#she's good in a way that seems effortless but isn't

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Escape the Friendzone 2/4 (Word count 5.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Massive arms go about her as she's pulled against a lean chest. It's an awkward, tense hug. He smells of open air and coppice, with a whiff of acrid sweat on top as she lays her head somewhere between the bumps of muscle of a warm chest.

Not even the body heat makes him appear more human: his heart is not pounding as fast as she thought it would after making it clear he would score some tonight.

She fears she's dealing with a sociopath. Might even be a psychopath.

"Are you still afraid?"

"I don't know." Her breaths are everything but steady as she inhales the intoxicating scent of a madman.

"Don't be scared. I will only hurt those who wish to hurt you."

His pledge renders her weak; it makes her legs shake. She gets far more than she bargained for when pulling him in to give her a little late-night comfort.

Friends with benefits is a situation bad enough, but this is not okay. The guy's fixation seems boundless, and if she tries to wriggle out of this… relationship and starts seeing someone else, it might end up in König scrubbing the potential future love interest's guts off his shoes.

And something in the idea isn't even wholly appalling.

Good God…

"I don't want you to hurt anyone," she whispers like it isn't his day-to-day job – to hurt and kill people. She is on the verge of collapsing to the floor and stays upright only because he holds her in authoritarian embrace.

"Little angel, it's what I do." He releases her only enough to bow his head and look into her eyes. His stare betrays slight distaste. Those eyes are calm mirrors of how can someone be so naive.

"You come to me if someone is mean to you," he orders in a stern voice that makes her feel faint.

"Alright," she breathes a fluent little lie. He's satisfied with her answer, however, and presses her head back against him with effortless control.

She imagines him knifing someone with a listless stare from sparing a glance her way; she fantasizes him strangling some chauvinistic moron in the darkness after they have been "mean" to her. Quickening breaths betray her sick thoughts to him because he pulls her even closer. She can feel the enormous cock pressing against her body with a promise of violence.

"Angel… I wish you would stop teasing me."

"Yeah?" Her laugh is restrained, and her heart is racing inside her chest – like it's some kind of a good idea to have a heart attack while a murderous psycho turning into a boyfriend is in the same room with her. "Where's the fun in that…?"

"Do you always tease men like this?"

"No," she swallows a mouthful of woodland and musk. "Just you."

"Hm."

"König… Can I see your face?"

The man finally seems to find his reserve again. He detaches from her, and she can hear the audible gulp inside the hood.

"Maybe later."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other like he usually does when he's a bit nervous. Probably to ease the discomfort from still being forced into those pants with such an astoundingly large, swelling erection, too.

She can't come up with anything that might explain why the man is so uncomfortable with showing his face. From the small glimpse she saw in the showers, everything looked completely normal. There is some other reason why he wants to wear the mask, most likely some mental block, and she would simply have to wait until he's ready and willing to take it off.

"How about a kiss?"

He doesn't shake his head or escape her as she hesitantly steps toward him and raises a hand to the hem of his hood.

"If I just…"

He does nothing as she starts to raise the mask. The look in his eyes is somewhat haunted, though.

She lifts it just enough to reveal a clean-shaven chin and a pair of thin, tightly shut lips. She briefly notices that there's a scar on his jaw before his mouth opens to call her in. They're polar opposites of each other: she feels breathless and limp when their lips meet while he's a statue of rigid power. Even his mouth is tense as she catches his bottom lip between hers and tries to soften that immortal stiffness. Distant notes of hops catch her tongue just before he pulls her back into a crushing hug.

The guy is not the most perfect kisser. He's very avid, though. In fact, his eagerness is what makes it a scary experience, what makes the kiss clumsy. He smashes his lips on hers with force, then opens his mouth so wide she fears he will devour half her face.

The ungloved hands slide down her back and cup her ass. He's gentle, but she still feels like she's levitating, half an inch above the ground from his groping. He moans like they are already having sex, but before she can disconnect herself from the violent kiss, he does it for her.

"I want to fuck you," he pants across her lips, eyes half-lidded and drunk. "Can I fuck you?"

The man has no conception of how to dance these dances. He simply declares his wish to shove his junk inside her and kill those who might do her harm. She feels dizzy in his arms, like dew that will evaporate under too much heat.

"Yeah, yes," she tries to sound sane, although there's nothing sane about this.

So much for being just friends or being nothing at all…

Her heart is beating faster and faster; it wants to rend itself out of her chest. She feels ample sweat between her thighs, then realizes it's only her own wetness that has broken through the cotton of her underwear. The dress is so tight in the middle that she can't simply try and throw it over her head, and the buttons at the front seem to have suddenly become too big to slip through the holes.

He doesn't take any of his clothes off while watching her undress. The instant she opens her whimsical veil of blooms, he moves close and shoves the fabric down her shoulders so that it drops sadly on the floor. Then he flicks a knife out.

Shit… Shit what the fuck–

"No–Don't–!"

The blade is forced with a flat surface under the middle of her bra. He pulls the fabric away, turns the blade - it's a miracle she's not bleeding by the time he cuts through the center front like it's butter. Her breasts fall free, and the destroyed lingerie hangs cheaply on the side before it gets dragged away too. She looks at his work, her exposed tits and the crude, fat knife he swiftly returns to its sheath.

"That was my favorite br–ah…"

The man is terrifying, even when he sinks to his knees. He dives for her breasts, licks the undersides and sucks her nipples like he's famished. Her head rolls back, and she feels fainter still as he gropes her like she's his toy, chews a nipple until she shudders and cries in pain. Then he goes down, down, panting hot breaths on her skin as he goes, the hood grazing and tickling her skin.

His hands shake slightly as he tears down the last piece of covering fabric from between her legs. She can't even step out of the briefs before a blazing tongue is pushed to her clit, all but delicately.

Perhaps he's not a virgin, but he's not a veteran, either – still, it draws a filthy moan out of her.

She has to take support from his head to prevent herself from falling when the tongue simply forces its way between her legs. It curls to meet her folds, slick with her wet. She knows she's practically leaking at this point, and hears how he licks his lips.

"Of course the angel tastes like heaven too," he rasps in her mound, sounding rather… bitter. Almost annoyed.

She thinks it's only the beginning, but he suddenly rises like a Kraken from the sea, like a Godzilla about to destroy an entire city.

"Get on the bed. All fours."

She chokes the whimper that tries to escape her, then turns and crawls onto the bed as if they are running out of time. His urgency is hers now, and she presents herself to him, waiting for the man to thrust in without remorse, but it's his mouth she feels first.

"Uh–Oh my god…"

He licks her with a flat tongue, torturously slow while she's on display. They're long, profound sweeps, as if he wants to sample her rather than give her pleasure. Although he does give her an immense amount of it.

She falls on her elbows, face down on the bed, exposing more of herself to him in the process. Her pussy has been neglected for so long that the feel of his hot tongue on her is absolutely breathtaking, thigh-shaking. She pushes herself back a little, lets him taste his own medicine for once.

And of course it only makes him more unhinged.

"You're wet like a…" he laughs a short, dry laugh straight into her folds, and she finally whimpers at the sound. "You want it so bad?"

"Yes…?"

It's a sad little confession but more than enough for him. He freezes behind her, and something in the way the air shifts tells her he has risen and is now standing high above her as she's in this crudely vulnerable position.

"I've made you wet this whole time?"

She snivels, opens her eyes, closes them…

"Yes," she sobs in the bed, nearly topples, but he grabs her ass and keeps her in place.

"Ach du lieber Himmel…"

She pants and cries in the sheets, but the sobering silence lasts only for so long.

The sound of a belt being opened shoots her skin full of goosebumps. Only a few seconds later, the fat tip of his cock is swept across her folds: it probes for a second, then slides in.

"A-ah–"

"Scheiße… So tight…"

He hisses and goes all the way in – the journey is long and torturous as he stretches her wide. The thickness only grows at the base, his balls are already tight as they arrive to press against her.

And mercy is not at the top of his list as he realizes she has denied her need and therefore, his. He starts to sail inside her, back and forth, in and out, like it's his job, too. It's total torture. She might just pass out before this is over.

"You little tease…" He seizes control of her hips while using her as his own personal fleshlight. The noise of wet, slick fucking is deafening. The pace is upped soon, and he has to use strength to hold her in place while ramming her from standing while she tries to hold on for her dear life and hold onto the sheets.

"Not so fast, König," she whimpers into her pillow, but he won't listen. The pace is frantic, and his thrusts are deep; he fucks her with despair, with anguish-driven, starved thrusts born from greed.

Nothing has ever felt so good, nothing.

"Just friends, eh?"

She has a hard time deciphering whether he is happy or mad. His voice is pitchy, and she knows, she just knows that he sounds equally as unglued on his missions. Perhaps that's why people rarely talk to him.

"Don't–don't be angry…"

"No? Say that you want me," he commands somewhere behind her, desperation coating the air with pungent sweat and musky arousal. "Say it–say it–"

"I want you," she finally cries, and it feels like an absolution. An amnesty. Remission of sin.

There's panting and frantic sound of slaps of flesh against flesh behind her. The air all around is pure electricity. It makes her quiver and throb and squeeze: him, the sheets, anything and everything.

"I will bring you flowers every morning and fuck you every night. Ja?"

His length is the only thing she can focus on; all else dissolves into a hazy mist. The cock glides in her like he's oiling a gun part, and he could ask her to kill someone and she would only say–

"Yes, yes."

He slides in and out with less and less control, moans and grunts with every thrust now. She's already past the point of no return, even though the orgasm keeps hovering right beyond her reach. She only needs a few more minutes. Or maybe just one...

"König… Not...so–fast…"

He answers something in German, an annoyed string of words she has no clue what they mean. He's probably just swearing profoundly.

"Get...what you deserve..."

That's the only thing she can flesh out from the English that follows. He finally finds some mercy with a choked groan and tries to slow down a little. It's even worse when he does that. He pulls almost completely out, then sinks back in, agonizingly lazy, and that does it: the full length of his giant cock slipping inside her without effort makes her walls clench.

"Oh God…" Her back is arching, her toes are curling, a tight cry disappears somewhere in the pillow, and he won't stop with the – "Oh–fuck–!"

"Yeah," he cheers her on as she screams, cries in the sheets while his cock swims in her. His hands dig into her hips, and she barely has brains left to think it might leave bruises. The orgasm comes in waves, shakes, and he won't let go even when she's only a heap of throbbing, soaking flesh and rapture.

And it's not the end; quite the contrary. He continues to fuck her with abandon: balls slap against her with every jab; they must be covered in her juice at this point, making the sound of sloppy thrusts utterly obscene. She's able to stay in a face-down, ass-up position only because he's holding her there for his cock.

The grunts turn into a wide, thick groan as he approaches the edge as well. The pace slows down almost to a halt before he comes.

"Jetzt…kommt–" he groans through gritted teeth, voice all taut while he grinds through his release. It's a multitude of deep, oddly paced thrusts, a sad attempt to get everything he can, and she's still like a wet gulf sucking him in.

The last throes are sluggish, the madness starts to pass, and she feels like every bone has left her body. There is nothing solid left when the man slowly relents and settles somewhere deep inside her. She can hear how he pants with his mouth open, and it sounds painful, wet, almost drooly. Then he swallows with a breathless gulp, slips out, and lets her go.

She immediately falls forward - topples, crashes, crawls on the bed, tries to rearrange what's left.

Just friends...

Yep.

He crashes somewhere beside her, spent and out of breath. The front of his shirt is covered in sweat; the air is filled with the stale scent of musk and saline sweat and pure, mad sex. She can barely catch a glimpse of the slick, glistening length of him. It feels like a miracle that this thing has been inside her. It’s not that it’s monstrously thick: it’s simply long, curving a little to the side, lean and aggressive even when growing soft.

"You play with fire, Engel. Why did you make me wait so long?"

The masked killer beside her is panting but satisfied for now, and turns his head to look at her. She has to muster all her courage to look back.

"I'm…a bit shy."

"You're perfect," he declares while watching her in her sex daze and ruin. So, at least he's not angry. He finally looks… normal, even with that absurd hood still on, with that intoxicated, admiring stare in his eyes. The ice in his blues has turned into melting snow.

"I noticed you the minute I arrived here."

She can't prevent a hand from reaching out at that, from splaying fingers over his chest.

"I noticed you too," she whispers back before moving closer to snuggle him. His heart is finally thumping in his chest, right under her cheek – from the late exercise or their closeness, she can't tell. A heavy arm goes around her, pressing her further into the nook of his armpit.

"You remind me of one of my knives," he says while holding her close.

Oh good God…

"You are a butterfly knife girl."

"Oh?"

"Ja. Small and cute and a lot of fun. And I can't get enough of you."

So much for getting rid of the man after getting some d. God, what was wrong with her? Any other woman would have put up some boundaries, perhaps gotten a restraining order by now.

"Is it… a good knife?" Her voice comes out as an annoying squeal, and he pulls her closer, ever closer.

"I mainly use it for playing."

She wets her lips in an attempt to calm herself, to comfort herself. She’s just another plaything for a murderer whose hunger seems endless, even if he’s more civil now. Still, she fears this man is only after sex and violence. Her little dresses and petite lingerie won't stand a chance against such brutality.

"What knife are you…?"

"Classic Glock field knife. Tall and ugly."

Behind the thin veil of indifference, there's pride. It borders on arrogance. She catches a dash of bitterness, too: field knives don't pair well with butterflies, perhaps.

"König, you're not ugly," she breaks their odd cuddle to look at him. "This sounds like a trustworthy knife to me."

He looks back at her with an even warmer tinge to the glacier of his eyes.

"It is. You cannot hope for a more loyal blade."

Her gaze drops somewhere in the darkness of his shirt. He's pledging himself for the second time to her, and it causes another storm inside her head. There's warmth on her cheeks, too.

"You are cute when you blush," he observes with pleased tranquility.

Perhaps... Perhaps he doesn't want to hurt things he finds cute.

Perhaps he will take care of them, like he takes care of his knives.

It still takes some getting used to that he allows his hood to be lifted just enough to push his tongue inside her mouth or pussy but taking it off to show his face is too much. She is lying there with him in an odd post-coital dream, thoroughly naked while he's still fully dressed. But she doesn't feel cold, not when pressed against his blazing form like this.

"Did you nick my underwear?" She asks out of the blue, and the hand stroking her waist stops in the middle of an idle caress.

"I might have," he admits without a single ounce of remorse in his voice.

"König… That's not cool," she says, knowing he can hear the lack of scolding in her voice.

"You want them back?"

"I… Gosh. Yes, that would be nice."

What a pervert.

"Or... Nevermind. Keep them," she sighs, trying to brush off the fact that the underwear in question wasn't even clean. "Do you steal women's underwear often?"

"No. Just yours."

A laugh meant to convey her shock is far too laced with joy to make it clear that she finds his deeds preposterous. She simply fails at every turn in trying to express that she's a decent woman. He knows it now, probably saw it long ago; that she's the perfect cheval glass to his perversions.

The hand on her hips moves to caress her thigh, and the drowsy stare observes her with growing mischief.

"Ready to go again?"

"Whuh–Again…?"

He takes her hand and moves it right over his cock. It's lean and demanding, and pulses under her palm.

Tall and ugly, she thinks while her walls dare to throb with hunger.

"You make me hard," he says, almost as a whisper, "all the time."

Jesus… There was definitely no rulebook when it came to this guy.

She gets to watch from the bed how he gives her a show as the man finally decides it's time to take his clothes off. The shirt is the first one to go: it flies somewhere on the floor while he holds on to his hood. The sculpted muscle looks even bigger up close, and the plates are covered with thin hair. It runs thicker below the navel, and his thighs are pure power: they surround the sleek length of his cock like trunks of strength when he finally gets himself out of those pants.

The v-shape of his upper body is something she will never get over. Broad shoulders shrink and curve into narrow hips which in turn swell into powerful thighs, and while perhaps this guy wouldn't win the gold medal at a fitness competition – judged by the way he's lean and athletic but not low fat ripped – he certainly is the most beautiful man she has ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. He's a demigod with his herculean strength, a titan who's too big for the world of mortals. A tormented Samson who will never be tamed with treachery or tricks.

The bed sags as he crawls back to her like the gentlest predator. Her legs open wide to receive him – a classic missionary feels like the most intimate choice after the faceless pounding she received earlier. He gathers her legs as he proceeds: forces them up, up, almost next to her arms until he's hovering over her exposed pussy.

She should've known that some boring missionary wouldn't satisfy this man at all.

Her eyes drop to her legs and what's between them: she's in no position to do much of anything, but as the tip of his cock – smooth, pristine velvet – slides across her wet folds once more, she rather helplessly tries to drive her hips up to meet him.

It's like she's drunk or in a dream. The scene is wild and filthy: she's plump and spread open, ready for the taking, thighs almost in her ears as he draws his hips back and finds her opening.

"Please be gentle," she begs with a whisper. He halts for a while to lock gazes with her rabbit stare.

"You are pretty when you beg, little one. But I would never hurt you."

She swallows, and her lips part – his gaze instantly falls on her mouth, then raises back to her eyes, gentle and painstakingly ardent. He's close, so terribly close – and not just physically. Her thighs quiver with anticipation as the thick velvet slides in.

Holy fuck–

She savors the spread, and he's gentle, like he promised. The groan that erupts from inside the hood above makes her walls ache. He's so merciful this time, and she wishes to lift the black veil that still keeps them apart, to see his face as he takes her, to see that scar on his jaw and how his mouth hangs open with hunger, just like hers…

His cock comes out all wet – she can hear it – before plunging right back in, and it makes her mewl.

"Oh God…" Her eyes shut tight from the sensation of being so filled. She's even more starved than she thought. It's scary, far scarier than the mass murderer above and inside her.

"You like that?"

He's breathing heavy, and she knows he's looking at her, the distorting face of pleasure, the way she's biting her lip. Tears try to force themselves out from the passionate, featherbrained proximity, from being so tightly knitted together, like a bunch of happy, overstimulated nerves.

"Look at me," he orders, and she opens her eyes like they're under his command and not hers.

"You like it like this?"

She nods with tears in her eyes, and he won't stop looking at her like she's his most prized possession.

"Gut. I will make you scream again."

The man's dreamy stare follows every twitch of a lip, every bat of an eyelash. She looks down briefly to escape that love – the sight of the long thickness disappearing in her while she is so crudely open for him makes her feel dizzy, even when she's lying down.

Some pillow princess…

"Sehr schön," he comments while watching her face which must look like that of a dumb, anesthetized doll. His cock has that effect, and now that he's hovering over her, staring into her soul while filling her, it makes everything even more painful because it's sweet. She's under lazy waves, and decent men seem the most boring thing on earth right now.

"You like my knives?"

"Ah–what…?"

"You stared when I played with my knife."

She knows he has caught her staring more than once and bites her lip again not to blurt out how she had stared when he had played with... other things as well.

"Mh, yeah… It was beautiful."

"You're beautiful."

The sudden waves of intimacy leave her fragile and weak. His stare is nothing short of a caress. She is open and helpless for him to pound to his heart's content, but he's gentle, bordering on loving...

"I can teach you how to play with them."

Jesus Christ, this dude is just crazy.

"Uh-huh," she agrees to it with her mouth hanging open from the overload of sensation. The lewd sound of his cum pushing out of her with every thrust is an obscene background music for this – or any – conversation.

"I have a collection."

Why the hell would he be talking about his knife collection in the middle of–

"I own at least fifty knives. I can show you all of them if you come to my room."

His gaze is at least as piercing as his cock, and she realizes how serious this is: knives are his life. He finds them beautiful too, he collects them and cares for them. They're a profession, but they're also the most important thing in his world.

Knives are his essence.

And he had likened her to a butterfly knife...

"S-sure."

The sound from where they are joined rises to a sluggish crescendo: drowsy, filthy claps of flesh on soaked flesh. He makes her sick and well at the same time: he drags her to hell and raises her to heaven. He's the remedy and the curse. He plays with her like he plays with his knives: ravenous, entranced, obsessed.

She tries to concentrate on too many things at once: that intoxicating voice, the memory of him playing with death, the cock plunging inside her over and over again, making warmth pool below. She imagines him killing people with his collection, picking his tool for the day. He's not the only lunatic here because even the very thought makes her tight around him.

"You are close?"

"König… Just–" she whispers on the cusp of a deeper, soul-rending orgasm.

"You like it when I talk about knives?"

She breathes laboriously and tries to hang onto the last bits of her sanity, but he knows her, knows her already. He weighs down on her until her thighs come to rest right next to her breasts. He's plowing her in a crude angle, indecent and deep. It's vulgar, and she loves it; loves the way he stares at her, all helpless under him.

"Please, I'm gonna–"

"I can show you my guns too."

Ohmygod–

"I'm gonn–ah–!"

She shatters, her walls clench; her pussy sucks him like he's hard candy.

“Sieh dir das an… You were made for me.”

"Nh– Please…"

Her head tosses on the pillow as if in a dream. She's fathomless, and going to pass out, the cock inside her makes her eyes roll back in her head until she sees white, the color of saints.

"Shy girl… Beg for it."

The voice that answers his command is not that of a shy girl; it's not hers at all. She hears it from underwater, and her reality consists solely of the man filling her, spreading her, transforming her from an angel into something deliciously wicked.

Please, just–

It's not her voice, and yet it does sound everything like her. It begs, mewls a plea after the other in a string of helpless little whimpers.

Don't stop, please pleaseplease…

"Besser als jedes Messer…" he rasps, more darkly now. "You drive me crazy, Engel."

A chant arises in her head: she has sinned and there's no turning back. He feels far better than any promise of heaven. She could never have guessed that being cast out would feel so good.

His release comes with a tight rip, he goes taut like in that shower, only ten times more desperate. The hiss under the hood turns into a pained, strained roar of a grunt. The first time was foreplay, a quick one: this is true release. She almost hopes she would faint as the whole body of the Austrian titan goes hard as a rock. She couldn't be more spent and used, and still, her pussy answers his godly essence by clenching around him, pulling him in like he's the best man there is.

The man of her dreams, the man from her worst nightmares...

His eyes are liquid, the waterline twitches. She sees behind the walls, a millisecond's worth of fragility before his head drops, and the muscles are released from the violent trance. Broad shoulders cage her in like she's suddenly deep inside a mountain pass. Spent and dead and gone, there's no hurry any longer: he is buried deep inside and throbs whatever leftovers he has to give her.

She's filled to the brim, crushed under his weight, banished: and it's only delicious, the feeling of her body disappearing somewhere in the depths of the bed he has plowed her into. She waits dutifully as the man gathers himself, even gets brave enough to touch him. The masked face is buried somewhere in her neck, and his stomach ripples with a few shivers as her hand runs down his spine.

"I want to do this every day," he declares softly while panting through the thick fabric of his self-made shield. She feels pure horror and thrill in her chest.

To do this every day… She will eventually break, like a toy that has been used too much. She's not made of steel like those butterfly knives used mainly for playing.

"König, this is crazy… We're crazy," she tries to put into words the unholy mess raging inside her. He snorts before releasing her from the absurd position. The weight of him leaves her empty as he pulls out, then drags his way beside her to gather her back into his arms.

"Don't be ashamed, little one," he coos through the mask. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Two rounds of intense sex have liberated him, the manic terror has turned into a strange compassion. The look in his eyes is magnanimous and tender, almost droopy. She feels weightless and timid, an angel once more.

"We belong together, you and I," he states with conviction that sends sweet dread inside her heart. "Don't worry. You will never be lonely again."

Her fate is sealed, and she fears a big, fat knife will cut her heartstrings too if she tries to escape his protection. Her jaw trembles at the prospect of him returning to her every day to fuck her bare after an adrenaline high on the field. She sees a future of tears and sweat and cum, a beast lulled into sleep amidst a withering sea of flowers and torn lace.

She tries to find the right words, hopes he will be swift and merciful in his execution.

König, please…

It's not the hood, it's–

"Everyone fears me," he sighs beside her. "I'm glad you don't."

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[lieswetell]

IFHY (Jordan Li x Alt!Reader) PT 1

Tags~ roommate au, enemies to lovers, alt reader, tattooed reader, slow burn, supe!reader, afab!fem!reader

Warnings~ angry sex, jordan might be a lil mean, porn w plot bc im freaky like that, drugs, alcohol, gay shit

Monday, August 7th

“It’s only one semester. This will be over before you know it,” Mia said.

You want to hear her out and try to be optimistic about the situation, but it’s complicated. Having your own dorm was rare in Godolkin. Students who did usually paid an ungodly amount for the extra privacy or were gifted one because of their current sponsors. For you, in your previous two years, it had been a mixture of both.

“This is bullshit.” You complain and have to force yourself not to roll your eyes at your phone.

Mia hadn’t done anything wrong. She was doing everything she could to get you what you wanted. However, it wasn’t playing out in your favor this time. You were still in your dorm, trying to cling on to that last bit of single dorm life you could, even though you were moments away from the move.

“Look. I love you, but there isn't anything else I can do. Some of these kids will probably be out in a few months.” Mia tried to help you look on the bright side of the situation.

You have yet to respond to what your assistant was telling you. Instead, you just kept looking around the now-empty dorm with a mournful gaze.

“Shetty says it’s a large roo-” Mia added.

“My room was plenty big enough,” You complained again. This time, the words came out in a sort of whine that would remind anyone else of a toddler.

 You got up from the floor and wiped your hands on your pants. After taking a deep breath, you closed the last bin in your room.

“One semester.”  You sighed.

“One semester,” Mia said, her voice a lot more positive than yours.

“When are you recording that video for-”

“Alright, look at the time the moving team is here. Can’t be late.” You cut her off and blew her a kiss before hanging up on her.

The moving team wasn’t anywhere near your room, and you knew that. If you focused, you could hear everyone in the building. There wasn’t a trace of dickheads with whistles anywhere near you.

The Godolkin University moving team usually consisted of sophomore students with too much strength to know where to put it. Many were from various clubs or programs that forced them to help incoming students. 

You started to stack your bins and luggage outside of your room on your own. Typically, the moving team would assist the students. Still, it was effortless for you to carry the items, and you thought if you looked around your dorm for any longer, you might burst into tears. That wasn’t very productive or good for your image if anyone were to see it. So you popped in your earbuds and started to lift the bins. When finished you put the label on your crate 465.

 With the headphones in your ears, you didn’t notice just how much more lively it was. Most of your floormates were in other single dorms with other upper-level students. So you would only really run into a few people if any, daily. With the influx of incoming students moving in, you would easily have trouble avoiding anyone. According to your assistant Mia, every dorm room was filled(yayyyy godolkin for not allowing students to live off campus).

After skipping an array of songs, Spotify somehow thought would suit your style, someone poked you on the shoulder.

“You’re 17#, right? Big fan, honest.”The boy said. Something you noticed everyone said after they wanted to snap a quick picture with someone. You couldn’t complain, though you had no proof this person was lying to you.

“Nice to meet you.” You said and copied the same amount of excitement. The perfect amount to seem genuine but still cool enough to feel above them in that weird way you can only get from social media. You extended your hand, and he shook it eagerly.

You didn't feel that way, of course. That’s just the game and how you needed to perform. All to get where you needed to be. Being a hero was a machine full of moving parts, and Mia has been training you since you were fourteen.

“Can I get a picture?” He asked, and you nodded before he could get the sentence out.

Always…

“Always always…” you answered happily. You quickly adjusted your hair and gave the boy a side hug.

The selfie came out nice. Cute and wholesome. You made sure he tagged you on the picture and used a few of your hashtags. You gazed around, wondering who was assisting him with the move. He just looked around at your bins before looking back up at you.

“Is there anything fragile in there?” He asked awkwardly. It seems he hadn't shaken off the nerves from meeting you. It was so silly to you. You weren’t Homelander or Queen Maeve.

“Yeah, the fragile stuff is in that box right there. Marked fragile in bold red tape…”

The boy then looked back at you with a look you couldn’t place. Before you could even realize what was about to happen, his arms stretched out to unnatural lengths as if he were made of rubber. He lifted all of your bins simultaneously. He wrapped and stacked them into the carts and secured them as if his arms were bungee cords. It was astonishing. You had never seen that power before, and although it was slightly disgusting, it was cool.

Just as you went to pat him on the back, a box on top crashed to the floor. You heard the glass shatter and knew instantly it was the fragile box he so kindly placed on top of everything to avoid it getting crushed. Just my luck. That was definitely the bong in there that you’ve had for a few years. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I've been stretched out all day. Things are starting to fall out.” he apologized genuinely.

“Lemme guess you are usually super tight?”

Your roommate was finished moving all of her things to the other side of the room. It definitely started as a struggle, but after a bit of time, Jordan started to get the hang of it. Early in the process, he was just bitching to himself about having to do this in the first place. He didn't really have anyone to complain about it to. His friends were rooming with each other, and he was the only one stuck rooming with a new person.

 His parents didn't understand his frustrations, and instead, they were just happy he would be rooming with a girl. Jordan tried explaining his irritation to Brink, but that was also a no-go. All Brink did was reframe the situation by saying it could somehow make Jordan a better hero.

“Are there seriously no fucking quads in this place?” Jordan complained to no one.

He sat on his loveseat on his couch and scrolled on his phone. He debated not being in the room when his new roommate arrived. Jordan heard that people had done that, but he was too nervous to do it himself. What if you stole something? What if you wanted to put your stuff on his side? Maybe you were a weird freshman? Or worse, a fan of him?

He sat back on the couch. His feet were planted firmly in front of him, and he scrolled on his phone. It was a position he often found himself in. In this form, his feet were actually able to reach the floor when he sat all the way back on the couch comfortably. In the other one, her feet dangled and gave off a less intimidating look than the one he was currently in.

There was a soft knock on the door. Jordan rolled his eyes and stayed in his position. Why would he open the door? If they were supposed to be moving in, they surely would have a key, right? He looked at his door open. Jordan wasn’t really sure what to expect to be standing in the doorway. 

When the ugly beast finally reared its head, Jordan finally exhaled. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until you waved at him.

“Hi” You said

It’s all you can offer him at the moment. The little helper you had assisting you barged in soon after you greeted Jordan. Jordan didn't even say anything to you. He just looked at you from his spot on the loveseat then his eyes trailed over to the freshman who couldn’t maintain eye contact with you.

“Looks like! Holy shit Jordan”

“Yeah.” He just nodded, confirming that he was indeed Jordan Li

The freshman stood awkwardly with your things and stared at Jordan. The interaction was just already a lot weirder than it needed to be. So you stood at the door and tried to think of a way to intervene in the impromptu staring contest.

“Thanks. You can just leave it right here. I can do the rest.” You thanked him with a big smile

With another resounding crash, he let go of the bins, and you winced. Jordan even was taken aback by the sound and rolled his eyes

“Are you sure, ma’am?” he asked 

He sounded genuine even though he treated your belongings like they were indestructible. You buffered for a moment and realized what he said

“Ma’am? How old do you think- never mind, just leave thanks.” You shooed him away and exhaled softly

“Bye”

He watched you. You unpacked your things, and he stayed put and just watched you. He was cycling through so many things in his head. Being so last minute, this situation didn't give him any time to prepare. The only thing he did was clean and move his shit to one side of the room. He was grateful that he could at least recognize you from the ranking. The unknown was scary like that. Jordan knows you have been slowly climbing your way to the top. Your reputation was squeaky clean. Your brand was sweet, innocent, and confident. 

Your brand didn't mean he trusted you, though. Anyone with more than two fucking brain cells at this school knew that your ‘brand’ or ‘online presence’ meant absolutely nothing. Just because you waltz in here with your big smile and wave doesn't mean he will let his guard down. Roommate or not, you still had the potential to be a big fucking dick.

“Yeah, just don’t touch any of my shit, and we should be fine.” Jordan said without looking up from his phone.

He sat comfortably slumped on the sofa. The uninterested appearance he’s in pissed you off. Oh, so he’s just like this? You could do this, though. You wouldn’t let him see that you were frustrated. People like him lived off of that shit, and you wouldn’t give him what he wanted. You just nodded and gave him another smile, one real enough to be convincing.

“I understand. You do have some nice things. Probably wouldn’t want anyone getting into it either.” You said in that cheerful voice that you had been trained to perfect. 

That time, Jordan did look at you. He was now thoroughly annoyed and over the roommate situation. In his eyes, he tried. In the twenty minutes you had been in the room, Jordan considered everything he had done ‘trying’. This situation wouldn’t work, though. He just wasn’t built to share rooms with a random person.

-

-

-

Wednesday, September 27th

“Jesus Christ, do you ever fucking fucking knock?!” Jordan shouted

You did knock. You dented the door to your room because you were banging on the door for about ten minutes. You even shot Jordan a few texts saying when you would return to the dorm. Of course, she hadn’t responded to any of them; she never did.

So you said fuck it and broke the lock on your door and walked into the room. Jordan was riding some junior in her bed. The sight wasn’t new to you, so you were unfazed. Seemingly to you, Jordan never really cared about you seeing her naked. It was more of the fact you were interrupting her that was the problem. In the two months you have been rooming with Jordan, you have walked in on her having sex four times.

The first time, it came as a shocker. You squealed and covered your eyes, immediately leaving the room and shooting her a few apology texts. When you left, Jordan just continued on like it was nothing. Like you were just a temporary pause. This time wasn’t like that. You walked in and closed the door behind you.

So you waved at the man who was underneath Jordan on the bed. He looked at you with a confused look, then turned to look back at Jordan, who was bewildered.

“You're not usually my type, but I think I could be down for both of you,” The man said, then looked back up at Jordan curiously.

You just walked toward your desk, sat down, and started up your laptop.

She climbed off him and huffed, “Get out”.

Then the man shuffled awkwardly around the room and tried to pick up his clothes. He slipped the condom off and didn't know what to do with it, so he tried to hand it to Jordan. She pointed towards the door, so he just nodded and held it as he left the room. His clothes were still crumpled in his other hand, covering his dick. You shook your head slightly, knowing that type of thing was far too normalized in this school.

“Do you purposely do that?” Jordan asked you sharply. It was more of an accusation. He barely spoke to you, and when he did, it was always intending to fight.

“Do what?” You asked and logged into the Godolkin portal.

“Wait until I’m using the room to appear out of thin air” She complained and stepped closer to you.

Whenever Jordan spoke to you, it was like they were a nagging little voice that you had to physically restrain yourself from losing your cool with. You didn’t want to risk an argument with Jordan, no matter how much of a bitch she was. It just wasn’t worth it. It would be optimistic to think that Jordan wouldn’t somehow get you lousy press from the situation. It was also optimistic of you to think that one day, Jordan would just stop trying to fight the fact that they would have to live with someone.

Every day you felt like you were seconds from Jordan finally saying fuck it and starting beef with you publicly just to fuck up your rank. Being ranked seventeen wasn’t the best you could be, but to most people, being in the top one hundred was quite an accomplishment. Job security was a hard thing for supes to find, and you weren’t going to fuck up your brand just because Jordan was having a bad day.

“Oh, please. I texted you, Jordan. Multiple times,” It came out with a little more emotion than you intended. Patience wasn’t your strength today.

“You didn’t,” She said flatly.

You huffed and pulled your phone out of your bag. When you pulled up the text chain to show her. You looked away awkwardly when she turned around to grab her phone. For some reason seeing her ass suddenly felt invasive, although she was so chill about it. Once again, she was more pissed about the fact she didn't cum.

“That’s not even my number.” She showed you her Apple ID and rolled your eyes.

“Who’s fault is that?” You asked her this time; your tone couldn’t have been mistaken for anything but annoyed.

Jordan realized what she did and grabbed your phone out of your hand. You scoffed at the action and tried to snatch it back, but she was faster than you. Probably in both forms, unfortunately. Jordan just updated the contact info and handed you back your phone(which you snatched out of her hands immediately).

“You could’ve knocked,” Jordan said, and you did a sharp inhale.

You looked up at her, then back down at your phone at the updated info. It was hard not for you to be pissed about the fact he lied to you. So many arguments could’ve been avoided, but of course, she couldn’t even give you her number.

“I did. For about ten minutes. Maybeyouweretoobusycreamingondicktohearaboutit” 

The words came out as a rushed whisper. The struggle of trying to hold your anger was starting to become not only a mental challenge but a physical one.

“What did you say?”Jordan asked. This time, he almost seemed kind of excited, which didn't help you calm your nerves in the slightest.

“The locks broken, by the way. You locked me out, so I had to break it open. I’ll schedule a maintenance worker to check it out around five,” You told him. The facade was back up. You were no longer spewing attitude at him.

The maintenance request was sent, and Jordan was left confused at the sudden change in demeanor. He was excited for a second that it seemed you finally had a moment of real fucking emotion with him. Jordan would much rather be alone in his dorm, but your unwavering positivity threw him off more than he intended.

Jordan could recall a few times he would complain and rant about you to his friends during smoke seshes. It had only been two months, but he felt like he wasn’t even rooming with a natural person. Something about you was too perfect, too clean, just all around, too bland. He was excited to talk to a person for that quick moment there. It's not the brand you posted for everyone to see. 

He went back to the other side of the room in defeat. He sat on top of his bed. Jordan never stopped looking at you. You slipped up, and maybe that gave him hope(he would never admit it).

“I need the room at five,” Jordan said.

You furrowed your brows and looked over at the calendar on the wall. Each day that passed, scribbled out with a blue Sharpie. You shook your head and looked over at him.

“You have class. It’s Wednesday,” You said matter of factly.

Jordan rolled his eyes and mumbled

.“No, I don’t.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at him. He could be so petty sometimes for no reason, and this was one of those moments.

“Did you just disagree with me just because?” You asked him.

Jordan couldn’t think of a comeback or words to say. You talked to him in that weirdly positive tone despite clearly being irritated with him again. Maybe his dick twitched a little, but he ignored that.

“Jordan, put some clothes on, okay?” 

“Fuck you”

“Your dick is out”

“Have a great day”

Maintenance fixed the door problem by 5:13 pm. It was a simple fix. A new doorknob was installed, but a couple of dents from your early frustration remained a reminder. Afterward, you were alone in your dorm, struggling to wait forty minutes to join a lecture.

  It was a struggle not to nod off in front of your computer. Online classes always felt like a good idea when you signed up for them, but you soon realized they were a trap. It is a carefully crafted trap for you to waste your time on the course because you couldn't keep your eyes open long enough to listen to your professor drone on about the importance of… You fell asleep.

You needed the relief anyway. It was a struggle to keep holding up the illusions you were. The influx of incoming students fucked you over. Having a roommate who hated you meant you were always using your powers. You couldn’t trust him not to try and ruin your brand. The only times you would have a break from having to cast an illusion was when Jordan was out doing whatever the fuck he did besides training and sulking.

Illusions fell around you—your side of the room that was once pale blue and pink warped into black and purple. Your hair, which once seemed to be tied tightly in a bun, fell around your shoulders. The pink sweater you wore was replaced with a black hoodie you had for years. The illusions you had concealing your tattoos shattered. The ink from your arm sleeve peaked out from the wrist of your hoodie.

-

-

-

“Who are you texting?”Andre asked 

It was late. Jordan sat on the couch in his friends' dorm and tried not to be bitter that there were only three bedrooms. He typed in his phone, angry you weren’t responding. Why does he have to deal with this? He’s pretty sure when he leaves that, all three of them just crash in the living room in a pile like cavepeople anyways. Andre’s room was always too fucking clean for anyone to actually stay in there.

He leaned over on the couch to try and take a peak at Jrdan’s phone. Jordan leaned away, mildly irritated with his friend. Andre just shrugged and made a face at Cate. Cate rolled her eyes, already knowing where this conversation was going to go. It was the only thing Jordan talked about the past couple of weeks.

“My hell of a roommate,” Jordan complained and rolled his eyes.

You hadn’t responded to the last ten texts he sent. He was trying to be better to you. He might've felt a bit guilty about giving you the wrong number for that long. So now he was trying to do what you would have done for him. He planned on bringing the same guy from earlier back over, but you wouldn’t respond to him.

“Oh, she cant be that bad?” Cate said, trying to be positive about the situation.

“Cute, you guys are texting,” Andre whispered.

Jordan heard him, however, and switched. Before Andre had a chance to react, Jordan slapped him in the back of the head. The touch was light but quick. Andre chuckled softly and then raised both of his hands.

“Well, I’m trying to tell her I'm on my way back to the dorm. Might need it in a few,” Jordan explained and put his phone away.

“Why do you look so stressed?” Luke asked.

To be honest, he was the only one not caught up on the whole Jordan hating her roommate thing. He thought she would get over it in a week, but clearly, that wasn’t the case. Jordan still hated you basically for existing at this point. Luke tried to lock in on the situation, but he was still pretty high from the session that just ended.

“She isn’t fucking responding,” Jordan whined.

“It’s fine. It’s only been like ten minutes,” Luke stated.

Luke’s eyes looked around the room for whatever the fuck he was missing. Cate just laughed beside him.

“Since the last text I sent. I texted her five hours ago,” Jordan added, her arms crossed in front of her.

“It’s probably nothing,” Luke assured her, although he didn't understand why the situation was that. 

Serious. Cate understood it, though. Even if, at the time, Jordan didn’t understand, she could have seen it already. Cate had a weird way of just knowing.

“Yeah, what are you so worried about?”Andre asked, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

Jordan looked away and flipped him off. Cate and Andre shared another look, and Jordan wanted to flip the couch over. She didn’t though

“Fuck off, Dre.”

“Who is she again? Freshman?” Cate asked

“No, junior.” Jordan answered.

“Who is it?”Luke asked, hoping that maybe that would explain Jordan’s frustration.

When Jordan answered, none of them had much of a reaction, which wasn’t very satisfying for Jordan. Andre didn’t even know who you were talking about(he didn't pay attention to the rankings much). Cate just nodded, taking in the info. It was always funny to her how the most liked people could be some of the worst. Luke didn't run with Jordan’s opinion of her roommate. He knew how dramatic Jordan could sometimes be, and he was pretty sure she would've hated any roommate she was assigned to just because they were an inconvenience to Jordan.

Jordan didn't like the feeling of being interrogated, so the hangout was cut shorter than normal. Once she answered one question, it was like he opened Pandora’s box of bullshit, and everyone wouldn’t get the spotlight off of her. So, she gave up on reaching out to the guy from earlier and instead was banging on the door of her dorm room like a mad woman.

“Dude, open the fucking door!”Jordan shouted.

He didn't want to break the door again, but the longer he stood outside, the more appealing of an idea it became. Inside the dorm, you were still fast asleep at your desk. The exhaustion from overusing your powers took a severe toll on your body. You had been out cold the entire time. All illusions previously placed on you and your things were deactivated.

“C’mon, this is really petty. Just open up.” Jordan said again, but you couldn’t hear him.

A hard alarm sounded in your ear. You shook your head awkwardly, then scrambled to check your laptop.

Take your pill

You nodded and stood up to take your birth control. You made it three steps before you fell because of the loud bang at your door. Shit. Jordan’s voice yelled something behind the door that you couldn’t quite make out at the moment. All you knew was that you needed to hurry and get all the illusions back up. You waved your hands a bit, trying to tap into Jordan’s psyche once you were confident enough that the illusions were back up, and you dry-swallowed your birth control and made your way to the door.

Act normal

“Hey, sorry I got caught up in studying?” You answered the door with a smile.

“Fine, whatever. I texted you, though.” Jordan looked at you, partially confused

It didn't make sense to him. You went hours without answering him, and your excuse was that you got caught up studying. What the fuck? You didn’t even look tired? Jordan hated you. You closed the door behind him and sat on your bed.

#jordan li x reader #gen v x reader #jordan li

[temptress-writes]

🪩 Disco Snow

A/N: soft, groovy seventies Harry.

C.W: DRUG USE. Just my usual nasty shit. Rough, spanking, choking, drug use, spit kink.

Word Count—6.8k

Enjoy x

* * *

Miami 1977.

Chemicals.

Blow.

Tangy, burning, and exciting.

They infiltrate your mind as you bend over the marble countertop in your kitchen.

You slowly come to a stand, wiping your left nostril. You feel your nose tingle and seep into a numbness you know will soon mirror in your throat.

Amber gently bumps your hip, taking the rolled-up bill from your fingers and smoothing out the line of powder laid out for her. She snorts it with a sigh of relief, straightening and flicking a smile your way.

"Feels groovy, huh?"

You roll your head back with a grin, feeling the buzz in your veins already. "So good."

"Let's go, disco chic!"

Miami. A bustling city with a nightlife that thrills you. A deep contrast to the person you are during more acceptable hours.

For tonight, you switched out your sleepwear for your favourite orange bell-sleeved mini dress. Your feet are settled into your white knee-high platform boots.

Amber's done your makeup in hues of emerald green, and orange lipstick to match your attire. She fiddles with the hem of her blue mini dress as you hail a cab to the curb and set on your way to the club.

The Hall of Mirrors.

A club infamous for its disco music, great alcohol, and acceptance for anyone. It's where you frequently go to have a good night, much like most in the city. It's where anyone of any sex could go and rely on the building to hold their secrets. Withhold judgment.

The Hall of Mirrors is no stranger to your secrets. To your nights of sneaking down dark hallways and slipping to your knees for a man, or into a supply closet to taste a woman on your mouth. Tripped out on pills or lines of snow.

The music calls to you before you even go in. The bouncer knows you well, allowing you entry without so much as a second glance. The club is packed, which isn't unusual. The collection of disco balls hang from the ceiling, the strobe lights reflecting tiny fragments of light from them. They bounce across every inch of skin, every section of the walls. The pattern heightens your sense of lucidity, red, pink, and purple semi-circular wallpaper that you know will begin to distort as the night progresses.

And as if you need a reminder of how much you're dying for a drink, you taste the stark sugar slipping down your throat. With a grimace at the strong taste of it, you pull Amber to the bar.

Cameron, one of the bartenders, waves at you, mouthing your usual? You nod, pleased when she places two gin and tonics on the bar top in front of you and Amber.

It's all feels like a blur. It always does during the buildup. The drive to the club, the quenching of thirst with gin. The night doesn't truly start until you're on the dance floor.

"Bottoms up, chic!" Amber yells over the bass of the music.

You cheer your glasses together and down the contents. The ice clinks against your teeth, but your gums are so numb you barely feel it.

"Let's show these bitches who own the dance floor!"

The two of you squish and squeeze past dancers to get to the middle, soon finding a rhythm along to The Hustle. Unashamed, you yell out the words, swaying and throwing your best moves her way.

You can feel the effects start to energise your body. The way it seems to make you feel unstoppable, sexy, otherworldly.

You wrap your arms around Amber's neck, letting her turn in your hold and rub against you. In any other setting, this would harbour attention from others that one could only deem as judgmental. But not here. Not in the Hall of Mirrors. Here you are free and open.

It's a sensation of effortlessness. You feel limitless. One with the music, one with every soul in the building. After a parade of songs, you and Amber pull away from the dance floor and slip into the bathroom, refreshing the buzzing high in your veins before heading back out.

And then you see him. It's an eerie sort of feeling. It's a dance floor, it doesn't necessarily have the best lighting and there are so many people. But it's almost as if you're meant to see him. A flash of light illuminates his existence momentarily before the strobe fades away and appears elsewhere.

What you notice first are curls. Dripping waves parted in the middle of his head that spiral along his forehead, sticking to the skin with perspiration. A jeweled hand comes up to brush them away from his vision before he erupts in a dimpled smile at his friend. Even from here, you can make out the shape of his bunny teeth.

And then he spins in a circle and throws some finger guns. From there, your exploration veers south. A low-cut black tank top, exposing two swallows fluttering their wings against his chest, a cross pendant nestled safely between them.

His broad shoulders sport more ink and your eyes dart across every bare inch of skin and you spot a smattering of tattoos along his arms.

As if to contrast his more intimidating attire, from the hips down is bubblegum pink. Flared pants that hug his hips and accentuate the length of his legs. He lifts his leg, the bell-bottoms sharing a glimpse of his footwear. Patent black leather books with an impressive heel. Already so tall and towering, you admire how he's wearing them as a fashion statement and nothing more.

He holds his friend's hands, arching them high in the air before swirling his hips and yelling along to the song. His friend, lanky and shaggy-haired, pulls away and gives his best shot at the robot.

Amber clicks her fingers in front of you. "You good?"

You blink, steering your vision away from him and back to her. "Yeah, buzzing now!"

And you dance like no one is watching. You try to drive your attention away from the man who clearly hasn't seen you.

Sweaty. Hot. Snow.

Your body feels like a live wire, the music thrumming in your veins.

Your feet are throbbing but you don't care. Your vision floats back to the man and a sense of delight washes over you at the sight of him. He's closer to you now, bumping his hips to the song. Your brows raise when he grinds his bum up against a man's crotch.

Amber doesn't question when you inch towards him. It's subtle, and you keep dancing and swaying and singing.

You look up at him again and every cell in your body freezes. He's looking at you. And there's this moment when your eyes lock that the music fades. Like a bubble encases you and almost mutes it. It's very brief but still so staggering.

Suddenly, you're all bubblegum and curls.

His lips curl up into a devastatingly beautiful smile at you. He's still dancing, you're still dancing. But you're smiling at each other and suddenly bubblegum flares and chocolate curls are moving towards you. He slips past people and your dancing doesn't slow as he approaches.

Amber, so out of it and not picking up on the interaction, leeches to a man next to her and swirls her hips against him.

Up close, the man is even more stunning. Your eye line is at his chest and you spy a light dusting of hair and a film of sweat.

He grins down at you and your cheeks blush bubblegum.

"Who can do the best sprinkler?" He asks you, having to yell over the music. His accent is deep and wispy. Of course, the man with one of the most daring outfits in the joint would be British.

"Oh, it's definitely me." You offer with a sultry smile.

"Confident..." He nods, resting his hands on his hips. "I like that."

"What, you think you can out-dance me?"

He throws you a playful glare, waiting for the chorus of the song to drop before throwing his arm around in a sprinkler movement. His other hand around his head while the sprinkler, jeweled fingers, splay towards you.

And you can't help but giggle, hiding it behind your hand but the glint in your eyes is far too telling. His expression of pure joy dropping into one of unamused horror.

"Let's see it then, foxy."

You laugh, shaking your limbs out and showing off your best sprinkler move. He sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. You wrinkle your nose and shrug your shoulders up at the piercing sound.

"We have a winner!" He shouts, hands waving through the air and alarming a few people around you. You lightly shove at his chest, your cheeks hurting from laughing so much. "Does the sprinkler queen have a name? The people need to know."

You feel very shy, suddenly. As if the influence of the power has been overshadowed by him. You give him your name, not missing the way his lips curl around the letters as he recites it to you.

"'M Harry."

Harry. Smooth. Bubblegum.

"It's nice to meet you."

His fingers come up to toy with the flared sleeve of your dress. "Love the threads."

You gesture to his pink pants. "Yours, too."

He clicks his tongue, grabs your hand, and spins you in a circle. "You flatter me. Let's throw some shapes, foxy lady!"

You grab his hands, encouraging him to shimmy with you. He's a great dancer. Tall and unashamed, moving his body without thought and doing the most ridiculous dance moves. You feel so hot and you're not sure if it's because of him, the dance floor, or the snow you snorted before.

Harry spins on his heels, forming peace signs with his fingers and waving them in front of his eyes. You mirror him with a grin and he admires the way the disco ball reflects off your face and ignites your beauty. He feels like he's been kicked in the chest. What started as a chill night out and a boogie became so much more once he saw you.

Your orange dress, tangerine and inviting. Your green eyeshadow, an exotic lagoon he's lost in.

He brings you closer, pressing you flush against his body and moving his hips with yours. His hands squeeze at your hips and if this were any other man, you'd be slapping his touch away.

But Harry is soft and colourful. Endlessly endearing. You can tell he's confident and sure of himself and that's probably the sexiest thing about him. Aside from his bare chest and tattoos. And his hair. And his smile.

"You skiing the snow tonight, little fox?"

You nod, your head feeling like a bobblehead on your neck. Your spine is tingling and the way he's looking at you is making every limb feel like jelly.

He grips the side of your neck, holding you close and resting his forehead on yours. It happens so quickly but he's so confident and you're so comfortable so you don't mind.

"Keep a lookout, yeah?"

You give him another nod. You're always so sure of yourself and now this one particular stranger is leaving you speechless. But what else can you say?

He slips his fingers into his tight tanktop to produce a small clear bag from the confines. He wiggles his brows at you and looks around you briefly before opening it up.

It's unlikely anyone would be sober enough to cause a problem with it. But he's more avoiding drawing attention to it because people will flock to him for a hit.

He thumbs the bag open, his eyes lifting to meet yours before he throws you a wink. Lifting the pendant sat between his defined pecs, he gathers a small mound of snow on the longest bar of the cross.

"Ladies first."

The chain being around his neck means he can only bring it so far to you. You lean forward, pressed right up against him, and nudge your face up so you can snort the prepared powder.

You sigh through a smile as it seeps into your bloodstream. It refreshes your high. Your energy unmatched as you start to dance to the music again. But this time it's right up against him, his core tucked up against you. Bubblegum and snow.

His hand reaches out to wipe a bit of excess power decorating the edge of your nose with a soft giggle. He gathers his own smidgen of power and snorts it before putting the bag away.

And then you're dancing. Your ass works in sweet little circles against his crotch and you rest your head back on his chest, looking up at him to let him know. Let him know that you feel him against you, growing for you.

Hard bubblegum.

Melting snow.

He twirls you, bringing his hands onto your shoulders and using his feet to find a beat with the music. More Than a Woman starts playing and you both let out excited yells. He pulls you into him again. He can't help but spin you so your ass is against him. He wraps his arms around you, your hands tangling with his where they meet at your chest.

When you start grinding back on him, his hands melt down to your hips to roll them back. Gooey bubblegum.

You watch him, his hair parted in the middle with curls falling down his forehead. He smiles down at you, a slow, lip curling, dimple encased smile. It's earth-shatteringly beautiful and when he licks his lips, you feel it resonate directly between your thighs.

His hand comes up, running up your sternum and to your throat. He can feel your heart beating under the skin, fluttering just as severely as his is. His fingers grip your chin and he leans down. His nose brushes yours and your ass presses deliciously firm against his crotch and then you really feel him.

Your eyes flicker from his, down the strong line of his nose and to his lips. Bubblegum pink, plump, and inviting.

He lets out a soft moan and then he's kissing you. It's soft at first as if gauging your reaction. Maybe he's seeing how you like it. If you want it rushed. If you want it slow and patient and controlled.

Your hand wraps around his neck to hold him there and you open your mouth to flick your tongue against his lower lip. His comes out to meet yours and he tastes phenomenal. Like vodka and cranberry juice and lust.

Harry turns you in his hold and grips your ass in two strong hands. He hauls you upwards until your center is against his. He's hard and even through his pants, you can feel the impressive size of him.

The chorus seems to mirror the newly found excitement in two souls. Climaxing and exciting. You're dancing as if it's your love language. Melting into one person and obsessed with how his body feels against yours.

You can't help but kiss him again, obsessed with the way his lips cradle your bottom one. The way he nibbles on it a little bit. The way he moans against you and screws his hips up to you.

Your eyes open to meet his and over his shoulder, you can see Amber giving you an enthusiastic thumbs up.

His finger comes up to brush your lower lip before he kisses you again with a needy hum. You're not even thinking when you grab his hand and pull him towards the bathroom. You only register his warmth and his arousal and how you want to be closer to it.

He can sense your urgency, and you're both high as shit, two pairs of boots clicking against the floor. You're giggling messes of arousal as you lure him towards the bathrooms and try to find an empty one. There's a powder room, which seems all too fitting. It's deep mint green, luxurious for such a small space. The walls are orange swirls that wave in your vision.

You drag him in and close the door, automatically flipping the lock but he raises a brow when you unlock it again. His curls are askew, your orange lipstick in smudges on and around his mouth.

"Risky move, little fox."

"Shut up."

You're kissing him again. You press him up against the sink, his dick hard against you. He moans as you suck on his tongue and pull him as close as you can get him. His arms wrap around you, his hands fisting the material of your dress at the small of your back. It lifts, scrunching up and exposing your ass.

He grips the bare skin on his hands, rolling your center up against his. His fingers dip between your cheeks, slipping forward until he's brushing your clothed cunt with his fingertips.

You release a soft whimper and roll your warmth along his touch. You're already so wet, you can tell. And so can he.

But before he can explore any further, you're dropping to your knees. Harry swears under his breath as you palm him through his bubblegum pants, so hard and ready for you. You stare up at him, his pupils dilated from the snow and from you.

You pop the single button and pull the zipper down, suddenly not feeling very patient. Your attempt to inch them down so you can play with him further is stunted.

"These are so tight."

He offers a sweet little laugh into the air, pulling his pants down for you, his rings clinking as he does so.

When you finally set your eyes on him, it's then that you feel intimidated for the first time. He's not wearing underwear and for some reason, that alone is already so fucking hot. He's huge. In every aspect. In width, in length. The tip of him is the same colour of his lips, a rosy hue deepening the more turned on he's getting.

You slide forward, wrapping your hand around him. He's silky, smooth, and hot in your palm. You drag your fist up, a drop of pre-come pearling at the tip. You flick your tongue out against it, tasting the saltiness on your taste buds.

Harry groans at the sight of you on your knees for him. He bends down, cupping your chin and angling you up so he can kiss you. He tastes himself on your tongue and he spreads his hand along your cheek, rubbing it with his thumb.

"Keep going."

His expression is one of lustful encouragement as he straightens and you envelop the head in your mouth with a suck. You use your hand to work the skin, spreading the wetness from your mouth down his shaft.

You take him deeper, allowing yourself to become fully immersed in pleasing him. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding your mouth up and down his shaft.

He moans, deep and dirty and you feel it between your legs. He emits a soft sigh as you take him fully, your nose pressed against his abdomen. You can feel the hair there tickle your skin and you retract and start bobbing against him.

The bass of the music conceals the questionable sounds you're making and Harry's hand tightens in your hair as you work him. He rolls his head back on his neck, feeling the tingling in his spine sharpen and bridge out to every limb, every nerve.

Your mouth is searing hot and wet around him, your tongue caressing the underside of his dick. You struggle around the fullness of him but the way he's looking at you spurs you on. He feels amazing, the way he guides you, pushes you further but never past your unspoken boundaries.

You hold him in the back of your throat and the sound he gives you is almost a growl. It's low, derived from his chest and so fucking desperate. Using his hold on your hair, he pulls you back. You've made a mess of him and yourself. Orange lipstick smudges and your spit.

"Come here, little fox."

You stand, stumbling a little in your heels but he spins you and sits you on the countertop. Your dress slips high up your thighs and he squeezes at them. His touch slides higher and he hisses as he meets the lace of your panties.

Your hand comes down to meet his, encouraging it higher. Closer to where you need him. Harry kisses you, one hand on the side of your neck, the other up your dress.

And suddenly, it's like neither of you can wait anymore. You pull him towards you as he slips your panties down your legs, hanging from one ankle. His kisses move from your lips, a messy trail down your chin, your neck, the swell of your breasts.

Then he's kneeling in front of you, his gaze on yours before it slowly slips between your legs. You're saturated for him and his staring is so fucking intimate. He can't wait to taste you, to feel you.

His hand raises, his thumb brushing your clit. Your thighs tense as he rubs slow circles like he's winding you up. His thumb ventures south and parts your folds, collecting your wetness there and dragging it back up to your clit.

You let out a soft whimper as his pressure deepens. The added moisture from your arousal feeling somehow sweeter in addition to how he's touching you.

"Pretty thing." He coos, looking back up at you.

He withdraws his thumb and sucks it into his mouth with a hum. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his head and flicks his tongue ever so gently against your sensitive clit.

You sway your hips up at the slight bit of attention, already desperate for more. He licks up your slit, fully tasting you and closing on your clit in a kiss. You gasp and take a fistful of his hair as he works your cunt with his mouth.

He moves lower, tonguing your entrance and slipping it inside of you while his nose buries itself against your clit.

He shakes his head from side to side, fully absorbed in you. He eats you out so intensely. An enthusiasm you've ever felt from another partner. You look down and his eyes are closed, fully enjoying his head between your legs where he's tasting you.

You pull his hair harder and he moans, the vibrations from it sent throughout your lower half.

Harry raises a finger to his mouth, sucking it past his lips to get it nice and wet. And then he slides it inside of you, flicking it up in a hook to press against your g-spot. Your spine straightens at the sensation, and he slips another finger alongside it. You whine out his name as he pulls the tips of his fingers along your sweet spot, pulsing them and building you up to your release.

He moves his whole arm with blinding speed, the pleasure increasing rapidly. No one has ever made you feel this way, a bliss so deep. He knows exactly what he's doing and he knows how insanely good he's got you.

He looks up at you and gives you the cockiest smirk before sucking on your clit. His teeth nibble on it gently before he traps it between them and flicks his tongue along it. You throw your head back, collapsing against the mirror.

Harry pulls you up, spinning you so you're bent over the counter with your ass perked back. He eats you this way, spreading you open to him and pressing his mouth tight against you. His nose is buried inside you, his tongue against your clit again and he slaps your ass. It's a mild slap but you moan nonetheless.

"Again." You gasp out, so close to coming and addicted to him.

"You're a dirty little fox, aren't you?" He spanks you again. Harder.

You turn and look at him. "Is that all you got?"

He breaths out a laugh and buries his face against your cunt once more, spanking the opposite cheek, hard. And then your lower thigh, right below your ass. The sting is softened by how beautiful his mouth is against you. He finds your clit again to drill his tongue on it.

"I'm close," You reach back, taking a fistful of curls and hold him there.

"That's it," He coos against you. "Come all over my face."

Your orgasm is an eruption of euphoria. Searing hot pink that melts into bubblegum pop. You cry out his name, your entire body going lax against the counter as you fucking shake.

His mouth never lets up, letting you ride through the pleasure of your orgasm. His mouth is slow to leave you as you come down, his lips kissing the skin of your ass.

You're not expecting it when his hands leave your ass all too quickly. You watch him in the mirror as he retrieves his little bag.

"Stay still." He orders. He taps powder onto your ass, right over a handprint he's left. He ensures the line is relatively straight with his finger, one that he soon after gives you to suck the powder off. And he snorts the line he's prepared, licking the residue off your ass with a devilish smile.

And, for good measure, he slaps you again.

You bite your lip to stifle a giggle, reaching back and wrapping your hand around his dick. You work his shaft and he staggers in a couple of steps closer. The tip of him nudges your ass, his pre-come kissing your skin and leaving it wet.

He moans, moving to grip your hips and fully standing behind you. His cock brushes between your legs and you whimper at the anticipation of feeling him even more.

"You want me to fuck you, sweet fox?"

"Yes,"

"Where are your manners?" He's teasing you now. You both know there's no way he's not fucking you.

He's just making you simmer in the heat he's stirred up.

"Please fuck me, Harry."

He loves how your name sounds leaving your mouth. Orange painted lips caressing each letter, sweet and fiery at once.

"There's a good girl."

You feel his tip slide between your folds, he dips his knees to adjust his angle. One hand around his shaft to guide it, the other on your hip with a grip that almost too tight. He takes a step forward, glides his hips forward. And it's pure ecstasy.

The way he stretches you is heavenly. It's a low, humming burn almost. A buzzing delight of feeling so full. He's so big and thick, tucked right up against your g-spot. It feels so fucking good and he hasn't even moved yet.

You release a hefty gasp as he moans out your name at the feel of you.

His other hand wraps itself in your hair to keep you looking at him in the mirror and then he's fucking you. His thrusts are delicious. He's fluid, like rolling waves to shatter a galaxy inside of you.

Your eyes meet his in the mirror and he gives you a slow smile before slapping the skin of your ass again. Before you can even cry out at the stinging sensation, he's fucking you so hard you have to bring a hand up to the mirror to balance yourself.

He settles behind you, his lips at your ear. Two sets of breath fog the glass of the mirror.

"That's it, watch me while I destroy this pussy."

The Hall of Mirrors. A second home to you, reflective and encasing. Now you're watching this man fucking destroy you in the bathroom mirror. Your pupils are dilated, much like his are. Black holes, targeting each other and threatening to consume each other.

He wraps his hand around your throat and screws his dick deep, massaging your g-spot so perfectly. You're sure that without the stability of the counter holding you up, you'd be a quivering pile of bones on the floor.

"Fuck, and you thought my pants were tight?" He smirks at you in the mirror.

You release a breathless laugh that's swept away when he starts pounding into you. He grunts with every thrust, taking you so hard you can barely breathe. His skin slaps against yours and he squeezes his hand around your throat to hold you still.

The snow is heightening every sense you have. Your ass is stinging more than normal, your arousal higher than normal. But you know that has more to do with him than narcotics. And when his other hand reaches around to rub your clit, you feel that so strongly that you cry out his name and fucking writhe underneath him.

"Take it, little fox. Take it like the good fucking girl you are."

He moves his hips more sharply, hitting that sweet spot inside of you. He pushes one of your legs up onto the counter and he's so much deeper that way. That in combination with the way he's playing your clit is driving you mental. You're so close and he can feel it, feel your walls tremble and tighten around him.

You're gasping out his name, helpless to how relentlessly he's fucking you. He growls as you clench around his dick, his hand on your throat slipping up so he can put two of his fingers in your mouth. You suck on them gratefully, using your teeth to show him how good he's fucking you.

You're so fucking close but he does the unthinkable... he pulls away. Completely. Leaving you empty and teetering on the edge, yanking you back abruptly.

He doesn't give you a second to question him before he's spinning you around and sitting you up on the counter. He steps forward and you scoot towards him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your hand takes his shaft once more, pulling the skin in a firm first. He moans and lulls his forehead against yours.

"I was so close." You pout hotly against his lips.

"I'll get you there again," He hums, grabbing the base of his dick and running the tip of it between your saturated folds. "Is this what you want?"

"Please," You lean forward and kiss him. His length nudges your entrance but he makes no move to do anything further. "Give me your cock."

"That's what I want to hear."

He smiles, wrapping his hand around your throat again and sliding inside of you with one smooth movement of his hips. Your mouth drops open at the fullness of him. He's so much deeper this way, and so much more intimate with the way he's staring at you.

"Fuck me, Harry. Hard."

He releases another moan, this one more of a growl, and starts fucking you again. Using his hold around your throat and another hand on your hip. He leans you back a little so he can fully enjoy the display of your body and watch where he's fucking you.

He brings your head forward by your throat, your mouth opening at the force and he takes the chance to spit in your mouth.

"Get your clit for me while I fuck this pretty little cunt."

You whimper, sticking your fingertips into your mouth to get them wet with your spit as well as his. And with a shaking hand, reach down with and rub your clit. You feel the bursts of your orgasm brewing, your walls quivering around him.

It's building quickly and you kiss him again, feeling them tingle in your toes with every brush of his tongue. The door behind him starts to open, a drunk man slurring his words behind it. Harry slams it shut while your hand flies from your clit.

"Ocupado!" Harry yells out, his hips faltering momentarily as he locks the door.

Your cheeks heat at the prospect of someone walking in and seeing you this way. A little in embarrassment, a little in excitement.

Harry senses that you're thrown off and fucks your harder, his fingers finding your clit. "Don't worry about him, sweet little fox. You're so close, let's get you there. I can fucking feel it."

You cry out as he destroys you from the inside out, working you into a pleasured frenzy. His hand pulls the top of your dress down over your tits and they spill out. He squeezes them, pulling at your nipples and biting them.

"Harry, oh my god-"

"That's it, come for me." He growls. "Put me away wet."

Your orgasm rolls through you intensely, staggering. Your hands claw at Harry's shoulders as you shake uncontrollably. His dick is unrelenting inside of you, his fingertips not letting up in the delicious patterns against your clit.

"Fucking shit." He marvels over how you feel, how tight and amazing you feel. He's so fucking turned on by you and his hips keep screwing against you.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his neck and biting the skin there. He smells amazing. Like he's been dancing in a pool of vanilla and lavender all night. As you come down from your climax, you retract and watch where he's fucking you.

"Dreamy little cunt," He babbles, so out of it. "get so wet and tight when you come, don't you?"

"Only for you." You coo, kissing him again. He's already far better than any sexual partner you've ever had. Your walls are still trembling around him and every single tremor sends him closer to his end.

"I'm gonna come so hard- shit, you feel so good."

"I want you to come, Harry."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, I want you to feel as good as I do."

He smiles at you, dimples galore, his cheeks as pink as his pants. And then he pins you to the counter by your throat, spreading you back until you're pressed against the mirror. He starts fucking you harder, messier as his cock throbs inside of you.

"Stunning little fox, so fucking perfect. Dancing in this tiny little dress," His hands grip at your breasts some more.

"Harry-"

"Grinding your ass against me, getting me hard for you. Dirty girl, fuck. You own me."

He's working himself up now, his hand tightening around your throat and forcing you to keep looking at him. He's spouting out filthy words into the air between you, unashamed and doing so much for you. You can't help but reach down and play your clit again.

He gives you a laugh, one almost of disbelief. "You like when I talk to you, hm?"

"So much."

"You gonna let me fuck you again, sweet little thing?"

"You can fuck me whenever you want." Because you both know this is the beginning of something new and exciting.

That sets him off. His orgasm blooms and spreads. Pops like a bubble of gum. He pulls out, working his hand on his shaft so fast it's a blur. You move your hand and watch him in awe. He comes directly on your pussy, mouthing dirty words and breathless moans. His other hand gripping your thigh so hard you know it will bruise.

He watches where he's painted you, his come dripping on your lower abdomen, along your clit and your folds. He's a mess, breathing heavily and working the rest of his high from his length.

Thoughtless, he crouches and licks his orgasm from your skin. You moan as he kisses you there, licking every ounce of his come in his mouth. His tongue teases your clit and your thighs jump at the sensitivity.

He stands, cloudy and slow. And he grips your chin harshly, forcing you to open your mouth. As soon as you do, he's spitting heavily into it.

"Don't swallow."

As you fully taste his come on your tongue, he's kissing you. You moan, tasting his orgasm with yours, his tongue with yours. It's so dirty and unhinged but you can't help but feel fucking feral for him over it.

"Good girl." He praises as he pulls away.

He rights his attire, his movements lagged. Like the only thing he can fathom is you and everything else is a chore.

You stare at him, your panties hanging from one ankle, your pussy glistening and spent from him. Bubblegum obsessed. Chocolate curls addicted.

"Gorgeous little fox. Should we ditch this joint and head back to mine?"

You sit up and throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. "Yes, please."

"I want to enjoy you properly." He sighs against your mouth. "Get you out of this dress. Spread you along my sheets, watch your tits bounce while you ride me."

You breathe out a soft whimper at the idea of continuing this for the rest of the night. "I love the sound of that."

He kisses you, deep and wet. "Make you come until I'm dripping in you."

His length, returned to the confines of his pants once more, twitches against your thigh.

"We need to actually leave this room for that to happen." You muse.

He lets out a loud cackle, cupping the back of your neck to draw you towards him. He helps you fix your dress, your panties stripping from your foot and you raise a brow as he tucks them into the back pocket of his pants.

"Didn't know you'd have much room for anything else in those."

"That cheeky mouth is why you're not getting your panties back."

After another round of kisses, the two of you emerge from the room. And while you're both giddy with excitement from what has happened and what else the night holds, no one else in the club bats an eye. Your underwear feels heavy and scandalous in his pocket as he guides you through the crowded dance floor, both of your hands wrapped around one of his.

Thanks to his already tall frame, and heels, he locates his friend quickly. Who is chatting to Amber. You raise a brow at her with a cheeky smile at the sight of them dancing together.

Harry's friend holds his hand out to you, "Mitch!"

You shake his hand and introduce yourself, projecting your voice over the music. You turn to Amber. "We're going to head off, are you okay here?"

She nods frantically. "Honey, I'm so okay!"

Mitch and Harry exchange smirks and hug goodbye.

"Peace, love, and granola, Mitch!"

The air of Miami cools your skin as you step out onto the curb. Harry lags behind, admiring the curve of you and the skin the low hem of your dress offers. He grabs your hand and spins you in a little circle before giving an ear-piercing whistle to hail a cab.

He's all over you in the back of the car. His lips going from yours down your neck, the swell of your breasts. The hem of your dress hitched up, your legs slung over his lap as he fucking devours you. Savours you. Ravishes you.

His apartment, much like his attire is bold, bright, and brave. Warm oranges and reds. Like a sunset on fire, or the heated and sizzling arousal between you. It cozy and art deco and very much Harry. He offers you a half-assed tour of his home but he's undressing you with his eyes. The silhouette of your dress begging for him to see just how much better you are underneath the material.

And once you reach his bedroom, the large, circular bed is all you can focus on. Mint green bedding. The room itself is impressive, the wall behind the bed sporting what looks like a melted sunset. Orange, pink yellow all mended together to offer an accent. Harry peels off your boots and the yellow shaggy rug is soft against your toes.

He puts a record on to spin, Just One Look playing softly in the air.

Suddenly, you're on your back on the bed. Harry hovers over you, his hand cupping your cheek as if he really can't believe you're real.

Is he tripping on a tab of acid or are you really in front of him? Unbelievably lucid and dreamy. Causing fireworks and sunsets in his tummy.

Your eyeshadow matches his bedsheets, he realizes. Little fox, you're meant to be.

His sheets are crisp and smell of him. The tones of his sheets are similar to the mint green of the powder room as if a continuation of what started in there. Dirty, open, and vulnerable.

Like the disco balls in the Hall of Mirrors, fragments of two glass souls mended together in beautiful unity. Dazzling, luminous. Capturing every fraction of light to reflect it in hues every spectrum can admire.

#harry styles filth #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #70s #wattpad #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #hslot #smut

[ghouljams]

Yeah ghost is good and all but goose owns my heart where's the goose x reader at i need to marry that woman before he can daaammnn

👀👀 forreal? Damn. Ok, here's Goose doing some real cowgirl shit and staking her claim.

The way her hips slide against the saddle, reigns wrapped around on hand, the other gripping the back of the seat as the sleek palomino attempts to buck her off is absolutely sinful. You'd only stopped in the exhibition to get out of the heat of the fair but now you couldn't move, couldn't look away. You find a seat on the bleachers just in time for the horse to come close enough you can see her smile. She catches your wide eyed stare and winks.

"Goose from Ranch 141, showing us all there is an easy way to break a horse," The announcer jokes, earning a small laugh from the audience as the horse gallops around the dirt circle in the center, trying to shake off its rider.

The horse slows, rearing back and bucking hard. You hold your breath, watching Goose leave the saddle and slide right back into it. Another hard buck, her arms are tight, holding herself in the saddle as the horse tries its hardest to get her off. You don't think it's supposed to look so effortless.

You watch the rest of the show with bated breath, waiting for one of them to give an inch. You're unsurprissd when it's the horse that finally breaks, standing still and calm as Goose looks around the tent. Looks for you, you realize when her eyes land on you.

She gives the horse a little tap with her heels and directs it your way, giving the crowd a victory lap, and leaning dangerously far out of the saddle to set her warm brown hat on your head. You feel your cheeks starting to burn as she takes the horse back out of the ring, and disappears. You'd think you were dreaming if you couldn't feel the felt on you head.

You wait nervously by the exit. People file past you tossing you knowing winks. You don't pay them any mind, eyes searching for the woman who'd staked her claim on you.

A hand wraps around yours, tugging you all the way out of the tent before you can turn to face her. Goose raises a brow.

"Hope you didn't think I'd abandoned you," she beams, you shake your head and try not to lean away when she leans closer, peaking under the shadow of her hat, "Fuck you're cute. You got a sweetheart I need to be worried about?"

"No." You tell her quickly.

"No you're single or no I can take 'em?"

"I'm single," you let her tip your head back with two gentle fingers under your chin.

"Good, good girl." You mouth goes dry, and you think it isn't just the summer sun making your cheeks hot. She's not that much taller than you but her confidence makes her seem larger than life. "Come on then, let's enjoy the fair." Goose turns away from you, tugging you along behind her towards the festivities.

"We aren't going to-"

"Oh we are," she confirms, pulling you against her side as you walk, her fingers tightly laced with yours, "but I thought you might appreciate a little woo-ing first."

You very much do. You think she must've sensed you were nervous, because she makes every attempt at making you feel secure with her. She leads you through the fair with ease, treating you to fried goodies and barbecue, adjusting your stance with gentle touches when you take a turn at a shooting gallery. You make a valiant attempt at winning her a bear and end up with a shitty plastic top. She kisses your cheek with the same enthusiasm, and wins a bear for you in two clean shots.

The sun is setting when you finally get led towards the exit. You have to admit, you feel sufficiently wooed. You don't think you've ever had a date this attentive or fun. Even just talking to Goose as you walked around was a blast. She laughed at your jokes and told some horrendous ones in return, and now she was eagerly pressing you against the cab of an absolutely ancient pickup.

Her hand slides into your back pocket and drags you close, she cups your cheek as you wrap your arms around her shoulders and kiss her for all the trouble. Although given the way she smiles against your lips you think she must've had fun too. It certainly bodes well for you when she swipes her tongue against the seam of your lips. You wonder if you're too eager, shivering when she twists her tongue against your palette.

She slots her leg between yours and presses close, making sure you have no avenue of escape. As if you'd want to when she kisses you so hungrily. Her teeth catch your lip as she pulls back, nipping just to sooth the ache with another quick kiss.

"I know the saying is 'wear the hat, ride the cowboy,' but I can swing it either way you want." She murmurs, thumb rubbing your cheek, "Just give me the word, Sugar."

#woah shes bisexual bet you didnt know that #oc: goose #oc x reader #x reader #literally dont know what to tag this as... also wasnt sure what pronouns to use so its fairly nebulous aside from one good girl #fun Goose fact is that shes tall like 5'9“ or so #at least here #yall my sister says its weird u wanna fuck Goose since shes supposed to be a reader insert #but if u wanna fuck goose be my guest #she'll gladly take you home #cowboy!141 #since thats my general cowboy tag

[wilcze-kudly]

Sure we can rag on Bolin for not realising he joined the Earth Kingdom equivalent of the Nazi party and call him an idiot for it (deserved) but honestly I can't really fault him for it?

Like the ostrich effect is a thing and we are watching it in full effect here. We've seen that Bolin is a character that deals very poorly with conflict. Like it's super obvious he'd avoid standing up to Kuvira as much as he could.

One of Bolin's biggest hurdles as a character is that he is looking for a purpose, the rest of team Avatar having 'found themselves'. So it's not out of character for him to join Kuvira.

I feel like he's also compensating for the loss of Korra, who was in recovery at the time by following Kuvira.

It's very obvious that Korra had a huge impact on Bolin's life, as she did with all of Team Avatar. But Bolin had definetly attached himself very strongly to her. He's been following Mako around his entire life, been a follower for most of his life. And then his first real friendship outside of family follows a similar pattern.

Korra is like the perfect character for Bolin to project his weird codependency thing onto. She's an effortless leader, very forceful, decisive and straightforward. Someone who he can easily listen to and carve out a path he can follow. And following the Avatar around allows him to do something worthwile and good. To actually help. With the added benefit that it gets him people's approval, something he so clearly desperately needs and craves.

Then Korra becomes so injured that she has to be placed in physical therapy for an indeterminate ampunt of time.

So Bolin projects that need and codependency on someone else. Kuvira. In his argument with Mako he states it clear as day: 'I mean, Kuvira is basically just like Korra. She might seem hard to deal with, but just because she's so passionate and believes in what she's doing.'

He gets to continue doing good and making people like him while under very clear orders he can follow.

I mean, this boy is traumatised. Clearly, Mako took the brunt of the horrors of their childhood, but it would be incredibly stupid to say that Bolin isn't fucked up as well. Clearly in a different way but fucked up nonetheless. I think this codependency thing is something both brothers benefitted from as kids but that's a conversation for another day.

And the events of the first three books are also traumatic?

Like he's just been part of a civil war/end of the world so excuse him for hoping to catch a break. I will once again refer you to the ostrich effect. Another war breaking out is probably like worst case scenario in his mind.

I feel like for him, if he opens his eyes to what Kuvira is doing is accepting that there is once again a 'big conflict' in his life. And that his loved ones are once again in danger. And worse, that he's contributed to it.

I can also see it all being a case of 'well ive waded neck deep into this swamp, now i gotta see this through'. Like he's sunk so much time and energy into this cause, it can't be all wrong, right?

Sure, ego is probably a big part of his behaviour. Everyone is telling him that Kuvira is bad and that automatically puts up the defences. Bit I can see how these warnings feel like a direct personal attack at Bolin himself. He was also incredibly isolated from most of his friends when serving Kuvira. Other than Zhu Li and Varrick, who aren't exactly peers.

So he's lonely on a train most of his time and when he does reuinte with his loved ones they start criticising his life choices . I can see him getting defensive and automatically resistant to critisism.

And Kuvira is also shown to be very good at emotuonal manipulation and threats and stuff. And Bolin, a chronic people pleaser whith a lot of trauma is, like, the perfect victim for those shenanigans. Bolin is canonically bad at reading situations that are detrimental to him (look at the entirety of his relationship with Eska)

You know, sure, he's an idiot for staying with her as long as he did. But it's not as black and white as a lot of people make it out to be?

#bolin is a much more complex character than most people give him credit #bro i made it that deep #it is so late rn and im rambling about the silly lavaboy #bolin #tlok bolin #kuvira #korra #avatar korra #mako #tlok mako #tlok #lok #the legend of korra #legend of korra #avatar the legend of korra #atlok #earth empire

[patricedumonde]

Deep Dive: Maria Koshkaryova’s Debut as Gamzatti

21 October 2023 — Masha's debut as Gamzatti in La Bayadere was a shock to many, and for good reason. This role requires not just technical proficiency but also maturity, and heavy acting. To make things more interesting, she was side by side Ekaterina Krysanova who became principal in 2011 and Vladislav Lantratov who became principal in 2013. For a dancer who just graduated 4 months ago, this wasn't just a challenging task, it was also impossible.

That said, let's go through some scenes that could have easily been corrected prior to the debut.

On the left, Maria Koshkaryova and on the right, Eleonora Sevenard.

This might be a hot take, but despite male dancers not being the center of attention in a pas de deux, I actually fully expect them to lead (Like in ballroom dancing.) In the movement above, I expected Vladislav to at least initiate eye-contact with Masha; this way, Masha would feel more comfortable to look at him as well. You'll notice the difference with the partnering of Elya. Instead of the movements looking hurried, you can see that there is a slight pause when they look at each other.

Here, there is clearly a lack of blocking. Masha should have turned instead of shuffling back. This way she can 1. See where she should go and 2. Look confident in doing so. This was likely from a hasty preparation for the role. There's simply too many moving parts for her to learn.

On the bright side, I thought her Italian fouettés were good. Excruciatingly slow, just how I like them! The fouettés, she played it safe by going with all single turns and honestly, I thought that was a smart decision. Incoming explanation on why.

Falling off balance here wasn't an accident, it was a blunder. She went for the 2.5 turns instead of a clean 1.5 you see on the right side. The clip on the right is perfect. Good preparation, clear spot, and solid landing.

One of the things I love about Gamzatti is that you can add a lot of embelishment to every movement. Maybe it comes with time and experience, but instead of just switching profiles here, Masha could have really emphasized more with her hands. Literally, a swish and flick could have added a lot.

JUMPS. The height is there. The look to the audience on the second jump could have been held much longer. Most importantly, the arms should be more controlled. When Masha braces herself before each jump, it isn't clear if she's passing through first position or even at a bras bas. When there's too much change and lack of clarity with the arm movements, the jumps don't seem effortless.

Here's a clip of Elya in the same part of the variation and she chose to be more consistent. (This is the part where the author realizes that she is a big fan of cleanliness and clarity which extends to her preference of risk-averse dancers)

Let's move on to arguably the hardest part, which is why I won't dwell on it too long. I will stand by my earlier statement, I cannot believe they would let her go against Ekaterina Krysanova, who is 20 years her senior. Especially in a confrontation scene like this, the disparity is palpable. Masha needed more confidence here and instead, it looked a bit apprehensive.

On the left, she should have been more "in your face" and she should have invaded Ekaterina Krysanova's space a lot more. After the first arabesque, that must have been 2-3 feet, she should have approached much closer than that.

Throughout this scene, I felt that Masha's facial expression remained unchanged. At the beginning, Gamzatti should be more accusatory and by the end, she should be full on, taunting. In all fairness, I can somewhat see it in the movement.

I saved this for last as it really stood out to me. The fall did not make sense. However, it would have made a lot more sense if she already came from a kneeling position! I would have preferred if she decided to beg on her knees, AND THEN fall in the manner that she did. It just seemed physically weird because of the way Ekaterina pushed her.

Honestly, this is all I am willing to go over. The first person to blame here would be whoever casted this. The second, maybe, would be her coach who agreed with that decision.

I see that the consensus here is that this debut is premature, and it is. Masha is a talented dancer. If you have seen her other debuts and felt that she was unprepared, surely it makes sense now, right? Imagine learning all those new roles on top of learning the entirety of Gamzatti's in La Bayadere.

C'est impossible.

#russian ballet #bolshoi ballet #maria koshkaryova #deep dive #ballet #ballet review #dancer updates #la bayadere #gamzatti

[sokkastyles]

Do you think Toph was jealous (that might be a strong word) of Katara natural femininity And how easy being girly was for katara? It’s just that when they argue they do project some of their own insecurities onto each so it got me wondering. Maybe katara was jealous of toph toughness idk?? Thought?

Oh, absolutely. I don't think that's interpretation so much as textual fact.

I see a lot of discussions of this that take one side or the other, but I think Toph and Katara's relationship is a great portrayal of how gender expectations harm girls in multiple ways, and also can turn them against each other, and people who only take Katara's side or Toph's are missing the point.

Toph is jealous of Katara's natural femininity, and that has to do with why she disdains it, but not because she's a misogynist or she hates girls or whatever, but because those are expectations her parents tried to force on her. A lot of what it is popular on the internet to label as "not like other girls" behavior, in a way that implies that being NLOG is a bad thing, are girls who are rebelling against forced gender expectations. Toph is both an abuse victim and a disabled girl whose disability was used in conjunction both to force her to fit a certain gender standard and keep her dependant on parents who were emotionally abusive, and to reinforce how the nature of her disability meant that she would never fit certain gendered standards. I've written about this before, how Toph can't be totally comfortable with makeup because even when she enjoys getting made up and looking pretty, other people can look at her and know that she didn't do it herself, like the girls in the episode who make fun of her for it. Toph enjoys looking pretty but she also has no control over what she looks like and can't even see it for herself, so that also clashes with her trauma over needing to be independent and distance herself from what her parents wanted her to be, a girl who sits still and looks pretty and is there for other people to look at. Makeup as empowerment is all well and good, but it doesn't work that way for people who have certain disabilities, and there is a lot of ableism in makeup culture. Eyeliner that's perfectly on point isn't always possible for women who have vision problems or neurodivergence, and women who wear makeup are supposed to look perfect but make it look effortless at the same time, and that is naturally going to exclude a lot of people, especially disabled people. The show illustrates that beautifully without condemning one way to be a girl or the other.

At the same time, Katara is jealous of Toph for the way she gets to be "one of the boys," and gets respect from Sokka and Aang in ways that she doesn't. See her anxiety over everyone thinking she is no fun and acts like a mom. Katara is a nurturing person and that's one of her stengths, but she also is a kid who wants to have fun, too. And just because being the "mom friend" is natural for her doesn't mean it isn't hard on her. Just because Katara seems to fit gender expectations a little easier than Toph doesn't mean she doesn't feel the weight of those expectations, and even women who fit gender expectations also get derided for them, because patriarchy both tells women they need to be a certain way and then hates them for it. See Sokka making fun of Katara for sewing but absolutely expecting her to mend his pants. I think Katara also thinks that Toph should be on her side, as a fellow girl. Katara is so starved for female companionship and resents it when it appears that Toph is siding against her, because she's feeling the weight of those expectations. And Toph doesn't always understand that, and thinks Katara's attempts to bond with her are trying to force gender expectations on her in the way her parents did.

#katara #toph #ableism cw #misogyny cw

[floor031]

re my last rb: my ranking of nami's favourite partners for general illegal activities whenever they hit a new island, pre & post-timeskip, including but not limited to:

swindling

scamming

small-scale grifting

gambling (& therefore cheating at gambling)

small-scale heisting (ones that require infiltration or more subtlety than usual)

ok let's go

pre-ts (pre-grand line):

zoro - it's so fun to get dramatic with him. he's very perceptive, he always plays along no matter what, he knows when to push the intimidation (and is very good at it. eternal attack dog privilege ftw) & when to dial back. he also knows nami best/longest out of them, though that quickly stops making a difference in most contexts

usopp - OBVIOUSLY!! he is quite literally perfect in every grift you can think of. the only problem is that he starts fumbling when the other party at, say, the casino gets a lil too threatening/seems to be catching on. whereas nami (& zoro) chase the adrenaline he doesn't like to toe the line TOO much.

sanji - automatic 3rd b/c she gets annoyed with how he can't function when a hot woman so much as breathes his way (she doesn't even scam other women! not when she can help it!) or if it's a grift that requires him to get the least bit touchy with her. but he IS objectively GOOD at it.

GREAT WALL OF CHINA

400. luffy - she does not let him grift OR gamble with her. subtlety of a fucking toddler. derails every single grift/mini heist. NEGATIVE poker face, ESPECIALLY when he's actively trying. when she's forced to bring him along though he always notices something she hasn't because he is bizarrely perceptive like that, he just doesn't really care. unfortunately this also means he doesn't always care to inform her about what he observes. (luffy: "but you told me to keep quiet!!") he also has really good luck so if he manages to stay quiet and not attract attention he can act as a good luck charm. however that is impossible

(later) pre-ts:

usopp - everything stays the same AND he's getting better at keeping his cool. what's not to love. this is their bonding activity

zoro - nami has learned the hard way that they both CANNOT take themselves seriously for long when they are required to get touchy. he's also demoted bc he refuses to part with his swords, which is really quite inconvenient if she wants him to be her partner for, say, a gala dinner they're sneaking into.

sanji - still 3rd but a closer 3rd now!! stay strong sansan!! more on earlier, grifting with him isn't as effortless/fun as it is w usopp or zoro but that is in no way due to lack of skill on his part. he's not just good at landing a cover; he's strategic like zoro and flexible like usopp. plus, he just FITS into a high class setting with the seamlessness that neither usopp nor zoro have which makes him very, very useful for grifts requiring more formality. however due to his also aforementioned flaws he cannot hit top 2 im (not) sorry...... ALSO! this is partly bc im so sanamipilled but i do think that she's grown to enjoy the touchiness sometimes - and now she can admit it to herself. 's a fun little excuse for her to indulge sanji a bit, especially if their mark for the night is easy

robin - she is last bc she is usually simply not interested in all that. however she will creep people out with her general aura when needed!

post-ts:

usopp - everything is just so easy with him x2. they fall back into their dynamic and it's perfect and even BETTER than before because they're both a little out of practice after 2 years, but they've also both got new tricks up their sleeves. they don't get as many chances TO grift anymore in the new world though. always onto the next big adventure. plus now she's notorious enough that people actually RECOGNISE her in bigger cities/towns (she's not too happy about this)

sanji - he's been promoted :) but also demoted especially freshly post-ts bc of fishman island related crimes.

zoro - he doesn't let nami convince him into grifting with her anymore :-(( but if nami still requires someone to stand menacingly behind her as she extorts some rando then [mbappe voice] He Will Be There No Matter What

luffy stays the same :p

chopper is too young to be engaging in these activities & franky and brook are wayy too conspicuous. jinbei just joined they do not have the time for that shit yet. also i havent read beyond wano

#op #one piece #strawhats #straw hat pirates #east blue crew #nami #usopp #zoro #sanji #luffy #robin #qin poast

[painted-bees]

Can you tell us about a time Magritte was surprised (in a good way) at Raf's behavior or vice versa?

aw, this is a cute ask haha

Let's see here... Raf is very frequently surprised by Magritte's behavior; she's not really like anyone one else he's gotten to know before, and the way she responds to obstacles and failure, he finds very inspiring. She's remarkably adaptable and doesn't have very high expectations of anything, ever. But--not in a cynical 'always expecting the worst' kind of way. Rather, she just seems constantly surprised and delighted when things go well, or something nice happens--and is very rarely upset to any significant capacity when things don't go as planned. A very, genuinely "it is what it is!" kind of person who'll make things work with the hand they've been delt. Magritte herself is just one big, ongoing, pleasant surprise in Raf's life haha

I guess there are two comics that already show instances where Magritte has been kinda taken off guard/surprised by Raf's playfulness

x

x

But she's also endlessly surprised by Raf's seemingly effortless gestures of support for her music. I mean, once she moves in, the guest room--her room--slowly finds itself furnished with more and more instruments and music supplies. Things that Raf purchases with no desire to use himself, but he knows Magritte will make excellent use of.

But beyond even this, she has been more than surprised on the rare occasions when Raf has gone out of his way to pull strings for her with regards to her musical career specifically. It's not something she'd ever dare to ask of him, but Raf gets really tired and fed-up on her behalf after seeing her try to seize opportunity after opportunity to get her work recognized, and receiving rejection after rejection. A lot of it is just due to the fact that she doesn't come across as very professional--unless you only listen to her music. Attempting to speak to her in a professional context, she seems incapable of composing herself properly for longer than a few minutes at a time before her own excitement unravels her. She's very giggly, and wiggly, and her vocabulary is unrefined and childish, and sometimes rather crass. She doesn't know how to talk about her own music, or how to explain her process in a way that makes sense to anyone who isn't her. She doesn't have a way to describe why she makes certain choices with her musical compositions... She comes off as very young, inexperienced, and unreliable.

And, though it frustrates him to no end, Raf can't blame anyone for reading her this way. After all, he was rather quick to do so himself when he first met her. It was only thanks to an uncharacteristic nibble of curiosity in the back of his mind that he felt there was more to Magritte and her music than first impressions led on. Sure enough, Magritte is the closest he's ever met to what he'd comfortably describe as a 'genius'. He hates the word, having been called a 'genius' for much of his life growing up and knowing that what he accomplished was only possible due to forfeiting his childhood to hours of endless hard work and practice--and the tyrannical manner in which his parents funded and 'supported' his career. But he doesn't really know what other word exists to describe Magritte's sheer aptitude for music. The way she approaches and applies certain concepts is not something that he feels can be taught, it's a unique perspective she has that he can't even fully understand. Her brain, it seems, is just wired differently. And she could change people's lives with that unique perspective of hers, the same way she has changed his...

If only she had the proper structures of support to back her up.

Raf does not like calling in favors, or being made to feel like he owes anyone anything. And so, when he goes out of his way, unrequested, to get her booked as a performing musician at one of Vancouver's many highly attended music festivals (on the condition that he also play and allow his name to be used as part of the promotional materials), Magritte is elated to tears and beyond words haha

#Hi-Note #magritte #rafael

[acupofqueercoffee]

“The moon that chases the sunflower”

Lady Lesso x Female Reader

Request by @anonymous

Hi, I really love your writing style, you're so talented 🥹🥹 I was wondering if you could do a lady Lesso x reader in which reader is already in a relationship with lesso and she's kind of innocent and still a virgin but lesso isn't aware of that so, whenever things become heated between them, reader backs off because she's insecure and she's scared that once lesso finds out about this she's going to break up with reader. When it happens again Lesso confronts the reader and once she finds out what the problem was she's extremely soft and understanding with her and tells her that she's going to wait whenever she feels ready but then it ends with their real first time. If you can make it extremely soft and fluffy, with Leonora being a bit goofy and extra gentle to make reader more comfortable. Thanks in advance, and sorry if this request might seem dumb 😅😅

awwn thank you so much! o(>ω<)o your request is not at all dumb! i’m so happy that you like my writing enough to send something in. sorry for the delay tho (this is to all the ppl whose requests i’ve yet to finish ꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) anywho, i hope you’ll find this satisfactory dear anon.

───────────────────────────────────

Some instances in life are nothing short of mysterious. One such instance includes that of a sunflower, ordinary except for her deep devotion not to her creator, the sun but to the beautiful, enigmatic moon. To the little sunflower who, since birth, has followed the sun, it is not the sun’s bright golden beam, but the moon’s silvery shine that truly fascinates her the most.

Every day, she chases the sun as it is her duty, soaking in her golden warmth, all the while longing to be enveloped in the silky coolness of her beloved moon. Every night, in a sea of sleeping sunflowers, one stands silently awake, drawn towards the moon like a moth to a flame. She admires from afar the moon’s otherworldliness; charming, curious and unequivocally out of her reach. She envies the stars that surround her beloved moon, watches with a melancholic tilt to her lips as they entertain her dearest with their dazzling twinkles and allures.

Yes. That’s right. Rejoice. Rejoice, for her happiness, after all, is my happiness.

On the very same night that the sunflower has quietly, dejectedly uttered her terrible confession, the moon declares her love for the sunflower. Although it has come as a shock, it has been a delightful shock nonetheless, and crazy in love, the sunflower unreservedly believes her.

You are the sunflower, and the moon, your lover: none other than the wicked and the wonderful, the evil and the enchanting Leonora Lesso.

She is nothing but a delightful bundle of warmth, you learn rather quickly, always kind and considerate despite her cool front and her sharp tongue. She is sweet in the way she cares for you, soft in the way she caresses your body. Her love for you is genuine, unconditional, unmistakably conveyed in her every little gesture, but unfortunately, it is the very fact itself that breeds insecurities.

The woman whom you have been enamoured of after all this time has also been in love with you. Is it not a little too good to be true?

What if she finds out that you are not what she wants, that you are not what she believes to be you? What if she decides that your lack of experience makes you a bore? Worst of all, what if she comes to realise that it has always only been a passing fancy and nothing more? Too many questions and too little courage to seek answers, due to which many a belly-butterfly-inducing moment has been ruined by deeply-rooted doubts that occasionally rear their ugly heads.

A caress of her lips can effortless reduce you to your knees, but every devastatingly delicious moment that has you craving more and more of your lover is always tailed by what-ifs and what-nots. In the face of doubts, you have foolishly done what you do best: cowering away from the one thing that you desperately desire. As absurd as your excuses are, and as frustrating as it must be for her, she has, thus far, released you without so much as a complaint. Understandably, her forbearance can only extend so far, and with another little tug from you, it reaches breaking point.

“I know that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea but alas,…” The smile that touches her lips appears fragile. Meanwhile, disappointment laces the voice that finds your ears as the tentative pad of a thumb traces the bone of your cheek. “…it did not occur to me that my own lover could find me undesirable.”

Leonora Lesso, undesirable? What nonsense is this woman talking?!

You express your denial together with an adamant shake of your head.

“You’re sorely mistaken. I-”

“Don’t.”

The beautiful face in front of you crumples as if you have physically maimed her. Fingers flee your face, silver nails leaving soft kisses along your jaw while a pair of dark stilettos carry your lover two steps farther away from you.

“I can understand if you don’t want me, but do not take me for a fool.”

When you advance to close the distance between the two of your bodies, she rejects you by taking a step back. It is the delicate feel of your touch on her face that makes her hesitate, foxy eyes falling shut as soon as your fingers crawl onto the chiselled plane of her cheek.

“Oh Leo, how can I not desire you? You’re my dream come true, everything I’ve ever wanted and so much more.” Graceful digits, like a snug bracelet, catch your wrist whereas a face, like that of a touch-starved kitten, nuzzles your palm.

“Then, why? Why do you keep denying me?”

“I’ve never desired anyone else in my entire life the way I desire you. It’s a beautiful, irresistible feeling that becomes progressively powerful, but on the other hand, it does not come without challenges.” Your face seeks solace in the little dip of your lover’s throat, voice but a whisper when you divulge your secret. “I’m scared, Leo.”

“Tell me. What is it that you’re afraid of?”

She responds to the tightening of your grip on her coat by enveloping you in her arms. They hold you with so much care and delicacy, and yet, at the same time, her touch is strong and dependable, instantly offering you a sense of comfort and security. Emboldened by the new-found courage, you establish eye contact before answering resolutely.

“Failing you.”

“You foolish girl, don’t you know that I’m hopelessly in love with you?” Your chin is gingerly plucked between a forefinger and a thumb. “As long as I can have you in my arms, I care not for the rest. If it is time you need, I’ll merrily wait for you until you feel ready.” The pink blossom of a smile is sweetly pressed onto your lips, followed immediately by another cottony-soft kiss that is dropped atop your nose.

A beat of silence.

And then, you speak.

“I think I am. Ready that is.”

“Are you quite certain?”

“Have me, my Leo. I want you so bad it aches. Please have your way with me.”

“Delighted to oblige.”

She scribes poetry on your body, the stars that you have envied so much kissed into the very swell of your breasts, clusters of nebulae exploding beneath a mouth so wicked that with every suction and nibble, the dizzying twirls of her tongue has liquid lava pooling in your gut.

Once she finds satisfaction in her craft, her signature stays as a violet bloom on your hipbone. Coaxing one leg over her shoulder, warm lips ghost along the inside of your thigh while her sun-soaked strands softly kiss your knee.

The sunflower has spent the better part of her life gazing longingly upon the moon, always convinced that her devotion is, and will remain unrecognised for evermore, but presently, it is her dearest magnificent moon who has her glittering gaze fixed upon her, admiring the sunflower as though she is a goddess worthy of worship.

Your lover has one arm twined round your waist with her other hand locking around the swell of your thigh, soft flesh yielding beneath her fingertips. Meanwhile, in the sultry green of her eyes, you catch a glimpse of yourself; cheeks sanguine, lips swollen, and drenched in love bites, you look a salacious mess.

“Leo, I-ngh!”

Upon feeling the unexpected flat of a tongue between your folds, your lips fall open in a gasp. Fleeting though the touch is, the vibration from the moan that follows thereupon has your thighs quivering around a head that wears maroon mane like a crown of flaming rubies.

“Oh sweetling, you taste devilishly divine.”

Your eyes are greeted by a cheeky grin, the face of your lover the very picture of a sly fox.

“If it soothes you, my charming princess,…” After carefully unfurling your digits to release the death grip on the bedsheets, she guides your hand to her head, allowing your fingers to sink into her hair. “…do with me what you will.”

Lips stamp a dewy kiss onto your thigh before a mischievous smile finds home on them.

“Bon appétit.” So she drawls in that low sultry timbre, that tantalising tucks on your heartstrings.

You may suppose that it is her consuming you, but little do you know, she is in fact consumed by you, both body and mind, as every little mewl, every little curve of your back, every little curl of your digits amongst her strands, and every little flutter of your walls colour her downright untamed. Despite her irresistible hunger for you, she is nothing but soft and controlled in the way she handles you.

She is your devoted puppet and you, her beloved puppeteer as she dances to your every demand, always heedful of your body’s responses.

By the time your heels dig into her muscled back along with your back arching off the mattress, she doubles her efforts, seeks the little bundle of nerves and sucks it into her mouth, intent on safely escorting you to the highest of ecstasies.

It does not take much longer than a twirl and two of her tongue for you to see stars, thighs trembling helplessly as you fall apart in your lover’s embrace. The eruption of copious juices spills into the awaiting mouth of your lover, and ravenous, she laps it up down to the last drop.

When she goes to lie down beside you, you cosy up into the curve of her body, and all too happily, she receives you, cradling your naked waist as lips pepper warm delicate kisses along the sweaty plane of your forehead.

“You were so good for me darling. Simply exquisite.”

In the gentle glow of the moon, swaddled in her loving arms and drenched in rhapsodies of praises, the sunflower thrives.

────────────────────

#lady lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso x reader #leonora lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso #lady lesso #leonora lesso #character x reader #charlize theron #charlize theron x reader #the school for good and evil #sge movie #sge #sge netflix #insecurity #fluffy #soft smut

[wordbunch]

Their love song (Taylor Swift edition) > The Rings of Power characters

a/n: welcome to my little self-indulgent celebration of 700 followers! 🥳 EVEN IF you're not a fan/don't know the songs, I hope you can still like and support this fic - a lot of time and love went into it! and by all means come talk to me about it or suggest your own songs! love you all so much and thank you for reading my stories and being a wonderful community 💕

HALBRAND ♡ cruel summer

Please look at these lyrics and tell me it isn't just perfect for him!! You never really planned on falling for him, ever, but alas, something captivated you - his eyes looking down on you from a height difference, the way he seemed to understand you more than anyone else in certain moments, and how he was adamant to be around you. He was very cocky and confident when you admitted it at last.

ARONDIR ♡ peace

Maybe you come from different backgrounds, but there is nothing that you wouldn't do for each other. He is very protective of you, but he is also cautious because he never wants you to be in danger because of him. Although your relationship can be judged negatively, the only important thing is what the two of you feel for one another - true love.

ELENDIL ♡ labyrinth

Things haven't exactly been easy after his wife suddenly died, and he had mixed feelings about moving on; somehow, with you it was kind of effortless and unexpectedly natural. He struggled with it within himself for some time, but you were understanding and supportive the whole time, and he began feeling much better when he accepted his developing feelings for you.

CELEBRIMBOR ♡ lover

Honestly, he kind of is a magnetic force, and he would also be a total romantic to his partner and spoil them in so many ways. Admittedly, he's lived through a lot of things and challenges, but ending up with you seemed like a reward at the end of everything, and he never wants to let you go.

GALADRIEL ♡ daylight

She certainly has her struggles and her mind can be a very occupied place, so she really didn't expect to find captivating romantic love among all the mess. You bring brightness and warmth to her life like nobody else, and she lights up when she is around you, especially when the two of you are alone.

ISILDUR ♡ blank space

He is still quite young and impulsive, and everything else that comes with it, and also naturally curious and a bit of a troublemaker - never a dull moment. When you two first met, you didn't think it would go anywhere, but quickly you fell for his reckless charm, and decided to give it a go anyways. It's a passionate and unpredictable relationship which can end at any time, but he is so wrapped around your finger that you highly doubt it.

VALANDIL ♡ sparks fly

He is also crazy, young and exciting, but something won't let you let him go. He is aware of his strengths and he knows how to play them exactly right to keep you on your toes and crazy about him. Maybe it isn't the most stable of relationships, but hey, as long as you're having a good time!

GIL-GALAD ♡ gorgeous

He is so royal and classy and naturally, captivated your attention within mere seconds in his presence. At first you might have been a little intimidated (who wouldn't be?) and you had mixed feelings within yourself - he surely already had someone, so you decided it would be best to wait for him to approach you. Years and years later, you both like to jokingly reminisce on those moments.

BRONWYN ♡ new year's day

Life can be tough, and people can be difficult to deal with, but the two of you have each other's back through it all. While you have your arguments and disagreements occasionally, and maybe someone judges your relationship, at the end of the day there is nobody else that the two of you would rather share your troubles with.

ELROND ♡ you are in love

This sweet soul had to get this song assigned to him! Your love bloomed steadily over centuries of close friendship and understanding, you shared a quiet, unspoken bond, and it was just the most natural thing ever. It eventually became difficult to pinpoint when exactly it turned into something more than platonic, because for so long it had been the two of you together, side by side.

✨ taglist my beloved ✨ @lotrnonsense​​​​​​ @starlady66​​​​​​ @queenmeriadoc​​ @entishramblings @thesolarangel @silversword7000 @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @averys-place @valkyriepirate @emmaarenstarr @noldorinpainter @asianbutnotjapanese @adamgetawaydriver @fenharel-enaste @ironmandeficiency    @starryeyedrogue​​ @dinofromspac3 ​​  @wisheduponastar @lady-of-imladris @frodo-cinnamonroll @unethicallypleistocene @deadlymistletoe @suncran @high-sea-husbands @asianbutnoteastasian @aidansloth @sweetpea-thoughts

I TAGGED EVERYONE CAUSE IT'S A FOLLOWER SPECIAL OK <3

#rings of power x reader #rings of power imagine #the rings of power #trop x reader #trop fanfiction #rop fanfiction #rop imagine #elrond x reader #elrond fanfiction #halbrand x reader #arondir x reader #elrond imagine #celebrimbor x reader #gil-galad x reader #galadriel x reader #elendil x reader #isildur x reader #bronwyn x reader #rings of power #from my pocketses

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

💞 Obvious 💞

Summary; There's a new guy that has joined Hellfire and y/n takes an interest in him. Eddie is not happy.

Warnings; Jealous Eddie, fluff.

💞💫

There was a new member of The Hellfire Club, his name was James and y/n was pretty enamoured by him.

He hadn't been in the club long but was an excellent D&D player and a lot of the boys especially Dustin worshipped him.

She couldn't help but admit that he was very, very cute, his brown eyes were gorgeous and he had an effortless sort of confidence that she really admired.

As she headed into Hellfire that night she had made a little effort with her appearance.

"Are you wearing lipstick?". Gareth asks baffled as she joins him at the table and Eddie looks at her curious.

Truthfully Eddie had been her crush for so long, she fell head over heels for him but he always seemed interested in girls like Chrissy Cunningham. The popular, pretty type so she kinda gave up on him ever liking her back.

She and Eddie were friends but they weren't best friends or anything like he was with Gareth and the others and she worried that she didn't mean as much to him as the guys did.

It wasn't like she had been a member long either, only six months.

James's arrival brings her out of her reverie and she beams at him. "Hi, James".

"Hey sweetheart, did you like that movie I recommended for you?". She nods and tries to remember Chrissy's advice on how to flirt because usually, she was god damn terrible at it.

"Yeah. It was a little scary in some parts would have been nice to not watch it alone". She bats her eyes at him and hopes she doesn't look like a fluttery idiot.

"What are you talking about? You loved it. You weren't scared at all". Dustin pipes up and she glares at him, that little shit.

The chatter about D&D takes over and they settle down to play the game. It's a short campaign and James approaches her once they have finished up.

"Good game". He says smiling at her and she feels flushed at his compliment. "You too".

Gareth grins and makes kissy faces at her behind her back and Mike sniggers, she glares at them both. Eddie has a strange expression on his face as he watches her with James.

"I'll see you tomorrow gorgeous". He winks and as soon as he leaves Gareth is teasing her.

"Oh, James, you're so handsome, have you been working out? Kiss me please". He chuckes and she glares at him.

"Asshole, imagine if he saw what you were doing. I'd be so embarrassed". She huffs and Jeff pipes up.

"You so have a type by the way. No wonder you like him. The long hair, brown eyes, and tattoos. He looks exactly like... She glares daggers at him and she peers nervously over at Eddie.

Eddie is watching the whole exchange with his eyes narrowed and he slams down the D&D manual.

It startles all of them. "Eddie, are you okay?". She asks concerned. He nods and helps tidy up quickly before heading out slamming the door behind him and leaving the lot of them very confused.

💫

For the next fortnight, James is very flirty and Eddie seems to get very brooding and moodier. He snapped at her and James for holding up the campaign with their flirting.

They weren't. However, Eddie doesn't seem to listen. It upsets her because her love for him still lingers very heavily.

She likes James, she does but Eddie is her dream guy, she just isn't his dream girl or someone he would remotely ever be interested in and she's trying to deal with that.

Sometimes she wonders if he's jealous but she dismisses that theory quickly.

Tonight is particularly tense at Hellfire, Eddie is pissed about something and James is acting off, he seems strangely nervous.

She exchanges confused looks with Dustin because she doesn't know what is going on.

Lucas bravely speaks up. "Uh, is everything okay Eddie? James?".

James gives them all a charming smile. "Of course, Eddie and I just had a minor disagreement". Eddie scoffs.

"If that's how you want to put it". He mutters his eyes flashing.

"He's just being overprotective that's all". James says good-naturedly and she notices Eddie silently fuming. She walks up to him concerned and touches his arm.

"Eddie?". He softens.

"I'm fine sweetheart". He isn't, he looks very conflicted over something.

"Eddie just misunderstood the situation, that's all". James pipes up and Eddie's expression changes to one of pure anger.

"I didn't misunderstand anything dick, care to explain why you have been flirting with y/n for weeks when you have a girlfriend?".

The guys gasp and she turns around to glower at James. She isn't as upset as she thought she would be, just pissed off.

"Seriously? So what you would have dated us both at once?". She asks him furious and his expression darkens.

"Bet you took great pleasure in saying that huh? Considering the fact you're in love with y/n". He barks at Eddie.

Wait... What?

"Get out". Eddie snarls and she can see the pink tinge in his cheeks. Her heart skips a beat.

James stands his ground and Eddie looks down at the floor downcast. "Well, now you know, I understand that you don't feel the same way". He says resigned.

All this time and he felt the same.

"I thought you had a crush on Chrissy?". She murmurs.

"No, That crush was and ended ages ago princess, you've been it for me since we met. I fell completely in love with you"

James is still whining in the background but she ignores him.

She walks up to Eddie and smiles, strokes his cheek and kisses him. He kisses her back wrapping his arms around her. He pulls away and kisses her forehead.

"I'm sorry, I was so moody sweetheart. I was jealous. I should have just told you". She cuddles into him.

"Ditto, I'm in love with you too Ed's". James gapes looking back and forth between them both.

"Freaks, the lot of you". He storms out. Idiot she thinks as she watches him go and Eddie sighs contented.

"I can't believe you're mine. Been dreaming about this day princess". He tells her and he's staring at her like she's the most precious thing in the world to him.

"How could the two if you not realise how the other felt? It was so obvious" Mike inquires looking genuinely baffled.

"I know dude', Jeff agrees, Gareth and I had a bet going. He owes me 50 bucks". Eddies eyes narrow.

"You bet on us!". He seethes and they both seem suddenly interested in restarting the campaign.

Eddie shakes his head exasperated and they go back to the campaign with identical loving grins on their faces.

💞💫💞💫

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine

[xopinkroses]

DMC boys + Lady when Reader is catcalled♥

Summary; How Dante, Vergil, Nero and Lady would react to you being cat called in front of them Warnings; Cat calling, mentions of violence, mentions of harassment

Just a lil something I wrote after having two weird run ins with the same random guy in the past 36 hours :)

MASTERLIST🌸

Dante

Dante shuts him down with humour, in such a suave and effortless way that only he could ever pull off. He’s not looking for a fight, and he knows you’re a big girl that can handle yourself just fine. If the cat caller continues to harass you, he’s gonna be in for a world of humiliation. No one does insults funnier than Dante, and this guy is about to find this out the hard way. Anyone walking by is going to be in for a show, some kid is inevitably going to start filming and a crowd is forming. He’s going to be all casual about it too, as he absolutely destroys the guy. Tearing someone a new asshole has never looked so effortless but what do you expect from the legendary demon hunter in red? When, and only when, he feels the guy has had enough, (namely when he’s crying) he’ll lazily sling his arm around your shoulder and steer you away from the creep, and the audience. You’re safe with Dante and there are no casualties! Unless you count your cat caller’s pride and self esteem.

Vergil

Vergil will not stand for you being disrespected in such a crude manner. Even if you are willing to just ignore the man and go on your way, Vergil is not. What kind of partner/friend would he be if he didn’t defend your honour? His anger is a flurry of ice and stone just underneath his skin, he stares the man down with cold eyes that promise endless suffering. He will not leave until the man apologises to you, which is, unsurprisingly, easy for Vergil to intimidate him into doing. A few well executed threats of disembowelment and that furious stare, and the man is basically begging for your forgiveness. After he has apologised for his actions, if you seem especially uncomfortable, Vergil will let the guy off with a warning. But if the creep hit a particularly sensitive nerve, things might escalate. Sure, Vergil’s days of raising towers and killing were over, but it is wise not to mess with a son of Sparda, and especially not mess with anyone he cares about. 

Nero

Nero doesn’t necessarily want to fight anyone, but if he sees someone treat you like anything less than the amazing human that you are… You will have to diffuse the situation yourself, because Nero sure as hell isn’t going to. He’s more than happy to add some fuel to this trash fire. If you grab onto his arm and gently pull at him, he’ll probably let you guide him away. But, say you are too slow and aren’t able to grab him. You’re going to be dragging him off of the guy, kicking and screaming. Nero is a hotheaded guy on a good day and extremely protective of you. On a good day you’ll be able to coax him out of a physical confrontation, but he won't be happy about it. Count on him grumbling about the degenerate for the rest of the day. And on a bad day? You'll probably have to bail him out of jail.  Just the facts, babe.

Lady

Lady doesn’t consider herself to be especially overprotective. She trusts you to take care of yourself, and knows that you’ll tell her if anything bothers you. But when some creep approaches you in the street and begins leering down at you and making inappropriate comments, she definitely considers all the difference ways she could murder take care of him. Of which there are many (her favourite being death by rocket launcher), As a woman, she has dealt with her fair share of cat callers and oftentimes they leave the scenario with broken fingers. She isn't about to let this scumbaggery slide! Your cat caller messed with the wrong person, because Lady is putting him in his place– in the dirt where he belongs. If all he did was cat call, he'll be lucky enough to escape with only a few injuries and promises of hell to come if she sees him again. If he went even further… pray for him. You're gonna be patching up her poor, bruised knuckles later. 

~ 🖤

#devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #dmc x reader #dante x reader #vergil x reader #nero x reader #lady x reader #dmc imagines #dmc headcanons

[celira]

day 23

"What a remarkable child," said one of the stuffy researchers to her dad. There was Dad, and there was Father, and Dad was listening to the speaker raptly, ready to soak up any evidence that his child – while objectively a fairly standard specimen of the Sixth, ten fingers and toes, mostly in standard development range, cleared by Genetics – was special. 

"I've rarely known one so young to be so unafraid of the dark," they continued. It seemed equally possible that this was true or that the researcher was trying to suck up to Dad because he had better access privileges than they did, but either way, Dad turned to her, beaming. She was bent studiously over her revisions and doing, she thought, a fairly convincing job of looking like she was also not listening to the conversation. 

Dad might not have been convinced; he said, while looking at her, "Our Milla isn't afraid of many things at all," and she said, unable to help herself, "Ca-milla," and the jig was well and truly up. Both the adults beamed at her in that way she found grating, the one that said she'd done something amusing for reasons she couldn't quite understand, so she turned back to her revising.

"Unnervingly fearless, really," Dad continued. "Sometimes I wonder what'll happen when she experiences actual fear for the first time. Maybe it'll be a novelty."

Camilla in her twenties no longer found it novel. Blinded by the headlamp in front of her, ringed by the shadowy night behind her, faced with Hopers off the leash, she knew fear. Half sick of shadows, she thought, and couldn't remember what dusty tome in the Stacks she was quoting. 

What Dad hadn't fully understood, even then, was that she was hardly fearless – but fear didn't make her act. The gunshot flying past her side didn't make her flinch. The increasingly agitated foreign words spat around her didn't move her hands. 

The gunshot that went into the water where Nona screamed in warning did, and what's more, it moved him. She dropped to the ground in a deep lunge, knives drawn in an effortless flick, and her head exploded with pain.

She lit from the inside out, every neuron firing in double time, the overlay of necromantic awareness on her vision recalling the halcyon days in Canaan House when she and the Warden savored the shared act of solving a tricky puzzle before the pieces unmasked themselves in unspeakable grimness. She heard, in searing detail, what nerves not meant to feel for two sounded like screaming for capacity they didn't have, and the pressure behind her eyes grew unspeakable.

Good thing she didn't need to speak. She didn't need to think; he was there and where her thought began, he already knew, and when he started, she was already his end.

The bright seal that materialized around them scoured her awareness with a flash. She grinned, white-hot and excruciating, because no amount of fear could touch their outstretched hand.

#whumptober2023 #no.23 #object #shadows #the locked tomb #fanfic #fanfiction #tlt fanfic #tlt fanfiction #the locked tomb fanfiction #lira does a thing #camilla hect #palamedes sextus #campal #raise your hand if you've been personally victimized by palamedes sextus #i am sad and so is camilla hect #the sixth house #these codependent motherfuckers

[arisenreborn]

5 Character Associations - Emrys

EMOTIONS/FEELINGS:

Spite, contempt. Wrong. Everything about him is 'wrong', and he knows it best of all. He hates it, he loves it, he can't do a damned thing about it. There's a deep wound in his heart and spirit that have left him rotting within.

Hopeless. Fear. Everywhere he looks there's no escape from his fate, it's an endless wheel of servitude and torment, truly.

Defiance, rebellious. Yet despite all that, and as a result of all of that, there's a flicker of willful defiance that rails against everything that 'is'. It's so small, yet it slips through the cracks wherever it can.

Hedonist. It's easier to sink into the things that 'feel good'. Drink, sex, or even just wandering the wilds - the things he enjoys, without anyone telling him so. (And yet, he only reached for those things because they were the things others reached for first...)

Simple. A mask that slips beneath the surface. It's so easy to go with the flow, after all, to follow the course of the unending cycle. You could even be happy here, like this, if you let yourself believe it.

Bonus - Impertinent, sassy, particularly and openly with Olivia, but extremely veiled with others. She lets him get away with it for the most part because she thinks he isn't entirely wrong to feel that way and can even relate to some degree, but when he starts to get Mean about it she gets right back at him. (He's kind of like a teenager in this respect, testing boundaries, but he ought to know better.)

Bonus - Shame. A trembling self-loathing and disgust.

COLOURS:

rusty red

faded gold

earthy browns

bruise purple

dragonsplague red

SCENTS:

At any given time, simply, "the outdoors"; campfires, wood, and trees, soil, damp leaves, moss, and dew in the morning, fresh air - as well as the vague scent of blood, sweat, and rot.

A wisp of whatever perfume that bordelrie worker was wearing.

Leather, new and old.

"Crisp and clean" when in the city, experiments with all sorts of different soaps and bath salts (on Olivia's coin).

The smell before it rains - before astorm.

OBJECTS:

Fox mask - a gift from Olivia when she requested he join her to several masquerades.

A very old dagger, it couldn't possibly be useful anymore...

"Lucky" rabbits foot, he understands the irony, that's why he has it.

Onyx - He picked it up at the Excavation Site, and holds onto it, he says, in case he needs emergency funds, but there seems to be an additional touch of bitter sentiment to it.

Collection of 'badges'; identifiers of several different mercenary and thief groups and similar such he's worked with in the past. Claims he holds onto them in case he needs them again...

Bonus: Bordelrie Membership Card... (he received it from a mercenary buddy)

BODY LANGUAGE:

Lax, slightly slouched, giving an overall sense of capriciousness (or perhaps laziness) and approachability.

Sleepy, half-lidded eyes, big big yawns. Often lethargic (bored?) when not actively engaged.

Moves with confidence, be it in his stride, shot, or swing of the blade. He makes it look easy and effortless because he's been doing it for so long. (Actually you could put in a little effort, Em...)

Laying sprawled out at camp, arms folded behind his head against his bed roll, legs stretched out in front of him crossed at the ankles. Entirely relaxed, surrounded by the sounds of nature.

(High Perception Requirements) When no one is looking - rolling of the eyes, irritated head shakes, silent sighs where his whole body slouches in exasperation.

AESTHETICS:

the forest; the wilds, the roads that cut through it, the ambling deer paths and light dancing through the boughs

furs, leathers, bones and fangs - living off the land and making careful use of everything

bustling streets and taverns filled with shouts and laughter, a place where it's easy to fit in and be one with the crowd without anyone noticing

[wild animal] caught in a trap

bow & arrow, feathers - stripped from their purpose and made into fletching

SONGS:

Michael Bublé - Feeling Good

Hozier - In The Woods Somewhere

The Arcadian Wild - Liar

The Amazing Devil - The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace

Placebo - Running Up That Hill

#character prompts. #oc: emrys (pawn) #sorry about his emotions/feelings section he's dealing with a lot #a sorta-straightforward pawn moonlighting as a simple pawn #i'm honestly half-tempted all the time to make him straightforward but i've grown too accustomed to his voice #begging u capcom unleash the voices

[terrence-silver]

Hi feel free to ignore, but what would Terry do if someone he's interested in is just as manipulate as him (i don't mean to say he/she/they are mean, just good at convincing others) and sees right through him?

If he can't convince them or play headgames with them, how would he woo them or convince them to date him?

Is he going to use his body, sexual energy, is he going to play nice, actual nice, because his opponent can tell if he's fake.

I just wonder, if he doesn't have someone on his radar that is quick to fall for his slithering, what his tactics would be.

Thank you, I always love your posts!

I think Terry Silver has an immense and uncanny ability to get people to like him.

Because he's likeable.

No manipulation needed. No games. No tricks.

Of course, all these things are an added spice and aid, as it were, to all existing interactions, making wooing to his side people infinitely more engaging and entertaining for him personally, purely because he gets a kick out of the game of it all, but I don't necessarily think he needs these measures if someone sees through him (in fact, it is so very amusing when they do); therein lies the danger of Terry Silver. Is that one can know he's duplicitous, scheming, a strategizer and still be unable to resist even as he gets under your skin because he's just --- get a load of this --- too damn charming anyway. He's just an inviting person to be around, basically. For example, in Terry's own words to Daniel 'it was so easy to disrupt your marriage'. Why is that? Because even though Amanda was intelligent and not easily swayed, it was fairly effortless to have her turning against her husband simply because Terry seems like a rather okay guy overall, who managed to make logical sense, atop of everything else. So, why would Daniel be so vehemently against a rather okay guy who dresses smart and drinks good wine and spouts truth? Daniel must be the one who's insane and overly paranoid.

Right? Right!?

Terry didn't have to lift a finger for Amanda to come to that conclusion other than be nice to her.

Kill her with some commonplace kindness, as it were.

In equal measure, if you simply saw through Terry's games and he wouldn't be able to manipulate you as easily as he does with others, nothing would significantly change in your relationship, regardless if he tries to toy with your mind occasionally for the sake of a good challenge, precisely because you aren't as undemanding to crack (an option always on the table) or he doesn't try, just because he knows he can be entirely himself with you (another option equally on the table and not at all mutually exclusive to the first option) --- he finds ways to still have you caring for him and being on his side even while you're fully aware what he's like and that you can, in fact, be just as convincing as tactile as he is, if need be. And isn't that the ultimate victory? A testament to his ability? That you know the worst parts of him and that you still like him? That he doesn't even have to try to manipulate and he still gets the outcome he wanted just by being himself? It's just that the devil doesn't always come with red skin and horns. He comes to you as everything you've ever wanted. And devil's best trick? Have you falling for his schemes precisely in the moment you're convinced you're above it.

#terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #character analysis #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved