you cooking dinner and just bend you over the counter. Whispering in your ear, 'Your so sweet doing this for me, Sugar. Now let me take care of you."

I have had the scenario floating around of you making Vox breakfast in bed one morning just as something nice to do for him. You dont think too much of it, he has been so tired and overworked lately so you figure any extra sleep he can get would do wonders for him

Vox however, absolutely fucking loses it. When you wake him up with tray in hand, he... just kind of stares at you. What do you mean you already made breakfast? Wait you have breakfast? For him? For him in bed?

You actually thought the man might have bluescreened. It takes you setting the tray down and grabbing his hand before he starts moving again.

Vox pulls you into his lap and starts peppering kisses all over you. He just cant believe that this is actually happening; that your here with him, that you did such a sweet thing, and oh god does he love you so much.

He actually is daydreaming about it the rest of the day and bragging about it whenever he can.

Comes home early that evening just to surprise you and spend a romantic evening together (totally not because he accidentally pent himself up gushing over you all day ABSOLUTELY NOT).

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Recording/Being Recorded ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

(This one might not be a niche take but I'm putting it here anyway cause I want to yap about it)

I wasn't quite sure if there was a specific name for this kink. But what I mean by this is Vox loves to specifically record you two having sex. Like an amateur porn thing. However. These videos are meant for his eyes only.

Vox would murder anyone who so much as tried to get their hands on these videos. God help them if they actually saw one. Its not even a matter of honor or anything, its a matter of only Vox is allowed to see you come apart like that. Vox is the only one allowed to hear you make those sounds.

Vox honestly isnt going to even bring this whole 'recording you two' thing up unless he trusts you completely. Even then he is super sheepish the first time he asks about it. Vox knows your going to be suspicious and, yeah, you rightfully are due to his association with the porn moth.

It takes a bit of prodding for you to get out of Vox that he sees it as a different way to enjoy you. To experience you. He will get to see your beautiful body at angles he never could while he plows into you. He can finally see the look of pure ecstasy on your face as he eats you out, diving his tongue as far into you as it can go.

Vox is over the moon when you finally agree to let him place a camcorder in your shared bedroom.

You viscerally notice how much more relaxed and strangely content Vox seems to be next time you two have sex. Vox always had this certain tension to him and its just... gone now.

What you don't realize is that 'tension' was Vox's underlying fear of how transient you were. He was always trying to absorb as much of you as he could, to memorize every part of you. But now he felt like he could truly let himself enjoy the moment knowing that he will be able to listen to your heavenly sounds on repeat, analyze every little twitch he causes, and fully see every expression you make.

A deep, deep, dark part of Vox want to tell Valentino to cancel every shoot he has for a day. To reserve the studio just for you two. To spend an entire day taking you in every way imaginable. Bringing you to bliss in every messy way he possibly can. Getting you to make every obscene noise that beautiful voice of yours can make.

But Vox knows that he could never trust Valentino to not make a copy of you two for himself. So he will stick to his amateur recordings. Anything to keep you safe and to himself.

Whenever Vox is missing you at work (or whenever he gets a free moment honestly), he starts watching back one of your now countless sex tapes. He will let the odd feeling of comfort wash over him as he sees the adoring looks you give him and hears you two exchange words of love. God, he can't wait to get back home to you.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Cock Warming ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

OKAY. I think I've gotten the point across that Vox is a certified lover boy™ who basically wants to imbibe your very being. Whelp. This is just more of that.

Don't get me wrong, Vox loves sex. Sex is great. But having you on his lap, his cock inside you, the two of you as close as two beings can physically get, and just- enjoying that... It hits differently you know?

Say its due to his mechanical nature all you want, (insert joke about 'plugging in' here) but Vox loves to feel like you two are truly connected. When your bodies actually become one like this, he is just that much closer to perfect.

As stated previously, will let you sit on his lap and cockwarm him anytime you please. Vox's absolute favorite times are when he has to do work ironically. He can never stop the blissful smile he makes as he has you in his lap. Vox will gently hold you with one arm while the other tries to get work done. You always end up giggling whenever you kiss up the side of his neck or monitor and Vox lets out the most contented sighs.

Honestly, just start going to work with him, becoming his personal cocksleeve whenever he is in his monitor room. A blanket draped over the two of you to hide what's actually going on.

Since the poor guy has no choice but to sleep on his back; you can easily do the same thing for bedtime. Climb on top of him and delicately slide him inside of you. Vox will just look up at you with the most lovedrunk expression as you bend over him and nuzzle into his neck, your body draping over his, and Vox pulling you impossibly close as you both fall asleep.

Its times like this that Vox questions why anyone would even need heaven.

[drewharrisonwriter]

Softer

Status: One Shot, Complete.

Pairings: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary: Marriage has been good to Joel—he’s happier, softer, and maybe a little pudgier.

Word Count: 1,592 words

Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex (hehe), mentions of weight gain, body appreciation, strong language

A/N: This fic was written for @beefrobeefcal’s Married Joel Sits on You Challenge! Am I too late for this challenge? 😅 Please forgive me for any mistakes, English is not my first language and it's my first time joining such a challenge, and I utterly enjoyed it. Thank you so much Beefro for this 💖

The prompt was: "Marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed overall a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline."

P.S. Do you enjoy my writing? If so, I’d truly appreciate any support through comments, likes, and reblogs! If you’re able, donations or writing commissions would also mean the world to me as I’m currently managing everything from my phone due to financial constraints. You can donate here or DM me your commission ideas. Thank you so much for your love and support! 💜

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

Joel adjusted his sunglasses, glancing at his reflection in the mirrored elevator walls. It was late afternoon, and they’d just come back up from the beach to their hotel room. He scratched his beard, tugging his shirt down over his belly, feeling the fabric cling just a little too snugly.

Tommy’s teasing echoed in his mind. "You packin’ some extra cargo these days, big brother?" The little shit had poked his side earlier as they lounged by the beach, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.

"Asshole," Joel muttered under his breath.

You glanced up at him, curious. "What’s that, honey?"

Joel shook his head, giving you a half-smile. "Nothin’, sweetheart. Just thinkin'." He hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you close as the elevator doors slid open. You walked out together, your hand slipping down to his lower back as you strolled through the quiet hallway.

“Tommy’s words still botherin’ you?” you asked softly, your voice coming off with gentle teasing. You gave his belly a playful squeeze. “He’s full of shit, Joel. I love you like this. Tommy don’t know what he’s talkin’ about.”

Joel grunted in response, though a small smile tugged at his lips. He didn’t say anything as you continued walking, but you could feel the tension in his body slowly easing under your touch.

Once you reached your suite, Joel swiped the keycard, and you both rushed inside, quickly locking the door behind you. You double-checked the lock, raising an eyebrow at him. “You sure you locked it, Joel? You know how those girls are… Wouldn’t put it past Sarah or Ellie to barge in at the wrong moment.”

Joel let out a low chuckle, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you close. “I ain’t paid this much for a vacation just to get interrupted when I’m tryin’ to make another baby with my hot wife,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “Trust me, darlin’. That door ain’t budging.”

A playful grin tugged at your lips as you teased, “Baby, aren’t you a little old for a newborn?”

Joel cut his eyes at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re real funny, you know that?” He dipped his head, brushing his lips against yours. “Doesn’t matter how old I am. If it were up to me, I’d keep you pregnant all the damn time.”

Your body flushed at his words, the heat between you flaring with the roughness in his tone. “Yeah?” you whispered, your voice thick with need. “You’d keep me pregnant, huh?”

Joel’s hands slid down to your ass, squeezing as he pulled you close. “Damn right. We could start right now if you want,” he growled, kissing the side of your neck. “Or maybe after a couple more vacations like this one.” His lips traveled lower, sucking a mark just beneath your ear.

Your breath caught as you smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “I don’t mind more vacations first,” you teased, your hands wandering down his back as the two of you continued to make out as you made your way toward the bed.

Joel’s large frame practically caged you in as he guided you down onto the plush mattress. You tugged at his shirt, pulling it off as he hovered over you, his body solid and warm. His fingers made quick work of your bikini top, tossing it aside.

As he leaned over you, your hand ghosted over his once-firm stomach. Marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed overall a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline.

“You look so good…” you hummed. 

Joel’s expression softened for a moment, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he kissed you. “You mean I’ve gone fat?” He grinned before leaning in, his lips grazing your ear.

You laughed, cupping his face. “I love it,” you assured him, pulling him in for another kiss, deeper this time.

As you kissed, Joel’s hand slid between your legs, fingers dipping into the wet heat between your thighs. “Goddamn, baby,” he groaned against your mouth, his fingers teasing your entrance before sliding two thick digits inside you, curling them just right.

Your body jerked at the sensation, and you whimpered softly, “Jesus, Joel!” It’s pretty good and scary at the same time that he knows exactly where and where to curl his fingers inside you to hit that soft spot that makes you see stars. 

His fingers worked inside you, while drawing slow circles on your clit with his thumb that had your hips bucking up toward him. “So needy,” he murmured, “But you’re gonna have to wait, sweetheart. Wanna take my time with you.”

You gasped, head falling back against the bed as he worked you over, his free hand holding your hip steady. The rough pad of his thumb brushed over your clit, and the pressure was just enough to send sparks flying through your body. “Fuck, Joel…”

Joel growled, his mouth closing over your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You moaned at the sensation, your body arching into his touch as his fingers continued their slow, torturous rhythm inside you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging hard as the pleasure built deep in your core. He kissed his way back up to your lips, his beard rough against your skin as he murmured, “You’re gonna cum for me, baby. But not yet.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and your body trembled beneath him as he finally pulled his fingers out, leaving you gasping for breath.

“I need you, Joel,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. “Please…”

Joel positioned himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “You’re gonna take every inch of me, darlin’,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. “Gonna bury myself so deep inside you, I’ll be the only thing you can feel.”

With one slow, deliberate thrust, Joel buried himself to the hilt, his cock stretching you wide as his blunt tip kissed your cervix. You gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders, clinging to him as he held himself still, giving you a moment to adjust.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel groaned, his forehead pressed against yours as he began to move, each slow thrust hitting deeper than the last. “You feel so good… so fuckin’ tight around me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he picked up the pace, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, setting your body on fire. “Joel…” you gasped, your voice breathless.

He leaned down, his lips closing over one of your nipples again, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak before sucking hard. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you moaned, your hips rolling up to meet each of his thrusts.

Joel groaned, his hand sliding between your bodies to rub slow circles on your clit. “Cum for me, baby,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “Wanna feel you cum all over my cock.”

Your body responded instantly, the tension snapping as your orgasm crashed over you. You cried out, your walls clenching tight around him, your vision going white as a wave of pleasure rippled through you.

Joel’s hips stuttered as you came, and with a deep groan, he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his release. He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and trembling from the intensity of it all.

After a few moments, Joel gently rolled off you, still catching his breath as he sat up on the edge of the bed. “Don’t move, darlin’,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom. He returned moments later with a warm, damp towel, gently cleaning you up with tender strokes.

“C’mere,” Joel whispered, tossing the towel aside and pulling you into his arms. You curled up against his chest, his warmth and steady heartbeat lulling you into a blissful daze. He kissed the top of your head, his large hand rubbing slow circles on your back. 

“You okay, sweetheart?”You smiled sleepily, nuzzling into his chest and just humming your reply. 

Joel chuckled, brushing a hand through your hair. “Good thing we locked that door. Last thing I need is Sarah or Ellie walkin’ in while we’re busy.”

You snickered, burying your face into his chest with a soft laugh. “We’ve done a good job avoidin’ that so far.”

Joel sighed contentedly, running his hand along your back. “Yeah, but I swear, if they catch us one day, Tommy’s gonna have a field day. He’s already givin’ me shit about puttin’ on a little weight.”

You laughed harder, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him, your hand slowly sliding down to his soft belly. “This pudge’s the proof you’re enjoyin’ yourself, Joel.”

Joel chuckled, his chest rumbling as he pulled you closer. “Hell, maybe you’re right,” he admitted with a smirk. “Can’t say I’m complainin’, though.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I love you like this. Softer, but still strong.”

Joel squeezed you gently, his voice quieter. “Feels good, don’t it? Finally bein’ able to enjoy things.” 

You could only hum in response. You let sleep take you, safe in the warmth of his arms.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @camsdaae @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin—pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.

[garfunklefield]

Right now I'm Shameless

18+ viewer discretion is advised

Fem!reader/Suguru Geto Warnings: plus-size!reader, reader is into cute pink frilly outfits, Geto is VERY into the readers body, emo!geto, opposites attract, oral sex, Geto is canonically hung, pussy eating with a tongue piercing, creaming, fingering, blow job, degradation/praise kink, overstimulation, crying, a little dub-con Word count: 3047 DESC: You've always wondered how many piercings your best friend has

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“How many do you have?” 

You blinked a few times at your friend, who was lazily scrolling on his phone in front of you. You and Suguru had met in your first-year economics class and stayed friends up through college. Now as seniors, your friendship felt almost second nature. Suguru was different from you, in the sense of dressing. He wore dark clothes, had dark hair, and so many piercings. You always wore pink frilly outfits, so you contrasted perfectly. Like two sides of the color spectrum.

You never tried to stare at the dragon tattoo snaking up his muscular arm or the way his labret piercing stuck out with a sharp point on the bottom of his lip. You had tried counting before, but new tattoos and piercings seemed to show up every week. There were the gauges, eyebrow, labret, septum… but you knew there was more. Maybe in his ear? You didn’t want to consider yourself a creep, staring at him so intensely, so you opted to avoid eye contact with the handsome man as best as you could.

You wouldn’t say you had a crush on him, but you wouldn’t not say that. You were very much down for anything he wanted to do if he ever offered. But the thing was, he never offered.

Suguru lifted his head, purple eyes scanning your face. He raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment, trying to mentally count before he gave up and started feeling around his face. You noticed his hand then trail down to his stomach, before ghosting at his belt. His fingers delicately traced the silver and black surrounding his waist, holding up his black skinny jeans.

He… no way. Your eyes widened at the thought. A dick piercing? There’s no way he’d have one. And there’s no way you’d go this long without seeing it. Well no- you didn’t want to see it- well. You shook your head at those thoughts. He was just a friend, and you did not want to see his dick. He was just a friend, and you did not picture him naked sometimes. 

It didn’t help Suguru had a reputation for being incredibly … large. Girls and guys talked about it like it was a godsend just to be fucked from behind by his cock. Not going to lie, you’ve thought about it before. Just a small fantasy, and wondering what it would be like. You saw how he’d eye you in those short pink skirts or those low-cut kawaii tops, you know the ones you’d find on Pinterest. Your body was far from flat, being curvy and fat-filled in all the right places. Even if they weren’t the right places for others, they were to you. You loved your big form and you could tell that Suguru enjoyed the view too.

“Seven,” he looked back at you and adjusted his position, sitting up. You two were just in your dorm, sitting on either side of your bed. God the whole thing was pink, you felt so proud. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

You thought for a moment. Gauges, eyebrow, septum, lip… that was only four. So there were three you couldn’t see. Your mind and eyes instantly wandered down his body, stopping at his stomach, “Belly button?” You didn’t dare to look down to see the tent being pitched in his jeans, the tent you knew was growing as you continued to speak.

“And tongue,” he spoke softly, brushing some hair from his face. He pushed it behind his ear but it continued to fall into his eyes, “The other one you’re going to have to guess.” A seductive look crossed his face, trailing up to his eyes. He blinked a few times, barely closing his eyes to let his eyelashes ghost against his bottom eyelid. Fucking majestic honestly. 

“Guess? C’mon just tell me,” you frowned, motioning to his perfect body, “Is it a dermal somewhere?” 

“No. Think dirtier,” he then paused, “Think lower,” he suddenly purred. Suguru knew exactly what he was doing. You couldn’t deny you were attracted to him (I mean you do have sexual fantasies about him). And you couldn’t deny how it made you soak your underwear when he spoke to you in that low tone. You could just imagine him groaning sweet nothings into your ear with that perfect tone, with each thrust becoming sloppier as he attempted to reach his high. You could practically feel him bite down on your neck as he fucked you, pumping you with his seed.

“Lower?” You bit down on your bottom lip and adjusted your position to sit up as well, “Um… I don’t wanna seem weird.” 

“Nonsense, you won’t be weird. Did you go too perverted?” He smirked and set his phone on the bed, motioning down to his legs, to the pulsating hard-on in his skinny jeans, “I can show you if you’re too embarrassed to say it.” 

You slowly closed your eyes and released your bottom lip from the hold on your teeth, “Are you sure?” What was in the water today? Was it obvious he was turning you on? Was it obvious you wanted to give in and close the space, even if it was a mistake? I mean he was hard for Christ's sake! How much more obvious could you both get? Every inch of his body was on fire as if it was statically charged, just aching to touch your perfect curves. Suguru was hot, you couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t deny his attraction to you. You couldn't deny your attraction to him any longer. And it was obvious to him, huh? It must’ve been obvious to everyone. You slowly opened your eyes and stared at him. He was serious. God you just wanted him to show you how big he truly was. And god you just wanted him to fuck you like the needy little whore you were. 

“Always baby,” he grinned and stood up, beginning to undo his belt. You found yourself staring at his quivering dick through his pants. He was hung. You could see it from how his dick sat in his pants, becoming more erect as he just teased you there. His hands are seated atop his hips, with his cat-like eyes staring you down. Purple pupils dilated in your direction. Suguru then grabbed your chin and forced you to stare back into his own eyes, widening them as he continued, “I’m down if you’re down to see my piercing.” 

Your eyes fluttered a bit with your bottom lip jutting out into a pink glossy pout. You needed to think about this for a moment. If he was offering, you’d like to take a ride on that stallion. Besides, you couldn’t say no to that stare even if you tried. If he truly wanted to fuck you and he knew you wanted to fuck him, why not? You only live once. And you knew this would just be a one-time thing, just sex. God you just needed him to fuck you. 

“Can I see your dick now? I’m down,” you spoke softly, opening your eyes fully to stare at the grin atop his face. Fuck it, you thought. 

Your best friend nodded and let go of your face, bringing his hands to fondle his belt. He slid it off and then started to shimmy out of his skinny jeans. He looked stunning in just a pair of loose boxers that hugged his muscled curves. He thumbed the waistline of his underwear and let his eyes flick back to you, “Do me a favor princess, and kneel in front of me. I want to see how you look against my cock,” he cooed, watching as your plump form fell to the floor on his knees in front of him.

How could you say no to that beautiful voice as it rang through your ears? You couldn’t! You nodded hungrily as he smiled down at you. You looked pathetic. You felt pathetic. But you didn’t care. Just to taste that length around your mouth would be worth it. To swallow his cum would make you feel whole. Something inside of you needed him suddenly, and so badly.

Suguru slowly brought his underwear down, revealing his massive cock. He was huge. You could see it from the way it lazily sprung from his body and how it glistened in your room lighting. You wanted to touch it so badly, to run your fingers over his Prince Albert piercing until he was shaking for more. It was just a loop through the side of his tip, through the urethra, and out one side. You reached out and grazed your fingers up to his tip, lightly tugging at his piercing. He bit his lip and watched you, hands waiting idly on either side of his body. 

“Hold on,” he said softly, lifting one of his hands to sweep some of your hair up from under your scalp, “Do I have permission to use you as my fuck toy?” He pulled your hair into a ponytail, although you had to say it was the worst one you’ve ever seen. You looked up at him and went to speak but the tip of his cock lightly tapped at your bottom lip. You couldn’t even hide the moan that escaped your lips, and he took that as a yes. 

You opened your mouth and he forced his way inside you. You gagged at the feeling of his tip and his piercing kissing your mouth. It was already too much to be stuffed this badly but he didn’t seem to care. Both of your hands anchored to his hips, letting your nails dig in as he grabbed your ponytail. With one fluid motion, he brought your lips closer to the middle of his shaft, before pulling you back to his tip, then back again. It was consistent how utterly fast he was going. You gagged again as you felt his piercing trail up and down the side of your mouth, clashing against your teeth. 

“F..fuck you’re a whore for this, huh? You t-take this without any hesitation, huh?” Suguru breathed out, throwing his head back in a blissful state of condescension. You looked up at him and tried to pull your head back to speak, but he slammed you back against his cock. You whimpered at the sensation, feeling a pleasurable throb grow in your legs. Fuck you just needed some sort of release to make this all worth it.

One of your hands on his hip moved down in between your pants, rubbing against your clothed cunt. Anything for a bit of friction and stimulation. You just needed to feel him pound you, or better yet eat you out with that tongue piercing of his. You rubbed with two fingers in quick circles, feeling a small wave of pleasure build through your clit. You moaned and gagged at the same time, feeling the nauseous twinge run up the back of your throat. It hurt so good. God…

You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t even breathe from how much he fucked you. It was as if you were Suguru Geto’s personal fleshlight for him to use until he was completely milked dry. And it turned you on so much. To be used as an object. You wanted him to use you until you were shaking and crying for it to stop. Hey- you were halfway there already. Tears formed at the base of your eyes and threatened to come out with each thrust until they finally started pouring from your cheeks. 

“Aw… mm-f .. fuck. Is this too much for you p.. Mm, princess?” Suguru spat, raking one hand through your hair and yanking on the ponytail. He pulled you from his cock, a line of slobber hanging from your bottom lip. He stared at you with pure lust, just aching to defile every inch of your perfect body, “Look at me, whore,” he commanded. You did as he said, eagerly staring up at him for something else to do. God what a sub! 

You blinked a few times before he pulled you up. You whined at the painful sensation of being pulled by your hair, as he pressed a slobbery kiss against your open mouth. He tasted like cigarettes and it made your legs weak. You managed to find your footing and stand, letting him press himself against you. Suguru ate at your mouth as if you were his last meal, hoping and praying it would never end. He needed your taste against his tongue as if it was the last thing on Earth. 

“Pathetic slut,” he murmured, biting down on your lip. You gasped and then felt him force his tongue into your mouth. You couldn’t feel the piercing against your tongue, but you could feel him move his tongue perfectly against yours. Saliva mixing made you throb uncontrollably. As you kissed, you felt him walk forward, inching towards your bed. You had a feeling where this was going. The railing right?

He pushed you back against your bed, your knees bending on the edges. Your best friend pulled your shorts down, not even caring to remove them from your ankles. You looked down with a dazed expression and murmured something about him fucking you, to which Suguru laughed and mused, “Let me please you first.” You didn’t need to be told twice, as you let your back hit the back of the bed with a light thump. 

You felt him slide down your lace panties with gentle care before two fingers spread your folds apart and a tongue licked your slit. You felt a metal pebble lightly rub up and down your clit as he licked, before moving to suck and slurp as if he was a starving man. A faint moan escaped your lips as your hips moved with a mind of their own, grinding against his face as his tongue moved circles around your swollen clit. Typically this motion wouldn’t get you so hot and bothered, but something about Suguru made it incredibly arousing. He was just … perfect. Maybe this shouldn’t be a one-time thing. 

Suguru pulled away for a moment and removed a ring or two from his pointer and middle finger, before dipping them into your pussy. You bit your lip and watched slowly as he sunk two fingers in. He curved his hand and bent his knuckles, beginning to pump in and out of you with a devious grin. You wanted to ask why he was admiring you with those eyes but as he grazed your G-spot, suddenly all words died on your tongue. You let out a guttural moan and lifted your hips to the sensation, trying to catch more of this intense pleasure he was giving you. 

“That’s it. Cream on my fingers, you filthy cunt. Aw does someone like it when I call her a cunt? You’re desperate. I could tell-” he spat as he thrust two digits inside you, “-you wanted me but you were too shy. And now you’re aching to cum… It’s almost cute,” a condescending laugh fell out of his mouth and he leaned forward, licking a pitiful stripe against your clit, “I could let you cum…”

“Please…” You whined, throwing your head back as the pleasure got too much. It was too much and not enough to be fucked by his fingers. You needed all of him at that moment, even if it wasn’t possible, “Please Suguru…” You breathed out shakily, turning your head to stare at him with an unfocused look. 

“Since you asked nicely,” Geto smiled and pressed his lips against your pussy, thrusting all the while. He ate you out and pushed another finger inside, just to see if you could handle it. You could; bucking your hips in response to the added stimulation. You could feel the exact spot it was rubbing and you could feel your body beginning to contort as the pleasure was building. You sat up and ground against his face, stretching out both arms to grab onto something. Nothing but sheets were in your vicinity and all you could do was helplessly grab them and beg to cum. It was mindless at this point, as he sucked your clit, to beg for completion. 

Something he must’ve done ended up pushing you over the edge. Whether it was his tongue fucking you or his fingers, something made you cum around them and clench. You clenched so hard you could feel his struggle to thrust them in and out, forcing him to instead internally rub against your G-spot. You gasped and lifted your hips again as you rode your high, biting down on your bottom lip and grabbing the sheets as if your life depended on it. You had never cum to the point of almost blacking out, but now that you have you never wanted to go back. The feeling of pleasure so intense wiping over you it made you dizzy, made another twinge of arousal poke at your clit. 

But you realized the pleasure had stopped. Suguru pulled his fingers out and pressed a light kiss against your cunt, standing up and then sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked down at you with fondness, taking in your half-exposed body. He murmured something you didn’t hear before clearing his throat, “You’re gorgeous.” 

You smiled and reached your hand out, grazing against his arm, “Round …two?”

He laughed and looked away, “I don’t think you can keep your eyes open. I won’t fuck you until you can’t walk …yet. I want to warm you up first.”

“This is a regular thing?” You raised an eyebrow, sleepily attempting to sit up but letting yourself slide back against the bed, “You haven’t cum though…”

Suguru shook his head and grabbed your chin delicately, contrasting with how he had manhandled you just minutes prior. He pressed a soft kiss against your temple and released you, letting you fall against the bed once more. 

“Get some rest and I’ll rail you in an hour, okay?” He smiled, closing his eyes and tilting his head to the side. Who were you to say no to such a face?

[mommywandas]

Icky Dreams — W.M

——

Pairing: Mommy!Wanda x Sub!Fem!Reader

Summary: You have an icky dream caused by Wanda.

Warnings: mommy/mama kink, strap on (r receiving), pet names, general smut, mind controlled dreams, choking.

Words: 1.9k

A/N: expansion of an imagine I wrote on an icky dream that Wanda created. (based on a dream i had)

Beta read by @poulengp <3

——

You woke up slowly, humming as you adjusted to the darkness of your bedroom. You didn't remember falling asleep, but here you were in bed, and by the sound of light breathing, your girlfriend was with you. Smiling, you were about to turn over to say hello, when you felt an ache between your thighs.

"Good evening, sweetheart."

Wanda's soft voice filled the silent room, making you smile but your eyebrows were furrowed. Suddenly your dream hit you. Oh wow, it had been glorious.

"What's wrong, detka?" Wanda whispered, tilting your head to make you look at her. You squirmed, making eye contact reluctantly. It was embarrassing, the way your thighs rubbed together.

"N—nothing, mommy.." You mumbled, trying to turn away to hide but she stopped you.

"Did my poor baby have a bad dream?"

If you didn't have your eyes closed (because if you couldn't hide then you decided not to see her) you would have noticed the smirk on her lips.

"Mhm." You hummed, clenching your eyes shut as you drifted off into your dream, it had been heavenly. So.. heavenly.

"Tell me about it."

You opened your eyes, squinting in the darkness, noticing the way a shadow highlighted your girlfriend's cheekbone. "It was, uh.." You trailed off, your cheeks flushing. "I—it was.. icky."

A low chuckle reverberated in her throat. "Oh? What type of icky?" Her fingers played with your hair gently.

She knew exactly what you had been dreaming of. Because she had been the one to plant it in your sleepy mind.

"I can't say!" It was impossible to refuse that expression of hers, though. She smiled, biting her lip as she looked down at her precious girl.

"You will say it. Don't make mommy upset."

Your heart sunk at the idea of mommy being upset. You grabbed the fabric of her pyjamas and pouted. "Don't be sad!"

Her lip tucked between her teeth, she tilted her head. "Then tell me." It was as simple as that.

"Fine.." You huffed, crossing your arms, eyes fluttering closed again. "It was an icky feeling, down there." You pointed to your thighs.

Wanda couldn't help but let out a little excited hum. "Ah, in your big girl parts? How naughty. Tell me what was going on."

Sighing softly, you held onto mommy's hands to ground yourself, stop your mind from drifting off into that heaven. "You were touching my special parts, and— and—"

"And?" It was Wanda's turn to clench her thighs. Oh she had been longing for this moment for a whole week. How dare someone make her wait for a damn week. She'd been giving you those dreams for seven days, and every time you'd managed to stay in a deep sleep, not remembering anything, until today.

"You used your.. thing.." Pointing to the special closet where all the naughty toys were kept.

"Mommy's cock?"

A gasp left your lips at her blunt choice of words. "Mama!" You squealed because those words caused a stirring in your lower stomach. Whenever you called Wanda that, her heart soared, no matter what the situation. It was a special name, that only the two of you shared privately, a silent sign of trust and love.

"Well that's what you meant, wasn't it? I want to hear you say it." She murmured, looking you directly in the eyes making you squirm once again.

"It was mommy's cock." You mumbled dejectedly. Why had your dream so been so fun? Why did you want to beg your mommy to recreate it? And why was it always so hard to verbalise it?

She tilted her head to the side, as if reading your mind. "Poor thing, you just don't know what to do, huh?" You shook your head, a helpless expression washing over your face.

"Well, let mommy do the big girl thinking for you." Her whisper was low, "Close your eyes and lay down."

You did exactly as she said, trusting her because she knew best after all. The weight of her on the bed disappeared, and a minute later (you counted it) she returned, the mattress dipping. You felt her settle below you, slowly spreading your legs.

"Oh my, you really did get excited." She commented once noticing the damp patch on your white laced underwear. You hadn't been wearing anything but that and a loose band T-shirt you loved, that Wanda didn't particularly like but she was happy if you were happy. She slowly pulled them off, discarding them somewhere behind her.

"Mhm, because mama was being naughty and.. and.." You struggled to speak because you were about to say a bad word. Wanda didn't like when you used adult words, because it was for bigger girls who had no respect, so she said.

"You can say it, sweetheart." Whenever you felt like she knew what you were thinking, the light in the room always seemed to play a trick on you, because there would be a glint of red in her pupils. But you didn't know if it had happened as you were still momentarily sightless.

"You fucked me." Very small and quiet words.

"You must have had a really good dream if you want to curse like that." You agreed with her by giving a shy smile. Finally you opened your eyes, and gasped at sight. Your mommy was naked, save for the harness around her pelvis, a large toy attached to it, larger than you'd tried before. Another ache pulsed through your core, begging to be touched.

"Mama, please.." You whined impatiently. "I don't wanna wait! Please!"

"You know I love it when you beg." She smirked, lining the toy up with your folds. She didn't need any lubricant today because you were clearly already so wet. She teased your entrance, humming as she slowly pushed halfway in.

A squeak escaped your throat, trying to get used to the size. "T—too big! Mommy is too big!"

"You can take it." Was all she said before sliding the whole length in. You shrieked, grabbing at her shoulders as she bottomed out inside you, reaching the depths of your insides, causing an obvious tummy bulge. The sight made you moan. "See that? Mommy's inside you, filling up your special parts."

You nodded frantically, bucking your hips desperately to get her to move. She knew what you were begging for so she started to move in and out, thrusting slowly. Your mouth dropped open into an O shape.

"Mm— ah!" Every so often the toy would hit your g-spot, causing you to groan, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Wanda's hand quickly pulled off your shirt, revealing your perky breasts.

"So perfect, my little doll." Lips wrapped around your left nipple, sucking gently. Your breasts had always been sensitive, she knew that, and always used it to her advantage because she craved for more noises from you. It was like a game, seeing if she could get you to moan louder each time, almost training you.

"M—mommy.. so.. good.." You breathed out, body jolting with each thrust as she quickened her pace. But there was something else you wanted, needed. In your dream she'd done something you'd never asked for before, but the more you thought about it the more turned on you got.

"What is it, dorogoy?" Of course she knew there was something on your mind, and judging by the smile on her lips, she knew exactly what.

"C—can you put your— ah— hands a-around my neck?" Whispering, you pointed to that area as your words struggled to stay coherent.

Her eyes darkened, not with a hint of red, but something more human. "Only lightly, this is your first time trying it." She had been aching for this moment. She didn't know what it was about you that made her crave control over your body. She desired so much that she had never mentioned, knowing you needed to be eased into these things, and if it took making you dream of those things, so be it.

"My icky dreams of mommy keep getting— ickier." You moaned, words stuttering out with each deep thrust. The slick noises filled the room, tummy bulge tightening as you felt the band in your stomach coil up.

Wanda's right hand moved to your neck, carefully, with precision, as if she'd rehearsed it. "You remember the safe word if it gets too much?"

"Y—yes, red." Repeating the word seemed to relax her, as it seemed even though she wanted to choke you so badly, your safety and comfort were always her upmost priority. She smiled slightly before her grip grew firm.

A dizzy feeling overtook your head, though you weren't sure if it was the pressure on your windpipe or the pure bliss of being handled like this.

"Fu—" You stopped yourself from swearing, knowing you'd have to receive a punishment for it, and you weren't in the mood for that, just focused on reaching your peak and letting go of all that pent up energy that had grown in your sleep.

"Watch your words very carefully, sweet girl, because I can stop all of this and leave you a squirming mess." Her voice was deep, full of lust and desire.

"Sorry mama.." You gasped for your words, and you felt your orgasm pushing closer. "I.. I'm gonna—!" Meeting her eyes, a desperate plea for her to let you release.

"Go on, come for mommy."

You didn't need telling twice. The mix of dizziness and pounding of a very big strap made you shriek again as you came. Your arousal dripping down the toy and onto the sheets. It would be a mess your mommy would clean up later, you were sure. She always made sure everything was clean, everything just perfect for her bunny.

"Mhm!" Body trembling and shaking from the after shocks, she helped you ride it out, her thrusts slowing until the dildo slipped out of your tight walls, settling against your cunt.

"How did that feel, darling?" She sounded softer now, not that she hadn't always been soft, but more nurturing. The grip of your neck loosened.

"Amazing." You smiled dreamily. "Icky feeling is gone. I feel.. floaty again." That was a word you often described your emotions after sex with Wanda.

"I'm so glad. Mommy just wants you to feel good." She nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent, the scent of the body lotion she specially bought for you. Her favourite smell of roses. So wonderful she could almost eat you. "I'm going to run you a bath, then we'll sleep, it's very late."

"No, I just want cuddles now." Your pout never failed to melt her, so she gave in, a smile tugging at her lips. "Okay, let's cuddle, but we're having a shower in the morning."

You nodded, not fully paying attention to her words, busy floating in the clouds. "Thank you, mommy."

Her heart squeezed with love and affection. "I love you, detka."

"I love you too."

You slowly drifted off into a peaceful sleep in her arms.

Wanda watched over you, biting her lip before her eyes glinted red, in a way that couldn't be a trick of the light. She set up your dream, this time including herself waking you up with the strap buried inside you. She could predict how icky you would feel, in a very good way. The smile never left her lips as she relaxed and fell asleep.

——

Tags: @godhatesgoodgirls @alexawynters

(Let me know if you want to be on a permanent tag list!)

[fleming-o]

Behind the spotlight - Niamh Charles x Reader

request here

Award show nerves aren’t always the best

angst with comfort

---

The soft hum of the city buzzed just outside the window as you fidgeted with your cufflinks, trying to push down the tension building in the room. Niamh stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap of her dress for what had to be the tenth time. Her brow was creased, lips pressed into a thin line, and her usually bright eyes were clouded with something heavier tonight.

"You look stunning, you know?" you said, stepping closer, hands hovering just inches from Niamh’s waist. You didn’t want to touch her yet—not when the air between you felt so fragile.

Niamh’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. "Thanks."

The flatness of her voice cut through your chest, but you kept quiet, knowing better than to push. Niamh wasn’t usually one to show her insecurities. She was a fighter on and off the pitch, and tonight was supposed to be a celebration of that. But the way she kept glancing at her reflection, adjusting her dress, her earrings, her hair, told a different story.

After a moment of silence, you finally stepped forward, resting a hand gently on Niamh’s back. "You okay?"

Niamh’s shoulders stiffened under your touch, and you instantly regretted asking. "Yeah, I’m fine," she said quickly, too quickly.

"Are you sure?" you pressed gently, not trying to pry but unable to shake the worry.

Niamh sighed, her fingers stilling at her side. She met your eyes in the mirror, her expression hard to read. "I just... I don’t know why I’m even going tonight. It’s not like I’ve had a standout season or anything."

You blinked, taken aback. "What are you talking about? You’ve been incredible this season."

Niamh scoffed, turning away from the mirror and folding her arms across her chest. "Incredible? I barely played for half the season because of my shoulder injury, and when I did, I was hardly at my best. I don’t even know why they invited me."

Your heart ached hearing her speak like that. You stepped in front of her, gently grabbing her hands. "Niamh, you’re being too hard on yourself. You pushed through, you came back stronger, and everyone’s noticed. You deserve to be there as much as anyone else."

Niamh pulled her hands back, looking away. "I don’t feel like I do. It just feels... fake, like I’m playing a part tonight or something. All those cameras, the smiles, the awards. It’s all for people who’ve done so much more this season. Not me."

You felt frustration rising in your chest, not at her but at the situation, at how much she was doubting herself. "You’re not playing a part," you said softly. "You’ve earned this. And it’s okay to feel nervous or unsure, but you can’t let that take away from everything you’ve accomplished."

Niamh shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her. "You don’t get it. I don’t feel like I’ve accomplished anything. I feel like I’m just... there, you know? Filling a spot."

The room went silent, tension thick between you. You knew how much the injury had weighed on Niamh, how hard she’d worked to get back to full fitness, but hearing her like this, so vulnerable, was new. Niamh always hid it so well.

"You’re more than just a spot-filler, Niamh. You’ve fought through so much this season. That means something."

Niamh’s eyes flickered with doubt, maybe frustration, but she stayed quiet, her gaze fixed on the floor, her thoughts clearly heavy.

After a beat of silence, you sighed and stepped back. "Look, I know tonight feels big and overwhelming, but you don’t have to go if you really don’t want to. We can stay home, watch a movie, whatever you need."

Niamh’s head shot up, surprise flickering across her face. "No, I—" She hesitated, her voice softening. "I want to go. I just... I don’t know how to be okay with it."

Your heart squeezed. You stepped forward again, brushing a thumb over her cheek. "Then let me help you. We’ll get through tonight together, okay?"

Niamh’s shoulders sagged slightly, her walls crumbling just a little. She nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Okay."

---

The awards night was every bit as glamorous and overwhelming as Niamh had expected. Lights flashed from all directions as you walked into the venue, cameras capturing every smile, every step. Niamh’s hand was tight in yours, her fingers cold and stiff. You could feel her pulse racing beneath her skin.

"You’re doing great," you whispered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as you made your way through the crowd, trying to ease some of the tension radiating off her.

She gave a small nod, but her grip on your hand only tightened.

The night passed in a blur of speeches, applause, and polished smiles. Niamh sat rigidly at your table, her eyes darting around the room, never settling for long. Every time the camera panned across the audience, she straightened up, forcing a smile you could tell wasn’t real. You squeezed her hand under the table, hoping to remind her that you were there, that she wasn’t alone in this.

When Niamh’s name was finally called for an award, you saw the flicker of panic flash across her face. She stood slowly, hesitating just long enough for the applause to feel awkward before making her way to the stage.

You watched her closely as she accepted the award, the way she held it in her hands like it didn’t belong to her, the way her voice wavered just slightly as she gave a brief thank-you speech. Niamh was always a fighter, but tonight, she looked like she was fighting against herself.

When she returned to the table, her smile was brittle, her eyes distant. You leaned in, whispering softly, "I’m so proud of you."

Niamh’s jaw clenched, her fingers trembling slightly as she placed the award on the table. "I don’t deserve this."

Your heart sank. "Yes, you do. You worked so hard to get back here. You deserve every bit of this recognition."

Niamh shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn’t feel like it. I feel like a fraud."

You wanted to argue, to tell her again how wrong she was, but you could see how fragile she was in that moment. Instead, you placed a hand gently on her thigh, grounding her. "You’re not a fraud, Niamh. You’re one of the strongest people I know. And even if you can’t see that right now, I do. I believe in you."

Niamh’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and for a moment, the mask she’d been wearing all night crumbled. She leaned into your touch, her body sagging with the weight of everything she’d been carrying.

"I don’t know how to feel better about this," she admitted quietly, her voice trembling. "I feel so... lost."

Your heart broke for her, but you stayed steady, knowing she needed you to be her anchor. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just take it one step at a time, okay? You’re not alone in this."

Niamh nodded, her grip on your hand tightening again, this time not out of anxiety but out of gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice raw. "For everything."

You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Always."

---

Later, after the lights had dimmed and the applause had faded, you found yourselves back in your apartment. Niamh sat on the edge of the bed, the award resting on the nightstand, her gaze distant.

"You were amazing tonight," you said gently, sitting beside her. "I hope you know that."

Niamh didn’t respond right away. She stared at the award, her expression conflicted, before finally speaking. "I’m trying to believe it."

You wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "You will. And until then, I’ll remind you every day."

Niamh rested her head on your shoulder, her body finally relaxing into your embrace. "I love you," she whispered, her voice soft but steady.

You pressed a kiss to her hair, your heart full. "I love you too."

And in that quiet moment, with the weight of the night behind you and the warmth of your love surrounding her, Niamh allowed herself to believe—if only just a little—that maybe, just maybe, she really did deserve it all

---

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

Imagine you are laying in bed with Vox and you know he is charging/asleep and you are trying to do your walk of shame/pride and you pull out your phone to call for an Uber/taxi and when you look at your screen it Vox going "Baby come back to bed"

This ended up nsfw lmao Vox x Reader, CW: vagina fingering, and p in V sex.

You slide out of bed, looking over your shoulder to make sure Vox's screen is still dimmed and his eyes shut.

Quickly gathering your clothes and heading out through the hauntingly quiet halls of VoxTek, footsteps echoing as you scramble to call your ride.

Fuck you knew it was a mistake to sleep with your boss, fuck fuck fuck, what were you going to do? What was he going to do? Fire you? Maybe you should quit.

Your mind whirrs as you get in your ride... Odd you hadn't called for a limousine but you checked the name with the driver and he said something about an upgrade so you shrugged assuming other drivers were too busy or something.

You get in and start doomscrolling your phone to try and calm your nerves, fidgeting slightly as you feel Vox's cum trickling from you, fuck you'd forgot your panties, adjusting your skirt uncomfortably, glad of the privacy screen you look back at your phone and yelp nearly dropping it and Vox's face appears on the screen.

Vox: "Babydoll what are you doing? You should come back to bed."

His voice is so assured you almost agree, he always had something about him that mad you want to agree to anything his said, despite your own self imposed rules about not getting attached to folk down here and only having one night stands.

You: "Sorry sir, this was a mistake, we shouldn't... Won't be doing this again... I understand I need to look for a new job tomorrow."

Vox's face frowns, and you sigh with relief thinking he's going to agree but you shriek when suddenly with a bolt and a zap to your hand he's suddenly sat beside you, having travelled through your phone.

You blush in mortification as he's still utterly bare.

You: "S-Sir... -"

Vox: "Oh no Doll, I've found something I like, and I don't give up my toys so easily, so I'm going to convince you to come back with me now, and you're going to be a good little Doll and TRUST me."

Blinking as you feel slightly dizzy, you whimper as you feel his hand sliding up your thigh, and your body is oddly limp as he spreads you open without resistance, hiking your skirt around your waist, his eyes glued to the sight of his cum dripping out of you.

Vox: "Fuck Babydoll, that's so hot. Just waiting for me really weren't you, left me a parting gift and everything."

You: "I-I never do more than one night stands."

Vox: "That's because you've always been mine, and those other idiots were too dumb to chase soothing so damn perfect."

You can't respond as his tongue eases inside your mouth and his fingers start sliding through your folds simultaneously. You hips buck and a needy whine escapes your lips.

Vox: "Now let's see how much convincing you need to come back and stay."

Your hips arch and your chest strains as he rubs teasing circles around your clit.

You: "Vox..."

Vox: "That's right Babydoll, thays exactly how you should be saying my name."

Vox keeps rubbing you, his mouth marking your shoulder as the shoulder on your shirt is ripped, but you can't think, can't mind it as he drives you closer and closer to your peak.

The squelch of his fingers sliding into you is embarrassingly loud and he chuckles against your neck, which is bent at such an odd but accommodating angle.

Your moans increase as his fingers fucks you more relentlessly now, your clit feeling puffy and swollen as his thumb doesn't stop tormenting it too.

You hand grabs his wrist for grounding and you feel the flex of his tendons and muscles at work as he drives his digits deep inside you.

You : "Oh fuck."

Vox: "Don't worry, Doll, we will, again."

Your other hand is grabbed and placed right on his hard cock, the rigid member throbbing in your grasp and you cry out as your fall apart all over Vox's fingers.

Twitching and spasming, you swear you hear him gasp as the grip of your hand on his cock matches that of your cunt on his fingers.

Vox: "Perfect little Doll, now you're coming home with me aren't you, and you're going to be a good Toy and not leave."

Absently you nod, and don't even notice as you end up within moments on a plush bed, clothing shredded, and crying out his name once more as his cock starts fucking his own cum even deeper inside you.

Vox: "Trust me, Babydoll, you're staying right here where you belong... Mine."

*The driver had been hired by Vox and was literally circling the streets, that's why they never arrived anywhere 😂

[fumiliar]

self-restraint is one thing kento prides on. he is a good man, or at least he tries to be. his eyes landed on your flailing figure, pinching his nose bridge to prepare himself. you, gojo, kento and shoko went out for drinks to celebrate the fact you 4 were still alive.

your mind was blank, you had no self-control, it was like the shame centre in your brain got turned off.

"oh my god!" you squealed in excitement. "my favourite song!" you stumbled off your bar stool, going to stand up on the table, gojo supporting your brave act.

kento acted quick. right when your foot landed on the table, you were pulled back by an immeasurable amount of strength, your back landing on someone's muscular chest.

"how drunk are you?" a gruff voice spoke right beside your ear, sending shivers through your whole body. your senses were already heightened, but at this moment, you could feel everything. you could hear the fastening rhythm of your heart, along with the steady rhythm of another's.

"earth to y/n~," satoru's singsong voice echoed through your empty head.

"yea, sorry," you shook your head, turning around to see kento's disapproving look. his hand keeping a deathly grip on your wrist, ensuring you were always close to him, in case you'd do something embarrassing, or at least that's what he tells himself.

"y/n, i'll bring you ho-"

"don'tt, you're such a party pooper nanamin! we were just getting started," the blue eyed man whined, he looked like he was about to start a tantrum.

"yeah, let's just wrap it up, i wanna go home," shoko agreed with kento, getting ready to leave. "i'll leave y/n to you, gojo, come." satoru following shoko like a sad puppy.

"let's go home," kento used his free hand to pack up your stuff, double checking if you took anything out of your purse.

"you're so hot when you take care of me," you freely complimented kento, his ears slowly turning beet red.

"i like you kento, you know that right?" you kept talking, kento's face slowly turning a darker shade of red. "why are you so red? are you having a fever?" you used your free hand to feel his forehead, even in your drunken state, you still worried about his health.

"no...y/n. i'm fine," he put your bag on your shoulder as he led you out of the establishment.

"ow....my feet hurt ken," you pouted looking down at your heels.

restrain yourself kento. restrain. was the only thing he could think off as he looked back at you. he didn't want to take advantage of your drunken self. he knelt down as he took of your heels, you bracing yourself on his back. he slowly took your hand of his back, putting down your heels on the ground to take off his blazer.

"up," his back facing you as he knelt down. you weren't going to waste a chance getting piggy backed. instantly, your arms slid around his neck as your legs trapped his torso. kento stood up, picking up your heels and adjusting his hold on you.

"comfy?" you nodded against his neck. "take this, and wrap it around your waist," he handed you his blazer. you instantly listened, wrapping the blazer around your waist, making sure you don't flash anyone along your way home.

"ken, you're so good to me," you mumbled, nibbling on his neck, eliciting a groan out of the man.

"you're such a tease," kento chuckled, smiling to himself at his current predicament.

"we're not even dating....hft," you sighed. kento let out a hearty laugh at your dissatisfaction.

"why do you want us to date?" kento asked making you even more disappointed.

"what woman doesn't want stability!" this time you were annoyed. you straightening your back, not leaning on kento's anymore. kento was still joyful, instead of responding to your annoyance, he loosened his grip on your legs, your instincts kicked in, quickly wrapping your hands around his neck once more to ensure your safety.

"were you about to drop me??" panic was evident in your tone, but kento was still amused. "answer me!" your hand hitting on his chest.

"y/n," kento sternly called out your name, abruptly stopping your abuse on his chest. "we're married love, isn't that the epitome of stability? why would i regress our relationship to just boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"huh?..." you were confused for a second, quickly looking at your hand. and there it was, glistening in the moonlight, your wedding ring. "oh.."

kento couldn't help but tease your drunken self, his self-restraint always wavering when it came to you. the prim and proper man turning playful in your presence, he just couldn't help it. he continued his walk home, occasionally giggling at your forgetful nature.

"i hope you don't forget this moment," kento muttered under his breath, knowing full well you would have no memory of this event, only a pounding headache to remind you of yesterday's events.

[ghostsslutss]

joost klein x vodka soda x rex club x chips and salsa

heres your order:

joost klien x f!reader

tags: cheating , degradation, praise, size kink

fuck why why did I do this. You thought. Your boyfriend went on a lad's trip with his friends, knowing him he was probably drunk clubbing in Ibiza. Joost Klein was your ex, that pesky ex that didn’t care if you had a boyfriend still. How his cock used to pound you endlessly again and again made you wet so bad. How his large hands managed to cover the whole of your throat while choking you. or how he used to pick you up so easily.

-

You were doing a DJ at the escape in Amsterdam, you dated Joost in private to avoid media and rumours. But it was one of the best times of your life. The love still burned within you for him, not for your boyfriend. For months you tried to avoid the pain of cheating on your boyfriend. But you wanted that fucking blonde so bad.

After your set, you left backstage. Hearing a swarm of fans, it probably was for you you opened the door to see him. that fucking idiot. Joost. There were people all around him asking for pictures one by one he signed them. Flirting and complimenting his fans, made you sick to your stomach. He should be praising you not them. as the crowd died down. Joost walked towards you, he was wearing one of his ridiculous outfit statements again. Kilt, tie and polo shirt with socks that go up way too high then some trainers. With his oversized glasses and messy mullet to finish the look.

“coming back to me again?”

Joost teased. You rolled your eyes crossing your arms and looking at him up and down. The fact he looked so hot made you clench your teeth. fuck. His blue eyes glared at you, wondering what was going on in your head. You finally snapped back into reality, covering your mouth and looking away.

“shut up joost.”

you mumbled, he grabbed you by the hips. Pulling you towards him. His tall frame towering over you. Feeling all of your curves, he inhaled deeply. Take in all of your alluring, strong perfume. You didn’t want to push him away. He felt and smelt too good. Forgive me father I have sinned.

“beautiful than ever.”

you tried to look away, his hand grabbing your chin. He bent down to adjust to your height and began kissing you deeply in the middle of the streets of Amsterdam. Tasting all of you, you softly moaned as he pulled away. A string of saliva left when he pulled away.

“lets go to yours it’s near isn’t it, little one.”

He grabbed your hand softly, watching you lead him the way. He was your protector, guard dog. That man would do anything to protect you. As you walked down the streets of Amsterdam people turned heads as Joost glared at people, watching people to not even look at you or touch you.

as you unlocked the door to your apartment, Joost quickly went in, throwing his shoes wherever they landed. of course he didn't give two fucks, he just wanted to fuck that sweet sweet pussy.

He went down to his knees, taking off your shoes and kissing your leg. As soon as he stood up, you slightly blushed struggling to keep eye contact as he towered over you again. Joost knew your weak points unlike your boyfriend did. He picked you up, you gasping as soon as he did.

“little one don’t worry.”

he smiled as he hummed one of his songs as he walked into your bedroom. Same room with the same Ikea furniture before he left. What a cheap useless boyfriend he thought. He gently placed you on the bed, taking your clothes off until your fully naked body was on full show to him. he licked his lips, already feeling his cock straining through his boxers. Joost started from your neck, kissing you softly. He moved to your tits, putting one in his mouth and sucking it softly.

“my favourite body part.”

you nodded as you moaned softly. Your breathing going more rapid and he moved down. He took his face away from your thighs. he pulled his kilt down and then his boxers. Revealing his lengthy and straining cock, you drooled at the sight of it. How you missed it railing you all night.

“on all fours.”

You obeyed like a dog. Arching your back for him, as he thrusted into you. You gasped. Your walls squeezing against his cock. he rolled his head back, groaning loudly. He delved deeper into you, penetrating you slowly but deeply. His nails dug on to your waist and he thrusted in to you.

“your boyfriend wont fuck you like this. hm?”

[strang3lov3]

Hot Date

Roman reminds you of who you belong to after your date.

Tags - stepdaddy!roman, stepcest, manipulation, toxicity, usual roman sexism, usual dubcon, jealousy, roman just has a lot of feelings, crossing some weird familial/romantic lines here, unsafe piv, lack of foreplay, rough sex, multiple cream pies, panties shoved down readers throat, inappropriate use of a vibrating phone. If the succession writers can go there then so can I. Fic Help - @beefrobeefcal @endlessthxxghts thank you for your eyeballs!! A/N - heddo! Fic inspired by this ask from @thesummerpetrichor 💜 Summer, thank you for this because this is my favorite part of stepdaddy so far! I hope this is feral enough for you 😌 love you love you!

Also, because all of you who read my Roman fics seem to be very on the same page as me, putting it out there that I’m open to writing more of your ideas/thots 🥰 make ‘em icky my friends

Important!! If anyone wants to join a succession thirst/discussion server, please lmk 💜 you can comment or message me or send an ask, I just wanna talk about this silly show and everyone with you all 💜🩵

Stepdaddy!Roman Masterlist

You’re in the spacious walk-in closet of your mother and Roman’s bedroom, pulling a pretty, eggplant-colored dress over your body. “Fix your boobs,” your mom says from behind you, tugging on the zipper at your lower back. The small piece of metal and her sharp nails scratch your back.

“Ow, Mom,” you complain, reaching under the fabric of your dress to adjust the way your breasts sit. 

“I know, I know. Zipper’s stuck,” she mumbles. “Here-” Your mom opens the closet door and calls out her husband’s name. “Roman!” she yells, “Can you come help us?”

Your stomach drops. You’ve avoided him all day, purposely. Your mom looks through her shelves of shoes for a pair of heels to match your dress while you toy with the fabric of your dress anxiously. Roman makes his way upstairs, then joins the two of you in the closet. You timidly look at him through the long mirror in front of you. 

“Her zipper’s stuck. She needs a big, strong man to zip her up,” your mom teases.

“Ah, does she now?” Roman doesn’t break eye contact with you in the mirror, just raises an eyebrow. Where are you off to? “Good thing I’m built like a brick shithouse, right?” Roman’s eyes fall upon your bare back as he walks toward you, your skin tingling as he puts one hand on your hip and uses the other to grab hold of the zipper. “Let’s see here,” he murmurs, inspecting the zipper. “Looks like it’s stuck on the dress.” 

 Your mom’s phone begins to ring as Roman works on freeing the small bit of fabric from the zipper. She excuses herself to answer the call, her interior designer Erica is on the other end. Once again leaving you alone with Roman. 

“Hot date?” he asks, waiting for the sound of your mother’s footsteps to disappear. He hopes that’s not the case. Christ, please let it be a girls’ night or something. 

“Mhm.”

“What’s that? I didn’t, uh…”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Ouch. Roman masks the pain with what barely passes as a smile and a single nod. “That’s new. Didn’t know you were…” he trails off. 

You shrug. Roman struggles with your zipper a bit before pulling it up slowly, smoothing out the fabric with his hand. He watches you pull yourself together the rest of the way, putting two diamond studs from your mom’s jewelry box in your ears. You go for a necklace next, but struggle to clasp it around your neck with your freshly manicured nails. “Fuck,” you curse under your breath.

 “Let me.” Roman takes the chain between his fingers, brushing over your neck and causing you to shiver. “Relax. I’m not doing anything. Not here.” He opens the claw clasp with his thumb nail and loops it through the chain, then lets the necklace fall. You adjust the pendant so it lays flat against your chest.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

 Roman’s hands rest on your shoulders, he watches you fix your hair and catches a whiff of your perfume, something sweet and hypnotic that has his balls tightening and his stomach fluttering. “You, uh-” Roman’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. He’s being so soft, so gentle it has you thrown off. “Fuck. You look really beau-”

“Erica’s gonna be here Tuesday at three to give me an estimate on my office,” your mom interrupts from the bedroom. Roman nearly trips as he backs away from you, your mom walks into the closet just seconds later. You watch in the mirror how he scratches the back of his neck and shakes his head awkwardly, and how his expression changes from sheepish to defensive - brows knit together, a scowl on his lips. He’s angry, embarrassed with himself. Roman leaves and goes back downstairs. 

As your mom picks out a pair of kitten heels for you to wear along with a beaded evening purse to match, your phone lights up with a text from your date. Here. You met him on Hinge a couple of weeks ago and hit it off as well as any two internet strangers could. He seemed funny and charming and genuine, and you found him attractive. He was just a few years older than you and had dark, curly hair. Thick eyebrows, deep brown eyes and a sweet smile. You texted him, played iMessage games together, even had phone sex. You’ve been looking forward to this date. 

You slide on your mom’s heels and slide the purse over your shoulder, then leave the closet. You stop at your room and stuff your purse with a condom and a lip gloss, then go downstairs. You find Roman waiting by the door, peering out of the small, decorative window at your date in his car, holding your wool coat in his arms. “Think you’ll both fit in the backseat of that Honda?” 

His softness is gone. Somewhere between the closet and in front of the door, Roman built up his walls again. So you do too. “Quit stalking him, you fucking creep,” you spit. You open the front door and pull it open, trying to hit Roman with it in the process. He stops it with his hand, then follows you onto the porch.

“Nuh-uh, get back here.” He grabs you by the wrist before you can pace down the porch steps. “Jacket,” he says, dropping your wrist so he can hold open your warm, wool coat.  “You’re gonna catch a cold.” 

Reluctantly, you slide your arms through the sleeves and Roman turns you around to button it and straighten out the lapels. “You’re not gonna fuck him, right, kiddo?” he murmurs softly, holding on tightly to your coat.

“Let me go, Roman,” you seethe. He’s so handsome tonight, scruff grown out a little and his hair messy. His eyes look so dark, so predatory - a stark change from the sad, warm way they looked before.

“Because that would be unbecoming of a young lady.”

You twist and wriggle a little, but Roman only grips you tighter. “I’m serious. Roman–”

The car’s window rolls down, and Roman waves to the handsome, younger man with a fake smile plastered on his face. “Dude’s not even gonna meet the father, huh? He’s gonna miss out on my shotgun speech. You know, the whole ‘whatever you do to her, I’ll do to you’ thing.” 

“You couldn’t handle a shotgun. Goodnight, Roman.” 

“Ouch. Good one. Night, sweetheart.”  Roman hugs you then, and presses a kiss against your cheek, pinching your ass as he does. “You be good.” 

Roman watches you pace quickly down the steps and into the car. Fucking asshole doesn’t open the door for you? If you can brave the cold drizzle outside, so can he. Prick. Whatever. Roman watches the red glow of the car’s brake lights illuminate the wet asphalt below, thin white vapor pouring from the exhaust. And then you’re gone. 

Roman goes back inside, toeing off his shoes and kicking them haphazardly toward the shelf in the walkway as he huffs in irritation. He flops on the living room couch and pulls out his phone from his front pocket, opening DoorDash. He pulls up your favorite Indian restaurant and orders the same entree you always get, plus something for himself. It is Friday, after all.

Your mom comes down the steps and joins Roman in the living room. “I’m going out with Erica,” she says, her head tilted as she puts in an earring. “Bye.” 

“Yeah, alright. See ya.”  

Today’s probably the most Roman’s spoken to your mother in about a week. Not that it bothers either of them, though. He watches her leave out the front door the same as you did just moments before, and can’t find it in himself to feel anything for her. No guilt, no remorse for cheating on her with you, her daughter. He likes to dangle his marriage to her over your head to torment you but he knows that honestly, she probably wouldn’t care that he’s fucking someone else, fucking you. And that makes him a little sad for you; do you realize this too? She’s so hollow inside. No real substance there. You deserve a better parent than that. 

Your mom leaves and Roman’s left with the house to himself and fuck all to do on this Friday evening. It used to be that on Fridays, you and Roman would order takeout and watch movies together, or you’d play games on the Nintendo switch until your mom, who was always out drinking, would come home. Roman always felt that it was a nice routine, but it’s seemingly over now. And for what? Why are you so fucking pissed at him all the time? You wanted him, and he gave himself to you. He was the one to pursue you and he knows that technically, he was the one to cross the line, not you. But is sex between two adults really so terrible? He wishes you would get the fuck over it already.

 Jesus, he’s hard thinking about the times he’s made you come for him. Roman reaches for his growing erection and groans, rocking his hips into his palm. He thinks of your arousal on his tongue, and how thankful he was that he hadn’t shaved in a while. He waited as long as he could before showering just so he could smell you in his scruff, and be reminded of the taste of your pleasure. 

How you writhed on top of him, underneath him, how he split you open. Roman thinks of those perfect, creamy rings you left on his cock, the way your cunt pulsed around him. Eyes rolled back into your skull, mouth open, his name falling from your lips repeatedly, beautifully. Roman, Roman, Roman.

A knock at the door and Roman snaps out of it. He picks up the tightly-tied bag from the doorstep and places the it on the table, the same table he fucked you on, and tears it open. Roman takes your order and sets it in the fridge, then grabs himself a plate and utensils. He spoons some food onto his plate and wonders if you’ve eaten well tonight. He hopes wherever this asshole took you, that you didn’t order just a salad. That’s not enough, you need protein. You’re cranky without it. Are you moaning your new lover’s name right now, and if so, how loudly? How sweetly? He can’t even stomach the thought of eating right now. Not when you’re probably laid out in the backseat of his car, fucking someone younger, stronger, kinder than himself. Slut. And you’re doing it just to piss him off, undoubtedly. Roman’s food sits uneaten as he ruminates, biting his inner cheek as he sits at the table.

-

You come home a few hours later, and Roman watches you from his bedroom. Your date gets out of the driver’s seat to open your door, then takes your hand and helps you onto the sidewalk. You kiss him, your hands on his cheeks and his arms around your waist, adding insult when you kick your foot up a little into the air behind yourself. Roman watches the man walk you to the door, hears the faint sound of it opening and closing. You walk up the stairs and into the bedroom, the little smile on your lips falls when you see Roman by the window. “Roman.” 

“Hey, you,” he says, following you into the closet. “Good date?”

“Mhm.” You set your phone on top of the vanity before sitting at it, then take out your earrings one at a time, followed by an attempt to unclasp your necklace. You struggle again, what with the nails. “Help, please.” 

Roman unclasps your necklace. “Where’d he take you?” he asks, dropping the pendant and chain into your hand. He walks back to the closet door. 

“Uhmm,” you hum, “Some Italian restaurant. I don’t remember the name. It wasn’t my favorite.” 

“What’d you have?”

“Soup and salad.”

Roman nods. “And after that?”

“We just walked around.” 

Your blood runs cold when you hear the door lock, you look into the mirror and see Roman jiggling the handle. “Just walked around?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s cold out. You don’t like to be cold.” You ignore Roman and lean over to take off your borrowed heels, tossing them in the general direction of where the rest of your mother’s shoes are. “And I don’t see any marks or blisters on your ankles, so…you’re lying. I think you fucked him.”

“It’s not your business.” 

“Shut up. Don’t talk back to me.” 

Roman’s staring at you in the mirror, arms folded across his chest. Your heart pounds at the way he looks at you, jaw clenched and eyes dark. Predatory, dangerous. Repulsive, even. You shouldn’t be aroused right now but you are. You always are with him. 

“How’d you fuck him, huh?” Roman’s footsteps are heavy as he makes his way closer to you, one of his hands pushing a bit of hair out of your face when you’re in his reach. “Stand up for me.” 

All it takes is a firm squeeze to the back of your neck, much like the way an animal bites its pup’s scruff to subdue it, and you move at Roman’s will. You’re so pliant, so obedient. Your body moves on its own accord, like you’re not really in control of yourself. Your core is beginning to feel hot, tingling with desire and anticipation as Roman trails the backs of his knuckles down your spine, tracing every joint. 

God, you hate Roman and the way he makes you feel. The anger he stirs in you is palpable, yes. But what’s it born of at this point? Betrayal? For taking advantage of you, putting you in this position? Sure. But maybe on some level, you retaliate because you love the way he bites back, how he reminds you of your role to him. His, whether you want it or not. If you were to let go of your anger and indulge yourself in him the way he does you, what would happen?

“Did you let him come in you?” 

Your mouth goes dry as you attempt to stutter out some sort of response. “I - I d-” 

Roman only nods in response, then bends you over the vanity. He hikes the skirt of your dress up over your hips, exposing your lacy underwear to himself. It’s pretty, and the color you picked looks nice with your skin tone. Roman hooks two fingers under the waistband and pulls, tearing the soft fabric off of your body. Fuck, he loves the sound of it ripping, the sound of your cry. It leaves dark marks on your ass that hurt like rug burn, Roman rubs his fingers in circles over the irritated skin. 

 He thumbs the gusset of your panties, seeing the mess you’ve left for him to clean up. “Mm,” he hums, inspecting the little white ropes of someone else’s come that’ve dripped from your cunt. Roman reaches for your jaw and squeezes the hollows of your cheeks, opening your mouth for him. He shoves your come-stained underwear past your lips, taking care to make sure you taste it, using two fingers to gag you in the process. 

Roman worsens the burns he made in your skin by spanking you fucking hard. He listens to the muffled noises of pain you make as he does it again, your skin rippling beneath his palm. “Shh,” he hushes, quieting you while rubbing his palm over the aching flesh. He spanks you once more for good measure, satisfied when he can see the outline of his hand imprinted on your skin, all swollen and puffy. How easily do you bruise? When Roman looks at you in the mirror, your eyes are red, tear tracks spilling down your cheeks. He spreads your legs apart and unzips his pants, pulling them down just enough to pull his stiff cock out. He spits in his palm and coats himself in it, then drags his head through your folds, feeling for your entrance. “Deep breath,” he instructs, notching himself inside you. You breathe in as best as you can, the action made difficult with a congested nose and panties shoved down your throat. 

Roman sheathes himself in you fully in one swift, harsh motion. You cry into fabric, tears falling from your eyes as you squeeze them shut. It hurts you, your already swollen and raw pussy aching at the cruel intrusion. “Ohh, f-fuck,” Roman groans. In the mirror, you watch him tilt his head back and relish in the pleasure. He pulls out all the way before pushing back in again, harder than he did before. You ball your trembling hands into fists.  

“You can take it,” he says from behind you, “I know you can fucking take it.” 

Roman’s words aren’t encouraging, he isn’t talking you through it like he’s done before. No relax or let daddy take care of you, baby. He doesn’t praise you or call you a good girl. He fucks you like it’s a punishment, because it is. He’s angry, threatened, retaliating. Whether you’re hurting or feeling good right now, he doesn’t care. This is for him. This is his. You are his. 

“Did he make you come?” he pants, pounding his hips against your ass, the head of his cock kissing deep inside you with each of his thrusts. “Did he? Yes or no, it’s a simple fucking question.” 

You shake your head, “Mm-mm,” and it’s the truth.

Roman smiles in satisfaction. “See? So you know what you’re missing. Who makes you come, huh? I do. Right?”

You nod frantically, squirming under Roman as if you could escape the feeling, or at least gain some semblance of control here. It’s too much, too painful. He’s unraveled, lost control of himself. He fucks you unforgivingly like he’s an animal, a slave to his own sick need to satisfy himself. 

“You belong to me,” he says. “Me.”  

Your phone on the vanity begins to vibrate, the screen lit up with the name of your date, a little pink heart emoji next to it. Cute. “Is that your Prince Charming?” Roman takes your phone, holds it up in the mirror for you to see. “The one who can’t make you come?” You nod again. “Should I let him hear what it sounds like when you do?” 

Roman wears a crooked smile at the look of fear on your face, eyes all wide as you frantically shake your head, muffled protests coming from your mouth. “But you make such - such pretty noises. For me, at least.” Roman seriously considers answering for a second, his thrusts faltering as his thumb hovers over the green button. “Fair enough,” he concedes, “Some things should stay sacred.” 

You exhale a sigh of relief and wait for Roman to decline the call, but he never does. Instead, he wriggles his arm under your torso and presses the corner of your vibrating phone against your clit, causing you to moan loudly. Roman continues to fuck you and by this point, and with the help of the vibrating, the pain has begun to dissipate, replaced with pleasure. Your eyes roll back into your skull, brows knit together as you focus on becoming close. You groan in frustration when the call times out and the vibrating ends. “Awwh,” Roman pouts mockingly. “My poor baby.” 

The vibrating begins again, and Roman raises his brows in amusement. “Wow. Eager guy, huh? I think he misses you. What a girl.” 

With Roman pressing your vibrating phone firmly against your clit and the steadfast slamming of his hips against yours, it’s not long before you’re coming on his cock, harder than he expected you to. You’re pulsing around him, gushing, falling to pieces as he fucks you through it. A little wrinkle appears between Roman’s brows, he has to bare his teeth to stave off his own release. 

He leans over your body. “You listen to me,” Roman says. “Only I get to fuck you. Pull this shit again and watch - oh, fuck - you fucking watch what happens,” he threatens. “Nod if you understand.”

You’re too lost in it all to respond. You just watch him in the mirror, mouth slightly agape with a dumb, fucked out look on your face. 

“What’d I say, huh?” Roman smacks your ass, “Nod- if- you- fuck-” punctuating each of his syllables with a thrust, “ -ing -get -it. Jesus Christ.”  

You nod, nod, nod. Roman fucks you through the tremors of your orgasm until he’s sure it’s come and gone, then pulls your phone away from your cunt, the vibrating long since stopped. He puts your phone face down on the dresser before abruptly pulling you up, pressing your back against his chest as he pumps you full of his come, moaning as he spills inside you. You love the way his cock twitches, the warm filling of his come painting your insides, how it feels when it drips from your cunt after he’s pulled out of you. 

Roman pulls your shredded panties out of your mouth and wipes you clean with them, then drops them on the floor. Your thighs are twitching, knees buckling and Roman helps you down, sits you on the floor with him, your back still against his chest. You rest your forehead against his cheek, breathing deeply. 

Roman absentmindedly draws his fingers up and down one of your arms, his insecurity setting in again. “So how uh…how was it, really? The date with…what’s his fuck, I didn’t catch the gentleman’s name.” 

You wrap your hand around Roman’s to still his fidgeting. “Do you actually wanna know?”

Roman sighs. No, he doesn’t. He changes the subject. “There’s takeout in the fridge if you’re hungry.” 

“What takeout?’

“Your uh, I don’t - you know. Your fuckin’...veggie thing, the one you get from our Indian place,” Roman answers quietly. He’s uncomfortable with your silence, second-guessing telling you about this. Or maybe it’s guilt. “It like, auto-ordered or some shit. I don’t know,” he lies.  

“Oh. Okay.” 

“I can heat it up for you, if you’d like,” he offers. “If you’re hungry.” 

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[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 68: Oliver's Speakeasy

Previous > Masterlist

tw: mind control, blood drinking

October 1925

"You have to relax a bit, Oliver," said Roger. "If you're holding your breath while I lace your corset, it will be dreadfully uncomfortable."

Oliver let out his breath and tried to calm his nerves. "I'm not used to corsets. It's not anything I thought I'd ever have to wear."

"That's how I felt as well, but vampires do love their low-necked ballgowns on men and women alike. It's another thing I've become accustomed to -- out of all the adjustments that come with being a vampire's thrall, dresses are minor."

"That's true enough. I can only hope I look acceptable in it."

"Given how your master looks at you, I believe he would think you're fetching in a flour sack." He began to lace the corset tight. "You're quite devoted to pleasing your master, aren't you?"

"I find that I can't help myself. Isn't that the effect of the enthrallment?"

"One effect, certainly. Although after twenty years, I hardly know where the enthrallment ends and I begin."

Oliver nodded. He didn't need twenty years to feel that way. He already felt as though he hardly remembered himself before enthrallment. "You seem very comfortable with your master."

"Comfortable, yes, you could say that. It's my duty to take care of him, and it's an easier life if you keep a sense of humor about it. I suspect I've become fond of him apart from the enthrallment. And I know my master appreciates my efforts." He finished lacing the corset and put a hand on Oliver's head. "Your master appreciates you as well, I'm sure of it."

"I can only hope so."

Roger helped him put the gown on, a turn-of-the-century style done in midnight blue with embroidered roses, one tailored to his exact measurements. He then fastened a delicate gold chain adorned with sapphires around his bare neck. Oliver stared into the mirror. He was dressed like a princess or a wealthy heiress, looking nothing like himself. It was a stark reminder of how much he'd been changed since the night of his capture.

It had only been weeks, and yet his former life was already receding away from him, never to return.

Oliver then assisted Roger in donning his own gown, an ostentatious red number that had very clearly been chosen by Roger's master and not Roger himself, and they made their way up the stairs to their masters' chamber to help them prepare as well.

Alexander and Fitz were lounging on the bed when they entered, but they both stood up, wide-eyed, at the sight of the thralls. Fitz whistled. "Fantastic. Lex, are you sure you want Oliver to go out like that? He's going to turn every head in the place."

"Let heads turn. If they touch my thrall, they'll pay the price," said Lex with startling fierceness. "It's no different from when I went out with you."

Fitz laughed. "Somehow, I don't think Oliver will end up grievously insulting and humiliating a vampire in front of an entire ballroom."

"It's almost a pity," said Alexander thoughtfully. "Come here, Oliver, I wish to take a better look at you."

Oliver stepped closer to his master, who took him by the shoulders and swept over him with an appraising eye. He tilted Oliver this way and that, and took his chin in his hand to meet his gaze. Oliver felt just like that fateful night in the auction house, when Alexander had decided to make his purchase, when Oliver first felt his hunger and desire. Even though his master had taken blood the night before, the undercurrent of hunger and desire was still pressing down on him.

"Master, hold still while I fasten your cummerbund," said Roger, who had started to assist Fitz while Oliver was losing himself in his master. "It's difficult to fasten when you squirm."

"You should be helping me with my attire as well," said Alexander, running his fingers down the side of Oliver's face.

"Yes, sir." Oliver felt as if he were in a dream as he began to help his master prepare, slipping the neatly pressed coat on his shoulders and tying a neat bow around his neck.

Just as the vampires were finishing their preparations, the doorbell buzzed, and Oliver ran down the stairs to answer, careful not to trip in his embroidered slippers. He flung the door open to Miss Lily, dressed in a floral pink frock and tall pink heels, the sort of fashionable thing Oliver saw in department store windows. Behind her, Miriam, also fashionably dressed, poked her head out shyly.

"Oh, Oliver, you look positively dashing! This dress suits you so well," said Miss Lily, cradling his chin in her hands. "Where are your masters? They had better be ready, because I don't want to leave the carriage waiting long."

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my bad luck charm," said Fitz, hanging over the balcony.

"Oh, Fitz, dear, thank goodness you're here. Lex hasn't cracked so much as a smile since you last left, even with this delightful thrall at his beck and call. You'd better have relieved him of his malaise."

"You want me to relieve Lex of his malaise?" said Fitz, sauntering down the stairs. "You might as well ask me to remove the water from the ocean."

"I do see your point," said Miss Lily. She leaned in towards him and whispered conspiratorially. "Has he told you about his plan?"

"His daft plan to get all of us tortured? Naturally. And I support it, of course, because I'm as daft as he is."

Miss Lily sighed. "Of course you do. I expected nothing less."

"My ears are burning. I think you must be talking about me." Lex was walking down the stairs now, with Roger following behind.

"Oh, Roger!" Miss Lily went to him and squeezed him, a fondly dazed smile appearing on the thrall's face. "I do hope you've been well."

"Never better, Miss Lily," he said dreamily. Oliver wondered if Roger had been enthralled by Miss Lily as well. And on that note…

"You look lovely, Miriam," he said politely to the thrall, who was clinging to her madam and looking perhaps a bit uneasy at all the commotion.

Her face lit up in a smile. "Oh, thank you, Oliver. You look very handsome as well!"

Miss Lily clapped her hands. "Now that we've got everyone here, let's all pile into the carriage, shall we?"

Next thing Oliver knew, he was crammed in next to Alexander in the carriage, which was only just barely large enough to hold all six people.

"I've been looking forward to this," said Fitz, shamelessly snuggled up to Alexander's other side. "It's been ages since we've been out to the Tiger's Eye."

"Lex and I were there not so long ago," said Miss Lily. "If Lex gets as drunk tonight as he was then, you're going to have to help me carry him home, Fitz."

"Oh, with pleasure."

"If I might ask, sirs…" said Oliver, fidgeting with his dress hem, "What sort of place is the Tiger's Eye?"

"Why, it's a social club for vampires and their thralls. One of the most popular in the city," said Miss Lily. "Everyone who is everyone puts in an appearance now and then, even recluses like your master, and we all bring our favorite thralls, all dressed to the nines. There's entertainment and stiff drinks and even h'ors doeuvres for the thralls. You'll just love it."

Oliver nodded, far less certain than Miss Lily that he would love it. He'd never frequented bars and clubs, finding them loud and awkward at best. At least he wouldn't be going there alone, but could stay by his master's side.

"Make sure you stay close to me," said Alexander, as though he read Oliver's mind. "Don't entertain any vampires who show an interest in you."

"Yes, sir."

They stepped out of the carriage in front of an unassuming restaurant that seemed as ordinary as any other. Clearly human patrons could be seen through the window, enjoying Italian dishes. "This is the Tiger's Eye, sir?" asked Oliver.

"It's in the basement. The restaurant is simply a front run by the same vampire who owns the club." Alexander pulled him close as they walked to the entrance. "It offers cover, and brings in human money and human blood."

"I see, sir."

A mouth-watering scent filled his nose as the group stood before the maitre'd's station. Miss Lily moved a flap on her dress to reveal a ruby pin, and the maitre'd waved them to the back. They all descended a rickety spiral staircase, the sound of music and laughter growing louder.

The Tiger's Eye club was much larger than the restaurant upstairs. All of the tables were low, with the patrons sitting on piles of cushions. While some of the crowd were wearing contemporary fashions, like Miss Lily and Fitz, a good number of them were dressed in formalwear from decades gone by, much like Oliver's ballgown. More alarmingly, some of the patrons were dressed in very little, as though they were burlesque dancers. It didn't take long for him to realize that these were thralls, kneeling on the cushions and gazing up at their vampiric masters with adoration.

There was a stage at the opposite end of the club where a jazz quartet was playing. Waitstaff flitted among the tables, and like many of the thralls, their outfits were absolutely scandalous. Their glassy eyes and sleepwalking mannerisms indicated that they were heavily enthralled as well, and there were prominent bite scars on their necks and shoulders. In one of the back corners, a well-dressed vampire was drinking from a waitress.

With Alexander, it was sometimes easy for Oliver to forget what sort of situation he was in, and feel like he was perhaps an ordinary servant to an eccentric rich man instead of thrall to a vampire. His current surroundings made him intensely aware of his situation, surrounded by potentially hostile vampires and semi-conscious human slaves. Alexander, of course, wasn't distressed at all, taking in the scene with a smile on his face.

All vampires are dangerous -- that's what Roger had told him.

Nonetheless, Alexander was by far Oliver's greatest chance at safety, and so he shamelessly clung to his master as they walked through the club. He could feel the eyes of leering vampires on him and see their hungry grins. His master's grip tightened. It seemed like an eternity before they arrived at a table with a "reserved" placard on it.

The vampires arranged the cushions and made themselves comfortable, Alexander beckoning Oliver close and pulling him halfway into his lap. Next to them, Fitz flopped over into Roger's lap as the latter sighed.

"The music's good tonight. Who's playing?" Fitz asked.

"They're regulars here. The trumpet player is an older vampire -- I've trained up a few of his thralls, and he has a great sense of humor. The others are all fledglings, more or less…"

Oliver found he couldn't really concentrate on what Lily was saying over the din of the crowd, deafened by the sound of his own heartbeat and blood rushing through his ears.

"Say there, I can't help but notice what an excellent thrall you've brought with you."

Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin. The vampire addressing Lex was a larger man in a checkered suit.

"Thank you," said Alexander with a hint of threat. "He's my most treasured possession." And Oliver's heart twisted to hear himself described that way.

"Where do you get a fine thrall like that? I'm new to the area, just moved from down south, and I'm looking for some fresh blood."

"Oh, then I'm the one you want to talk to," Miss Lily interjected. "I handle conditioning for all of the finest high-end auctions and private sales in the city. I can't promise you'll find one as good as Oliver here, as thralls like him are in short supply, but I'm sure I could help you find something to your taste."

Oliver felt Alexander's hold on him relax as the vampire in the checkered suit started to happily chatter to Miss Lily about thrall sales. He noticed that, in addition to Miriam sitting in her lap, Miss Lily was now surrounded by several other adoring thralls, draped contentedly against her shoulders and over her legs.

"Who are…?"

"The thralls Miss Lily conditions are often drawn to her," said Alexander, toying with Oliver's hair. "This happens whenever we go to a place openly frequented by vampires."

"Good evening, sirs."

Oliver looked up to see a waitress dressed in frills that barely covered her most private areas, her eyes dull and glassy. He blushed and looked away.

"We have many top quality spirits available, as well as an assortment of blood on tap, including rare specialties. If there's anything I can fetch for you, esteemed sirs, it would be my pleasure to serve."

Alexander didn't seem the slightest bit put off by the waitress's plight. "I'll have a dry red, whatever's recommended."

"Certainly, sir."

"A light white wine for me," said Miss Lily.

"I'll take a sidecar," added Fitz. "And whatever beer you have on tap for my thrall."

"Right away, sirs."

"I can order something for you when she returns with the wine," said Alexander, and Oliver realized that the waitress had, of course, only asked the vampires what they wanted.

Oliver looked up again now that the waitress had walked away. "I don't drink, sir, but if I could have some tea, that would --" His eyes went wide and his breath caught in his throat. No, it couldn't be. But it certainly was.

While Oliver had been busy trying not to stare at the waitress, another thrall had arrived to cuddle Miss Lily. She was wearing a highly fashionable teal evening dress with elaborate gray embroidery and fringe, her neck and wrists were dripping with gold, and her red hair was done up in a curled bob. She looked nothing at all like the last time Oliver had seen her, but Oliver knew he'd never forget that face, her fear burned into his mind.

"Emily!"

Previous > Masterlist

Next week: Emily!

Oliver last saw Emily all the way back in the auction house.

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[crownmemes]

Assorted Media Sentences, Vol. 15

(Sentences from various pieces of media. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Haven't you seen enough blood for one night?"

"You must never hesitate."

"I think it's best that you lay low for a while. I'll take you to a secure location."

"You won't fire that gun. You're not the sort."

"I don't want any trouble! I'm a lover, not a fighter!"

"Do you think he's going to die? Do you think we killed him?"

"You never really know anyone in this trade."

"Don't touch anything until Forensics get here!"

"I think we can assume that these entities are more than a little advanced than us."

"If you worked for me, things would be easier."

"If you want to complain about life, you're talking to the wrong guy."

"Do you want the truth or a lie?"

"You know, if you ask a girl out for coffee, you should have something to say."

"I don't believe in bad luck."

"The reason I chose you is because you've got good instincts."

"I've never felt sorry for anything I've done, other than hurt my family. That's the only thing I'm sorry for."

"Planes are going to crash. Earthquakes are going to happen. People you know and love are going to die and, no matter what anyone tells you, there's nothing you can do about it."

"I hear that you're as cold as the snow, and that you don't have any weak nerves or fear."

"Blackmail? Go on, then. With everything you've done, you'll be going down with me."

"You can't arrest someone on coincidence and no evidence!"

"The eye may not lie, but don't think for a moment that it cannot be lied to."

"You do whatever you need to do and I'll understand."

"Yes, I have killed before. Legitimately. More or less."

"I don't know what to do, but I know what you'd do."

"Things have been a little strange around here lately."

"Let's get this straight; I don't like you any more than you like me."

"You always live in a dark place. No joy. No love."

"I don't want to have to explain to people who you are."

"I didn't kill him, but I'm glad he's dead."