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dinadearine · 4 months

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Feral| Mizu x FEM!Bellydancer!reader

•••MINORS DNI•••

warnings/notes: Smut, Sex, Smut, Fingering, Degration, Tribbing, Hair pulling, Cunnilingus (both receiving), thigh ride (r! receiving), swear words, Public(?) sex, AFAB!reader, Edging/overstimulation, Mizu temporarily being referred to as a 'He/Him'

idk if this should be a warning: Strangers to Lovers

a/n: First time holy shit— Insert song: BALLAKEO by peso pluma, annita

btw some fluffy ending (if you squint)

The night was cheerful, especially for the crowd that surrounds you, the music on loop, performing freestyle solos, swaying and moving your body like a snake.

Mizu was pretty much too focused on her journey, and was just passing by, resisting the urge to peek, but curiousity got the better of her, she did stopped in her tracks to atleast find out the commotion.

Squeezing through the loud crowd, she managed to breathe in fresh air rather than cigar nor alcohol, the stench finally wears off as she looks ahead, seeing you, a goddess.

It strucked her of how beautiful and enticing you look, her eyes mostly wandered off your half exposed body, laced with very thin flowy fabric, and small adorned coin-like golds on the hem of the clothes, she cursed under her breath, feeling— rather heavier than usual as soon as she sets eyes upon you.

The music, your movements, your hips, each sway and roll, she feels herself drawn by not only from your movement, but your skills, her mind drifted off somewhere sinful as she continues to stare, internally moaning out words that describes you, beautiful, sexy, hot, slut.

The clothes may show off the cultural beauty about belly dancing, she knows that, but to her prespective, you look like an absolute type for her, a perfect woman, she can imagine the thing she'd do for you, to you.

Her calloused hands, roaming over your body, every curves and dips, kissing your flaws, the sight of your rolling hips drifted to an imagination of her fingers under your— Focus.

Mizu was not the one to indulge with desires, yes, but for you, she couldn't help but watch closely. You smile and wink on the crowd, the crowd cheers and blew whistles, Mizu was unbothered by the crowd's squirming movements, she was only bothered by you, getting all hot and steamy.

You end with a seductive smooth move of slow deliberate roll of hips, with hands in the air, you bucked side to side synchronized with the music before you bowed, adding up the charm.

Your eyes glided upon the cheerful crowds, until you locked eyes with a rather peculiar stranger.

With a smirk, you winked at them, gestures of 'come hither' to lure the stranger in the back of the stage. You walked with confidence, smirk on your face. You knew that the stranger will come.

|×|•⋆ ⟡ ࣪ ˖ 💞 𓈒 ˚｡⋆•|×|

You entered the dressing room, purposely not locking the door, you unshamefully slide off from your clothes, leaving you naked as you walk up to the closet. Humming to yourself as you find casual clothes, the door creeks open, a small smirk tugged in your lips, you never flinched, never startled, you turned your head to the side to peer at the stranger behind you.

Mizu, breathing unevenly, closed and locked the door securely, he walks up to your naked form. His calloused hands raised to take off his hat and cloak, revealing a Japanese male attire, it slips into your assumptions that the stranger you invited is a male, of course, you grew aroused.

You turned to face the 'man' with a small smirk, unashamed of revealing your body, the man's breath hitched as they drank the sight of your naked form. You walk up to him, hands raising instinctively over his chest.

"You come to indulge?" The man remains unmoving, but he answered, His voice rather feminine, low and controlled, he answered. "what do you think?" his hand slowly raised up, cupping unshamefully on your breast.

You leaned in, letting the man touch you, he remains still, as if he allowed you to touch him aswell, with no words uttered, lips came crashing like swords clashing, Items, table, chair, a mattres, fell and shook away from the path you two stumbled to while kissing, body grinding together, you let out small moans, his hand on your breast slowly squeezed and slides down to your most needed spot.

Brows furrowed, the man took off his glasses revealing sapphire eyes, glowing like the moon. His lips slowly kisses it's way to your jaw, neck, leaning down more to suck on one of your hardened nipples on his lip, you suck in a breath, a choke moan escaped your lips, your hips rolling on his fingers.

Your hands, found it's was to his groin, and to your surprise, it was soft, you were both aroused yet confused, how can a man resist such desires? a rumble of chuckle escaped his lips, providing vibrations on you nipple, you whined, back arching as his fingers quickened the pace.

Climax starts to build up before his fingers stopped abruptly, you pant, disappointed of being denied, the man took off his haori, revealing a binded chest, your brows shot up as he took off the dressing, revealing a pare of breasts, you were dumbfounded.

A woman?

You slowly slide your hand from her groin to her breast, giving it a light experimental squeeze, you look up, seeing the 'woman' smirking before you, you shivered, not from disgust, but from the intense arousal that flows in your veins down to your quivering pussy.

This is better.

Snaking your hands around her waist, you pulled the tall woman close for a kiss, your other hand slides down to tug the hakama off, revealing a white loincloth, already drenched from arousal, you bit your lip as you slowly kneeled down.

Tugging down the damp cloth, revealing Mizu's dripping wet sex, you swear your pupils has blown wide, turning into heart shapes, you lazily leaned in and lap on the woman's pussy, she let out a low groan, her fingers found it's way to your scalp, grip tightening on your locks as she rolled and buck her hips against your lips, you let out a moan, you hands massaging and caressing her strong thighs.

"... You taste so good..." you moaned out in her pussy, providing vibrations, she moaned and chuckled, pulling you closer in her pussy till you couldn't breathe, you continue to lick and suck, tongue skillfully rolling around her clit, and fingers slowly slid in one digit into her, the woman grunts, bucking her hips into you, your teeth grazing on her clit.

"You fucking slut.." she growls, she pulled up, stopping you from eating her out, you whine from both disappointment, and pain as she grip on your hair, she pulled you in for a kiss, your pussy throbbing, she leads you to a nearby chair, she sat down, guiding you on her lap, she slowly lifts her thigh, she released your hair and forcefully grabbed your hips, she pushed you down on her thigh, providing pressure on your sex, she pushed and pull, letting your pussy slide on her thigh, you let out small moans, breasts poking on each other.

"oh fuuck..!" you whimpered, leaning in to kiss her. You can feel her cocky smirk on your lips, blue eyes filled with lust stares at your very soul as if she's reading your mind, you kissed your way down to suck on her nipple, Mizu groaned in response, she controls your hips in a faster pace, causing you to release her nipple with a pop to sob out a moan, eyes rolling back as you pant and gasp. "Oh.. god.. Y--Yes.. Hah..." She revels the way your respond, she grinds faster.

"You like that don't you? huh?" she rasps out, she grabs a fistful of your hair once more to tilt your head up, she leaned in and kissed your neck, leaving hickeys that might last tomorrow, She then bites down on your shoulder, causing you to whine in both pleasure and pain. "You fucking like that? fucking brat."

"Yes..! a-ahh..~.. I like it.. I Love it..!" You sobbed out. Her blue eyes darkens like a seastorm, she grinds your hips faster, feeling a familiar knot tying up in your core, your moans and pants shifts into short gasps and high pitched pleas.

"I'm close.. I'm so close—" Your words were cut off with the tie breaking, releasing your climax, your body trembling and twitching, letting out high pitched moan and whimpers. The woman watched with a lusty chuckle, she slows down the pace, prolonging your orgasm, your creamy slick stained her thigh, spreading your essence nice and wide like a painting using your pretty little pussy.

"Your one perfect slut just for me..." She murmurs in your ear, you shivered, pussy throbbing from her words. She then firmly grasp your hips tighter, stopping you from grinding on her thigh, You pant from the aftermath, leaning to rest your frame on hers. Thankfully she let you rest... For a moment.

Suddenly, with a swift motion, she has you pinned down on a soft mattress, calloused hand slid from your hair down to your breasts, she played with the soft mound, and sucked on your nipples, you shuddered from the contact. She slowly kissed further down, Stomach.. Abdomen.. And finally, your dripping pussy.

Your body twitched from the sensation of a small kiss on your clit, starting to suck and lick, holding your thighs apart, you gasp and cry from overstimulation.

"T-Too much.. Ah.. S-Stop..!" you sobbed, her hands gripping on the sheet as you desperately try to squirm away, but this woman, doesn't back down and kept on lapping like a starved animal, grabbing your ankles to pull you back closer.

"You're not going anywhere, your mine, and I won't stop till I'm satisfied." The woman growled with a stern expression, she pulled you closer, and leaned back down to eat your puffy cunt again, you groaned and sob, back arching as you continue to squirm, she tightens the grip on your hips to pin you in place.

The familiar knot starts to build up in your core once more, you whinced, unable to breathe you gasp for air as you 'almost' rip off the sheets, your hips bucking forward on her skilled mouth.

"Gonna cum...! C-Cumming.." you moaned out, the woman suddenly withdraws, you sob in disappointment, hips practically shaking.

The woman spoke, in her usual low and controlled tone, but laced with seduction. "don't worry, you'll cum soon enough.." she cooed, smirking.

she adjusted her position, intertwining her leg under yours, and the other on top of your hips and slowly, she pushed down, her sex meeting yours, slick starts to mix as she grinds down, she groaned.

"fuck.. You feel so fucking good.." she continues to roll her hips against yours, the knot in your core starts to build up again.

"please— please.. I'm close.. please—" you begged, sobbing as you roll your hips. She chuckles as she continues to grind. Not caring if people could hear you two from the back stage.

"go on, come for me you slut.." The woman growled, intensifying her speed, you could only choke out gasp and pleas, before you two came, loud moans and low groans mixed together, a symphony of lust— cumming on each other's sexes, both of you is clouded by white fogs as you two ride out your high.

Panting from the aftermath of your orgasm, you two laid on the wet mattress to rest, hugging each other's bodies to soothen your exhausted state, kissing and giggling at each other.

"Actually.. What's your name?" you asked, the woman smirks at you, her blue eyes meeting yours filled with not lust, but affection and admiration. She answered.

"..Mizu.. What's yours?" She asked, turning her frame to face yours, intertwining each other's hands like love-sick lovers.

you smiled back, slightly kissing her calloused knuckles.

"..Y/N."

OMG FINALLY FINISHED! if y'all ever saw bad grammar or spelling mistakes please let me know (cause it's my first time publishing smut lol)

#blue eye samurai #mizu bes #mizu x reader #mizu smut #the blue eyed samurai #wlw ns/fw #lesbian

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neocentral · 6 months

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somebody’s watching me

rating: 18+. mdni.

word count: 2k

pairing: jeno x reader

content warnings: noncon, somnophilia

Jeno pushes a hot cup of tea under your nose. The hot steam made your head snap up, sleepy eyes taking a few extra seconds to meet his gaze as the start of a headache brewed behind them. You blink slowly at him, the warmth of the drink burning your chin.

“You look terrible,” he points out, stirring his tea.

He looks a lot better than you do, but that was to be expected.

Jeno Lee always looks good. It’s a fact. The heir to the Lee family has to be. And Jeno is never one to disappoint.

It was supposed to be a casual meeting. Tea at noon, nothing special. Unspoken casual dress code. So, you didn’t bother dressing up. Your worn loungewear set was far from your normal feminine attire of dresses and skirts, but it’s comforting, warm and safe. The hoodie is hanging off your shoulder, exposing the strap of your white bra. Your hair is messy, only styled enough to keep you from looking more exhausted than you feel. To the best of your ability, at least. You still feel your hair falling out of its lazy style. You didn’t bother with makeup, leaving your blemishing, sallow skin natural and without coverage. You feel self-conscious under his unwavering gaze.

On the other hand, Jeno is wearing his usual black slacks and a white button-down that fit him to perfection. His dark hair frames his face in the same way it always does, charming and youthful yet refined and sophisticated. His silver watch and rings are polished and gleaming too brightly for your eyes. He’s sitting perfectly straight, shoulders pushed back and chin high. He looks down at you, staring hard but you have spent enough time with him to catch the worry beneath the surface. The top button of his shirt is undone, a weak attempt of looking casual. You would bet that he had only done that when he saw your attire. He’s nice like that. You let your eyes wander over his sunken collarbones and up the side of his neck, skin pale and smooth.

Though, now that you’re taking a closer look at his features if you were really nitpicking, his eyebags appear a little darker, deeper, than normal. That’s odd. Maybe you should ask him if he had slept okay. His eyes had always given him more of a tired appearance, especially up close. But the purple under his eyes is just a shade deeper than usual.

“Thank you, Jen. Really. I had no idea,” you roll your eyes, holding your head up on your palm and reaching for the honey to sweeten your drink. You aren’t a fan of your best friend’s bitter brews.

He sighs, taking the jar of honey from your weak hand. “Well,” he pops the lid with ease, “I was stating the obvious.” He takes the honey wand from the jar and twirls it over your cup as you watch the sugary syrup fall into your drink.

“That enough?” he asks.

You stare at the teacup, contemplating. You did have a rough night. “More,” you decide.

He obliges without a word, spinning the newly loaded stick over the porcelain with his long, graceful fingers.

“That’s good,” you whisper. He retreats his hand and you stir the drink carefully, inhaling the sweet herbal scent.

“So?” he spoke, sighing with a slight raise of his brow, “what happened this time?” He appears unimpressed and you feel instant annoyance.

You glare at him, “you make me feel crazy when you ask like that.”

“I don’t mean to,” he begins, “it’s just…”

“Just what?” you snap. You know how it sounds, but you aren’t crazy.

Jeno sighs softly before taking a sip of his tea.

You scoff, “you don’t believe me.”

It hurts knowing nobody believes you, that they all think of you as some sleep-deprived basket case. But Jeno? Your best friend?

“I didn’t say that.” His voice is gentle and you relax immediately as his cold hand moves to rest on yours.

“Sounds like it,” you grumble, pout settling on your lips.

“I told you not to stay in that house all alone,” he points out, pushing the teacup a tad with his thumb. You take a sip. Your tongue is scalded by the boiling temperature and then soothed by the sickly sweet taste. Too much honey…“Maybe you’re psyching yourself out. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’m not.” You focus on the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the table, “I know what I saw.” You exhale, putting your hands over your eyes in frustration, “what I continue to see. I’m not crazy, Jeno.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “okay.”

You sit in silence for a moment. As you pull your hands from your face, Jeno’s intense glare sends a shiver up your spine. The glint in his eyes is unfamiliar.

“So, what happened?”

You sigh. Why does he wanna know so badly? He didn’t seem to believe you just moments ago.

You shrug, looking away, “nothing.”

The tapping of his fingers picked up speed. “What happened,” your brow furrows as he says your name. His tone is much more assertive than the one he typically speaks to you with. His insistence made you shift uncomfortably.

“There was someone outside my window again,” you whisper, “watching me.” It isn’t the whole truth, but hopefully, it’s enough to satisfy him.

He takes a deep breath and hums, “watching you…”

You groan, “see? You don’t believe me. If I had proof I’d show you and laugh in your face when you realize I’m telling the truth.”

“Don’t you,” he says flatly. His tone made it sound more like an accusation than a question.

You blink, suddenly itchy. The image of the dark bruises on your thighs cross your mind, ruined panties thrown into the garbage, sheets tumbling in the dryer, “no.” You need to change the subject. “Hey, are you okay?”

It’s normal for Jeno to be impersonal. But it feels like you’re speaking to someone else. Someone that isn’t your friend. You curse yourself for having the thought. You really need sleep.

He takes a few seconds to respond, “fine. Why?”

You shake your head, running your tongue over your chapped lips. “I just don’t wanna talk about it. Let’s move on?”

His gaze focuses on your mouth. His fingers halt their movements, “sure.”

You’re going insane.

One. Two. Three.

You don’t react. Finally, you were deep in slumber. Jeno smirks, he had waited all day for this. But you were persistent tonight, taking longer than usual to succumb to your exhaustion. Your eyes shut slowly as you tried to keep yourself awake.

Removing his finger from the window, Jeno reaches for the sliding window. It opens with no resistance. Unlocked. His suspicions are confirmed. You want this. You like it. He pushes himself into your home, making sure only his gloved hands touch the glass of the window. His feet land on the floor with a quiet thump. He sees a muddy footprint on the carpet. Shit.

He pulls the mask from his face, puffing out a breath. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and pushes away the damp hair. The mask is a necessary precaution, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

Jeno stares at the print and debates if he should clean it up. He knows you won’t tell anyone. You’re embarrassed about being taken advantage of by what you perceive to be a masked stranger every night. Ashamed that you can’t protect yourself. Humiliated that you’re weak and left at his mercy.

He bites his lip at the thought of your expression when you find it in the morning. When you get down on your knees and scrub it until it’s gone even when you know that the perpetrator will be back as soon as the moon shines high in the sky.

A grin overtakes his face. Jeno shoves his head into the mask once more, shoving his hair into the fabric. He adjusts it until it aligns with his darkened eyes.

He licks his lips as he stares at you. For someone that claims to be so frightened, you sure do give him something to look at. Your slip does little to conceal your breasts, and it slid up enough to give him a peek at the soft skin of the tops of your thighs, far too close to your heat. His mouth waters as he looks up and down your body.

He notices the sparkle of the bracelet he had given you on your right wrist. The charm with your first initial hung from the side of your wrist and onto the mattress. Your fists are clenched, the color of your nails combined well with the light and the soft green of your comforter.

Jeno shifts closer, making sure to take hard steps, leaving a trail of mud to the edge of your bed. He removes his shoes and his gloves, climbing onto the mattress. You’re limp and your chest is heaving slowly with your breathing. He sighs, happy to be so close to you again.

He nears, sliding a hand up your calf from your toes. Your skin is smooth beneath the pads of his fingers. He grabs your ankle and slides it up his chest over his shirt. He bites his lip. Jeno kisses your ankle gently, nuzzling his face into the skin, and rubbing it against his cheek. He attempts to ignore your white panties peeking out from under your slip. He has to be patient.

He takes his time kissing up your legs, sucking harsher and harsher as he draws closer and closer to your cunt. Soft groans are falling from his lips while unconscious sighs leave yours. He nibbles on the skin of your thighs until they bloom dark marks, appearing like a garden of different colored flowers alongside the fading ones from the nights before. Unable to refrain, he presses his tongue flat on your cunt, where he knows your bud is. He has your body mesmerized at this point. He knew all your tells, all your sounds, and every inch of your body.

Your pussy smells so delicious that he can’t resist the light kiss he places on it. He’ll be back. He hauls himself up, removing his shirt before climbing on top of you, body flush to yours, feeling every curve and dip of you as he inched towards your lips. Your slip bunched as his body dragged it up your midsection. He littered kisses on your collarbones, inhaling your sweet body wash. Your slow and steady heartbeat filled his ears. He runs his tongue up your neck and kisses your still lips. He uses his tongue to force your lips open, enough for him to eagerly kiss you, spitting into your mouth to create wet noises.

He runs his hands up and down your sides, bunching the slip up further and further. Your thighs are open wide, accommodating him. You wouldn’t do such a thing if you aren’t enjoying this. Even if it is in your sleep. When you’re vulnerable and pliable...

Jeno grows impatient, opting to keep his clothes on instead of pressing his hot, bare skin against yours as he takes you. He shoves down his pants with a groan, pulling your panties to the side he aligns himself and slides in, releasing a shaky breath as you clench around him. he missed you so much. A day was far too long to go without this delicious pressure. He gropes your tits as he thrusts in and out of you with just enough force to keep you asleep. You’re breathing unevenly as you tighten further.

“Fuck,” he moans, rolling your nipple between his fingers. His free hand moves to your clit, rubbing viciously as he expertly rolls his hips, withholding his orgasm to feel the way you leak around his cock when you cum. He savors every second, every pulse and clench of your gummy walls taking his cock. It takes only a few seconds for you to start spasming around him.

He grunts loudly, spilling inside your hole. Jeno feels the mixture of his release and yours sliding down his balls from your pulsing pussy.

When he pulls out, he cleans himself off but makes sure to leave your thighs spread and the cum inside your cunt while he sits to watch you sleep.

#tw noncon #tw somno #hate my inability to end things #starring... jeno !#screenplay…#[NEO] play…#jeno x reader #jeno smut #nct x reader #nct smut #nct fanfic #nct dream smut #yandere jeno #dark jeno #nct #nct dream #jeno

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minihotdog · 2 months

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Locked Out On Valentine's (Choose Your Ending)

(Photo Cred: @chatskaja on twitter) <3

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: You get locked out on Valentine's Day and have to sleep over at a certain Lt.'s flat.

C/W: Reader is dressed a little inappropriately

A/N: Never tried something like this before so I hope it buffs out. Also, super late Valentine's fic whoops

Word Count: 1k

“What do you mean he’s not available?!” You stand with your forehead against your door.

“Barrack’s manager is out on leave, he’ll be back tomorrow. Recommend you stay with a friend for now.”

“Wait! Where’s the emergency ma-” *click*

What the fuck!

You huff, banging your head against the outside of your door. Today was one of the worst days of your life. You planned a date with your boyfriend of one year only to be dumped right before you were supposed to meet up. And after bawling your eyes out decide to run out to the fountain to get back the hydration you lost.

The redness around your eyes finally went away but they were so puffy you couldn’t even see your keychain still hanging on the wall.

You’re now stuck in the middle of the hall on Valentine’s Day in a short tank top and your bedtime booty shorts hoping a soul doesn’t appear and see you with all your goods hanging out.

The barracks manager - or whoever that was - told you to find a friend. You didn’t have any here. You’d been in the unit for all of five months and they weren’t all that accepting of new people. They oozed the “prove yourself worthy of our clan” mentality. You roll your eyes just at the thought.

Ughhh. I really don’t want to.

You whine internally as you pull up Cpt. Price’s contact on your phone hoping you’re not interrupting anything.

“Sergeant y/n, what’s the purpose of your call?” He sounds annoyed. You hear a feminine voice in the background and him softly shooshing it.

“Sir! I’ve been locked out of my room and the primary barracks manager won’t be in till tomorrow. I don’t have anywhere to stay.”

“That’s unfortunate, isn’t it?” His voice strains lightly. He’s quiet for a moment and you’re unsure if you’re supposed to say something or…

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll message you soon.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’d contact the emergency manager and they’ll come unlock your door.

You stand with your arms crossed, back against the cold wall for what feels like forever until your phone finally buzzes.

Cpt. Price: Bld 920 Room 1208. Stay there tonight.

You’re about to flood him with questions, like: Where’s the key? Is there someone already there? Who’s room is this? But before you’re done typing he sends one last message.

Cpt. Price: I’m busy tonight with work so no need to thank me. Or call me again.

Work…? Yeah right!

The room was at least in the same building as you. Beats trekking in the snow in slippers and the ungodly attire you have on at the moment.

You make your way up the stairs cursing the base for not putting an elevator in your building. You peer at each door while wandering further down the hall.

1206… 1207… 1208!

You take a deep breath before knocking quietly.

God, I hope it’s at least a woman.

A few seconds go by before the door swings open. You stand wide-eyed. If you had less control your jaw would be on the floor too.

You stare back at your Lt. in all his glory. He stares back at you in nothing but low-hanging sweatpants. His blond hair is disheveled, the color matching the patch of hair on his bare sculpted chest. You’d seen him maskless before but from afar. He’s someone many avoided, his demeanor wasn’t exactly inviting and his wrath, from the rumors, was even worse.

The light flooding through the door frame illuminates his face enough to show the fine features up close. The scars running through his lips and cheeks only add to the stirring inside you that’s leaving you speechless.

As you try to stop yourself from ogling him right here and now he notices your eyes popping out of your skull and softly blows air out of his nose.

Is he laughing at me?

He decides to finally break the staring contest.

“What d’you want, pet?”

You stutter a bit before getting the words out,

“I got locked out, the captain told me to come here. He didn’t tell me it was your place.”

It was his turn to let his eyes wander. His eyes rake over your tank top, your arm over your chest to conceal the fact you’re braless, your exposed stomach and shorts that barely did their job as clothes. You stand there waving your water bottle around as you speak, completely unaware of the look on his face.

A smirk pulls at one of his lips as he listens to you ramble about the barracks managers not doing their jobs. Your voice gradually gets higher the angrier you get.

“What the hell are you wearin’?” He interrupts.

“Why are you answering the door half-naked?” You shoot back.

He sneers, “You show up at my door wantin’ a place to stay and you have an attitude?” He pulls his phone from his pocket seeing a barely coherent message from Price.

“Fine. No point in arguin’, Price is probably with the missus, doesn’t want to be bothered.” He steps to the side allowing you to come in. You cautiously accept and step into the space.

His place was neat, and well-kept, more like an apartment rather than the prison they kept you in. You turn back to look at him and notice the tattoos covering the skin of his arm. He pretends not to notice you checking him out as he walks to the hallway closet and pulls out a pillow and blanket.

He hands them to you, “Is that enough or d’you need a bedtime story too?”

“Little Red Riding Hood’s my favorite, please.” You snark, as you drop the pillow and lean over to throw the blanket over the cushions. You swear you hear his breath catch in his throat but get quickly covered up by him clearing his throat.

“So… What are you up to on Valentine’s Day?” You prod hoping to learn something about the most feared individual of the unit.

“Just another day, means nothin’.” He leans against the wall behind him. You sit with your legs crossed on the almost comically large couch, probably custom-made for his giant ass. You lean on your hand and look up at him.

“Is that so?”

“What happened to that muppet you’re always moanin’ bout? Should be with him.” He tilts his head to the side.

“Nah, he’s no good. Decided he liked by friend better.” You laugh sadly. “Can’t seem to keep them this time of year. I’m too cool for it.” You try to joke but end up cringing on the inside. His chest rises with a soft chuckle.

“That right?”

“You know it.” You wink at him.

The two of you go quiet for a moment.

He decides to break the silence.

”You want some tea, love?

*** Decision Time ***

Why not? I'm already here and he's being nice. Sure, I'll have some tea.

Or...

I don't wanna be a bother. He's already having to let me stay over. I'm gonna pass on tea.

#Simon Riley #Simon ghost riley #ghost #simonghostrileysmut #simonrileysmut #codsmut #simonrileyxreader #simonghostrileyxreader #ghostxreader #ghost x reader

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chaneydoll · 2 months

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LAST MINUTE CH. 2 - AUSTIN BUTLER

SingleDad!Austin x reader

Warnings: Fluff, unedited writing

Word count: 1,605

Summary: The day has finally come, and Austin is over the moon.

The week leading up to the date crawled by like a snail on Valium. Austin found himself humming along to love songs he hadn't touched in years, meticulously trimming his beard every other day, and even attempting a new, slightly less disastrous hairstyle (thanks to Liam's enthusiastic, if questionable, hairstyling skills).

Liam, surprisingly well-behaved in a new shirt and gelled hair, declared himself "official chaperone" and spent the afternoon "preparing" for the date. This involved constructing an elaborate fort out of blankets and pillows in the living room, complete with a stash of snacks for "emergencies."

Austin stared at his reflection in the mirror, the knot in his stomach tighter than the button-down he was struggling with. This wasn't just a Saturday night with you. This was, he dared to believe, the start of something more. His heart thundered a nervous rhythm against his ribs, echoing the pounding of miniature fists on his bedroom door.

"Daddy, Daddy! Are you ready?" Liam bounced excitedly, dressed in his best superhero shirt and a mischievous grin. Austin forced a smile. "Almost, bud. I shouldn't keep her waiting, should I?"

His grin widened. "Nope!" He chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm almost finished. Now go wash your face, little dude. Auntie Ashley should be here in a few minutes," he tells his son. With Liam occupied, Austin took a deep breath. He could do this. Y/n was just another person, right? Just incredibly kind, intelligent, and beautiful. Okay, maybe not just another person. But still, he could be charming, could he not?

He straightened his bowtie, a last-minute addition courtesy of Liam's enthusiastic rummaging in his dress-up trunk. It was slightly crooked, adding a touch of endearing awkwardness to his attire. Taking one last look, he grabbed the bouquet of peonies they'd picked earlier, a vibrantly colorful reminder of their afternoon adventure.

The feminine voice he knew and loved filled his ears as he made his way to the living room, where Liam and Ashley stood. All of the attention was now on Austin and his appearance.

"Austin, you look… dapper." Ashley's eyes twinkled with amusement. "And Liam, your bowtie is magnificent!" Liam puffed out his chest, grinning proudly. "Daddy helped!" She smiles at the boy, who was shaking his tie frantically.

"Sorry I'm late; Jupiter would not eat for the life of him. Did I miss anything?" Austin managed a weak smile. "Just an Injustice League attack on Metropolis, nothing crazy." Austin teased, bugging his son.

"It was crazy! Batman and Superman almost died!" Liam shouts, dramatically throwing his face in his hands. He ran back to his "lair," his attention solely on the architectural marvel before him. The laughter died down, snapping Austin back into reality.

Ashley's grin widened. "Relax, Aus. You're a catch. Y/n's gonna be smitten." She says, throwing her hand on his shoulder. Her words were reassuring, but he couldn't shake off the feeling of inadequacy. He wasn't the charming, smooth-talking type. He was just Austin, a single dad with Lego-covered floors and a permanent stain on his favorite shirt.

The butterflies in Austin's stomach did a synchronized tap dance as he stood at your doorstep. He'd dreamt of this moment for months, replaying it in his mind a thousand times, each iteration ending in a different shade of awkwardness. Yet, here he was, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, and a first date with you, his charming next-door neighbor, stretching before him like an uncharted adventure.

You, however, radiated warmth and ease. Your smile, as bright as the string lights adorning your porch, instantly calmed his jitters. He stared, his heart leaping into his throat, as your figure emerged. You, bathed in the soft glow of the lighting, looked breathtaking. Hair was loose, cascading down your shoulders, along with a white sundress that hugged your body in all of the right places.

"Hey," you said, your voice as captivating as the fall foliage swirling around the two of you. "Hi," Austin stammered, suddenly self-conscious about his button-down and slightly wrinkled jeans. "Sorry I'm..."

"Late? Not at all," you interrupted, your smile widening. "I was just cleaning up the house a bit before you came." He nodded, revealing the bouquet from behind his back.

"These are for you," he says, his voice slightly deeper than usual. Your cheeks flushed. "Thank you, Austin; I love them."

He stumbled over his words, "No problem. I, uh, thought pink peonies would be... bright, like you." Cringe. He mentally smacked his forehead. Your tickled laughter, however, quickly chased away his embarrassment.

"That's sweet," You smile, taking the flowers from him before setting them in an open vase that was on your counter. The platform sandals that gave you no justice with your height difference between you and Austin were slipped on as you walked back to your door.

"Lead the way." You say, extending your arm. A laugh bubbled up from his chest, genuine and unrestrained. This wasn't the stuffy conversation or awkward greeting he'd envisioned. This was Y/n, unique and unexpected, just like you'd always been.

The autumn leaves crunched under the tires as Austin navigated the winding road, the headlights painting fleeting shadows on the trees. Beside him, your laughter filled the car, a melody sweeter than any radio station. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles white under the light filtering through the car windows.

Dating again felt like driving a stick shift blindfolded after years of a reliable automatic, Austin thought.

"Is everything alright?" Your voice broke through his reverie, concern lacing your tone.

He swallowed, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just... remembering how bad I am at parallel parking." You chuckled, your hand reaching out to squeeze his arm briefly. "Relax; we can always find a garage." Your touch sent a jolt through him, and he fought the urge to glance at you.

As you two entered the warm, bustling restaurant, the aroma of garlic and herbs embraced your nose. The air was filled with the gentle chatter of families and couples, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Austin led you to a secluded table by the window, offering a breathtaking view of the valley bathed in the soft hues of twilight. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow on your faces, creating a sense of intimacy that sent a shiver down your spine.

"This is so cute," you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

His heart rate quickened. "I'm glad you think so."

The waiter arrived—a friendly man with a thick Italian accent who immediately took a shine to you. As you ordered, Austin found himself captivated by your animated expressions, his eyes not tearing away from you once.

When the food arrived, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You talked about everything and nothing. With each bite, with each shared laugh, it was clear that Austin could get used to this.

He spoke of Brooke, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he described the situation. You listened intently, eyes filled with warmth.

Your hand reached across the table, the touch sending shivers down his spine. "Sometimes," you said, your voice low, "you gotta learn to let things go, even if it isn't what you want." The air crackled with unspoken desires, the space between the two of you shrinking until it was barely there.

Then, the spell broke as a loud toddler scream erupted from the table next to you. The moment, fragile and precious, was shattered, leaving a bittersweet longing in its wake.

"Well, if that isn't Liam in another form, I don't know what is." Austin deadpans, rolling his eyes. You burst into a fit of laughter, taking another long sip of your wine.

"Oh, not Liam." You say, throwing your hand over your heart. He picks up on your sarcastic tone, "He's pretty perfect, alright."

The city lights blurred past Austin's windshield, mirroring the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within him. The restaurant's warmth had faded, replaced by the crisp autumn air and the never-ending fluttering in his chest.

Silence stretched in the car, comfortable yet charged. Austin stole a glance at you, in awe of the way your hair framed your face, the moonlight casting soft shadows on your features. Does she feel what I'm feeling? He thought. As he pulled up in front of your house, a pang of disappointment shot through him.

He walked you to the door, the silence once again charged with hidden emotions. He stopped, hesitating, unsure of what to do next.

"Austin," you say, "thank you for everything tonight." For a breathless moment, your eyes locked, desires simmering in the air. Then, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "No, thank you, Y/n."

Austin leaned closer, your faces mere inches apart. The tension was unbearable, the air thick with anticipation. Then, he closed the gap, softly grasping each side of your face as your lips met in a kiss that was slow, tender, and filled with promise.

It was everything you had imagined. Austin went above and beyond for you tonight, and it made the kiss well worth it.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Austin's eyes were noticeably darker as he caressed your cheek.

"Good night," he whispered, his voice deep.

"Good night," you echo, lingering for a moment before reluctantly stepping back.

As he watched you disappear into your house, the warmth of the kiss lingered on his lips. He made his way back to his abode and met with Liam, who was probably looking forward to this date more than Austin had been all along.

"Daddy! Did you kiss her?"

#austin butler x reader #austin butler #elvis presley #elvis fans #elvis the pelvis #singledad

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vulpisnocturna · 7 months

Text

Bloodstained Rubies - Chapter III - Recalcitrance

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Warnings: controlling behaviour, Yandere Chrollo, captivity, non-con touching, emotional manipulation, psychological manipulation

Word count: 5k

Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours stuck with Chrollo Lucilfer. Fourteen days in which you had done nothing but scream at him and hit him in vain. He just looked at you with that placid smile, asking you if you were done with your “tantrum”. You had stopped fearing for your life, because it was clear that whatever you did, he had a strict policy against physically harming you. Restraining you, psychoanalysing you, trapping you in his arms and chipping away at your sanity, however, were all fair game.

Every night, he would carry you to bed and trap you against his body, and you would flail your limbs like a caged animal, hitting him again and again, which hurt like hell every time. Your legs and arms sometimes had bruises from hitting Chrollo. After a while, you couldn’t stand the pain anymore, and you exhausted yourself from trying so hard, which would always result in you falling asleep despite promising yourself that this time, this time you’d stay awake. And then, you would wake up in the morning with his arm around your waist and his head against yours.

Chrollo had bought you more clothes. If they could be called such. He had a clear predilection for thigh highs, which he claimed would keep you warm in the late October chill. That was hardly the case, since he had bought you a myriad of skirts that barely even covered your ass, and the blouses he chose always seemed to have some sort of defect. Such as a jumper that was backless, a top that exposed your cleavage too much, one that didn’t cover your stomach. Dresses were also a staple. Classier than the other options, they were now what you chose when you were free to make a decision. They were very feminine, ranging from ones that accentuated your waist to ones that exposed your legs or had a cowl neckline that would show your boobs if you dared to bend over.

But the worst was the underwear. He did not see it, so why was he so hellbent on making you wear the most daring lingerie known to humankind? Lace had replaced cotton almost completely, in the form of black bralettes that barely even supported your breasts and uncomfortable panties that showed off your ass.

That day, Chrollo had decided to grace you with a day of peace, saying he was going to meet with the Phantom Troupe for another heist. The Spider, as he also called them, was his friend group. And lo and behold, they were all murderous thieves. Chrollo had had no problem telling you he was a world-class thief when he had first come back with a mountain of antique books for the both of you. From Austen to Shakespeare to Nietzsche, he had stolen all of them, and handed you the most gorgeous edition of Pride and Prejudice you had ever seen in your life, telling you he had pocketed it just for you because upon stalking you -making your acquaintance, as he referred to it, he had discovered you loved it.

And then, as though that wasn’t enough, he had insisted you have conversations about the books you were reading. He seemed to love reading as much as you did, which only irked you. He liked sitting down on the sofa in front of the fireplace and read, inviting you to sit on his lap –which you reacted to with the same zeal of someone who had been offered arsenic, sitting on an armchair as far away from him as possible, but still close to the fireplace, because your attire made it so that you were cold most of the time. Which you had come to realise was also a ploy for you to seek out Chrollo’s body heat. The fact of the matter was that Chrollo was disgustingly cunning. As delusional as he was, he was a strategist at heart, and conniving as they came.

You wouldn’t be able to get through a chapter that he would ask you this or that, and did you think Hamlet struggled with inaction because by exacting revenge he would irrevocably be cloaking himself in his uncle’s corrupt morality; and did you agree that Odysseus’ decision to rejoin his family instead of marrying Nausicaa was the ultimate confirmation he had shunned his hubris and embraced mortal humility? And what was your opinion on Dante’s arrogance in casting himself as the judge of sin in placing individuals in hell, purgatory, or heaven, therefore setting himself up to be God?

Pretentious as he was, Chrollo read all kinds of books. From classics to philosophy to shōnen manga to sci-fi, from romance, fantasy, noir, and psychological thriller all the way to mystery. He was particularly grating when he read romance, because he seemed to infer that whatever he read could be applied to you. From romantic gestures such as buying you flowers to saccharine, obscure love letters you found in the books you were reading, all the way to attempts at seduction that made your stomach tighten in a noose. Not only because he was so wretchedly attractive and sounded enticing too, but also because you despised him and feared he would get more and more brazen with his physical touches.

He had already started to wrap his arms around you, kiss your cheeks, your forehead, the top of your head. Sometimes, he sat next to you on the sofa and trapped you next to him, forcing you to “cuddle” with him.

Regardless of that, that day was a blessing for you in a whirlwind of rage, fear, anxiety and vigilance: you took a long, hot shower, not worrying he might burst in if he thought you were taking too long and using the bathroom to “avoid” him, you made breakfast and actually slumped on the sofa with a book without having to keep an eye on what he was doing at all times, you took a nap by yourself and checked the house over and over again for exits and weapons.

You found nothing, and some drawers you couldn’t open, which you had come to deduce was because of his kleptomaniacal superpower- or Nen, as he called it. No knives, no scissors, no hammers or poisons or daggers. It was a baby-proof house. You were in a very tall building, which meant you couldn’t break the windows and jump. The front door was locked, and you did not have enough strength to kick it down, nor anything to break it apart. Your phone was nowhere to be found; his had a weird system of recognition that wouldn’t let you in. He had no laptop that you could find either.

By the time you had finished exploring, you were exhausted once again, and gave up for that day, making yourself a cup of tea and sitting down with another book. It had now become your coping mechanism, a form of escapism from the reality of your life. You thought of your friends and family, and whether they had declared you missing and started an investigation. But you knew it would be fruitless, because Chrollo Lucilfer was too clever, and too familiar with being a criminal. He had told you that you would move country in about two weeks, after he was done collecting things he liked with his horrid friends, and then, it would all be useless, unless you could do something at the airport. Ask for help.

His threat of killing people that might aid you was fresh in your mind, but what were you supposed to do? Even he wouldn’t kill an entire airport full of people, right? Even if he was strong, and fast, and had his Nen, what could he do against all the airport security?

Either way, you would find a way. You couldn’t let this be the end; you couldn’t stand his shit-eating smirk, his self-satisfaction whenever you would talk to him, breaking your silence treatment streak because you couldn’t stand it when he started his pretentious monologues.

Whenever he asked you a question about a book, you had to make a decision: did you want to indulge him and answer the question, or did you want to pursue your silent treatment and endure a monologue of him giving you his opinion, his explanation, like you had no answer and had to be lectured on something?

Somehow, he always knew what buttons to press. He would cut deep into your pride and intellect, pretending your efforts to ignore him meant you did not possess enough insight to aid him in his dilemmas and required him to explain. He made you choose to answer because he knew the alternative irked you more. And then, he would psychoanalyse your answer, musing over your mind as though he were a neurosurgeon dissecting a brain, happily humming to himself as he sought to read you instead of minding his own business.

He always buttered you up with compliments on your intellect and insight after receiving your reluctant viewpoint of his dilemmas, as though you were Pavlov’s dog, who would one day come to him, salivating, eagerly offering your own opinions to receive the meagre reward of his unsolicited praise.

Unless he disagreed, and then, he would rebut your point, cajoling you into a debate that seemed to just delight him to no end.

You let out a deep sigh, gnashing your teeth. Even when he wasn’t there, you could not stop him from invading your mind. You couldn’t concentrate on your book whether you were alone or in his presence, forced to listen to self-aggrandising input.

‘It pleases me to see you so at ease, darling’

You let out a yelp, scrambling to sit up and growing rigid as you eyed him. And just like that, your short-lived pretence of peace came to an end.

Chrollo was sitting on the sofa armrest, wearing that hideous purple cloak that made him look like a cartoonish cleric mixed with an elderly woman wrapped in ermine fur, his hair slicked back like he was preparing to audition for The Godfather and his eternal self-satisfied smirk plastered on his stupidly attractive face.

‘I missed you’ he breathed, walking over to you, ridding himself of his coat in favour of an abstractly striped purple shirt and leather trousers with one belt too many. You got up, glowering at him as you put the oaken coffee table between your bodies like a child might raise a cardboard shield against a knight brandishing a broadsword.

‘I didn’t’ you quipped, because as soon as you had learnt that Chrollo was unaffected by verbal poison, you had poured it in your every sentence, dousing your words with it.

‘Don’t be so callous with me, sweetheart. I brought you gifts’ he chuckled, his long legs closing the gap between you before you could hope to dash away. He closed in on you, and you squirmed away, turning your head as he leaned over your face, but he only changed trajectory and treacherously kissed your jaw instead of your cheek, sending an infuriating shiver down your spine.

‘The possessions of others are hardly gifts’ you barked, and Chrollo tilted his head, letting you place some distance between you.

‘In truth, these cannot be called the possessions of others. I appreciate your steadfast morals, however, these were actually stolen from a long-dead tribe by the government, who sought to make money from it. Stealing them would actually be righteous of me, would it not?’ he mused, smiling lightly as he walked over to the door, where he had left a sizeable crate.

‘Stealing is stealing, and it’s wrong’ you hissed, tired of his foolish arguments on semantics.

‘Spoken like a true preacher, darling. I would love to hear your sermons. Though not nearly as much as I would enjoy seeing you in these’ he said, carrying the crater over to the wooden coffee table and opening it. Your eyes nearly bulged out, setting on the glittering ruby earrings that looked like droplets of blood in the sunlight, on silvery rings with emeralds gemstones shining on the band, on sapphire pendants and bracelets of solid gold.

‘Almost as beautiful as you are, my love’ he said in a mellifluous tone, and you turned your head, almost like a monk slighting temptation, in an analogy you often heard from him as he compared your morals to that of a puritanical priest. Which was ludicrous, considering he was the one who seemed to have an obsession with religious imagery and had several crosses on his outfits.

‘I don’t want anything to do with your kleptomaniacal gifts’ you snapped, and Chrollo laughed lightly, his greedy fingers curling on your waist, pulling you against him even as you fought against him like a cat being bathed.

He stroked your back possessively, feeling the soft mauve chiffon under his hands.

‘This dress is one of your favourites, is it not, darling? You look ravishing in it. Did you know I stole this from a fashion auction? When I saw it, I knew it would be perfect on you. You see now?’ he murmured, pressing his lips on your temple.

‘I don’t have a choice’ you hissed, pushing at his chest, which was like trying to move a tank with your bare hands.

‘Of course you do. You could always not wear anything’ he chimed in, lifting you up and sitting you on his lap, caging you with his arms.

‘I’d rather die’ you bit back, and he held you still, looking at you with those big grey eyes of his, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek.

‘I would never let that happen, darling’ he whispered, his breath, reminiscent of mint, fanning your jaw.

‘Let me go’ you whined, starting to panic. What was he going to do? You couldn’t move anything but your head in that position.

‘Shh. Be good for me’ he practically purred, his gaze trailing to your lips, his face inching closer. You squirmed, turning your head, but one of his hands left your wrists to tip your chin towards him again.

He closed the distance between you, pressing his lips against yours. You froze, halting your useless struggle, momentarily entranced by how soft and reverential his lips were against yours. He let out a soft moan, tilting his head and keeping yours in place by your nape, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you still.

He was gentle and sensual as he kissed you, and you could not deny the shiver that ran down your spine as his tongue traced your lower lip. The temptation of parting your lips and kissing him back was furiously battling the reminder that this was Chrollo that was kissing you, the repulsive man who had kidnapped you, a murderer-

He sank his teeth in your bottom lip and pulled lightly on your hair, and you could not contain a small gasp that gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. You were lost in the feeling of it, unable to do anything but feel the way he pressed you against him, his fingers curling on your thigh, his hand fisting your hair to grant him better access.

The sensation of pleasure travelling down your body and pooling in your lower stomach should have pulled you in a deeper trance, but it snapped you out of it. Before you could consider the consequences of your actions, your palm had already collided with his cheek with a resounding slap.

He pulled back, and you stared at him, wide-eyed and panting, rage making your cheeks flush with blood. The side of his face was starting to take a shade of pale pink, and you scrambled to your feet, wrenching yourself from him.

His reddened lips curled into a smirk, and he stared at you, getting up. Your eyes briefly caught sight of a bulge in his leather trousers, and you stepped back, disgusted. How could you have let him do that? Why had a small part of you liked it? What the hell was wrong with you?

‘Are you scared, darling? It’s not my reaction to your slap that frightens you, is it? No, it’s the fact that you liked it’ he drawled, his tongue licking his bottom lip. You grimaced, rage surging through you, and you wanted to hit him, wanted to smother him with a pillow and wipe that fucking smirk from his face, and the taste of his lips was in your mouth-

You bolted to the bedroom, locking yourself in the bathroom, furiously brushing your teeth, your tongue, your lips until your gums started to bleed, your eyes brimming with bitter tears as you slid against the door, cradling your head, sniffling and sobbing into your knees.

Minutes passed, and at some point, as you exhausted all your tears, you knew you had to get out, or you would lose your lock privileges. You wiped your tear-stained cheeks, sniffling your blocked nose and turning the lock, wordlessly slipping out of the bathroom, finding him lounging on the sofa in the bedroom, wearing a simple white T-shirt and comfortable black trousers, a book in his hands.

He was stifling. He was everywhere, always in your space, and now, he had kissed you. You didn’t know why, but you had foolishly believed he wouldn’t cross that line. You’d been an idiot.

‘Leave me alone’ you said gruffly, walking out of the bedroom.

But he followed you. You didn’t know why you kept trying to establish boundaries. He clearly had no regard for them.

‘I was patient enough, sweetheart. It’s been two weeks; it’s only natural that I would want to kiss you. And I want you to know that it will happen often from now on. That’s because your pretty lips are beguiling, my love. Better than I dreamt they would be. But don’t fear. You don’t have to stubbornly pretend you find kissing me distasteful. I could tell, darling... though you tried to hide it so fervently’ he said, tone disgustingly self-satisfied as he followed you into the kitchen. You were trembling with rage now, seeing red as you stared at him, your jaw so tight it ached.

‘Would it fucking kill you to leave me alone for five minutes?!’ you screamed, your eyes burning with fury. Chrollo was unperturbed.

‘Because why would you be so enraged at me, if not because you cannot stand your own desires? It must be so difficult to abide by your morals, darling’ he said casually, smirking at you.

‘I hate you! I hate your guts’ you snarled, slamming open every cupboard that was unlocked, finally finding a stash of alcohol. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass, storming past him towards the sofa, pouring yourself a full glass and gulping a heavy sip of it, wiping your chin and hoping the burning in your throat would make the taste of him and the phantom feel of his tongue disappear from your mouth.

‘You strike me as a lightweight, darling. That is a sizeable glass of whiskey that you poured yourself. Besides, this one is meant to be sipped. You’re doing a disservice to its quality’ he said, appearing in front of you with a glass and pouring himself three fingers of amber liquid.

‘I hope it cost you twenty thousand Jenny’ you hissed, taking another gulp, grimacing at the burning in your throat.

‘Actually, I believe this one was around a hundred thousand Jenny’ he said casually, sitting in the armchair in front of you and crossing his legs. You looked at him, disbelieving for a second, before you decided to ignore him. Who cared if he spent half your monthly salary on a bottle of whiskey. For all you knew, he’d stolen that one as well.

‘You’re not a habit drinker, are you, darling? There was hardly any alcohol in your old house’ he said, and you turned on the TV, covering yourself with a cushion and continuing to drink as you started watching the show that was on, though your attention was not truly on it.

In the meantime, Chrollo had decided he wasn’t close enough to you for his liking, so he plopped down next to you, snaking an arm around your shoulders and pulling you to him. You tried to squirm away, but as usual, it had no effect. So you merely continued to gulp down glasses of whiskey, hoping that at some point, you would pass out and you wouldn’t have to deal with him. Though you feared what he’d do to you if you lost your rational abilities.

He tapped away at his phone, his fingers drawing grating circles on your upper arm.

‘There, that’s enough for now, darling. Any more and you’ll throw up’ he said, prying the glass from your cold fingers and setting it down.

You ignored him again, though it was hard when he was glued to your body and you were cold in that stupid chiffon dress. The heat that radiated from his body was tempting, but you would rather die of hypothermia than cuddle up to him.

You tried to focus on the show, but you were starting to feel a little lightheaded and less perceptive of your body. Less perceptive of how close that sneaky bastard had gotten you to him, taking advantage of the fact that you were unlikely to even notice.

Shortly after, maybe a few scenes that you hardly remembered the dialogue of, the doorbell rang. Your head twisted to it. Police. The police had found you? Nobody ever rang the bell.

‘Relax, darling. I ordered us some food. I’ll be back in a minute’ he said, getting up and putting on his shoes, closing the door behind him. You gingerly stood up, your head swaying lightly, before you made your way to the door, pulling on the handle. Locked. No, not locked. Magically- Nen locked. You chewed on your bottom lip, going back to the sofa. Useless. He was too cautious.

He returned not even a minute after, holding a bag he set on the coffee table, taking out a few plastic containers. You could see rice and yakitori, along with another container with dumplings. Your stomach grumbled at the sight.

‘Have your pick, darling. Anything you please’ he said, and you picked up the container with the dumplings, opening it and breaking apart the chopsticks, ignoring him and going back to the TV show. There was definitely a character called Frank. Or was it Vincent? In any case, you were sure the plot was about a climate apocalypse. That much was clear from the clothes they were wearing.

You wouldn’t compliment Chrollo on his food choices, but it was really good. And you had been very hungry.

And you were also quite drunk now.

Like a blessing from the Heavens, Chrollo left you to eat in peace as he had some yakitori, watching the show with mild interest.

Once you were finished, you took another gulp of whiskey, and Chrollo looked at you, an amused smirk on his face.

‘What are you looking at?’ you barked, glaring at him. His smirk only got more pronounced.

‘Nothing. You are so cute when you’re drunk, darling’ he said, drawing you close to him. Your head was spinning too much to fight back.

‘I’m not drunk’ you said, making your voice sound steady as you got up. Except you must have done so too quickly, because the whole room spun, and when you fell, you magically found yourself draped on his lap, his arm safely wrapped around your torso.

‘How sweet you are, my love. You can’t even stand up by yourself. Let me help you’ he said, possessively pulling you against him, stroking your hair, looking at you like one might look at an interesting art piece.

‘Shut up, Chrollo. Let me go, or I will-‘ you trailed off as his thumb traced your bottom lip, a wolfish grin on his face.

‘What will you do, sweetheart?’ he mused, dipping his head to kiss your throat, soft lips pressing lightly, tantalisingly, to the point where you let out a soft moan.

‘That’s it, darling. You like it, mh? I can make you feel so good, I promise’ he whispered, voice breathy and husky at the same time, teeth nipping at your clavicle, ‘you have no idea how tempting you are, darling. How much I want you’

Your breath faltered, your vision spinning as Chrollo’s hand cupped your ass, a soft sigh leaving his lips just before he started sucking at the base of your throat. You let out a whimper, clutching the fabric of his shirt, pressing your thighs together to quell the throbbing between your legs.

No, Chrollo was- but it felt so good, and you wanted- wanted him to stop? To continue?

You pushed him away with a weak shove, but he relented, smirking at you as you tried to catch your breath.

‘Don’t touch me’ you slurred, getting up, stumbling around on the plush white rug.

‘I had no intentions of doing more than give you a taste of what I can make you feel, my love. You surpassed my expectations. You are so sensitive, darling. I look forward to continuing this in the future’ he said, and you looked at him, unsure how to answer, before you turned on your heels and stumbled through the corridor, eventually finding your way to the bedroom. You grabbed your shirt and shorts from under the pillow and locked the bathroom door, intending to go to sleep before him.

But when you came out of the bathroom, you saw him already standing in front of the bed, placing a glass of water on your nightstand.

‘What you doing’ you snapped at him, your eyes narrowing. Chrollo let out a soft laugh, straightening up and walking over to you.

‘You will probably have a hangover tomorrow. I am taking precautionary steps to ensure your wellbeing. Don’t worry, darling, I will stay home with you tomorrow, and take very good care of you’ he said, looking so damn pleased with himself. You glowered at him, walking over to the bed and dropping on it like dead weight. The ceiling was spinning wildly, and your body felt very heavy, like it was sinking in the mattress. Your eyelids already felt so heavy.

Chrollo’s arm pulled you in against him, and besides a dissatisfied groan, it was the first night you didn’t have the strength to thrash around and fight him off in vain.

‘Shh, close your eyes, darling. Sleep’ he whispered against your ear, kissing your shoulder. You tried to stay awake, but you soon found it was impossible to do so.

Chrollo smiled, sipping his coffee, his fingers flicking the page, his gaze turning to you. You looked so sweet, sleeping in, not a care in the world, your face peaceful, lips parted as you took slow, even breaths.

It was already late in the morning, but he did not want to wake you up. He was content to let you sleep in, especially when you were cuddled up to him, seeking out his warmth without knowing it. His fingers were playing with your hair, gently stroking it, revelling in the softness of it, and he thought you were such a heavy sleeper. Perhaps it was him who had spent a whole lifetime guarding himself against possible attacks, and seeing someone sleep so peacefully, not wake up at the slightest change in breathing, the movement of a shadow, the hissing of the wind was fascinating to him.

Despite your reservations about him and the fact that you claimed to despise him, you slept so soundly with him. Besides, he thought, uncovering your clavicle, where you were sporting a purple lovebite he’d left you with, you certainly seemed responsive enough to his kisses. It had been difficult to stop himself from pinning you down and hear more of those sweet little sounds you had made for him the night before, but he wanted you to want him desperately. His pleasure was derived from knowing that deep down, you wanted him to touch you, wanted to be his. Just like you had wanted him to suck and bite your bottom lip, even though you’d slapped him out of stubbornness.

But he was not perturbed. He knew you would come around, even though your bouts of anger and futile attempts at hitting him were starting to become aggravating. How could you not see you did not possess enough strength to injure him? Why were you so eager to hurt yourself by thrashing around like a feral cat and hissing at him?

Your life would be much easier if you just stopped denying his affection. After all, he did everything for you, and only wanted you to stop denying him at every turn.

Of course, he could not expect you to reciprocate his feelings so soon, because as a human being, you were likely to retain some resentment towards him because he had taken you with him. But he could not have left you; sooner or later, he would have to travel elsewhere. He had had to take you with him, especially considering how dangerous the world was for you.

And if you stopped being so enraged and resentful, he might even take you outside. He wanted to spoil you, take you to dinner, to see art galleries and libraries and beautiful nature sceneries. But if you couldn’t behave, how was he supposed to do that? You would have to stay home until you could be trusted with behaving in the outside world. After all, it would be inconvenient if you asked someone to aid you whilst you two were outside. He would have to host a bloodbath, and he did not think it would help your perception of him.

Your morals were so clear-cut, it was fascinating to him. You seemed to have such a clear idea of what was right and what was wrong, and that intrigued him. Was it your upbringing? Didn’t he have those because the place he had grown up in had been so cruel? Or was it his inherent nature? You seemed to think him a monster, but were monsters made or born as such?

Chrollo did not know, but he knew you were the key to discovering himself. With you, he could find out anything. He felt whole with you, his emotions were naturally present, he knew what they were and could name them, he did not feel that boundless vacuum inside his heart that seemed to swallow him whole. He could learn so much from you; one lifetime wouldn’t be enough. That was why he had vowed he would find you in every single one.

Part IV

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo smut #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere x reader #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x you #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo smut #yandere chrollo x you #hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh x reader #yandere hxh

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

Note

WIBTA for wearing pants to a wedding?

I'm gonna try to keep this short. My cousin is getting married soon, and I'm being begged by my (fairly traditional) family to attend the wedding. I (F) am not comfortable wearing dresses, skirts, or feminine clothing, and the thought of doing so makes me feel nauseous. When I mentioned wearing my normal wedding attire - a nice blazer, shirt, and dress pants - my parents flipped out and begged me not to. I know you shouldn't go to a wedding and do anything wild or distract from the couple, but I genuinely don't know what to do. I can't change or compromise who I am, and I'm only attending as a guest. My mom wants me to compromise and wear a jumpsuit, but those still feel painfully feminine to me. Not going is unfortunately not an option for multiple reasons. Would I be the asshole if I showed up in an appropriately dressy masculine outfit?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 months

Text

When We Howl, The Moon Will Cower: Chapter 2

A/N: Omg, we're back again! Apologies for the delay in this chapter. The holidays and my fic exchange fic took priority and then this chapter just really got away from me. Like really got away from me. Like almost 7k words got away from me 😅 But! I hope everyone enjoys! This chapter includes Nessian properly interacting and smut! As a warning, due to the arranged marriage aspect of this fic, I've tagged this as dubious consent, so please do read with care.

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Cassian

Cassian straightens out the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling his shoulders back. The formal attire feels tight and constrictive against his skin, and the urge to tug at the fabric more gnaws at the back of his mind, has his fingers flexing and twitching. He’s always hated this sort of pomp and circumstance, always felt this sort of frivolity was better suited to Rhys and his vampires.

He’d give anything to shed the black shirt and jacket, to escape this too small building and the pressures squeezing in around him. He’d give anything to escape back to the woods that surround the pack village. To tip his head back and take a deep breath of the sweet, earthy scent. To feel the wind whispering between the trees and across his skin. To feel that peace he’s only ever found in that space.

But that’s simply not possible. He’s the alpha. He has to think of his pack, has to shoulder these expectations for them, for the war he knows is coming to their door.

With a soft sigh, Cassian steps over to the mirror leaning against the wall in the small room. His hair is still a bit damp, but at least it falls in neat, soft curls around his face and down to his shoulders. Adjusting the collar of his shirt one last time, he can almost say that he looks respectable. He supposes that’s good enough for a wedding.

Especially a wedding he didn’t particularly choose.

Turning on his heel, Cassian pulls open the wooden door to the room he’s been sequestered in, stepping out into the hall beyond. If he pricks his ears, he can just make out the sounds of feminine voices bouncing off the stone walls, hushed but urgent in their tone. He follows the voices three doors down, but he barely raises his fist to knock before it’s yanked open and he’s met with a pair of blue eyes brimming with open defiance and stubborn disapproval, a nose smattered with freckles and scrunched in disdain. Rhys’s soon to be wife, Feyre.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Feyre informs him, her tone daring him to disagree as much as her expression begs for an excuse to take a swing.

“Good thing we wolves don’t believe in such superstitions,” Cassian offers simply with a shrug.

Feyre doesn’t even bother tamping down the expression that stretches across her face, the unimpressed look she settles him with. She tries to close the door firmly in his face, but Cassian is faster, sliding his foot between it and the doorjamb. Feyre glares down at his foot as if it personally offended her before lifting her eyes again and turning that anger back at him. Rhys will certainly have his hands full, Cassian knows that for sure.

“Do you mind?” Feyre drawls, closing the door on his foot again for extra good measure.

“It’s fine, Feyre,” Nesta’s voice reaches him from further in the room.

Feyre turns her head over her shoulder, having some sort of silent conversation with her older sister. Although Cassian is only privy to half of it, to the various eyebrow raises and wide eyed looks from the youngest Archeron, it’s not hard for him to guess what’s being said. Eventually, Feyre let out a quiet huff, finally opening the door fully.

Cassian steps properly into the room, and getting his first sight of Nesta has him forgetting why he’s even here. Has him forgetting how to breathe for a moment. The black fabric of her dress plunges deeply down her chest, drawing emphasis to the tantalizing line of skin on display. It clings to her every curve where it falls in graceful layers down her legs, and lace stretches down her arms in a subtle design that almost looks like flames.

But it’s Nesta’s hair that Cassian really can’t look away from. Every time that he’s seen the Archerons, Nesta has always worn her hair in an intricate updo, braided back without a single strand out of place. And yet right now, her hair is down, cascading in soft waves around her shoulders and down her back. The golden brown of those strands seems to burn, and Cassian’s fingers twitch with the sudden urge to be buried amongst them, to discover if they’re as soft as they look.

“We’ll be alright,” Nesta continues to her sisters, but something burns in those stormy blue eyes of hers that has Cassian suspecting she’s speaking about more than just leaving him alone with his soon to be wife.

Feyre steps closer to her eldest sister, dropping her voice but not low enough for Cassian’s wolf ears. “If you change your mind…”

“It will be alright,” Nesta repeats firmly, taking Feyre’s hands in hers and giving them a squeeze.

Feyre sighs softly, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn’t argue anymore. She accepts the hand that Elain holds out, allowing her older sister to lead her around Cassian and toward the door. Cassian doesn’t miss the look that both sisters offer him, the promise, or more aptly the threat, clear in both their expressions.

The door closes behind them with a soft snick, and then it’s just Cassian and Nesta. Despite it being just the two of them, despite the fact they’ll be husband and wife within the hour, she still holds her spine straight as steel. She keeps her chin raised, somehow looking down her nose at him even though Cassian has a whole head on her. And yet she holds him captivated, keeps him pinned in place as her eyes sweep over his frame.

“Who knew you could actually clean up so well,” Nesta comments, raising her gaze back to his own.

“I even bathed and everything,” Cassian offers back. He doesn’t bother biting back the smirk that tugs up his lips, making a big show of sketching into a dramatic bow. “Just for you, princess.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at the gesture, the reaction sparking a flame in Cassian’s chest. “Cute.”

“I thought you’d appreciate that, looking down from your little witchy, Archeron throne.”

“Fuck you,” Nesta snaps, stepping forward until they’re toe to toe, until she has to tilt her chin higher to hold eye contact with him.

Her lips curl back in a snarl, a fire of her own beginning to blaze through her eyes like a churning sea. He can see her magic beginning to creep into the corners, wisps of silver swirling like tendrils of smoke. Can see the way her pulse has started to jump like a raging beat just beneath her skin. It has that fire flickering in Cassian’s own veins roaring higher still, rising to meet her.

Witches, including the Archerons, are always so prim, so proper. So boring and pretentious. Cassian wonders how far he can push her now, how much he can tug on those fraying edges on display now until she’s fully unraveling before him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Cassian drawls easily. “It’s me that will be fucking you soon. Wife.”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Nesta seethes, jamming a finger into the center of his chest. “I know this marriage is a sham. You know this marriage is a sham. We’re both doing this out of duty and nothing more, so there’s no use pretending otherwise.”

“Don’t worry. There's no pretending here. I know exactly how you witches feel about wolves.”

“Is that so?”

“And I can assure you,” Cassian continues, leaning in until he and Nesta are practically nose to nose. “The feeling is mutual.”

Nesta shifts her hand until her palm is pressed firmly to his chest, shoving him hard. She has more strength than Cassian expects, the gesture taking him by surprise enough that he stumbles back a step. The shock quickly wears off at the victorious gleam that flares in Nesta’s eyes, but before he can say or do anything else, she turns on her heel, stalking toward the door and yanking it open.

Cassian sighs softly, following behind her. Unsurprisingly, Nesta doesn’t bother holding the door for him, Cassian needing to catch it before it closes on his face. He slips out and into the hall with ease, long legs catching up to Nesta and her own strides quickly. When he reaches her, he holds out his arm in offering, delighting in the eye roll and scowl it earns him.

“You can’t be serious,” Nesta comments dryly, her steps never faltering.

“Sham or no sham, don’t you think it’s important to present a united front, Nes?”

Nesta’s steps stutter to a stop then, annoyance raging across her expression as she whirls around on him. “Don’t call me that.”

Cassian watches in real time the moment Nesta realizes what she’s said, what she’s given him. Her scowl twists tighter, eyes narrowing as if daring him. The smile that tugs across Cassian’s lips is slow, all teeth. The nickname curls around his tongue, grinds between his teeth, poised and ready. He swears he can see the fire churning just beneath her skin in the pink that starts to spark across her cheeks. His gaze traces that color down her neck, curious to see if it spills across her chest too.

Before he can find the answer, Nesta continues storming down the hall toward the large double doors at the end. She turns back to look at him expectantly, but for once, Cassian can’t quite get his feet to move. Their fate is waiting on the other side of that door. Once they step through to what’s waiting beyond, there will be truly no turning back. No taking back the words spoken. No going back on the vows that will tether them together forever.

It’s certainly not the Mother blessed match he had hoped for one day. Not the type of love that Enalius had in the stories his mother told him as a child. Not a mate that would wrap that sacred golden thread as tightly around his heart as he hoped to secure their own.

“Cassian,” Nesta hisses and draws him back to the present, her tone dripping with exasperation.

“No need to get your panties into a twist, sweetheart,” Cassian mumbles, finally striding forward to meet her.

Cassian takes a moment to roll his shoulders one last time, clearing his throat and offering Nesta one final bland smile. It earns him another narrowed eyes look from her, one that Cassian is beginning to suspect means she intends to cut him down where he stands. His wolf wants to see her try.

He pulls open one of the double doors, stepping inside the large room beyond. All of the factions have kept their guest lists to just their respective inner circles, but it’s still a decent size group awaiting on the other side. And with Nesta being the eldest, it means their wedding is to be the first. He can spy Elain and Feyre sitting in the front row with the Archeron matriarch, unmarried still at least for the next few hours.

Despite being sequestered to the front row, the distance doesn’t seem to deter Rhys, the vampire male openly smiling with his canines on full display toward his soon-to-be wife. The distance doesn’t seem to stop Feyre either, nor her mother a mere two seats away, the youngest Archeron glaring over her shoulder right back.

Lucien Vanserra also seems set on staring at his future wife; although, Elain is intent on not meeting his gaze. Cassian still doesn’t quite understand how Eris got away with pawning this alliance off on his youngest brother rather than shouldering it himself. Then again, despite how inconspicuous the Vanserra Coven’s leader thinks he’s being, Cassian doesn’t miss the sidelong glances Eris makes toward the male sitting to Rhys’s left as he walks past.

Cassian’s steps take him to the front of the room and to the priestess standing there. She’s young, copper hair tumbling in long strands around her robes. She offers Cassian a small, friendly smile, but he can’t muster up the will to reciprocate the gesture. He’s sure this is the first of three very solemn weddings this poor priestess will officiate. Thankfully, the awkward air doesn’t last long, as the double doors to the room open again, and everyone turns their attention to the female now stepping inside.

This is it.

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta stares out the carriage window, eyeing the gray stone of the temple. It almost feels odd how unassuming it looks, just an ordinary temple with no idea what just took place behind the large oak door. She had almost expected wrathful, stormy clouds to roll in today, for lightning to crack across the sky as surely as Nesta’s world has felt cracked apart. Had expected thunder to clap as though the Mother herself protested as the priestess wrapped the black rope around their joined hands.

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her shudder as she remembers that moment they were truly bound together forever. She had hated it. Hated how large his hand was compared to hers. Hated the slide of callouses against her skin and the shiver it had sent up her spine. Hated the warmth of it as his fingers curled around her own.

The carriage jolting forward tugs Nesta out of her thoughts. She turns toward the other side of the carriage, finding Cassian already watching her. He’s already discarded his jacket, unlaced the fastens at the collar of his shirt so that a sliver of golden skin is on full display, the barest hint of dark swirling ink twisting along his collarbones.

Despite the darkness around them and in the carriage, his hazel eyes still seem to glint as he stares at her. Nesta isn’t sure if it’s part of him being a werewolf or just how the male in question is, but she swears he can see right through her. Swears that any mask or wall she’s carefully curated and mastered through her years is now a useless defense. It doesn’t stop her from straightening her spine, from raising her chin.

“Is it a long journey?” Nesta asks, forcefully shoving down the urge to twiddle with the cool, metal weight now on her left hand.

“The village the pack calls home isn’t far.”

“And yet you didn’t want to stay for the celebration?”

A large banquet had been prepared for all the guests in attendance, and yet, Cassian had rounded up his wolves and announced they were returning to the pack. Nesta supposes she should be grateful he at least allowed them to stay to watch both her sisters have their own ceremonies, but the command had still taken her by surprise.

His second and third hadn’t even argued. They merely went on ahead, shifting and going on foot the preferred mode of transportation for wolves apparently. A carriage had been readied for Nesta, her new husband opting to join her for the journey rather than shifting himself, and then they were off.

“Why would we stay?” Cassian fires back, offering one of those slow cocksure smirks that Nesta is beginning to hate. “So you could have ample time and distraction to slip something into my drink?”

“Could you blame me?” Nesta hisses, leaning forward in her seat to glare at the male across from her.

“Now, now, Nes. Is that any way to treat your husband?”

“Haven’t you ever heard the saying happy wife, happy life?”

Cassian snorts, settling back comfortably against his seat. His hazel eyes seem to flare, his smirk twisting and growing at the remark. It’s certainly not the reaction Nesta is used to receiving when she dares to bare her teeth. When she gives in to that fire that always seems to thrum and burn beneath her skin, raging to be released.

Cassian’s lips part, but before he can get another jab in, the carriage pulls to a stop, the alpha glancing sidelong out the window. “We’re here.”

Cassian pushes open the carriage door, ducking down and stepping out with ease. Nesta waits for Cassian’s hand to reach back inside for her, but it never comes. With another roll of her eyes and a huff, Nesta slips out of the carriage herself. She takes a moment to straighten out the skirts of her dress before finally looking up and around her. The sight almost takes her breath away.

Large trees stretch far around them, their branches reaching up toward the stars and the sky beyond. The night air whispers of pine, of crickets and critters that call these trees and forest home, and through the trunks of trees, Nesta can spy what appears to be some sort of lake, the moon’s light glinting off the ripples of water.

The ground has been worn and covered with small rocks beneath her feet, creating a path that winds between the trees and leads to a whole village. Homes have been built into the hills and the rocks, between the trees. Made of wood and covered in moss, they blend in almost perfectly with the woods around them, a living, breathing part of the forest. The whole village is almost mystical, the melody of a wolf’s howl somewhere deeper in only adding to her new surroundings.

“Come on,” Cassian orders gruffly, already making his way down the path and further into the village.

Nesta hurries after him, trying to keep up with his long legs and longer strides. He leads them to the other side of the village. Wooden planks have been worked into the side of the hill to create stairs, the largest cabin that Nesta has seen yet sitting at the top. It’s clear this is the alpha’s home, built so it looks out over the other cabins, over the rest of the pack.

There’s a male Nesta has never seen before waiting by the front door when they reach it, along with the trunks and bags Nesta had packed earlier this morning. It’s a stark reminder that her whole life is somehow contained within them, that her whole life is here now. Cassian offers the male a nod in greeting that’s reciprocated, but nothing is said.

The other wolf starts to make his way back toward the stairs, but Nesta is quick to call after him, “I’d like my things moved to my room.”

The male blinks a few times at the request before turning his attention toward Cassian, clearly asking for permission. Nesta doesn’t even bother holding back her scoff. She may be married to the alpha of the pack now, but it means nothing, gives her no power or standing here. She’s still just as powerless as she was beneath her grandmother’s thumb, her mother’s thumb. She’s still just a witch, just an outsider.

Cassian must give whatever acquiesce is needed because the male returns to Nesta’s things, hefting them up into his arms. Nesta follows him and Cassian inside the cabin. There’s a kitchen to the left, large windows with curtains currently drawn above the sink, and to the right is a large living space. A gorgeous, stone fireplace sits in the center of that space, a large sofa and comfortable armchair arranged around it. A set of bay windows covers the wall on the other side, a seat built in below it and shelves beside it.

Following the male down the hall, Nesta steps inside a large bedroom. She watches him set all of her things down, and only when the door closes behind him, does Nesta finally breathe. She closes her eyes and rolls her neck, breathing deeply in and out until she finally feels centered again. Only then does she open her eyes again, and look around.

The furnishings are fairly simple, a bed taking up the majority of the space at the center of the room, tasteful rugs, a dresser sitting against one wall and two armchairs and a small table set by the windows. The only personal touch is a painting hanging on the wall, pine trees and a large mountain, a galaxy of stars above.

When Nesta tries the door at the far corner of the room, she finds the bathing chamber, just the sight starting to tug relaxation through Nesta’s muscles. She spins on her heels and digs around in her trunk until she finds a silky sleeping gown and some of the oils and soaps Elain had given her, deciding to take advantage of the abnormally large bathtub to soak. The warm water and sweet floral scents are everything she needs, and she sighs softly as she sinks in up to her chin.

It isn’t until the water starts to go cold that Nesta forces herself up and out of the tub. She takes the time to brush out her hair, using a towel to squeeze out the excess water, and tugs on the sleeping gown. She steps out of the bathing chamber, mind already dreaming of sinking beneath the soft looking blankets of the large bed, but her steps stutter to a stop when she finds Cassian sitting in one of the chairs by the window.

Cassian’s gaze rakes over her, drinking her in. Those hazel eyes take in her now exposed legs, tracking across her collarbones, straying just a moment too long on her hair where it falls around her shoulders and down her spine. Nesta swears she can feel the weight of his attention like fingers sliding across her skin. Goosebumps erupt and prickle, but Nesta blames it on her current lack of dress and the cold air in the room.

Cassian clears his throat awkwardly, finally tearing his eyes away and pushing a hand up and through the tangled mess of his curls, his own wedding band glinting in the low light of the room. “Do you… have a preference for how we do this?”

“Excuse me?” Nesta asks, crossing her arms to cover herself and raising her chin. Here he is, barging into her room, and now he’s speaking in cryptic phrases.

Cassian sighs, shaking his head, and when he meets her gaze again, there’s a coldness to his expression. “Do you care how we fuck?”

“How dare you.”

“Did you forget the magical bonds we just made? It demands consummation.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, no matter how true the words may be. “Go fuck yourself.”

“You think I want this?” Cassian demands, pushing up to his feet to glare right back at her. “You think I want to be married to some prissy, spoiled brat of a witch?”

Nesta lets a slow smile pull across her face, one that’s all teeth and mocking saccharine. She steps closer to him until they’re almost toe to toe, tilting her chin up and looking down her nose at him despite the height difference between them. “Should I get on my hands and knees then? Isn’t that how you dogs like it?”

Cassian growls, his hand snapping up and curling around her throat. His fingers squeeze, Nesta’s breath hitching in her chest, but she doesn’t back down. She can see the fire blazing in his hazel eyes, the barely held back restraint, and she meets it head on.

“Do it,” Nesta spits at him. “I dare you. You need this alliance just as much as I do.”

“Exactly. So be a good girl.” A shudder crawls up Nesta’s spine of its own accord, and with the way they’re pressed together, Cassian clocks the reaction with ease. “Why am I not surprised…”

Nesta shoves hard at Cassian’s chest until he releases his hold of her. Shoves hard until he stumbles back a few steps. Shoves hard until he’s tumbling back onto the bed and she can climb over him and straddle his hips. She skates her index finger up his arm, over his bicep, across his shoulder. Her fingers card up and through his hair, and then she curls them, yanking hard.

“No kissing,” Nesta informs her, her voice low and harsh.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Cassian's hands settle on her hips, fingers spanning wide and gripping tightly, and he flips them over with ease, pressing Nesta back against the mattress. He leans back enough that he can fist the back of his shirt, tugging the fabric off and tossing it away.

All her feelings toward her new husband aside, Nesta can't deny that Cassian is attractive. His wide shoulders almost completely bracket her in, biceps shifting and bulging as he places his hands either side of her head. Black ink swirls across his golden brown skin and twists down his arms, daring Nesta to trace those lines with a finger. With her tongue. Her eyes follow the hair on his chest down his stomach, down over the hard lines of muscles, down to where that trail vanishes beneath his waistband.

Cassian leans back into her, burying his face against her neck and sliding his nose over her skin. Nesta feels him inhale deeply, goosebumps pebbling across her skin. His hand slips up her calf, over her knee, along her thigh, sliding the hem of her sleeping gown up with the movement. Already, Nesta’s heart begins to thunder between her ribs, her blood heating at just that small gesture. Cassian’s hand moves, his fingers tracing up the inside of Nesta’s thigh, and her own hair buries into the long, curly stranding of his hair, tugging as those fingers reach higher and higher.

“Already so responsive, Nes.”

“Don’t be so fucking cocky.”

Cassian’s hand shifts fully between her legs, sliding two fingers over the fabric of her panties teasingly. Try as she might, Nesta is unable to swallow down the moan the touch pulls from her throat. There’s no stopping her body’s reaction, the heat and dampness that starts to flood her core as Cassian finds her clit with ease. Judging from the smirk tugging up Cassian’s lips, he knows it.

“And already so wet for me,” Cassian continues, adding more pressure to his fingers over her clothed center, both a teasing and a promise.

“Less talking, more putting yourself to good use,” Nesta tells him, placing her hand on his shoulder and shoving in hopes he’ll understand what she’s suggesting.

Cassian pulls his hand back, Nesta frowning at the sudden loss, but then he uses his hand to gather both her wrists, pinning them back above her head in that single grip. “But don’t you want to be a good girl?”

Cassian leans back slowly, settling on his haunches, watching, waiting. It would be so easy for Nesta to fight back, to move, but she keeps her hands exactly where he pinned them. Seemingly satisfied, Cassian returns his hands to her thighs, fingers curling around the hem of her sleeping gown and tugging it all the way off. The fabric has barely hit the floor before Cassian his body pressed back down against hers.

His mouth closes around her breast, and Nesta tosses her head back, arching up into the warm heat. His tongue moves in languid circles around her nipple, his teeth just grazing the skin in a way that’s both obscene and feels too good. His free hand comes up to her other breast, the span of it large enough to fit the whole thing in his palm with ease. He kneads and squeezes before switching his mouth’s attention.

“Cassian,” Nesta moans softly, her hips bucking up in search of friction.

Cassian pulls his mouth back with a soft pop, offering her one of his cocksure smiles. “Who knew my name could sound so good falling past a witch’s mouth.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, a well placed retort already poised and ready on the tip of her tongue, more than ready to put this wolf back in his place. But before she can, Cassian slides further down the bed, pulling off and discarding her panties as he goes. His hands curl around her thighs, fingers digging in against her skin until she’s sure she’ll have bruises. He pries her thighs apart, settling her legs over his shoulders.

“Now let’s see what it sounds like when I make a witch scream.”

He leans in, licking a stripe all the way to her clit. The groan he lets out sends vibrations echoing through Nesta’s whole body. She drops a hand to his head, threading her fingers through the dark strands of his hair, as he starts to devour her. He alternates between swirling his tongue over her clit and teasingly fucking the tip of his tongue into her.

Nesta tries to shift her hips as best she can, trying to meet him stroke for stroke, chasing the heat pooling low in her gut, but Cassian’s grip tightens, holding her still exactly how he wants her. Nesta wants to be annoyed, but the display has sparks firing through her every nerve ending, has another low moan of Cassian’s name tumbling past her lips without her control.

Cassian pulls back, the sight of him licking his lips as indecent as it is attractive. “I was so sure that if I ever heard you chanting my name, it would be you cursing me, but I much prefer this.”

“I will curse you if you don’t finish what you started,” Nesta pants out, tugging tighter on his hair.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Cassian tells her, suddenly sinking two fingers into her and drawing a gasp in response. “We’re just getting started. Have to get you ready to take my knot.”

The words draw Nesta out of the moment. She knew knots were a part of werewolves’ anatomy, had made sure to do her research once the marriage and plans had been finalized. But hearing the words from Cassian suddenly makes them real, makes Nesta realize she may be more out of her depth than she initially thought.

All thoughts eddy out of Nesta’s mind, though, when Cassian curls his fingers. She clenches down hard around them, her hips bucking against his hold. He sets a hard and fast pace, the wet sound of his fingers working her open swirling and filling the room, mixing with the soft sounds of her moans. He leans down, not pausing or slowing down his hand as his mouth finds her clit again, sucking the bud between his lips.

The extra stimulation sends Nesta flying over the edge, her orgasm tearing through her like a wildfire. She’s half aware of her thighs squeezing tight around Cassian’s head, of the very unladylike shout she lets out, but that fire burning through her veins feels too good, daring Nesta to drown in it. Cassian continues to move his fingers, his mouth unrelenting, dragging her orgasm out with aftershocks until it starts to teeter into pain.

“W-wait,” Nesta gets out between pants, reaching down and curling her fingers around Cassian’s wrist.

“You can take it,” Cassian pulls back enough to murmur. “Besides, I told you, we have to get you ready to take my knot.”

Nesta whimpers, but already, he’s stoking those embers and building her higher again. He scissors and curls his fingers, squeezing in a third digit. The stretch is somehow too much and not enough at the same time, Nesta’s toes curling against Cassian’s shoulders as she starts to rock against his hand.

“That’s it,” Cassian praises, his own voice breathless. “That’s a good girl.”

The words have Nesta tumbling closer to that edge again dangerously fast. When Cassian leans back down, his mouth finds home on her breast this time. He gently tugs her nipple between his teeth at the same moment his fingers curl deep inside her. Before Nesta knows it, before she can stop it or warn him, her second orgasm crashes through her. The force of it is enough to bring tears to the corner of her eyes, a choked off gasp tugging free from her lungs.

Cassian finally pulls back, and Nesta slumps back against the mattress, catching her breath. He slides off the bed, reaching for the waistband of his pants, the dark curls of his hair tumbling forward across his temples, his shoulders, at the movement. Nesta presses up onto her elbows, watching the way the muscles in his arms, his chest, shift and move as he works his pants and undergarments down his legs and kicks them aside.

It leaves his thick thighs on full display, but even more than that, Nesta can’t help but stare at his cock. She hasn’t seen many naked men in her life, but she knows he’s larger than most. It hangs hard and long between his thighs, his large hand fisting the girth of it. She can see the tip already glistening, the thick vein that runs along the underside on display each time Cassian works his hand up and down. The sight has Nesta’s breath catching in her throat, has her body already clenching in anticipation despite the two orgasms Cassian has already wrung from her.

Cassian kneels back onto the bed, settling between her still spread thighs. He rubs the head of his cock against her, gathering the wetness and working it over himself. Every catch of the head of his cock against her clit sends a shudder scraping up her spine, her fingers fisting in the blankets.

“I’m not going to beg if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

Cassian chuckles, pressing his hips forward enough that just the head of his cock slips into her, just that stretch leaving Nesta hissing. “Oh, I have no such notions of that. Yet.”

Any retort Nesta has dies in the back of her throat when Cassian snaps his hips forward, sliding the rest of the way in in one smooth thrust. She feels stretched and full in a way she’s never felt before, his cock somehow reaching deeper than she thought possible. Tentatively, testingly, Nesta clenches down around him, pride swelling within her at the groan it draws out of Cassian.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Cassian pushes out between his teeth, burying his face in Nesta’s neck.

Nesta wraps her legs around his hips, pressing the heels of her feet against his ass. “Fucking move.”

She half wonders if Cassian truly will make her beg, but he must feel just as desperate as she does because he pulls his hips back. The drag of his cock against her walls has Nesta throwing her head back against the pillow with a long low moan. He sinks back into her, pressing deeper still, but the slow thrust is merely a tease. He sets as brutal a pace as his fingers before, snapping his hips hard against her own, cock driving and burying into her as surely as it steals the breath from her lungs.

Nesta can do nothing but hold on as Cassian uses her body, dragging her along with him. He’s turned her into a moaning mess, a puddle of pleasure, as he plays her like his favorite instrument. She clenches with every inward thrust, her fingernails dragging down Cassian’s back. She’s worried at just how fast she’s started to crest higher and higher again, her blood singing with liquid fire and threatening to send her spiraling through yet another orgasm, but then she feels it.

His knot.

The bulbous swell of it slaps against her with every hard thrust, promising to lock them together. She already feels so full, already feels split open on his cock, that she has no idea how his knot is going to fit.

“It won’t—”

“You’ll take it,” Cassian growls, his hands sliding under her ass and lifting her hips higher.

The new angle has Nesta letting out a broken sob, her every nerve ending feeling like a livewire seconds away from catching fire and dragging her into the flames. One more hard thrust from Cassian and his knot notches within her. The combination of pleasure and pain has Nesta’s whole body tensing. She clenches down hard against the knot, all but screaming Cassian’s name. She’s half aware of the warmth of his seed filling her, the way his hips continue to rock against her with every spurt of his cock.

Despite the way she’s dripping, the slippery wetness between her thighs, Cassian’s fingers still find her clit. It barely takes two tight circles of his fingers before she’s coming for the third time tonight. She arches up against Cassian, her whole body shuddering and shaking through it. She squeezes even tighter around his knot, Cassian groaning and his cock twitching and filling her even more in response.

It feels almost strange coming down and catching her breath while still feeling so full, her cunt fluttering around Cassian’s cock and knot with the aftershocks. Her hand slides up to her neck, fingers skating across her sweat slicked skin, but there’s no stickiness of blood, no soreness, like she expects to find.

“You didn’t bite,” Nesta comments quietly, frowning in confusion.

Cassian lifts his head enough that he can peer down at her. “What?”

“I thought werewolf tradition was to bite to seal the bond between a pair.”

“I didn’t know you were suddenly an expert in our traditions.”

“You think I didn’t do my research? To know what I might be walking into?” Nesta snaps with a roll of her eyes. She hates that the fact they’re still joined together means she can’t shove at his chest, can’t escape the heat radiating from him and encasing her. But it doesn’t stop her from raising her chin regardless, from narrowing her eyes at him. “Was it wrong then? Is that not the tradition?”

“It is our tradition.”

“But you didn’t—”

“Did you forget that I didn’t choose this? Choose you?” Cassian cuts her off, his lips pulling back in a sneer, hazel eyes practically blazing. “Biting a mate, claiming them, it’s sacred for wolves. Mates are precious, and it is a blessing to be bonded that way. A mate is someone you fully give your heart over to. Someone you would gladly lay down your life for. And you are neither of those things to me.”

His knot has gone down enough that Cassian is finally able to pull out, Nesta still wincing at the drag, the soreness she can already feel between her legs. She swallows hard at the stormy, hard expression still on Cassian’s face, watching him shift to the other side of the bed. With a huff, she tugs herself off the bed, holding her head high, her spine straight, and refusing to allow Cassian to see their romp in the sheets or his words having an effect on her. Only when the door to the bathing chamber closes firmly behind her does she allow herself to slump and deflate.

She takes her time scrubbing herself clean again, washing away the feel of Cassian against her skin. But she realizes belatedly that she forgot to grab a fresh sleeping gown to change into. Sighing softly, she pulls back open the door, padding across the room and toward her trunk of things. She nearly jumps out of her skin in surprise when she spies Cassian still in the bed, now casually lounging beneath the blankets.

“What are you doing?” Nesta demands, snatching up a clean sleeping gown and quickly tugging it on. “You’ve completed your duty, so you can get out of my room now.”

“I think you mean our room, wife,” Cassian offers back, smirking openly at Nesta.

Nesta scoffs, but she doesn’t do much more. She’s too exhausted, her body too wrung out, from this too long night to fight. She makes her way over to the bed, yanking the blankets back and slipping beneath them. “Who knew you were such a traditionalist.”

“What can I say, I don’t want you getting any ideas. Like slipping out the window.”

Nesta punches her pillow, simply because she knows she can’t punch her new husband in the face. She curls up on her side, her back to Cassian, and tucks the blankets up to her chin. She’s never been particularly religious, never truly believed in a higher power blessing her family with their magic the way her grandmother claimed, but Nesta still finds herself sending a silent prayer to the Mother. Praying and hoping that at least her sisters are having better luck with their own husbands.

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #cw: dubcon #When We Howl #my fic

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chastitywifeguide · 4 months

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FAQ 2

My husband still seems to dominate the bedroom. How can I take control in a way I want to?

Answer: what you are describing is “topping from the bottom”. Your husband is supposed to be the submissive one in this relationship (“the bottom”) Often times, dominant men in other areas of their life like to take this role. It’s very common, but because they are used to taking control in every other aspect of their life, it makes it hard for them to let go. even if that is what they want.

To stop this there are many ways. I suggest doing all of them immediately.

1: make a list of rules. These rules should be playful, but strict and ultimately benefit you as the keyholder but also benefit him too by satisfying his desires and needs. ie a rule should help the keyholder and secually frustrate him. Actually adhere to the rules and tell him that any breach will result in a punishment. Examples include:

he is not allowed to ask for release, or even mention release.

he must obey every command without question, delay, or argument of any kind immediately.

he will clean the house every day in nothing but his cage or attire of your choosing.

he will make you dinner every day and nothing but his chastity cage or attire of your choosing.

He will give you an orgasm any time and anywhere you tell him to. (Make a secret word or a hand gesture like snapping your fingers)

every morning he must make the bed.

Every night before bed, he will stand at the end of the bed and wait for additional orders whatever they may be (time for bed, rub my feet, Get ready for pegging, give me an orgasm, beg me to not release you, anything really)

I would literally write these things down and put them somewhere. Tell him that it is his job to make sure that he adheres to all the rules, if he breaks any of the rules, there will be punishment. they can range from additional time locked up, additional teasing, pegging, spanking, time in a smaller cage, get creative.

2: I’ve said it before, but he will continue to do this until you have broken his masculinity/male ego. In his mind he is still in charge. he is the man and you are the woman. You have to leave no question in his mind that you are in charge. This can be done several ways as well. I suggest all of them!

When he is at work, send him text messages with commands. Such as spot checks (have him take a picture of his cage to ensure compliance and text it back to you).

when together, make him strip naked, so you can inspect your cage.

Buy him a pink cage and make him wear it. This is very emasculating.

A really important one will be to peg him often. Weekly? Making him adopt the “feminine roll” in the bedroom will naturally cause him to be submissive.

Leave no mistake who is the “bitch” the bedroom by making him dress in your lingerie (if it fits) when you have sex, Peg him, or just make him dress in it for the night while he does his chores or sleeps in them. Either way it will be hard for him to top from the bottom in such a vulnerable position.

call him your bitch. make him call you master or mistress.

Go even further by taking whatever he does for work or recreation and emasculating it. If he is a lawyer, make him dress up as a secretary, if he is a doctor, make him dress as a nurse, if he loves sports, dress him as a cheerleader, if he is a cop, dress him as a sexy cop, teacher/principal then dress him as a slutty school girl, etc.

Paint his toenails.

Make him wear a butt plug.

make him curl his eyelashes everyday.

Find anything that could humiliate him and do it. Anything that is especially emasculating works really well. if you need other ideas just think about feminine things and apply it to him.

3: whatever he is trying to do while he is topping from the bottom, reverse it every time. nip it in the bud. I assume he is wanting you to do sexual things, so whatever it is that he tries to get you to do, if possible, make him do it.

4: Remember that Chastity is a daily thing. As I said in my last post, you should do something every day with regards to his Chasity situation. if you do not, he will start to regain confidence and become more dominant even if he is locked in a cage. it requires maintenance. use the things we just discussed above to keep him your bitch.

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daddymilker691 · 29 days

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Time and the economy had had a devastating effect on poor Stephen he had to give up his job in the management sector of a very famous Travel Agent’s and resorted to looking for jobs online , one day as he passed his local newsagents he spied an ad in the window broadminded married couple seek live in maid live in position and extremely attractive salary for the right person men or women may apply , he pondered this men or women may apply he thought to himself that sounds very odd he had been so sexist in the past wolf whistling at what he called dolly birds and making derogatory comments , oh what an eye opener he was about to learn , he arrived promptly at 9.30 am as was stated in the advert a woman in a maids uniform answered the door quite an elderly woman in a very traditional maids attire rather sternly she asked what he wanted he stammered hardly believing the words he heard himself saying and slightly blushing said I’ve come for the maids job Ingrid for that was her name said go upstairs your bath is run and I shall be up shortly to see that you look totally feminine his mind was racing as he took in Ingrid’s words oh gawd he thought to himself , still it beats sitting alone in an unheated bedsit he proceeded up the stairs where he encountered what he took at first to be the lord of the manor dressed in a tweed suit the person proceeded to bark at him have a bath Ingrid will shave you all over a d then change into your maids attire by this time Stephens mind was practically in tatters , what have I walked into he thought to himself as he pulled his black stockings up adjusting his suspender belt so carefully arranged and left on the bed along with a traditional black and white maids uniform , I shall be going out this evening the mistress of the house barked to anyone in the vicinity I have some girl guides who need to earn some new badges , my husband and your master and made a point of looking at Stephen will be in need of your services later , oh my god Stephen thought what on earth sort of household have I walked into just then the master of the house walked down the stairs in a very expensive dressing gown smoking a cigarette in a rather long holder he looked Stephen up and down hardly disguising the leer ohh you must be our new maid Stephen nodded nervously yes sir he replied I think Stephanie is a more appropriate name said Master Deviant who slipped his rather strong yet gentle hands across the front of her white cotton panties , oh my remarked Master deviant you are pleased to work as our new maid Stephanie his hands and touch were almost vicelike as he slipped down onto his knees and lowered Stephanies panties taking her rather obvious passion which was I have to say growing by now immensely into his mouth Stephanie slid down the wall and thought perhaps this job isn’t going to be so bad after all 💋

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awesomelittleprincessjess · 4 months

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New Year New You

The evening starts off normally, with the usual festivities and celebrations. However, your partner suddenly comes up with an unusual suggestion. "How cute would it be if you dressed up to match my niece? I think you'd look adorable in a similar dress!" she says, her eyes sparkling with excitement. This suggestion takes you by surprise. It's not something you would have expected from her, and it feels oddly out of character. Not to mention the idea of a grown man wearing what you presume to be very feminine and juvenile dress.

Before you can respond, the door swings open, and in walks your partner's brother. His smile is wide, but there's a mocking edge to it that instantly puts you on edge.

"Well, isn't that a delightful idea," he chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement. He motions for you to follow him, leading the way into his daughter's room. There, hung prominently, are two dresses – one fit for a 5 year old and the other a perfect adult replica.

Compelled by a strange feeling of authority from your partner and her brother, you agree to wear the dress. Stood there, an adult in a child's dress, your partner seems to see nothing unusual about it. Her bother on the other hand is smirking, knowingly.

Rejoining the party, the other adults give mixed reactions. They're clearly amused and a bit confused by your choice of attire, making light-hearted comments and jokes. However, there's no sign that they're under any sort of influence as you partner seems to be.

As the night goes on, your partner treats you with a gentle, nurturing manner, as if she seems to truly sees you as a child. She guides you through the party, involving you in activities and speaking in a soft, caring tone. You find yourself going along with it, unable to protest.

Throughout the evening, you participate in games and activities, and for brief moments, you forgot yourself, finding genuine enjoyment and laughter. The other children treat you no different to any other child.

As midnight approaches you can see the other adults with a mix of curiosity and judgment. Her brother checks his watch and smiles. "Midnight soon, I wonder what will happen if you're still in that dress then?" You quickly start tugging at the dress, Tring to find the words to explain what is going on, even though you don't understand yourself. Your partner checks on you to make sure your not too tired as she straightens your dress. As soon a she tells you to settle down and behave you loose all strength, like your arms stopped working.

You hear the clock strike 12 and suddenly realise none of the adults are giving you strange looks anymore, they come over and say happy new years with a pat on the head.

You turn back and see your partner's brother, his daughter, still in her matching dress, asleep in him arms. "We best get this one to bed", he says starting to head upstairs, he winks over at you disappearing upstairs.

"Come on sweetheart, let's get you to bed" your partner says taking your hand. Obediently you follow, still confused by the whole evening. As you leave those house you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and giggle how pretty you look.

#ai #tg #forced feminized #mental regression #story

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animezinglife · 3 months

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ACOTAR Headcanons - Gym AU Edition

Some just-for-fun and weirdly specific headcanons based on my own very regular observations.

Feyre: Feyre is actually pretty typical in terms of gymgoing, who tends to fall into her own zone once she has her playlist up and running. She usually starts on the treadmill and people watches before fully getting into her own zone and opting for intuitive workouts that feel right for her at the time rather than going for strict programs or plans. She doesn't sweat. She glistens. She keeps her attire pretty practical with classic, neutral leggings and a tank top. Often shows up with Rhys even though they separate to do their own thing. Honestly, everyone kind of just likes Feyre even if they don't really know her.

Elain: The Soft Gym Girl™ aesthetic incarnate and the social butterfly who makes friends with everyone in her group fitness classes. Is adored by all the older ladies who work out there and knows them all on a first-name basis, and they bond over gardening. Always has her yoga mat and shows up in paler colors and can fearlessly rock a white 'fit, often with a light wrap sweater or cardigan over her workout clothes. She somehow still always looks put-together and perfect after a workout, a low ponytail with curls/waves still intact and hint of color on her cheeks that makes it look more like she's blushing and less like she's just worked out for an hour. Don't underestimate her, though: she can hold her own in any group fitness class and loves the way they leave her feeling.

Nesta: Don't Talk to Me™. Grandmaster of the RBF, who pulls her hair back tightly in a neat, low bun or severe braid so that no strands stray from their place. She will glare at anyone who tries to speak to her/distract her and will usually completely ignore anyone who makes that attempt without even taking off her headphones. Also looks crazy hot despite it all and opts for sleek, plainer, dark outfits (usually matching sets) in cuts that show off her lean, strong form. Only shows up when she feels like it but somehow doesn't lose strength or stamina.

Amren: The Small But Mighty™, who like Nesta falls a little more into the RBF category but also gains a lot of attention by the absolutely stupid amount of weight she moves for her small stature. She's also the one you never quite know what you'll see doing: she might be deadlifting the weight of two Cassians, or she might be pulling some calisthenics in the corner. Nobody knows much about her. Nobody asks. Has been witnessed talking to Nesta; so far the only time the regulars have seen the former smile.

Mor: Bold Gear Girl. She has no fear when it comes to her wardrobe and will wear anything from unforgiving red leggings, to a bodysuit, to a one-strap sports bra. She knows she looks good and isn't afraid to flaunt what she's got, but she also gets in her zone and can keep up with the best of them in just about any type of exercise. She likes taking classes with others and absolutely kills it in Zumba, but she'll just as easily kill it in kickboxing. Also much stronger than her feminine, curvy frame gives away. When that belt goes on (and it's definitely pink), it's game time.

Rhys: Despite being called "out of shape" by Cassian and Azriel, Rhys is anything but. Like Feyre, he tends to not stand out too much aside from his looks and presence, but definitely still gets noticed for his beauty and sensuality by all the women (and a few men). Definitely dressed head-to-toe in name brand gear that fits his body beautifully to the point of being sinful. The Pretty One™ that's caused at least one gym girlie to walk into a wall or trip over something while trying to watch him. Often shows up with Feyre even though they separate to do their own thing. Has big Married Man and Loyal energy. Wears his wedding ring through every single workout. Silently judges really bad gym 'fits with Feyre. The old ladies who work out there are convinced he's the guy from their sexy billionaire romance novels and they absolutely talk fantasies about him over lunch afterwards.

Cassian: The Fit Pro™. The Trainer, unofficial or otherwise who has the training and education to know exactly how to train his body and others' to maximize both efficiency and benefits. This man is Strong™. He's also built a social media following and has accidentally become something like an influencer because of his funny, easygoing personality and wicked smile. May or may not be hypped up on pre-workout. He will program the perfect workout to meet his friends' goals but is also excellent at improvising. Always willing to train his friends. Unironically and completely intentionally wearing The Sweatpants™. The only man brave enough to ask Nesta how many reps she has left or crazy enough to do so while grinning. Will not do yoga or Zumba. Is convinced both would cause him irreparable injury. Surprisingly agile and quick with rock climbing despite his size. Cannot be left unsupervised for too long. Is universally loved by all of the old ladies and hugs them. The old men really like him too and like to share "back in my day" stories when they used to lift a lot more weight, too. Got kicked out of Planet Fitness.

Azriel: The Strong and Silent Walking Sin™, who always has his headphones on, is always wearing all black, and considers muscle-up ring dips a normal part of his warm-up. This man shows up in layers of black gym gear and is peak V-shape aesthetic, with the kind of shoulder-waist ratio that makes other guys simultaneously jealous and question their sexuality. Nobody knows much of anything about him, but he never misses a workout and he's too many people's gym crush. When that hoodie/pump cover comes off, it's all over. Hits the mat with MMA guys or Cassian on occasion and forces a submission with the former fast. He always knows more about you than you know about him and has probably somehow overheard every conversation you never wanted him to.

Lucien: Simultaneously the Endurance Guy™ and the Social Butterfly™ with a well-rounded, smart training plan. Sure, he's not as big as Cassian or as intense as Azriel, but he's also no slouch when it comes to strength training and is regularly underestimated in it despite his strong, fit body. King of bodyweight exercises with crazy stamina. He's the guy who will overlap you ten times over on the track without breaking a sweat while you're dying. He isn't as quickly noticed when he walks in, but the ones who notice him do so thoroughly. Aesthetics are his middle name. Will kick your ass in a Spartan--only Azriel and Cassian can really compete with him there. Lucien's top of the line in terms of speed and overall agility. Knows everybody's business, but keeps it to himself. Will tease you a little, but will also help you out if you have a question. Likes to wrap things up by lounging by the pool during the warm seasons. Seems like he's spent a lot of time outdoors. Can also handle the rock wall and bouldering like a pro. The old ladies absolutely adore him and keep trying to set him up with their granddaughters.

Tamlin: Pretty, But Distant. Tamlin keeps to himself and focuses mostly on strength training through weightlifting. He's strong as hell but isn't necessarily pushing himself too hard for a new PR. Never asks for a spotter and takes a few seconds too many switching through songs on his playlist. He does genuinely look good, but currently isn't putting off the vibe of someone you could get close to. Not quite getting those revenge reps from his messy breakup in yet, but he's getting there. Raises an eyebrow and stares at grunters with a look of mild annoyance, then ends up moving far more weight with ease and in silence. Unclear if this is out of pettiness or not (but it's low-key funny af).

Ianthe: The Influencer™ with a full face of makeup, a one-strapped sports bra, and the up-the-ass bike shorts trying to get the perfect selfie. Is sitting on the equipment far too long and is starting to annoy people. Spends more time finding the perfect lighting, walking around the gym trying to pick up men, and somehow always being at the front of the weight room doing hip thrusts or bent-over rows with 2 lb. dumbbells. Makes eye contact on the hip abductor.

Jurian: Slightly loud and a little competitive, but also can usually back up his talk and what he's able to accomplish. This guy occasionally disappears at random, but is overall consistent and somehow knows everybody's business (and will bring it up). Probably the one grunting at the same amount of weight Amren's deadlifting.

Tarquin: The Fish™. This man is in the pool at 5:00 a.m. every day and swims a number of laps so smoothly and quickly that Ryan Lochte is nearly able to construct a coherent sentence. When he's not in the pool, he's quietly drifting around the weight room and resistance machines. King of the lat pull-downs. He's pretty sensible overall and doesn't stand out too much outside of the pool even though he looks amazing. Also a popular choice among the old lady crowd. Had to kick Cassian out of Planet Fitness.

Varian: Amren's shadow and designated spotter even though she doesn't need one. Nobody's entirely sure what he does. He kind of just hangs out.

Helion: Gym Daddy™. Helion brings as much knowledge to the floor as he brings swagger. It's hard not to notice him and he's strong af, but somehow makes everything he does look easy and like he's not even trying. Has definitely messed with Cassian at one point or another by "easily" moving a close-to-max weight while carrying on a conversation. Somehow makes everything look slightly sexual even if unintentionally. Keeps thorough records of his training sessions and almost always has a small notebook or notepad with him to do so.

Thesan: The Machines Guy. Thesan likes a workout where he can focus and get into his own zone, and he likes to do so a bit more quietly and on his own time. He's not competitive. He's just here for his health, but is polite if approached. He's fit but isn't the heavy lifter or endurance guy that some of the others are. Pretty generally well-liked; isn't sure how to answer the sweet old ladies' comments about them "having a granddaughter!" for him but is polite about it anyway.

Sorry, I don't know Eris, Emerie, Vassa, etc. enough yet to include them, so feel free to add on!

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s0ulsniper · 1 year

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Avengers + more reacting to their s/o wearing a suit.

Warnings: None, just fluff and maybe suggestive content if that's offensive.

Included: Bucky, Tony, Bruce, Steve, Wanda, Pietro, Natasha, Peter, Sam, Loki, Thor, Clint.

Word count: 1.6k+

Summary: The avengers + others reaction to you wearing a suit. I added somewhat of a plot to each one.

This idea I got from @lavenderacademia in their recent post. Go check it out !! <3

Use of feminine nicknames but it is all gender neutral!!

Also, if you want me to add anymore people please comment or DM me. I added as many people as I thought of at the moment, I've thought of adding Carol and Rhodey.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩

Bucky:

– Even though you were telling him you were planning on wearing a suit to Starks party for the past week, nothing could prepare him for ACTUALLY seeing you.

– He knocks on your door, he's already ready.

– You yell back "one second !" and he patiently waits while you finish up your attire.

– After a minute he hears you tell to come in.

– He softly opens the door and tracks around the room until he finds your figure standing in front of the mirror fixing the final touches.

– He totally did not stare for the longest, frozen in place.

– "Buck, what's wrong?"

– That snaps him back to reality and he quickly apologizes.

– You definitely laugh at him.

– He's just very proud to have you as his date.

– Wolf whistles when both of you walk in.

– He has the biggest smile on his face.

– Proud Sam and Steve.

– He would never hear the end of the stories you told about him when he first saw you.

– Overall just silently flustered.

Steve:

– you both always get ready together, so while he got ready you went in the bathroom quickly to throw your outfit on.

– Once you were done you walked out of the bathroom and he smiled so quickly, wasting no time in showering you with millions of compliments.

– "You look so gorgeous."

– "I'm so lucky to have you."

– Would not stop.

– Even days after, he would still compliment you about it.

– Wherever you guys were going he made sure to always have an arm around your waist, or holding your hand.

– Made sure to buy you flowers and your favorite drink.

Tony:

– Obviously, you were the first to hear about when Tony was hosting a party, so you already had what you were gonna wear in time.

– He asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to send a message to you asking if you were ready.

– The message played over the speaker and you sent one back telling him to meet you in the living room on your floor.

– Whenever he got down to the living room and saw you sitting on the couch he immediately started smirking.

– Definitely snuck up on you trying to scare you, but gets mad when you throw something at him.

– Compliments, compliments, compliments.

– Throughout the whole night, the majority of them were wholesome but there was always a comment here and there that was definitely suggestive.

– Bragged on you to everyone for weeks.

Natasha:

– You always end up planning date nights since she is always caught up in work.

– You made sure to plan it when she wasn't busy and surprised her with flowers and a ride to both of yours favorite restaurant.

– When you knocked on her door and texted her you were outside she confusedly hurried to the door.

– But of course, her suspicions were true when she opened it to see you holding flowers, and dressed in a suit.

– She was definitely smirking the entire time you were explaining what you planned.

–Could not keep her hands off of you, but obviously liked the privacy more.

– She loved everything you did for her of course, but couldn't wait for the both of you to get home.

Bruce:

– There was a grand opening of a new restaurant near the compound and you two planned to go on opening night, you had already got the reservation.

– Even though you both hated going in crowded areas, just the general public, Tony had convinced you both it would be fun.

– You were getting ready at your friend's house, when he texted you telling you he was on his way to pick you up.

– You finished up and packed all your stuff up from the visit and talked with your friend until you heard a knock on the door.

– You heard your phone ping and you said your goodbyes to your friend.

– "Good luck y/n, have a good date!"

– "Thanks f/n, see ya!"

– He saw the door open and saw you and his knees almost gave out.

– Bro was immediately put on life support.

– Would not stop complimenting you, even though half the time he was just mumbling and stuttering, you knew what he meant.

– He was red the whole dinner, and that definitely didn't help already being nervous.

-You guys ended up leaving early to go home and cuddle up to watch a movie.

– cannot get the image of you in a suit out of his head for weeks.

Thor:

– You two have been visiting Asgard for about a week when Thor asked you to join him at an Asgardian party being hosted by him.

– you had a while to get ready and choose to wear an Asgardian suit that Loki suggested oddly enough.

– Even though they don't always get along, you trust that Loki knows Thor enough to suggest wearing it.

– Well, it was a beautiful outfit so really who wouldn't love it?

– You hear Thor's boasting voice from down the hallway and smile walking out the door.

– You have never seen him smile so brightly.

– He was so proud.

– He would be bragging and yelling while having you pulled close beside him.

– "THIS IS LADY/SIR Y/N, AREN'T THEY AMAZING?!"

-Compliments you loudly the whole time.

– Can't wait to get you alone.

Clint:

– you know he has to make an appearance to all Tony's parties.

– Obviously, even though you were already going, he made a grand gesture of asking you to go with him.

– He knew that you were so excited because you bought a new suit and he was so eager to see you in it.

– You knocked on his door ready to go down since the party started around 20 minutes ago.

– You guys always made a grand late appearance, stayed till the after party then disappeared in the middle of it.

–I'll let you guess what you guys do when you disappear.

– He opens the door and pulls you into his arms softly dancing around the hallway.

– You guys laugh for the longest and he twirls you around like a princess.

– After a while you guys walk down hand in hand ready to absolutely destroy everyone on the dance floor.

– Needless to say, he is so thankful to have you by his side.

Loki:

– Let's just say he was the one who asked you to wear a suit.

– Of course it was an Asgardian dark green, black, and gold suit.

– Even though you guys were just going out to fuck around with people and grab food you both love fashion and overdressing for everything.

– When he saw you walk out of the bedroom while he was waiting in the kitchen for you to finish.

– He definitely considered kneeling for you.

– "Even though it takes decades for you to get ready, it's definitely worth it to see you in your glory darling."

– Compliments in the most random of times.

– Holds your hand almost the whole time so everyone knows you're his.

– Just makes him think about how much he loves you and how excited he is to spend his life with you.

– Suggests everyday for at least a week that you should wear it again.

Wanda:

–Tries to mentally prepare herself.

– While you're getting ready she tries to peak so many times.

– silently sits on the edge of the bed tapping her foot on the floor impatiently.

– When she first sees you, you can't see a change in her face but inside she's contemplating risking it all.

– You have to remind her to breathe.

– She's definitely thinking about some stuff the whole time.

– probably reads people's minds around you guys to make sure no one thinks about taking you.

– prepares to fight anyone that comes in a 20 foot distance

– tells you how beautiful you are 100 million times.

– She has never felt so lucky.

Peter:

– It was the night of prom and you had just finished getting ready.

– He really wanted to see what you were wearing because a couple weeks before you asked what color his tux was.

– He knocked on your door, your parents telling him that you were upstairs.

– you hear him faintly call your name from the hallway and you tell him to come in.

– He walks in and immediately starts lagging.

– "I- wow. Wow you look wow. You look amazing y/n"

– red as you've ever seen him.

– won't stop telling you how much he loves you and how amazing you look.

– won't let you out of his sight.

– Tony and Bruce will be hearing about it for years.

Sam:

– You were going with him to a party for a mission that Fury assigned to you.

– you gave the idea to match with him.

– "We're matching suits. Whether you want to or not."

– complains, but deep down is so excited.

– Bucky will definitely be stuck looking for suits with you online.

– You make him get out of the room and sit in the living room so you can do a grand reveal.

– you play music from a speaker and walk out.

– He's laughing but he's also blowing up.

– Full breakdown on the inside.

– Bucky just smiles seeing you guys act so stupid.

– will aggressively compliment you and find a time to dance with you when you finish the mission.

Pietro:

– While you're getting ready he will probably try to secretly peak with his speed.

– although it's not easy to hide when you feel a gush of wind hit you when your fan is off and the window is closed.

– "PIETRO STOP PEAKING !!"

-"...sorry" you hear yelled back in the quietest yell you've ever heard.

– impatiently runs around the city.

– You yell to him that you're done and in an instant you have him in front of you pulled close with his hands around your waist.

– "You look ravishing, princessa.'

– Glares at anyone who even glances at you.

– "Why are they staring?" in the most puppy dog voice you've ever heard.

– "They're staring at you piet."

– Won't let go of your hand or arm.

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#avengers x reader #avengers #avengers fanfiction #bucky x reader #steve x reader #tony x reader #loki x reader #thor x reader #avengers x gender neutral reader #wanda x reader #natasha x reader #peter parker x reader #clint barton x reader #sam x reader #marvel x reader #marvel x gender neutral reader #pietro x reader #bruce x reader

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axigailxo · 1 year

Text

Pretty Like You | PJM (1)

part one: mini-skirts and big problems

— in which park jimin desires nothing more than to be pretty like you.

series summary. where jimin is jealous of the beauty that is you, writes about it, and falls apart when you accidentally read it.

pairing. feminine!jimin x reader

rating. M | 18+ |

genre. enemies to lovers, feminine!jimin, self hatred au, slight identity crisis, self love journey, eventual smut, sub!jimin, angst, fluff, heartfelt

w.c. 4.2k

warnings. heavy descriptions of self hate and self abuse later into the story, please be advised

ch summary. an introduction into the crumbling life of park jimin and his cat, daisy.

**this is part 1 of my new series pretty like you, not a stand-alone

series masterlist | next->

It’s horrendous.

Implausible, even.

No human being should’ve looked that good on a Monday. But of course, like always, you did. You always do.

Jimin has drawn the conclusion that there’s no way you’re naturally that stunning and you go the extra mile to get ready every morning. And he thinks it’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous that you’d get up an extra hour or two earlier just to show up to a class that only lasts a little over an hour where you’re just sat behind a desk the whole time.

But then again, Jimin appreciates your attire. So much so that he was able to memorize it from this morning’s lecture.

A dainty black miniskirt with a cami and cardigan that Jimin may or may not have a replica of, and the sheerest shade of pantyhose to really capture that sex appeal you love. Jimin has noticed, by now, that you try to add at least one sexy article to every single outfit you wear. Jimin notices, and Jimin hates it.

He hates that you can dress sexily without the fear of being judged, whereas for Jimin, it’s not so easy.

Tossing another cropped tee into the mountain of clothes piling on the floor, Jimin’s huff is quick to turn into something of a strangled cry as he collapses to the ground, back against the side of his bed.

As if on cue, a furry figure of a cat peaks into the doorframe, walking in proudly like it owns the place. At this rate, it does considering it’s always there to ease Jimin during these troubling times.

Daisy takes care of Jimin, and on occasion, it’s the other way around.

Daisy, Jimin’s calico cat, nudges her soft head against his arm that’s lazily slumped down, encouraging him to pet her. When he does, her purrs rev up like an engine and the small gesture is enough to steal a slight twitch of a smile from the man.

However, it doesn’t stop the oncoming sob.

Tears fresh and emotion at its highest, Jimin stays sat on the ground wearing nothing but the repulsive baggy sweatpants that he forced himself to wear only because it’s better to pretend he likes dressing that way than wearing what he actually likes and getting judged.

Jimin, believe it or not, is a coward. His words. He hates that he can’t just put the damn skirt on. He hates how he can’t bring himself to leave his apartment in that cute cropped tee that he bought ages ago and still has never worn.

He hates how he’s such a pussy when it comes to this.

But it’s not just skepticism. Jimin knows there’s not a lot of nice people out there, especially not at his college campus. Don’t get Jimin started on all the homophobic and pitiful words that frat boys have thrown at him so far in the span of his first year. And that was when he was wearing his clothes that he believed were seven sizes too big and awfully plain.

His “boy” clothes.

Jimin knows that in today’s society, you’re labeled. Weather you want to be or not, every passing stranger is going to label you as what they see. And with said frat boys, the ones with a single brain cell, if they ever saw Jimin wearing the clothes that he has piled in front of him— he’d fit their accusations.

Jimin was raised by only his mother, who was raised by only her mother and a sister. Jimin has had absolutely no male figure in his life so it’s not bizarre that his demeanor is more feminine than most men.

But people at school aren’t so smart, or nice. Therefore, Jimin isn’t just a boy who was raised by a woman, to them— he was just gay. Jimin hates how his demeanor is what chooses his sexuality. Because, contrary to those frat boys’ belief, Jimin is straight.

He may not know a lot about himself at the ripe age of 21, but he knows for sure that he’s not into men. Being a teen and liking things that the world tells you is for girls definitely made Jimin question his own sexuality time to time, but after a couple nights out at a gay bar and a two extremely awkward hookups, Jimin knew men weren’t up his alley. Especially not when the thought of women is what gets him off every single time.

He just wants to wear a damn skirt and have a girlfriend, is that really so much to ask for?

Daisy was able to sneak her way onto Jimin’s lap, already half asleep despite Jimin’s occasional jolts when he sniffles for air.

“Thank you Daisy,” he whispers, his fading cry turning into a soft giggle when the feline looks up at him, eyes glinting with a look that Jimin knows by now.

“Or are you just being nice to me because you’re hungry?”

Daisy continues to nudge her head against his chest, confirming his accusation and enticing Jimin’s first real giggle.

“Okay,” Jimin says in an exhale, more in an attempt to get ahold of himself. “Fine, let’s get you some food.”

The cat happily jumps off Jimin’s lap at the invitation, hurriedly exiting the bedroom and scurrying off to the kitchen before Jimin can even make it off the ground. When he does, he nearly trips on the mound of hopeless clothes, eyeing it over before trailing his vision to the standing mirror.

His eyes scan over his chest, down to his waist, and to his hips. He loves his shape, loves the way women’s clothing looks on him. It’s too bad no one will be able to appreciate it the way he does, though. It’s too bad he can’t show it off like he so badly wishes to.

Like how you do.

You get to dress in fitted clothing and show off your shape without an intense fear of getting judged or labeled. Jimin despises how blind you are to that advantage. He despises how badly he wishes he could be you for even a day.

Because for Jimin, he has to hide. Whereas for you, you’re allowed to be beautiful whenever you want.

Even on Mondays.

“What do you think, Daisy? Be honest.”

Peeling his eyes away from his reflection, he twists to show Daisy, who’s freshly awake from a nap, his outfit that he’s in love with.

A grumpy meow is all he gets before her eyes slowly shut again and Jimin scoffs in offense.

“Whatever, you just don’t have taste.”

Turning to face himself again, he bites back a smile as he snaps yet another mirror pic of himself, halting midway as he adjusts himself to sit on his knees. And it’s when the miniskirt rises up his thigh that he gets an idea.

Thigh highs.

A subtle gasp of excitement escapes the boy as he recklessly tosses his phone onto the bed— completely missing which makes him flinch in startle in response to the thud that followed. Navigating to his dresser, he ignores Daisy who clearly did not appreciate the sudden noise, and begins to dig in his scandalous drawer for the thigh high socks.

And yes, Jimin has something he calls his scandalous drawer. It’s for moments like these where he wants to add sex appeal to his outfit.

Kind of like how you do.

“There you are,” he murmurs under his breath as he takes hold of the long white fabrics. He doesn’t wait until he’s back in front of the mirror to put them on, sitting on the edge of his bed and hurriedly slipping the thigh high socks on.

Jimin just knows he looks good. He can feel it. He feels sexy, and he hasn’t even looked in the mirror yet. A miniskirt paired with thigh high socks and an open cardigan— no shirt.

And fuck does he feel good in it.

Not able to wait any longer he tiptoes to the mirror until he’s met with the figure he wishes the world could see.

Jimin loves his appearance, a lot. It’s just that the version he loves is only seen on rare occasions like this where he spontaneously decides to try his risky outfits on. No one else can or will see this version, and for that, Jimin’s self love is private. Almost invisible given how little he lets himself see it.

“Good call on the thigh highs,” he mumbles to himself, staring a little longer until he starts to notice all the imperfections. When he does, he’s quick to step away, landing himself back first onto his unmade bed that Daisy was way too content in.

“Move it, there’s room for both of us,” he tells her as she mopes over to the opposite side.

One hand behind his head, other on his stomach— toying with the ruffled hem of the skirt, Jimin stares at the ceiling as his nightly dose of thoughts kick in. And tonight, all he can really think about is how badly he wishes someone could see him. And if he’s lucky enough, earn a compliment or two. Maybe, if his luck was good, he’d be called pretty if someone saw him dressed like this.

But his luck has never been good.

It was his poor luck that made him be born into a rude and strict society. And he hates that. But what can he do? He’s just a person in this big world. He doesn’t believe his voice is loud enough for change. And even if it were, he’d still be too much of a coward to try.

It’s all one big tangled problem that he’s trapped in.

He’s only a freshman in college and he feels like the world is ending.

But does yours? Jimin wonders. For a long moment or two he ponders if you sometimes feel that way too. Of course it wouldn’t be for the same reason as him, but could there be something that weighs you down?

And if so, how the fuck do you mask it so easily with that bright smile of yours?

Maybe because you’re perfect, Jimin thinks.

So perfect that Jimin is laying on his bed wearing an outfit almost identical to the one you wore today all only because he thought it looked great on you. He wanted to feel great too.

He wanted to feel the way you probably do in such fragile clothing. Leaving absolutely nothing to imagination because that’s how brave you are. Jimin envies that. He wants that.

Bravery, of course— not you.

He wants to be brave enough to show some skin and go the whole day feeling good. Feeling confident and relieved. But that day won’t come, unfortunately. All he has is the privacy of his apartment to feel brave in these clothes.

But even when Jimin is hard on himself, that doesn’t stop him from wanting to just feel good sometimes.

And there’s no better way than this.

Somehow in the mix of his thought spiral his small fingers managed to drag his skirt up the length of his thigh, cold air traveling straight to his exposed tip.

He knew he wasn’t wearing underwear. He did that on purpose. Again, he wanted to feel good.

He wanted to feel sexy.

His fingers slide their way across his left thigh, getting higher and higher until his breathing is hitched and his bottom lip is raw.

But then he stops himself.

Quickly adjusting the skirt, he sits up with a sharp breath.

What was that?

It’s one thing to touch himself, he always does— everyone does. But he will not do such a thing with you fresh in mind. You already have some power over him. He won’t give you this as well. And It doesn’t matter if you know about it or not because he always will.

He already hates that he envies you so much, he will not envy you like this too.

You’re just an annoying, perfect, confident girl who has no idea how lucky she is. Jimin doesn’t envy that part. He just envies your fashion sense. That’s it.

All he needs is some sleep.

Hopefully when he wakes up, not only will his hard on be gone but so will you. Not a single thought of you will be in his mind from this point forward, Jimin declares to himself.

Let’s just hope you don’t find your way into his dreams.

Like always.

“Nice jacket.”

“You’re not funny.”

A subtle laugh escapes the man, playfully nudging Jimin which causes him to almost fall off the bench.

“Taehyung!” Jimin whines as he regains his balance on the tiny seat, crashing his hips into his friend’s on a mission to knock him down too.

He fails, earning another mischievous laugh from the man.

“Sorry. Now what were you saying you had to tell me?”

Sat in a corner table with Jimin’s one and only friend in their favorite campus cafe, Jimin sets his bag on the table and turns to face him.

“Hello to you too,” he scolds.

A boxy smile is given and before he can greet the fed up boy back he’s already talking.

“Last night,” Jimin begins, brows furrowed in half embarrassment half concentration. “Something weird happened.”

“Did Daisy catch you jerki—“

“Tae!” Jimin cuts him off in a whisper-shout, hoping no bystanders hear his unfiltered words.

“Joking. What happened last night?”

Jimin sighs as he tries to find his thoughts again. He had it all organized in his mind but his friend’s reckless banter has made it all the more scrambled and confusing.

To put it simply, Jimin doesn’t know how to tell his best friend that he thinks his crush made him hard last night.

Ah, yes. Kim Taehyung. His and Jimin’s friendship goes all the way back to freshman year of high school, also known as Jimin’s worse year ever. Endless bullying and his identity crisis at its peak, Jimin was so done with everyone and everything. That’s until one of the most popular boys in school took him under his wing.

Taehyung has been Jimin’s shield for almost five years now, defending him from every derogatory slur and glare from arrogant frat boys. And being a frat boy himself, Taehyung had most, if not all of those arrogant asshole’s respect. And with that being the case, they’d never disrespect Jimin in front of Taehyung.

And it’s nice having at least one friend to help him out, Jimin thinks.

The only underside is that his one friend has no clue about his secret and God only knows if he’d still accept Jimin if he did. And that he’s in the fraternity for fucks sake.

Also that he has a massive crush on you.

That may or may not be another reason Jimin doesn’t like you so much. You have the whole school wrapped around your finger, and unfortunately for Jimin, that includes his best friend.

“Hello? Earth to Jimin,” Taehyung tries to get the older boy’s attention.

Blinking himself back to space, he shakes his head as he discards where he was going with the conversation.

“I forgot.”

“Bullshit.”

“I did,” Jimin rolls his eye, snatching Taehyung’s coffee and taking an obnoxiously big sip to shift the attention away from what he originally had to say.

Taehyung doesn’t believe him, but he respects Jimin enough to not pry.

“Whatever. Just know you can tell me anything.”

“Yeah yeah,” Jimin shakes off.

And he knows that. Taehyung may be friends with all of those terrible guys who’ve made Jimin’s life hell, but he’s still good to him. Believe it or not Jimin has had many other issues that weren’t about his secret, and with each one Taehyung was the one who provided him a shoulder to cry on.

They’re close enough to joke about all the things Jimin gets bullied for. Like his jacket for example, it’s the same one he wears probably three days out of the week. It’s big and ugly but Jimin thinks it’s boyish so he wears it. Anything to hide. The frat boys still give him shit for it, though. But Taehyung loves it, and he thinks the hate it gets is so ridiculous that he himself teases Jimin about it occasionally. And Jimin finds it funny when it’s Taehyung who teases him, because he knows it’s coming from a place of close friendship. Unlike those other frat boys.

But despite how close they are, he knows he can’t talk about his secret, or you with Taehyung. That’s the one part of him he’d like to keep tucked away for as long as he can endure.

“Alright, well I’m gonna get going. I told Johnny I’d meet him at the dorms so we can get a session in before class.”

“Smoking is bad for you,” says Jimin as he rolls his eyes.

“So is sulking, lift your head up Minnie,” Taehyung massages at Jimin’s shoulder for a second or two before he gets up and grabs his stuff.

“I’m not sulking.”

“You’re always sulking,” The younger man teases as Jimin swats his hand off of his shoulder. “We’ll talk later?”

Jimin hums in what Taehyung assumes is agreement, ruffling his hair before making his way over to the door of the cafe. A grumpy Jimin is left behind fixing his hair, gathering his stuff too so he can head to class early.

Nothing beats the stares he gets as many students still, to this day, wonder how on Earth Taehyung is friends with him. It’s fucked up, really, but Jimin is used to it.

He’s used to favoritism in the school, and Jimin groans as he realizes he’ll be seeing more of it for the next hour or so that he’ll be seeing you in class.

But he can’t seem to figure out if he’s more excited to see you than he is annoyed.

Jimin is furious.

Nothing new, except that this feeling of anger isn’t rooted from jealousy or insecurity— It’s because you rejected his kindness.

Jimin, like many, were eyeing your outfit. It’s dainty and may even be the prettiest shade of baby blue Jimin has ever seen. So when he forced himself to smile your way when you caught him staring, he did not expect an eye roll from you. But nonetheless, it happened, and Jimin hates you a little bit more now.

Jaw clenched and eyes piercing lasers into the big clock on the far wall of the lecture hall, Jimin counts down the seconds until he’s able to free himself from this torturous environment. Until he frees himself from you.

When the clock does hit the desired time, he’s the only student to stand up— earning him several stares which only makes him angrier, and with little to no more patience left he’s walking out the doors on a mission to channel this frustration.

Past the corridor and straight to the art room— also known as the room that’s almost always empty because why is there an art class in a writing school in the first place— Jimin slams his bag down on the first desk he sees and sits himself down.

Why couldn’t you prove him wrong?

Why couldn’t you just have smiled back?

You just had to roll your eyes when Jimin didn’t even like you in the first place. If he had it his way he would’ve snapped profanities the moment your eyes met. But he’s not a monster. He’s polite.

So polite that he smiled your way and now regrets it miserably.

Jimin can’t stand you now.

Grabbing a random notebook from his bag, he does what any angry writing major would do and begins to jot down all the many reasons he hates you, all in the form of scattered thoughts.

Conceited.

Privileged.

Spoiled.

All words that are used quite frequently in his paragraph of scribbled rage.

Beautiful.

Unique.

Mesmerizing.

All words that he hates to admit but must include because they’re the reason he hates you like he does.

Jimin goes on and on for a while writing nothing but blunt absurdities that are simple and cuts straight to the point, majority of them being repetitive I hate you’s. It’s not until he finds himself at the peak of frustration that it all boils down to an ache within him.

Jimin thinks about why you anger him so much. He thinks about that outfit he could’ve worn today if only he wasn’t so scared. Then, Jimin writes down every raw, painful feeling he has.

Why do you have to be so beautiful? Why can’t I be like you? I often wonder if you think about my predicament. I wonder if it ever crosses your mind that I’m even one percent envious of you. When I think about that, it hurts even more.

I wish you knew I was hurting because of you.

You don’t know me well. I hardly know you. But what I’m certain of is that you’re the most beautifully ignorant person I’ve ever come across and I do hope one day you’ll realize how blind you are.

You’re blind to your reality of easiness. It’s not easy for me. I can’t wear that shade that you do. Can’t wear a shirt so low cut like that either. Because for me, I’m expected to dress like someone I’m not.

This isn’t me.

And I think I may hate you most because I see the real me in you. That courageous being who doesn’t even think twice about breaking the rules of my gender; that’s the real me. Although I hate both versions of me because neither of them have helped me out of this suffocating barrier.

I want to be me.

I wish you weren’t you.

I want to be you.

A slam of a period is what concludes the built up momentum, pencil flying across the desk as he slouches back in his chair with an exhale. He skims over the words that are quite dark since he was applying significant pressure. He vaguely reads some words until he’s not in the mood to think about any of it anymore and closes the journal shut.

And although he didn’t reread that essay of his, the last sentence still can’t seem to leave his mind.

Even if it’s just for a moment, he wants to be you.

Racing down the long hall of the unnecessarily large school, his strides echo off the walls as his heartbeat is ten steps ahead of him.

He should’ve never written that journal, he thinks.

He should’ve never left it in class either.

The passing of two more doors is all it took until he was standing out of breath in the threshold of what he hoped would be an empty classroom, the journal that he was going to grab and go no longer being in the spot he had left it.

His heartbeat almost fails him, legs buckling as his thoughts falter.

He knows it’s you. He knows your figure. He also knows that you’re standing there, reading his journal full of absurd remarks about how he wishes he were you.

Jimin wants to die. He wants it all to just dissipate. But before the boy can erase what he just walked in on, you turn around.

Journal open in your hand, your eyebrows are furrowed and Jimin doesn’t know if he can withstand that look of genuine concern on your face.

He also doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad look.

“I’m not gay,” he helplessly throws his panicked words up.

Slightly less confident, having used up all his energy on those three words, he manages to follow up, “…if that’s what you’re thinking.”

And the giggle that escapes you despite what you just read, the cruel things he wrote about you even though you did absolutely nothing but be beautiful, Jimin notes how badly he’s fucked up.

“It’s not,” you respond, slowly closing the journal, eyes following.

It’s while you’re still looking down that you decide to ask your first question.

“Listen, Jimin,” you bring your eyes up, tone a little too concerned for his liking. “Do you want to talk?”

Talk.

“Those things you wrote, it’s just—“ you stop yourself. “I know you didn’t mean for anyone to read it but from what I saw I think you need someone to help you learn to be kinder to yourself.”

Jimin opens his mouth to talk only to close it when he realizes he doesn’t know how to respond.

“I know it’s none of my business and I’m sorry for reading, but I don’t want you to feel like that. Let me help you.”

Jimin feels like a villain in a movie. He feels like the worst possible character there could ever be. He feels like a bad person. Because there he was all this time, writing about how much he hates you for being you, and here you are now, asking him to accept your help seconds after you just read everything.

The world does not deserve someone like you, he thinks. He does not deserve someone like you.

But as much as he feels unworthy, he’s never been more excited at the opportunity to get to know you. To have you there beside him on this new journey of self love.

“Okay,” he accepts, voice quiet and still embarrassed.

“Okay,” you repeat, smile big and hope at its highest.

Okay.

~~~

a/n: part one of a new seriesss les mf goooo (i missed writing so much omg, hope y’all like this one im vry excited abt it 🥹) ALSO part 2 isn’t as confusing lmao, it’s always difficult to clearly start out a series :/ pero i promise it’ll make more sense along the road :)

🏷️: @exactlygreatcoffee @sweetieguk @ctrlsht @blessrious @someusername133 @dreamer-pjm @zadkielr @dearsullix @lailaaxd @osakis-gf @jnghs @seltansworld @bxnqtxnie @moon-kid39

taglist = open, let me know if you’d like to be added <3

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