She Doesn't Drop Her Hands Away From His Face Even When The Kiss Break And He Speaks, Thumbs Brushing

Agzima bosalirken

in many ways the two of hem were so the same. both of them had been forced into this marriage without having any say in the matter, both feeling trapped with a stranger that they were simply forced to spend every day beside. with every word out of his mouth she forms more of an understanding of her husband, and the fact that his feelings about their marriage so closely resembled her own. her eyes settled on his own, her hands reaching up to cup his face within them before she draws him down into a kiss. it's soft and slow, a stark contrast to the heated kisses that they usually share. she remains close to him even after pulling away. "i know neither of us wanted this and we'd have much rather had a say in our own lives. but i'm your wife, i don't sleep around with other men, and i can't even remember the last time i flirted with someone else. but we can't move forward and stop acting out unless we stop resenting each other for something that was neither of our faults."

love wouldn't be the word to describe what they had, he wasn't sure he even liked her in the beginning. but after all this time he was trying, at least as much as he had been willing to go. he'd stopped testing the boundaries he'd been playing at the start of this marriage. and he'd walked away away when he was feeling angry and unreasonable. but then she was just as stubborn as him, as she grabbed him, he took another breath and tried to think about what he'd say. "because i couldn't, because you're a reminder of my lack of choice. that i'm living in a lie. that i have no agency in my own life, that now i dedicate myself a to a woman i don't know- but i've been loyal and yet...what do i get out of it? i still have people talking, judging, and making us the gossip. do you know what they tell the new people in court? to watch out for us like i'm some kind of joke or theatre show?!"

Mikey Madison in the Criterion Closet

while jobs like these were above her pay grade these days, there was something about doing them with bishop that left her pulse racing. the intrigue of pretending to be different people for the night while still always together, his arm around her waist and her hand on his chest to let everyone know they were each other's. she nods, eyes glinting as they move towards the high rollers table and she allows her mask of shallow trophy wife to settle in as they approach their target. a smirk takes her lips, turning her lips towards his ear. "gladly. if he goes for it after midnight though, you have to buy me a sybian." she settles a hand atop his shoulder as he places his bets, mouth curving at the familiar number. their hotel room and then the date of their anniversary years later, cementing the number as theirs. dark eyes settle across the table on viktor. she allows her smile to grow somewhat sly as she gazes at him, noticing the fact that the creeps eyes settled on every curve except her eyes. but that had been the plan, always was. let him assume that her husband was the only one of the two that was dangerous. she grins when bishop wins, bending down to press a kiss to her husband's cheek. "well done, mi amor. i told you i was your lucky charm." she says loud enough for the table to hear, noticing their target's eyes settling on her husband.

ten  years  of  this  dance ,   stolen  kisses  in  safe  houses,  her  heel  digging  into  his  calf  during  interrogations  —  and  still  she  could  make  his  pulse  stutter  like  a  faulty  detonator.   across  the  room,  viktor  shoved  away  from  the  table,  his  security  detail  a  trio  of  gorillas  in  ill-fitting  suits.  bishop’s  grip  tightened  imperceptibly  on  isabelle’s  waist.  “time  to  cash  in,”  he  murmured,  nodding  toward  the  high-limit  roulette  pit  where  cigarette  smoke  coiled  like  ghosts  above  emerald  felt.   “shall  we  wager?  if  he  takes  the  bait  before  midnight…  you  owe  me  that  thing  with  the  handcuffs.” sharp smirk, and a squeeze of her hip.  he slid into a vacant seat, stacking chips with deliberate slowness.  “no  more  bets.”  he  stacked  his  chips  with  the  precision  of  a  man  who’d  counted  cards  in  back-alley  parlors  since  he  could  shave.  black  29.  the  number  hummed  in  his  veins  —  same  as  the  hotel  room  where  they’d  first  fucked  during  a  storm  in  miami ,  rain  slashing  the  windows  as  she’d  dug  her  nails  into  the  scar  on  his  shoulder.  superstitious?  maybe.  but  survival  in  their  line  of  work  required  rituals  sharper  than  prayer. the  roulette  wheel  spun,  ivory  ball  clattering.  bishop  didn’t  watch  it.  he  watched  isabelle’s  throat  flutter  as  she  laughed  —  a  sound  like  breaking  crystal  —  and  the  way  viktor’s  piggish  eyes  tracked  the  sway  of  her  hips.  let  the  bastard  look.  let  him  salivate.  the  ball  clattered  to  a  stop.  “black  29.”  the  croupier  announced,  voice  flat  as  a  coroner’s.  a  ripple  went  through  the  crowd  —  tourists  clutching  pearls,  high  rollers  eyeing  bishop’s  growing  pile.  he  let  his  gaze  slide  to  viktor.  the  man  was  staring  now,  piggish  eyes  glinting  — that  always  undid  his  kind.  there  you  are.

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 . . . f . girlfriend, wife, co-worker, fwb, step sister/daughter, .

“just get the fucking job done.” he snapped into the phone before hanging up, letting out a long sigh. his kind of business never ceased, even when he’d rather be curled up in bed with her. turning towards her, he flashed her a smile before brushing her hair out of her face, leaning in to kiss her. “sorry, babe.” he rolled onto his knees in front of her, finally spreading her thighs as he keeps his phone in hand, back in the position they’d been in before he’d answered his phone. “now pull your panties aside for me. i wanna see that pretty little pussy.”

they were more solid than they'd ever been, her trust in him utterly unwavering. their love was just as strongly, with her belonging to him just as he belonged to her. she rolls her eyes, though she knows damn well he's right. "yes, and you're very much using those tools to your advantage, santino." she teases him, using his full first name just as he used hers. her smile is mischievous though, her nose barely brushing his own as she smiles. she sighs, fingers pressing gently against his chest at the knowledge that he was right. she spends a moment deliberating, weighing up the pros and cons of just leaving with him now. "you know how wet being jealous makes me." she quips, kissing him back before shrugging her shoulders. "fuck it, i'd rather be at home with you, honey. i already gave my speech, i just have to talk to a couple more people and then we can go. call a car, okay?" she kisses him once more, already moving away so they can leave sooner.

Considering the strength of their relationship Ross knew he wasn't the one she worried about in this situation. If he were being honest he more worried for the woman's well being considering how ruthless his wife could be when it came to him. This charm to get him to change his mind was nothing new. There were many things Isabelle could get him to change his mind on, this was not one of them. "That's because our therapist gave us good tools to use when we need to establish boundaries Isabelle." He pressed their foreheads together as he smile sweetly. "Not with you wearing this gown tonight my love, I'm sorry. You're just going to have to stay a wet mess until we get home. Where I can take it off you properly and not risk hurting ourselves or objects in the process of capitalizing on this very sexy behavior." He lightly kissed her lips before pulling back. "I am very flattered though you want me so badly. Promise I'm not going to be selfish at all when we get home."

the last thing she had been wanting when she stepped out for some air was some company and yet, the gods hadn't deemed her fit for such peace. the viscount had followed her after already having sent her a few looks throughout the evening, seemingly having wanted to chew her ear off. but the more time he spent around her, the more she becomes increasingly aware of how flirty he is being, how he seems to get closer to her, his fingers lingering on her arm and waist. when they stop near the entrance back into the ballroom once more, her eyes widen when he reaches out to stop her from going in, unaware of gwaine's presence as the viscount's hands move to grab her ass. "get your damn hands off me!"

Another event for the season, meant the two having to pretend to be a happy couple. Though at some point he had lost sight of the woman as they had ended up speaking and mingling with their own acquaintances and friends. So to overhear how the Viscount Clinton had followed after his wife made him see red and follow.

Gwaine and Selaena may not be the most functional or loving couple, but at the end of the day she was his wife. And he felt something for her, though he couldn't place it himself. She made him angry and defensive, but at the end of the day that was his wife. So for another man to assume that it would be okay to talk to her in such a manner, and to try and touch her as so had his blood boiling. And the man found himself at the door way and caught a glimpse of her face. @vulgcrzz

when she had left for the markets that morning, selaena had expected a rather unexceptional day. she had most certainly been wrong about that. she had barely stepped away from the bakery, tarts packed away safely in the box clutched in her hands than blue eyes land on his frame. he hasn't changed since she last saw him fifteen years ago, kissing her goodnight and promising that he'd see her the next day. only that day had come and charles hadn't been there, instead a ghost on the night never to be seen again and leaving a gaping hole in her heart. yet here he stands. the box of pastries falls from her hands, thunking against the cobblestones as she merely stares at him in utter disbelief. "charles?"

open to: w / m / nb (30+ age gaps almost a necessity !).

potential connections: best friend, betrothed, ex, whatever fits.

plot: several years ago, prince charles ferdinand disappeared, leaving a mystery in his wake. to most, he's nothing but a ghost story, but your muse was a part of his life in some fashion. he hasn't seen them for a long time, actively avoiding them since being turned into a vampire.

sleep had evaded him for years, though he supposed it was no longer a requirement of his current species. charlie's mind was far too active, far too full of thoughts of the past, of what could've been - should've been. he'd disappeared for good with intention. there's no way anyone he knew could handle, nor deserved to handle, the state of a beast he'd become. he'd had to become nothing but smoke, everyone was better off for it. still, he'd attempted to keep an eye on them throughout the years, though he had always been mindful to not allow their eyes to find him - until now, apparently. lips purse, and if his heart still beat, it'd be practically ripping out of his chest. he smiles then, hopes he can play it off. it's been enough years, he should've changed somewhat. he hadn't. not one wrinkle pressed against fresh, porcelain skin. "good afternoon. charmed, i'm sure."