#Emerald City Jacket

[mudwerks]

Emerald City Jacket from The Wizard of Oz (MGM, 1939)

Meinhardt Raabe "Munchkin Coroner" Screen-worn Signature Hat from The Wizard of Oz (MGM, 1939)

[genimas]

RWBY Volume 10- Mercury meets Emerald and Oscar in Vacuo

Still trying digital art. Please tell me if my grammar is wrong so I can fix it.

Gonna improve this in the future

[nellarw95]

Happy Birthday Vincent 🥳🎂🎈🎁🎉

Vincent Phillip D'Onofrio

June 30,1959

Buon Compleanno 🥳🎂🎈🎁🎉

30 Giugno 1959

[dark-l-angel]

For those Damian's babes out there.

Lately a bb gurl requested smth about an aged up dami CEO type shit... And my mind was going WILD after that. If you didn't read it yet you better go read it in here so you understand the madness I'm going to talk about...

NOTE : I've never seen dami anything but an angry cute angry black cat UwU thing.

BUTT!!

The AGED UP Wayne enterprises CEO?!

is smth I'll get on my knees for :) sorry not sorry.

PLEASE HEAR ME OUT-

Now what i used to think about him.. that little cutie..

He's now THAT towering, lethal masterpiece in a tailored black suit that costs more than a small island.. stepping out of his limo like sin itself got a promotion. Believe me that's the best upgrade we can get so far..

Hair slicked back just messy enough to make you ache for him to ruin your good intentions... jawline sharper than any weapon he’s ever wielded... and those emerald green eyes? AAAAAHHHH-

Predator eyes. Ugghhh

Eyes that look at you like you’re his next acquisition.. in business and in bed.

You think you’re tough, you think you’re composed... until he leans in close at some smoky, velvet-rich gala, low voice brushing your skin, murmuring, "Habibti..." his breath warm against your ear, the word curling around your soul like silk chains.

Now imagine this

After a long, brutal day... deals closed, meetings attended, cities practically bowing at his feet.. Damian storms through the grand doors of the Wayne Manor.

The dark king returned to his castle.

Grumpy. Heavy-footed. Radiating irritation like a storm barely contained under expensive fabric. His jacket slung carelessly over his forearm, his tie loose, hanging off his neck like he barely had the patience to pull at it.

The servants were scattering like leaves in the wind as he growls under his breath, a string of curses in Arabic too low for anyone but God to hear.

And yet..

The second his eyes find you, sitting there in the soft lamp-lit glow, a book in hand, legs curled up on the couch.. something in him shifts.

The rage, the exhaustion, the armor?

Gone.

Disarmed in a heartbeat. As small smirk tugs at his mouth.. a rare, devastating thing.

Just a flicker, just enough for you to see. Just enough to say without words "You're the only peace I need, habibti."

His voice is low, rough like gravel, threaded with something almost tender as he drops the jacket onto a chair, strides toward you with the heavy weight of a man who's survived war after war.. and still only craves you at the end of it all.

He stops in front of you, standing tall, his eyes warm but hooded with something tiring, exhausted, he never admits it but you know his eyes Don't lie, and says in that raspy, commanding voice "Hobi..."

"Come sit on your throne his lap... It's nap time."

Not a request... But an order delivered like a vow.

The kind of "nap" where you know he’s going to drag you into his chest, bury his face into your neck, arms locked around your waist like chains.

No one, nothing.. not even the gods themselves.. would be allowed to pull you away.

You’re his peace.

You’re his prize.

You’re his home.

And tonight?

The king was tired..

but the king would only rest if his queen was right there, exactly where she belonged: in his arms, on her throne.

But no.

Since you're who YOU are.

You catch that dangerous glint in Damian's green eyes when he tells you to sit on his lap.. but instead, you rise to your feet, slow, deliberate, full of unspoken promises.

His gaze tracks you, head tilting slightly.

You glide toward him, fingertips brushing the lapel of his half-buttoned shirt, voice as sweet and soft as velvet when you whisper "Not yet, omri.. Let me take care of you first."

For a second, he just sits there, confused by the sudden shift in control.. but he’s too tired, too enchanted by the thought of your hands on him, to protest.

You guide him, patient but firm, through the dark, echoing halls of the manor.. up the grand staircase and into the lavish, dimly lit bathroom where steam curls lazily from the marble tub.

You had planned to pamper your husband <3

The water is already drawn.. warm, luxurious, smelling faintly of sandalwood and something earthy and masculine.

You know he'll appreciate anything at this moment, a hug, a nap, even a tea cup, even a lil kiss on the forehead.. but a little relaxing bath with his wife right now sounded like the premium VIP treatment.

You peel his shirt off slowly.. one button at a time.. your fingers grazing his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle earned from battles you’ll never fully understand.

He watches you, expression unreadable but intense, jaw clenching when you kneel to untie his shoes, peeling away layer after layer of armor.

He lets you.

He trusts you.

No one else in the world could ever strip Damian Wayne bare.. not just of clothes, but of the constant weight he carries.

When he finally sinks into the water, he exhales.. letting all the weight on his shoulders disappear.. a real breath, deep and shuddering, something he rarely allows himself to do.

You sit beside the tub, rolling up your sleeves, your hands gentle as you pour water over his hair, fingers massaging his scalp.

The corners of his mouth twitch again.. that rare, fleeting smile.. and his eyes slip closed.

The mighty CEO, the battle-hardened son of assassins and billionaires, the terror of boardrooms and back alleys alike.. melting under your touch like you’re the only sanctuary he’s ever known.

You whisper sweet things in Arabic against his temple.. soft blessings, small prayers, promises stitched into the air.

And when you're done, when his body is languid and heavy and the world feels far, far away.. you help him wear his clothes.. as you chose for him a clean boxers, a grey sweatpants and my melody pastel pink hoodie..

As the rain hits the window softly, you stand before him drying his wet hair with a towel while he sits on the edge of the bed, placing a kiss on his forehead as you finished.

He opens his eyes, voice rough but gentler than you’ve ever heard, and says "Enough teasing, hayati." He whispered "Come... It's time for-"

"don't worry i already got our favorite spot ready next to the fireplace.. besides, both alfred the cat and titus are waiting for us there as well-"

He smiled as he picked you up heading downstairs to the fireplace in the living room..

And this time?

When he pulls you onto his lap.. his heart beating against yours, his arms locking around you..

there’s no armor left.

No walls.

No coldness.

Just your king, bare and yours in every broken, beautiful way.

It turned to a oneshot without conscious, pretend you didn't read this part now, cuz this is not our topic.

ANYWAY THIS MAN-

He signs billion-dollar deals by day and wrecks your sanity by night, all without breaking a sweat.

He could have the world at his feet.. and the only thing he really wants?

You.

Bent to his will, holding his name like it's your crown.

And you do.

Without hesitation, without pride.. because of course no one says no to a man like that. Duh.

What's even better is that in my belief he might also get not only a glow up upgrade but a whole character upgrade..

Oh yea. I highly believe that.

Now that Dami.. the CEO, heir to the Empire of Shadows and Light.. didn't soften with age.

No, no, no.

He sharpened.

Became more calculating. More patient in the worst way.. all calm waiting patiently the best moment to strike..

To the world? He's colder than Gotham winters.

But to you? Oh, angel... to you, he's something else entirely. This is my op take it or leave it

With you, he's dangerous in a quieter way. Soft touches on your wrist to claim you. Low, rumbling words in your ear to bind you.

Little, almost invisible strings that tangle you closer and closer to him every day.

He's still rough, still dominant, still possessive.. but not around you..

There's a gravity to him.

A desperate, silent worship he can't admit out loud.. but it’s there in the way his fingers dig into your hips when he kisses you,

in the way he growls at anyone.. even to his own goddamn female maids in his mansion for looking at you too long..

in the way he destroys anyone who even thinks about taking you from him.

And baby? He’s jealous.

Ferally.

Violently.

The type of man who’ll sit in a board meeting calmly plotting to ruin the career of some poor idiot who made you laugh once a little too brightly.

But the dirtiest part? He doesn't just want your body.

He wants your mind.

Your soul.

He wants to own the way you think.

So he tricks you, slowly, masterfully. Sometimes even setting up situations..

Then softly planting little seeds like "No one else will understand you the way I do."

"It’s not your fault you feel so drawn to me, habibti... it’s destiny. It’s the gods themselves who wove you into my life."

"I was made for you just like you were made for me. You feel it too... don't you?"

And he says it so convincingly, so hungrily, that you start to believe it.

Because how could it not be true when every look, every touch from him feels like fate snapping closed around you like a cage made of silk and steel?

You're not falling for him, baby.

You’re plummeting.

Freefalling into a love so consuming it leaves marks.. invisible ones.. where only he can see.

And he loves it.

He revels in it.

Because in his mind, you were never meant to walk away from him.

He’d destroy gods before he’d let them rewrite what they wrote in your name and his.

Jason would hate me for this but it was worth it.

If you're one of my followers, expect me to write for Damian as this version from now on, not the cute baby boy he is, but the charming aged up man i see in him.

If you have any opinions or feedback, I'm more than happy to hear ❤️

Luv u 💕

[camille-aurelie-deveraux]

Hey. Can I please requests some CLx reader x LH. Maybe reader has a movie Premier and both of them are here to support her.

The Spotlight and Us

The New York skyline shimmered outside the penthouse suite, the city humming with anticipation. It was a big night—the premiere of Yn’s latest film, a project she had poured her heart and soul into for the past year. It wasn’t just another movie. It was the culmination of sleepless nights, endless rehearsals, and the unwavering support of the two men who meant the world to her.

Inside, Lewis stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting Charles' tie with precise fingers. Charles huffed a little, tilting his head up obediently as Lewis tightened the knot just enough.

"You know, I could've done that myself," Charles murmured, but there was no real protest in his voice, just the warmth of being taken care of.

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have done it right," Lewis teased, smirking as he smoothed the fabric of Charles' suit jacket.

Charles rolled his eyes but didn’t move away, instead watching the way Lewis’ hands worked expertly. He knew those hands like the back of his own, whether they were gripping a steering wheel, playing with Yn’s hair absentmindedly, or holding his own hand under the dinner table when no one was looking.

They were still caught in that quiet moment, a silent exchange of adoration passing between them, when the bathroom door opened.

"Okay, boys, how do I look?"

Both men turned immediately at the sound of Yn’s voice, their breath catching as they took her in. She stood in the doorway, her green dress flowing elegantly around her, hugging every curve perfectly. The emerald fabric shimmered in the light, but nothing outshone the sparkle in her eyes.

Charles was the first to react, his lips parting slightly before a slow, almost dazed smile spread across his face.

"You look…" he trailed off, shaking his head as if words had failed him.

Lewis, never one to be outdone, took a step forward, his eyes scanning her from head to toe before settling on her face.

"Absolutely stunning," he finished for Charles, reaching out to take her hand. "God, Yn, you take my breath away every time."

Yn felt her cheeks heat up instantly, her fingers squeezing Lewis' in response. She wasn’t usually the type to get flustered, but something about the way they were looking at her—like she was the most precious thing in the world—made her heart do somersaults.

"You guys are just saying that," she mumbled, ducking her head slightly.

Charles laughed softly, stepping closer until he could cup her cheek gently, forcing her to look up at him.

"Chérie, we could spend hours describing how beautiful you are, and it still wouldn’t be enough." His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, his eyes shining with sincerity.

"He's right," Lewis added, placing his hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer between them. "You’re breathtaking, Yn. But beyond that, you’re incredible. Talented. Smart. And tonight, the world gets to celebrate you."

Yn let out a soft, almost shy laugh, looking between them. "I think I should bring you two everywhere. You’re the best hype men."

"We're just telling the truth," Charles said, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

Just then, a knock on the suite door signaled the arrival of her manager, who poked their head in with an apologetic look.

"Yn, we have to go. The car’s waiting, and people are already arriving at the theater."

Lewis and Charles immediately stepped back, ever the supportive partners, letting her breathe. Lewis grabbed Yn’s jacket from the coat rack while Charles held out his arm dramatically.

"Shall we, my lady?" Charles said with a playful grin.

Yn laughed, shaking her head, but she took his arm nonetheless. "You're such a dork."

"But you love it," he shot back.

Lewis draped her jacket over her shoulders with gentle hands, then did the same for Charles. Once they were all ready, they stepped out of the suite together, walking in sync like they always did—as a unit, as a team, as something whole.

The moment they stepped onto the red carpet, flashes exploded around them. Photographers shouted Yn’s name, eager to capture the leading lady of the night. But they also called for Lewis and Charles, their presence sending the media into a frenzy.

Yn tightened her grip on both their hands, grateful to have them there. They weren’t just her boyfriends; they were her anchor in all the madness.

"You got this," Lewis whispered near her ear as they paused for a few photos.

Charles, on her other side, nodded. "You’re the star tonight, Yn. Let’s give them something to talk about."

Yn chuckled at that, but it helped. She posed with confidence, turning to give the cameras her best angles, answering a few questions thrown her way with ease. She was used to this—premieres, interviews, the attention—but it felt different with them by her side.

A reporter stepped forward, microphone outstretched. "Yn, congratulations on the film! How does it feel having two of the biggest names in motorsport here supporting you tonight?"

Yn glanced at Lewis and Charles, who both smirked at the question.

"It feels amazing," she said genuinely. "Their schedules are crazy, so the fact that they could be here means the world to me."

Lewis squeezed her hand before speaking. "We wouldn’t have missed this for anything. She’s put in so much work, and we’re just here to celebrate her."

Charles nodded. "We’re her biggest fans, after all."

The reporters ate it up, their cameras clicking even faster as the three of them exchanged affectionate looks. It wasn’t often that their relationship was put in the spotlight like this, but tonight, they didn’t mind. Tonight was about love—love for the craft, love for the journey, and love for each other.

As they made their way down the carpet, Lewis leaned in close.

"You ready for this?"

Yn exhaled slowly, but she was smiling. "Yeah. I think I am."

And with that, the three of them stepped into the theater together, hand in hand, ready to take on the night.

[cloudyluun]

Backstage Serenade | harry styles x reader

Summary: What starts as just another concert night takes an unexpected turn when Harry Styles himself locks eyes with Y/N from the stage. A fleeting glance turns into an invitation, and soon she finds herself navigating the intoxicating world behind the curtain. As the night unfolds—from backstage whispers to stolen moments in a city that never sleeps—Y/N realizes that some dreams don’t just stay fantasies. But with the weight of his fame pressing down on their growing connection, she’s left wondering: is this just a fleeting moment, or the start of something more?

A/N: Ahh, finally sharing this! I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while, and I couldn’t resist bringing it to life. I wanted to capture the thrill, the tension, and that electric pull of meeting someone you’ve only ever admired from afar. Hope you all enjoy this as much as I loved writing it! Let me know what you think, and if you want a part two, my inbox is always open. 💫 If you want to be on the taglist: click here!

Word Count: 5,4k

Warnings: Smut (oral sex, protected sex), explicit language, alcohol consumption, a little bit of power imbalance, and way too much tension

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Y/N could barely hear her own thoughts over the thunderous roar of the crowd. The arena was alive, a pulse of sound and light that seemed to vibrate down to her very bones. The opening chords of ���Music for a Sushi Restaurant” played, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Almost 20,000 voices screamed as one, and Y/N found herself swept up in the tidal wave of energy.

Harry Styles. His name alone sent ripples through her chest, but seeing him there, in the flesh, was something else entirely. He didn’t just walk onto the stage; he owned it, like he’d been born to live under the kaleidoscope of lights. Sequins shimmered on his emerald-green suit, the jacket tailored to perfection, hugging his shoulders and cinching at his waist. The open shirt revealed a tease of his tattooed chest, and Y/N wasn’t the only one mesmerized by the sight.

“He’s so…” Y/N trailed off, not finding the words as she clutched the barricade in front of her.

“Unreal,” Lily finished for her, shouting to be heard over the music. Her friend was already dancing, swaying to the beat, her phone raised high to record.

Harry moved with an effortless grace, every step in time with the music, every gesture pulling the crowd deeper under his spell. When he stepped forward to greet the audience, gripping the mic stand with one hand and holding out the other as if to invite them all closer, the crowd surged forward in response.

The lights shifted, bathing him in golden hues as he grinned wide. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” His voice echoed through the arena, low and smooth, sending a new wave of cheers rippling through the audience.

“God, I love him,” Lily sighed, clutching Y/N’s arm dramatically. “He’s like… not real, you know?”

Y/N laughed, her gaze never leaving him. “Not real, but somehow even better in person.”

“Exactly,” Lily agreed. “Do you think he knows how insane he makes us?”

“I think he lives for it,” Y/N replied, her smile widening as Harry chuckled at something a fan yelled from the pit. He leaned down to read a sign, squinting playfully.

“What’s this?” he said, pointing at a colorful poster held high. “‘Marry me, Harry?’” The crowd screamed louder. Harry grinned, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll think about it, darling. You’ll have to ask my mum first, though.”

The laughter was deafening, and Y/N found herself grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. He moved to another side of the stage, plucking a boa someone had tossed onto it and draping it over his shoulders with dramatic flair. The crowd erupted in cheers again.

It was during “Golden” that everything changed.

The lights dimmed, casting a warm, dreamlike glow over the stage. Harry’s voice poured through the speakers, rich and full of emotion, and Y/N found herself swaying without thinking, caught up in the melody.

Then it happened.

Harry’s gaze swept the crowd, a casual, almost lazy motion. Y/N felt the breath catch in her throat when his eyes landed on hers. For a moment, it felt like the world tilted, as if time slowed just enough for her to truly feel the weight of his gaze. His lips curled into a grin, dimples carving into his cheeks, and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say I see you.

“Is he—?” Lily nudged her hard, almost making her stumble. “Y/N, he’s looking at you. Oh my God.”

“No, he’s not,” Y/N muttered, though her voice betrayed her disbelief. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, her fingers tightening around the barricade.

“He is! Look at him, he’s doing it again!” Lily squealed.

And he was. Y/N’s heart raced as Harry’s gaze found hers once more, lingering just long enough to make her stomach flip. The playful smirk on his lips deepened, and as he sang the chorus, it felt impossibly personal.

“Throw him your bra!” Lily joked, laughing as Y/N swatted her arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” Y/N said, though she couldn’t stop the nervous giggle that bubbled out of her.

By the time the song ended, Y/N felt like she was floating. She barely registered Harry’s transition into the next song, too caught up in replaying that fleeting moment over and over in her mind. Surely it hadn’t been real. Surely she’d imagined it. But the way her heart was pounding told her otherwise.

During a pause between songs, Harry addressed the crowd again, leaning on the mic stand. “I see some great signs out there tonight,” he said, his accent curling around the words. “What’s that one say? ‘Dump him, marry me’? Blunt, but effective.” He laughed, pointing to another. “‘Sing Medicine or we riot.’ No riots tonight, alright? But I’ll think about it.”

The fans screamed in delight, and Harry held up his hands. “Alright, alright. You’re all brilliant. I love you.”

“I love you more!” someone screamed, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as Harry mimicked throwing a kiss to the audience.

The rest of the show passed in a blur of music and euphoria, each song pulling Y/N deeper into a dreamlike state. When the final chords of “Sign of the Times” echoed through the arena, the energy reached its peak. Confetti rained down, the crowd erupting in cheers as Harry took his final bow.

“That was insane,” Y/N said breathlessly as the lights began to brighten. She turned to Lily, who looked equally dazed. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

“Over?” Lily said, shaking her head. “Y/N, the way he was looking at you, he saw you. He really saw you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not! He looked at you like he wanted to—” Lily’s words were cut off as a man in a sleek black suit approached them, clipboard in hand.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, addressing Y/N directly. “Harry would like to invite you backstage.”

Y/N froze. For a moment, she thought she must have misheard. “What?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The man smiled knowingly. “If you’d like, you can follow me.”

Lily grabbed her arm, her grip tight. “You have to go,” she said, her voice urgent. “Oh my God, Y/N. You have to.”

Y/N turned to her friend, her heart pounding. “Are you sure?”

“Are you kidding me?” Lily practically shoved her forward. “Go! I’ll be fine. You’re about to live every fan’s dream.”

With one last glance at Lily, Y/N nodded and turned to follow the man. Her mind was spinning as she was led through the maze of hallways, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. She couldn’t believe it—Harry Styles wanted to see her.

--

The backstage area was an entirely different world, quiet compared to the roaring chaos of the concert, yet humming with an energy just as potent. The air felt heavier here, charged with the kind of anticipation that made Y/N’s heart race. She tugged at the hem of her sequined top, feeling both underdressed and inexplicably out of place amidst the polished setting. But the butterflies swirling in her stomach left little room for self-consciousness.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice called out, warm and distinctly British, cutting through her anxious thoughts like a melody.

Her head snapped up, and there he was.

Harry Styles.

He stood just a few feet away, clad in a simple white tee and black jeans that hung low on his hips, damp hair pushed back like he’d stepped out of a dream. The boyish charm he’d carried on stage was still present, but up close, there was something more intense about him. His green eyes locked onto hers, and his lips curled into a grin that could have melted ice.

“Hi,” he said, the word stretching into a low hum as he closed the distance between them.

“Hi,” she managed to squeak out, then immediately cursed herself for sounding like a schoolgirl meeting her crush. She straightened her posture, willing her nerves to settle.

Harry chuckled softly, the dimples she’d admired from afar deepening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Glad you made it. Thought you might’ve run off.”

“As if I’d pass this up,” Y/N shot back, her voice gaining steadiness as a boldness bubbled to the surface.

He laughed, tilting his head as if reassessing her. “Good answer.”

They began to talk, the conversation flowing like they were old friends reconnecting. He asked her about the concert, what songs she loved, and she asked him how it felt performing to such a massive crowd. His charm was effortless, and his focus never wavered from her, his gaze trailing her lips when she spoke, dipping down to the exposed skin at her collarbone before snapping back to her eyes.

“So,” he said, leaning back against the leather couch, his legs spreading slightly as he rested his hands on his thighs. “Was I any good tonight?”

“Any good?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You know you’re incredible. Stop fishing for compliments.”

His grin widened, but there was something darker behind his gaze now, a spark that sent a jolt of heat through her. “Just wanted to hear you say it.”

The tension between them thickened, palpable in the space that seemed to shrink with every passing second. Y/N felt the weight of his attention like a caress, and she decided to push just a little further.

“I didn’t just say it. I think I screamed it. Along with 20,000 other people,” she teased, leaning slightly closer. “But if you need me to spell it out for you…”

“Careful, love,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I might hold you to that.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a moment, all she could hear was the faint thrum of blood rushing in her ears. She was used to being the one in control, the one who could brush off nerves with wit and charm, but Harry Styles had her unraveling with just a look.

The spell broke when Harry stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Come with me,” he said casually, like it wasn’t a request but an inevitability.

“Where?” she asked, though she was already following him.

“Somewhere quieter,” he said, holding a door open for her. “Can’t have our conversation interrupted, can we?”

--

The black SUV whisked them away from the venue, the glow of city lights flashing through the tinted windows like fleeting stars. Y/N sat beside him, acutely aware of every breath he took, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the cool leather interior. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her jacket as she tried to distract herself from the warmth radiating off his body.

Harry’s knee brushed hers whenever the car turned, each accidental touch sending sparks down her spine. She kept her gaze fixed out the window, though the reflection of his silhouette caught her eye. He was relaxed, his arm draped casually across the seat, his other hand scrolling through his phone.

“Do you always kidnap your fans like this?” she asked, breaking the silence.

He turned to her, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “Only the ones who look like trouble.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smile. “Who says I’m trouble?”

“I can tell,” he replied, leaning back in his seat with an air of confidence that made her stomach flip. His gaze swept over her, not hurried or obvious, but enough to make her cheeks flush. “You’ve got that look in your eye.”

“What look?” she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.

Harry tilted his head, his smirk widening. “The one that says you’re about to make my life very complicated.”

Her laugh came easily, though she tried to play it off with a shrug. “Maybe you’re the one making things complicated. You did whisk me away in your SUV like some modern-day James Bond.”

“James Bond, huh?” he mused, his dimple deepening. “I’ll take it. Though I’d like to think I’m more charming than him.”

“That’s debatable,” she teased, biting her lip to hide her grin.

Harry let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating in the small space. “Careful, love. You’re starting to sound like you want to test that theory.”

“Maybe I do,” she shot back, meeting his gaze with more boldness than she felt.

His eyes darkened slightly, the playful glint shifting into something heavier. “Dangerous game, Y/N.”

Before she could respond, the SUV slowed to a stop in front of a small diner, its neon sign flickering “OPEN 24 HOURS” in bold red letters.

“This is where you’re taking me?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she looked out the window.

Harry grinned, already opening his door. “Trust me. You’ll like it.”

--

The diner smelled of fried food and syrup, its decor an unapologetic homage to decades past. Sticky vinyl booths, checkered floors, and a jukebox playing an old rock tune filled the space. The handful of patrons turned their heads as Harry walked in, his hand resting lightly on Y/N’s lower back as he guided her to a booth.

“Not exactly the five-star treatment I was expecting,” she teased, sliding into the seat across from him.

He shrugged, settling in with an easy smile. “Five stars are overrated. This place has the best milkshakes in the city.”

The server, an older woman with a warm smile, approached their table. Her eyes flicked to Harry, widening slightly in recognition, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she handed them menus and greeted them cheerfully.

“What’s good here?” Y/N asked, flipping through the laminated pages.

“Everything,” Harry said without hesitation. “But you have to try the strawberry milkshake. It’s life-changing.”

Y/N smirked. “Life-changing? That’s a bold claim.”

“Prove me wrong,” he challenged, leaning back in his seat.

When the server returned, Harry ordered the strawberry milkshake and a burger with bacon, avocado, and a mountain of fries. Y/N opted for a chocolate milkshake, a grilled cheese, and a side of sweet potato fries.

As the server walked away, Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Chocolate, huh? Thought you’d be more adventurous than that.”

“Chocolate is a classic,” she said, feigning offense. “You’re just upset because I didn’t take your recommendation.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted with a laugh. “But I’ll win you over. Wait and see.”

The conversation flowed easily as they waited for their food, the playful banter peppered with stolen glances that lingered a little too long.

When their milkshakes arrived, Y/N took a sip, savoring the rich, creamy flavor. “Okay, this is good,” she admitted, licking a bit of whipped cream from her straw.

Harry watched her, his gaze dropping to her lips. “Told you,” he said, his voice lower now. “Though I still think you’d like mine better.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “You’re awfully confident.”

“Try it,” he said, pushing his glass toward her.

She hesitated for a moment before taking a sip. The sweetness of the strawberry hit her tongue, and she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “Alright, you win this round.”

Harry’s grin widened, but the moment was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter. Y/N glanced toward the corner of the diner, where a pair of teenagers were not-so-subtly snapping photos with their phones.

Her shoulders stiffened, and Harry immediately noticed. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her fingers fidgeted with her straw.

Harry frowned, his jaw tightening. “Do you want me to say something?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not going to let them ruin this.”

He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, his lips curved into a small smile. “I like how you handle yourself.”

She smirked, relaxing slightly. “I’d say the same about you, but you’re clearly used to the attention.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it,” he admitted, his gaze flicking briefly to the teenagers before returning to her. “But right now, they don’t matter. You do.”

Her breath caught at the intensity in his voice, and she quickly looked down at her plate to hide the blush creeping up her neck.

As they ate, the tension between them shifted, becoming something warmer, heavier. Harry stole one of her fries, smirking when she glared at him, and she retaliated by swiping one of his.

“You’re trouble,” he said, shaking his head with a laugh.

“Think you can handle it?” she asked, licking a bit of salt from her fingers.

His gaze darkened slightly, his smile softening. “I’m counting on it.”

--

By the time they left the diner, the tension between them was practically crackling in the air. Outside, a small group of fans had gathered, their phones snapping pictures as Harry slid his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer than necessary.

“You okay with this?” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

“More than okay,” she replied, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

The SUV was waiting at the curb, and as they climbed in, the space between them felt electric. Harry’s hand found hers almost immediately, his fingers lacing through hers as he leaned closer.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

“Hmm?”

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his lips brushing against her temple.

She didn’t. Instead, she turned to him fully, her free hand curling into the front of his shirt as she pulled him into a kiss.

It started soft, almost tentative, but quickly deepened as Harry’s hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. The kiss was messy and desperate, filled with a hunger that made her head spin.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, Harry’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “Guess that means you don’t want me to stop.”

“Not even a little,” she whispered, her voice shaky with anticipation.

The rest of the drive blurred into stolen kisses and teasing touches, Harry’s hand trailing along her thigh in a way that left her dizzy. By the time they reached his suite, the promise of what was to come hung heavy in the air.

Harry didn’t let go of her hand as they made their way to the elevator, his thumb brushing small circles against her palm. The ride up was silent, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. When the doors opened, he guided her inside, his hand never leaving hers.

By the time Harry reached the bedroom, Y/N was already breathless, her fingers tangled in his hair as his lips moved possessively along her neck. He kicked the door shut behind him, the sound barely registering in her ears over the pounding of her heartbeat.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he rasped, his voice thick with desire as he gently laid her on the bed. His hands roamed over her body, firm but deliberate, as though he were mapping every inch of her.

Her pulse quickened as his gaze swept over her, dark and predatory, his lips curving into a wicked smile. “You’re stunning, love. Absolutely stunning.”

Y/N’s hands found the hem of his shirt, and she tugged it upward, eager to see the tattoos she’d only glimpsed before. Harry smirked as he helped her, tossing the shirt to the side. Her eyes traced the lines of ink that adorned his chest and arms, the sight making her breath hitch.

“You’re staring,” he teased, leaning down to capture her lips again.

“Can you blame me?” she shot back, her voice trembling slightly as her hands explored the hard planes of his chest.

Harry chuckled, low and rough, his teeth grazing her bottom lip. “I’d say we’re even.”

Before she could reply, his hands slid beneath her shirt, the warmth of his palms against her skin sending a shiver down her spine. He pulled the fabric upward, his eyes darkening as more of her was revealed. When the shirt joined his on the floor, Harry leaned back, his gaze hungry as it roamed over her.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent as he traced the curve of her waist. His hands moved to the clasp of her bra, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. “Can I?”

She nodded, her breath catching as he unhooked it with practiced ease. The straps slid down her arms, and Harry wasted no time, his lips trailing down her neck and across her collarbone.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire as his mouth closed around one peak, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin. Y/N gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair as he lavished attention on her, his free hand teasing the other.

“Harry,” she moaned, her back arching off the bed as his teeth grazed her nipple, the sensation sending sparks straight to her core.

His lips curved against her skin as he moved lower, his hands tugging at the waistband of her jeans. “I want to taste every inch of you,” he murmured, his voice rough with need.

Her heart raced as she lifted her hips, allowing him to slide the fabric down her legs. She was left in nothing but her underwear, her skin prickling with anticipation as his eyes devoured her.

“Beautiful,” he muttered, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses along her stomach, his stubble grazing her sensitive skin. His fingers hooked into the sides of her underwear, and he paused, his gaze locking onto hers. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I’m sure.”

Harry pulled the fabric down slowly, the deliberate pace leaving her squirming beneath him. He spread her thighs, his hands warm and firm as they settled on her hips. The look in his eyes was enough to make her heart stop, a mix of hunger and adoration that left her completely undone.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re so perfect.”

Before she could reply, his lips pressed against her inner thigh, his tongue leaving a trail of fire as he moved closer to where she needed him most. When his mouth finally closed over her, she cried out, her hands clutching the sheets as a wave of pleasure coursed through her.

Harry groaned against her, the vibration sending another jolt of electricity through her body. His tongue moved with precision, alternating between soft, teasing licks and firm pressure that had her gasping for air.

“You taste like heaven,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he slipped a finger inside her, his movements slow and deliberate. Y/N’s hips bucked against him, her moans growing louder as he added another finger, curling them in just the right way.

“Oh my god, Harry,” she gasped, her hands reaching for him.

“That’s it, love,” he rasped, his lips returning to her clit. “Let go for me.”

The tension in her body built rapidly, every stroke of his tongue and every thrust of his fingers driving her closer to the edge. When her orgasm hit, it was explosive, her body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Harry didn’t stop, his movements carrying her through every pulse until she was left breathless and trembling.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening, he smirked down at her. “You’re even more beautiful when you fall apart.”

“Harry,” she breathed, her voice shaky as she reached for him.

He leaned down, kissing her deeply. She could taste herself on his lips, the intimacy of it sending another shiver through her.

“We’re not done yet, love,” he murmured, his voice a low growl as he shed the rest of his clothes.

Harry’s body was a masterpiece of sinew and ink, every line and curve illuminated by the soft light spilling into the room. Y/N’s breath hitched as he crawled over her, his gaze never leaving hers. The weight of his body pressed her into the mattress, grounding her even as her heart raced wildly in her chest.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers. His voice was soft, but there was an edge of hunger in it that made her shiver.

She reached out, her hands exploring the hard planes of his chest and the ridges of his abs. Her fingers traced the tattoos that decorated his skin, lingering on the swallows at his collarbone.

“Do you always take your time like this?” she teased, though her voice was shaky with anticipation.

Harry’s lips quirked into a smirk, his nose brushing against hers. “Only when it’s worth savoring.”

He kissed her again, slower this time, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her lightheaded. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her thighs as he shifted between them. Y/N felt the hard length of him pressing against her, and her breath caught.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers.

“It won’t be,” she replied, her voice trembling but certain. “I want you, Harry.”

His pupils dilated, and a low growl escaped his throat. “You’re going to ruin me, love.”

He reached into the bedside drawer, retrieving a condom and tearing the foil open with his teeth. Y/N watched, mesmerized, as he rolled it on with practiced ease, his gaze flicking back to hers.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

“Yes,” she whispered, her legs wrapping around his waist.

Harry guided himself to her entrance, pausing for a moment as his eyes searched hers. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside, filling her inch by inch. The stretch was intense but exquisite, her body accommodating him as though he were made to fit her.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder. “You’re so tight.”

Y/N moaned softly, her fingers digging into his back as she adjusted to the fullness. “You feel... amazing.”

He stilled for a moment, giving her time to catch her breath before he began to move. His thrusts were slow and deliberate at first, each one hitting a spot deep inside her that made her toes curl. The way he filled her, stretched her, left her gasping with every movement.

“You feel incredible,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “So perfect. Taking me so well.”

The words sent a rush of heat through her, and she arched into him, her nails dragging down his back. “Harry,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growled, his pace quickening.

The room filled with the sounds of their passion—soft gasps, low groans, and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. Harry’s hand slid between them, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing tight circles that made her cry out.

“Come for me,” he urged, his voice rough with need. “I want to feel you.”

The pressure building inside her finally snapped, and she shattered beneath him, her body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Harry groaned as she clenched around him, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped, his grip on her hips tightening as he drove into her one last time, his orgasm overtaking him.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. Harry pressed a gentle kiss to her temple before rolling to the side, pulling her with him so she was draped across his chest.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along her spine.

“So are you,” she replied, her voice soft as she nuzzled into him.

They lay there in comfortable silence, the weight of what had just happened settling over them. Y/N felt safe, cherished, and completely at ease in his arms.

Harry tilted her chin up, his green eyes searching hers. “Stay tonight,” he said, his voice low but certain.

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling at the quiet vulnerability in his gaze. “I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

Harry’s lips curved into a satisfied smirk, and he pulled her closer, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek was calming, and his hand running soothingly along her back made her feel cared for in a way that was almost overwhelming.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured after a moment, his lips brushing against the top of her head.

“I’m just…” she hesitated, her voice catching in her throat as she lifted her gaze to his. “I’m still trying to believe this is real.”

Harry’s expression softened, his fingers tilting her chin so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “It’s real, love. Every second of it.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, but her cheeks flushed. “I mean, you’re Harry Styles. You’re... you.”

“And you’re you,” he said simply, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “That’s all I care about right now. Just you.”

Her breath hitched at the sincerity in his voice, and she felt her eyes sting. Before she could respond, Harry shifted, gently easing her onto her back and disappearing from the bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Stay there,” he said softly, padding toward the bathroom.

Y/N lay still, her body warm and relaxed but her mind spinning. She was in Harry’s bed. Harry Styles’ bed. It felt impossible, like something out of a dream.

When he returned, he was carrying a warm, damp cloth in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. The corners of his lips lifted in a faint smile when he saw the way her eyes tracked his every move.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, sitting beside her on the bed.

He handed her the water first, watching as she took a sip before setting it on the nightstand. Then, with a tenderness that made her chest ache, he used the cloth to clean her skin, his touch unhurried and reverent.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, though she made no move to stop him.

“I want to,” he replied simply, his gaze meeting hers for a brief moment before he focused on his task again. “You deserve to be looked after.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip, her heart swelling at the care in his movements. When he finished, he set the cloth aside and climbed back into bed, pulling her into his arms.

“Better?” he asked, his voice soft as he tucked the blanket around them both.

“Much,” she whispered, resting her head against his chest.

They lay there for a while, the silence broken only by the occasional sound of the city outside. Harry’s fingers trailed up and down her arm, his touch light and soothing.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a while, his voice a quiet rumble.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am. Just… overwhelmed, I think. In a good way.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “That’s all I want. For this to feel good for you. For you to feel good.”

“You’ve already done that,” she murmured, her fingers absently tracing patterns over his tattoos.

“Good,” he replied, his voice thick with affection. “Because tonight was just the start, love. I want to know everything about you. Take my time with you. No rush, no pressure. Just… us.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she tilted her head to meet his gaze. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored her own, and for the first time, she felt like this was more than just a fleeting fantasy.

“I’d like that,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Then it’s settled,” he said with a soft smile, pulling her closer. “We’ll take this one step at a time.”

And as Y/N drifted off to sleep in his arms, she couldn’t help but think that no dream could ever compare to the reality of being with him.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ���

Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry

@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

@cinemharry

@drwho06

[weirdworldofwinnie]

All Tied Up

Part 2 here

The Wizard/Oscar Diggs x female reader (NSFW 18+ only)

Summary: You've been The Wizard's pet 'plaything' more or less for a while now after ending up in the land of Oz by accident. One night he decides to try a new trick in the bedroom.

Warnings: unprotected sex, age gap (much older man/younger woman), power imbalance dynamic, slight daddy kink, nonconsensual mildish bondage, mentions of kidnapping and imprisonment, drinking, drugging

Word Count: ~6,471

A/N: Ever since watching Wicked when it debuted in theaters, I cannot get over Jeff Goldblum as the absolute sexiest Wizard of Oz and so this was born out of a little self-indulgence that I'm happy to share with others who are also down horrendously bad for this man. Takes place before the main climatic events of part one of the movie and obviously not entirely accurate to canon. Reader is AFAB for this (I might write another fic that is more gender neutral) and no use of Y/N in dialogue. Also, this is my first Oz fanfic, and I haven't written smut in a hot minute, so forgive me if it's a bit rusty!

Oscar Diggs.

That isn't his full name of course; all he ever told you was that it was embarrassingly long and unnecessary. Here in the Emerald City though, he is just known as a godlike figurehead deemed The Wizard. The Great and Powerful Oz. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Oz the Great and Terrible. His Supreme Ozness. All that jazz.

You know now he is a farce, a carny drifted the wrong way west, a two-bit con man that you have no business screwing with. But you do not know the extent of his wickedness and besides, he is just too damn good at wooing and making your heart stutter triple its normal rate for you to dig deeper beyond your feelings. He has an inflated ego, sure, but he's fairly quite kind, at least to you.

You first remembered him when you were a small child visiting the traveling carnival at the state fair in Kansas. His warm olive complexion was complimented with a clean-shaven face and a head full of dark hair and he was so, so tall. He still is, but you have a different perspective now. Back then at your low vantage point, he was so up towards the sky that he might as well have been wearing stilts.

He'd crouched down to your level and displayed out a standard deck of playing cards, and exclaimed: "Pick a card, any card!"

You randomly (or thought so) plucked out the Jack of Hearts and he took it back and shuffled the deck with a flurry of motion, then fanned them back out. You didn't see your Jack among them, and you puckered, lower lip jutted out. His eyes went wide at that, and he feigned concern.

"Ohhh, no, where is it? Is it in here?" He dug frantically into the flap of his jacket to no avail, then the bottoms of his tap shoes.

"Hmm, I don't suppose it could've..." He yanked off his top hat to reveal the same card hidden under there.

You'd gasped, equal parts confused and delighted, and he looked relieved at the successful reaction.

"Here, keep it. I have a dozen of these decks. It's something to remember me by and show all your friends." He pressed the colorful illustrated card into your palm with a grin and your eyes had sparkled with wonder and enchantment.

Thinking back on it, you knew he'd probably done that trick with twenty other kids that day, it was just a ploy to make you feel special, like sure he'd picked you out of the crowd to gift that Jack of Hearts to. But that didn't stop you from hanging onto it as a prized keepsake and keeping that card tucked safely in your jewelry box.

Years passed and you grew up, temporarily forgetting about the nice funny carnival man and shoving it to the back of your mind to solely focus on your simple and hardworking life helping your folks manage the acres of farmland and homestead. One late spring day you were out feeding the flock of chickens when you noticed that off in the distance to the west, dark clouds had gathered into an angry mob, a swirling mass of foreboding. You squinted, dropping the sack of feed. That sure didn't look nothing like an ordinary twister...

A vicious wind blew up and you struggled to walk towards the house, your skirt whipping around like a flag in the pummeling gusts. Ma and Pa were in town with the farmhand picking up supplies, so you were all alone and having never been caught out in the middle of a storm that seemed out of the ordinary, you were terrified.

The tornado spun across the fields, churning up the pastures and few buildings and wooden fences in its wicked wake, until it was no more than a football field's length away. There was no time get to the safety of the cellar, there no time to save anything, and with a scream, you bolted into the barn because it was nearest and covered your head as you flattened to the floor. It occurred to you too late that you should've tied or hitched yourself to a post or something...

Within ten frantic beats of your heart, the monster twister was directly overhead, the roaring and gnashing of its raw power nightmarish. Before you knew it, the barn walls around you started to rip and shudder and then the twister had violently sucked you and what was left of the barn straight up into the air and you promptly blacked out, certain this was it.

********

To your immense surprise, when you regained consciousness some time later, you crawled out of the remaining rubble of the barn to have ended up in a strange colorful place where there were joyously curious multitudes of strangers - people that called themselves citizens of Munchkinland. You were certain you had hit your head on the way down and went bonkers, but somehow it was all very real.

After you had recovered from shock and explained your situation, they advised you to head to the imperial capital, named Emerald City, to plead your case to the ruler who resided there, referred to as The Wizard. A kindly older Munchkin couple lent you their horse and a basket of bread with a canteen of water for the journey. For miles you rode through the farmland and north through mountainous regions to what the Munchkins said was Gillikin Country, home to the Great Gillikin Railway. The train station was gleaming and shiny, and the judgmental and disgusted looks from boarding passengers and workers made you feel like a filthy stray dog. You tried your best to ignore them and strode straight up to the conductor taking tickets.

"Excuse me, sir? I need to get to the Emerald City."

He wrinkled his nose and held out a white gloved palm expectantly.

"Oh, but I haven't any money for a ticket; I lost everything from the freak storm that brought me here."

His thick bushy brows had furried together and he sniffed once.

"A storm, you say?"

"Yes, I ain't got a cent. I was told by the Munchkins to go see The Wizard for my troubles."

His eyebrows shot straight up into his high forehead, and he scoffed loudly. You started to turn away, dejected.

"Well, why didn't you say so? It's your lucky day, miss! Come aboard!" the conductor suddenly exclaimed joyfully, ushering you on.

"Only this once though. You'll go straight to Emerald City where our wonderful Wizard can sort you out."

You boarded and found a private seat by the window, instantly falling asleep as soon as the train sped off. You missed out on the wonderous views of rugged thick moody forests and bright fields of crimson poppies and only awoke when the train jolted to a halt. Once let off at the station, you took to exploring the overwhelming oasis that was the Emerald City. You'd never seen a big city before and certainly not one like this...

It wasn't hard to figure out signs of this mysterious Wizard and the most obvious was a huge statue planted in the center of the town square. With a loud gasp, you recognized the figure as the very carnival man you had met as a little girl all those years ago.

After getting directions to the palace from a couple of citizens on the street, you went hurriedly to the entrance, only to run up against the stationed uniformed guards.

"I need to see the Wizard, please," you begged of them.

They'd been extremely skeptical, but after much desperate explaining and exasperation, you were begrudgingly allowed in and warned that if you were told to leave by him, you must obey and that nothing could be done about it.

The stretched-out hallway that was the walk down to where you were supposed to meet this Wizard was ominous and your boots had clacked loudly across the shiny tiled flooring, each step echoing tenfold.

The room itself was enormous and intimidating with bursts of fire and noise almost as bad as the tornado. Somehow, you'd mustered up some gumption to tell off the ghoulish moving mechanical head mouthpiece that you weren't scared off by its overdramatic display and that you weren't going to leave until you saw the voice behind it.

"I know who you are, Mr. Deck of Trick Cards!" you yelled at it and with a great whirring of the machine shutting off, it then clunked silent.

He'd come out from behind the hanging ropey curtain of thick twisted fibers, purely flabbergasted more than angry, and declared in humbled bemusement that no one had ever told him that before. Seeing him in the vivid flesh instead of a dim memory had made you falter. He had aged, yes, but he was actually rather handsome and so well dressed, radiating off quirky charm and charisma. You properly introduced yourself and recounted how you'd recognized him from your memory of that distant festival day.

"I see, but I'm afraid I don't remember you, sorry?" He coughed into his fist while his right shoe tapped restlessly.

Your heart sunk even though it was perfectly logical, and you didn't even know why you expected any remembrance when he never even knew your name, for Pete's sake! You had been just another cute face in the crowd, a country bumpkin kid to play card tricks with at the fair for a minute of his day. He had no reason to selectively recall you at all.

"I figured as much, it's my fault. I guess I'll get going though I haven't a clue on how to get home. But darn it, you know I didn't ask to be swept up by a tornado and plopped into this freakish land! I didn't mean to travel all this way through hot fields and cold mountains and the long railway just to get turned away by a silly man who runs a giant talking head!" You hadn't meant to sound rude and whiny, but you were so tired, hungry (the bread you were given depleted hours ago), dirty, and utterly exhausted. And the hope you had pinned on this one man was extinguished.

The Wizard crossed his arms tight to his chest and his eyes casually roamed up and down your body, perhaps surveying the pathetic condition you were in. If he was offended by your statements, he didn't show it.

"You know, it's funny, I had something somewhat similar happen to me back in Omaha and that's how I ended up here... I made the most of it, though. You came from the great state of Kansas, you said?"

"Yes, sir."

He had smiled at that, perhaps enjoying the way that respectful reply just automatically slipped out from your lips, and then he had waved a hand uselessly behind him.

"I don't know how to send you home. Well, I have a hot air balloon for travel, but it's more strictly emergency purposes and I don't think it would be wise to cause a ruckus and panic the people, so... You know what? How about you, uh, stay the night? You must be so worn out and clearly need a bath."

You winced, knowing you were caked in the unappealing smell of dust, muck, and sweat, but nodded eagerly.

"There's no sense traveling now anyhow, it'll be too dark soon. How about you stay with me for a while, and we'll figure things out, alright?"

You were near tears, yet very grateful, and accepted.

You almost wished you hadn't.

Guards, which were a mix of both normal humans and (bizarrely) blue faced monkeys had come in and dragged you off to a secluded room of the palace where you were scrubbed down and dressed in green pajamas by a small team of maids before being put in a bedroom.

You were stopped at every turn you attempted to leave your room to find an exit and finally they deadbolted it. You spent two nights in confinement with delivered meals before The Wizard had entered and gently explained it was too dangerous to let you leave, that you were safer with him and better off staying with him. At first, you were upset because surely your folks were worried about how you had presumably fallen off the face of an earthly existence, but then you remembered you were definitely an old enough adult to live on your own now and maybe there was nothing left of the homestead anyway if that nasty storm had its way. You didn't miss your work on the farm, nor the pressure your family had been applying to find a young man to marry. You never admitted it out loud, but you had bigger sights than being a simple country girl who let some drunken boyish hick boss you around.

This palace was just so grand compared to anything you'd ever seen in your life, and it was complete with a man you were increasingly infatuated with. It took several weeks of being locked up to come to terms with the realization that you had a raging crush on the man who was playing captor, and you wanted him very badly, but his interactions were limited, and you wondered why the heck he kept you around and alive if all he cared about was hiding his identity.

One night though, he broke down the invisible barrier: as you were knelt down in your room removing your slippers for bed, he grabbed your chin to tip upward and within a matter of two seconds, he kissed you right on the lips before you could make a peep. After a second, you kissed back hungrily without restraint, letting desire overrule fear.

"I'm sorry," you and him both said at the same time when he pulled away.

After that, you shyly admitted your blooming feelings for him and by a stroke of splendid luck, The Wizard reciprocated. He invited you to his private room and you slept with him for the first time. Afterward, he told you a bit about himself, how he really started out just a simple man named Oscar who had become a magician and one day the man in charge because people happened to be so gullible. He was intelligent, inventive, and intoxicating with a dash of cunning.

Of course, you weren't sure if the "love" that he extended was out of pure benevolent generosity or you were merely just a glorified whore, but either way you were happy because you loved him, albeit stupidly. He must genuinely love you back though; what else could all the flowers left on the nightstand and weekly gifts of expensive jewels tucked into tiny ornate boxes with trailing lime green silk ribbons mean? He even gifted you an entire handpicked wardrobe of fine clothing from pressed skirts and beautiful dresses to day-to-day blouses to pajamas and revealing lounge wear, many of which match the colors of Emerald City.

The only downside to this whole odd arrangement was that due to the fact that you already knew too much about him, he'd grounded you to the palace indefinitely. From day one you were not allowed to step even a toe outside the palace walls, you weren't let out to leave the premises even accompanied by guards, and you had to keep to yourself in the designated permitted rooms, of which he had many for a single man. When you asked why he needed the excess of rooms, he chuckled.

"They're for my inventions and all the things I collect. I'm rather sentimental, you see."

"Am I now one of your 'things'?" you asked, to which he had smiled almost impishly.

"You could be, if you want."

********

So it is without resistance that now, many months later, at eight o'clock in the evening (he insists on an earlier bedtime, strictly nine o'clock at the latest) in his grand bedroom, you splay fully naked on your back across the rich emerald green satin sheets like a starfish waiting to be swept away by the power of the tidal force he thinks he is (maybe sometimes he's more of a lukewarm swell but no matter).

The Wizard, or Oscar as he prefers only in private, is a surprisingly fit man for his age with a decent sex drive in bed when he's in the mood, which is at least once a week, but there are dry spells when he's too busy or unhappy. While you spend time reading in the library, he spends hours off somewhere building things and tinkering with models which you've never touched. You sleep in separate bedrooms, but on such nights he's ready for passion however, you're expected to be there and stay the night with him. Enjoying his company isn't hard to do - you've fallen head over heels for the man.

Presently, he's removed his long coat to hang up and is in the process of undressing further, the bits and bobs and chains clinking softly from his vest, when he pauses significantly, humming to himself in the depths of the spacious walk-in closet off to the side.

"What is it?" you ask, perplexed and a smidge annoyed at his distraction. He'd promised - no, ordered - an intimate evening after a long while of leaving too much alone. He's been swamped with work and meetings with other influential folk and plotting and planning that he always keeps quiet and stuffed away from you.

"Do you want a drink, my beauty?" he asks abruptly, turning around and holding a tiny green bottle of his famed elixir that he procured from somewhere.

"What kind of game are you playing at, sir?" you wonder suspiciously, watching candlelight glint playfully off the glass.

"It'll loosen you up, just a sip or two."

"It's just alcohol, isn't it?" You can hear the uncertainty reverberate through your tone and the guilty twitch of his eyebrows doesn't deny anything.

"My very own special blend. Take some," he insists, coming over and pressing the cool bottle into your tender hands.

"Why?"

"It's, uh, for a surprise. I promise it's not poison, by golly."

"Not funny." You narrow your eyes but pop the cork and bring it to your lips to take a quick swig. It goes down smooth like syrup, just not as sweet.

"That's my girl," he praises, and you shiver in delight as he climbs up on the bed, holding his hand out expectantly for the elixir, but you aren't done with it. You drink more, feeling the inexplicable urge to quench your thirst. You finally press the nearly empty bottle back to his hands, swallowing before lying back with a flump onto the plush pillows.

Within two minutes, you feel entirely airy and floaty, like your mind has taken an extension cord out of your body to stick somewhere up on the ceiling.

"This'll 'ad better be gooood..." you slur out.

"I guarantee it will, at least for me." He watches in satisfaction as you doze off to dreamland in a daze, a heavy weight of comfortable numb blackness settling over your bones. The room is bathed in a cozy glow from the candles, and it smells deliciously heady.

********

Not too long later, you stir awake from your short-lived nap and when you roll over to your side, you find you can't. Your back is flush against the satin sheets, arms raised up above your head and pinned to the headboard.

"W-Why am I... all tied up?" you ask groggily, looking down at your spread apart legs and ankles, which are stuck in place to the bedposts by a sturdy soft green rope snaked expertly and securely.

"I thought, uh, we'd try something new here..." Oscar says, seeming hesitant now, as if he's two inches away from regretting playing out this fantasy. Or maybe he's not guilty at all and only perceiving the act of being so (you could never tell with a sleazy con man after all).

You tug uselessly at the bindings, which aren't that uncomfortable; the mossy green rope coils around your wrists and ankles snugly, leaving a bit of room for circulation. The only part that truly bothers you is the restricted mobility and lack of control.

Oscar approaches slowly, as if gauging your reaction and his self-preservation if you should decide to fight back... How exactly, you don't know. Yell at him, cuss him out? Bite him like a lowly animal? Scream until a guard comes in to see if you are being murdered?

You writhe slowly, testing the limitations as he settles down at the foot of the bed, a patient parental expression painting his face, coloring with concern yet intrigue. In the time while you were asleep, he's removed his button down and trousers, leaving just a white undershirt and green boxers that pronounce his male package quite well.

He runs a slow hand up along the length of your left thigh and then alternates to the right, his fingers tracing lines of pleasure into your veins. You automatically whimper and he rigs a sly smile up to one side of his cheek.

"Do you like this?"

"I don't know..." you murmur truthfully. It's not exactly unpleasant, but the loss of control is unsettling.

"Well, I happen to like it. You know, the sight of you like this." He gestures a wide sweeping path across the whole of your body, and you grin sheepishly, chest rising and falling with anticipated breaths.

"You can't squirm from me as much."

"I don't squirm," you protest, raising eyebrows.

"Oh yes, you do. I know you don't mean to."

Before you can react to that, he lunges forward and his hands go to your sides, stroking up around to your breasts, fondling them like priceless treasures. You moan, arousal heating your core even more than before, and he rubs a thumb over the hard buds of your nipples while speaking lowly.

"I thank my lucky stars that you were blown in from that storm, it sure was a lonely handful of years before you stumbled into this place. And to have someone so obedient to all my whims..." he trails off, a hungry glint in his eyes.

He bends down to lick and smooch along your throat, inching upward until he nuzzles the nape of your neck with his nose. His close cropped and trimmed mustache/goatee tickles and scratches at your skin as he leans so close, cupping the opposite side of your face with a firm hand. You whimper as he latches onto your mouth possessively, his tongue hot and heavy in your mouth. He tastes faintly like Oz's finest toothpaste and his aftershave should be sold as a candle. Maybe you can suggest to him to market his own line of merchandise; the people of Emerald City will buy anything with their great ruler's handsome face on it even if the product is utter shit.

You feel your hips trying to buck up, needing more contact than of the oral kind, but he's teasing tonight.

"Just keep making those pretty noises, darling..." he whispers, sucking numerous hickeys.

"Please, Oz..."

He moves his head, hot breath on your earlobe as he mutters the words.

"What is it that you desire?"

You struggle to speak, all senses haywire, and he waits patiently as you breathe erratically.

"You-I, please, I need... Oscar, please! Touch."

"Oh, you want me to touch you there? Now we're getting somewhere, darling."

He backs off to run a hand down the length of your body and two of his solid warm fingers slip down into your entrance and out, a give and take motion he does for a bit just to get you hot and bothered. His fingers toy expertly with your moist clit like one does with levers to machines, pressing up and down, rubbing a swiping warm thumb over the knob... When he curls them internally, you cry out cataclysmically, stomach undulating in peaking waves of pleasure as you squirt on his fingers. He chuckles, keeping his grip on your hips, and without the ropes keeping your limbs in place, you'd be thrashing. It's torture, but in the very best way.

When you calm down enough to gaze at him heavy lidded with blown pupils, he focuses on removing his undergarments, taking the white undershirt off first and throwing it to the floor for a maid to pick up later. Then he gets to the main event, the showstopper. You don't focus long on his erect cock because his fingers get in between your legs again. He dips one in, two, then three to stretch you out and your warm slick folds welcome him back in with relief. He holds his free hand down on your stomach and you orgasm once more, yanking in frustration at the bindings that dig into your skin.

"Easy, easy," he says as if trying to tame a wild mare.

"I want... to touch you!" You've fondled his balls and cock before, but even just throwing your arms around his neck would be better than this look-but-don't-touch load of hooey.

"I know, I know. Hey, I'm doing the work here alright? Just enjoy the ride and you'll thank me later."

He looms over before settling down over you and it's strange not being able to grab him in return, to claw at his back, to wind your legs around his waist and claim him as your own for the evening. This power play dynamic is right up his alley, to make you feel utterly vulnerable and pliable underneath him, and it's only fitting for a man who loves to pull the strings of everything and everyone around him. He prefers being on top in bed, but you're definitely known to ride him cowgirl style a time or two (this is your favorite position).

The head of his cock pushes in at a tasteful pace to bottom out and burrow inside that it feels like up in your stomach - and it's taken practice to get to this point; the first time (and a few times after that) hurt and he couldn't get too far mostly because he was just so big. You wonder dimly if taking elixir and being in a relaxed state of mind affects your ability to take his girth. Either way, he never gets angry on nights he can't go all the way; he finds his climax just as well outside. Tonight, though, he's persistent and when he glances at your face which is not screwed up and wincing, he gradually nods in approval to continue.

Oscar moves slowly in rocking rhythm, gentle and deliberate at first, then faster and rougher, nearly growling in pursuit of his own pleasure. His silver hair falls out of its careful coifed style to hang over his forehead, and he keeps his melted milk chocolate-colored eyes dead set on yours as he fucks, a predator to his prey. He has you right where he wants, you can't move away, and you moan as your walls clench tight around his cock. He holds his stare steady, but his frame is shuddering and it's clear he's close to his pinnacle, the one he's been aiming for since you entered this bedroom.

He has made it no secret he has cravings to be a father, even though you're sure he'd be a somewhat inept, possibly even lousy one due to his measurable amount of selfishness. Not to mention the detail that he's old enough to be your own daddy and you oddly don't have a problem with that... But he knows he mustn't intentionally knock you up (a scandal that would cause if word got out) and it was you who had to sadly school him on this fact of life, having been around enough farm animals all your life to know how babies are easily made and knowing friends who had become mothers at the ripe age of 18 back in high school, and you do not want to be that careless. It's lucky there hasn't been any "mistakes" so far in your bedding with Oscar, but you know he almost can't resist spilling inside.

Instead, he pulls out with difficulty at the very last minute, and hot ropes of gooey cum splatter your stomach and splash against your chest. He groans in ecstasy before heaving, out of breath.

"You okay?" you whisper as his lightly sweating chest rises and falls with exertion. He cracks a lopsided smile, steadying himself by using his arms to brace against the headboard above you.

"Are... Are you kidding? I've never been better. Just - just give a man a minute, will you?" He retracts an arm back and holds up a single finger with a dangerous glance.

"And don't you dare make a joke about my age. I'm as fit as a fiddle, just like when I was thirty."

You nod absently, thinking of him as a younger man. The portraits and statues scattered around are decent, but could never do him justice. He's aged like the finest high-quality wine and the silver hair and sprinkling of wrinkles only enhances his austerity.

"You're incredible, your Ozness."

"Flattery always works best, my dear." He ducks his head down and sloppily kisses you softly on the cheek.

"And you deserve to be untied, don't you?" His hands wind around behind your head and with one quick motion, both your wrists are untied. He does your ankles next in a flash and flimsily bundles the short ropes up to toss onto the bedside table.

He climbs off and helps you up ease up to a seated position. You feel suddenly dizzy and droop forward, your brain rushing with slush, and blood flushes into your cheeks.

"Woah, it's okay." He sucks in a breath, catching you against his chest.

"Spinning," you gasp out and he keeps his arms securely around you for a minute before you wiggle, antsy, and he props you up.

"Still on the Tilt-A-Whirl?" he asks, lines deeply creasing his face.

"I... It's gettin' better." You shake your head as though that will dispel the imbalance that you have a strong hunch is a side or after effect from his mystery elixir, not just the sex.

"Thank goodness. You scared me for a minute there, if this is too much..."

"No! I love you," you blurt out and he comfortingly pets your head, raking fingers through and tousling your hair.

"Alright, sweetheart. And to think in addition I was going to experiment with a blindfold and gag- uh, never mind. Maybe that's too advanced; we'll hold off on that one for the foreseeable future."

You gape at him as he gets off the bed with no further word but a grunt and reaches over for a towel on the bedside table to give to you. You take it to wipe up some of the mess while he leaves momentarily off to the nearby bathing chambers to freshen up.

He comes back five minutes later dressed only in a fresh pair of tight fitting boxers predictably of his favorite color that you have to tear your gaze away from lest you foolishly admit to wanting another go around. He clears his throat at your staring, rubbing his jaw and jerking his chin towards the door.

"You can go clean up now," he says a bit gruffly, pointing.

All of Emerald City is extravagant and even the humble washroom is no exception. The first night he'd fucked you, Oscar had given a tour of it.

"See what money and power can buy? It'd do you good to remember that," he'd said as he ran a hand across the shiny marble tiles and gilded gold faucets.

"I came from humble beginnings just like you and now look at me!" He spread his arms out wide in exaggeration and you giggled, utterly enamored.

"Just don't let it go to your head." He chuckled deeply at the ironic fitting joke.

You shuffle off now to wash and wipe down your body in there, using an dark green washcloth that has his moniker of "OZ" stitched on it, and you feel aching soreness all over your body - but it's a good kind, like a full day's work of physical labor accomplishing what you really needed to do.

********

Once you are done in the washroom, you tug on a plush robe the color of jade and return to the bedroom to go to lay back down on the king size bed next to him. He pulls you in with the crook of his arm, the other holding a different bottle than the elixir. This one smells very much like whiskey.

"I should tell you..." he begins with a pause, clearly not in any hurry as he takes a breath and then a couple sips. You can tell by his slightly unfocused gaze and relaxed body that he is getting a tad drunk.

"We're gonna have a special visitor soon from Shiz University, you know Madame Morrible?"

"Yes." You've seen her come and go around the palace, but aren't advised to get within ten feet of the powerful older woman, let alone speak to her. All you know is that she can do impressive magic (unlike him) and is a very close loyal confidant who provides important insider information.

"Well, she invited a very special student with promising magical abilities here for something I'm working on, and I'll need you get out and to stay out of our hair for a while," he explains causally, playing with the neck of the bottle in his fingers.

"You're casting me out?" you ask, disappointment surging up like a muddy river during a flood. This set-up is only too good to last, isn't it? You're so in love that you've almost forgotten all about home, not that you'd really loved your old life there much anyway. But if you truly can't get home ever again, you'll have to start looking for some kind of work in the city to make meager money and hopefully figure out how to cobble a life together if that's even possible. You'll never find another man to depend on like Oscar, that's obvious. Funny that mere months ago, you had been somewhat distraught at the notion of being held against your will in this unfamiliar palace and world. Now you just feel stupid for letting him lead you into a false sense of security and preying on when you were most desperate.

"No, no, of course not," he replies in a scandalized tone, slicing sharply through your spiraling thoughts.

"I greatly value your, uh, commitment to me and keeping my secrets. You're a very delightful girl who doesn't go snooping for trouble and you try to keep out of my business."

You don't mention that you are technically locked indefinitely in this palace, forbidden to go outside off the grounds, and hadn't really had a choice in the first place. But he appears so sad and frustrated, so you nestle and snuggle further into his side, your hand tracing lazy circles on his chest.

"Perhaps only though for your safety, if the upcoming meeting and arrangement doesn't go well, you might have to leave permanently. But, uh, in that case I'll make sure you get you set up with decent accommodations outside the city. Perhaps Munchkinland, Governor Thropp there owes me a favor..."

"Okay," you murmur quietly even though this prospect partially frightens and worries you, and you feel relief oozing from his bones.

"Thank you for always understanding my dear. You know I have such a responsibility and I need everything to go right when this special young lady comes - Morrible is counting on it and you damn know it you don't want to get on her bad side."

"This student of hers must be something else," you mutter more to yourself than him. How much does she know, anyway?

"She sure fucking is from what I've been told. She'll change everything and put me in a greater position than before if I can get her to work with me. Morrible seems cautiously confident and cheered as well by the prospect, which is a sign to be taken seriously. She can often have a stiff stick up her tight ass, huh?" He laughs, deep and throaty, and you know his guard is down when he swears openly in conversation.

"Right." You're silent for a little while, just letting him hold you and trying not to dwell on the implications of whatever this mystery meeting could hold. You could ask for more information, seeing as to how he could be looser lipped from the effects of the alcohol, but you frankly don't care. The post orgasmic state you're basking in is too all-consuming to break out of (plus you are fatigued), and so you let the less business side mood of tonight seep back into the conversation.

"Hey, I liked this tonight, what we did. I really thought the ropes were, um, creative and even though I was nervous at first, it was actually... pretty hot? Maybe we could do that again sometime, sir?"

He smiles tentatively, the gears of his diabolical mind whirring on another track, and your words clumsily snatch him back to the present.

"That's just what I like to hear, sweetheart. That's what I love best-"

"-making people happy," you finish for him, having that line down pat after overhearing him parrot it as part of his political approach.

"Atta girl," he replies with a smarmy smirk and then a contented sigh, ducking his head and resting his chin on top of your head as you lay on his bare chest, listening to the even drumming of his heartbeats.

The palace is delightfully quiet this time of night, the guards in immediate range having been dismissed for the evening so there would be no eavesdroppers. Light from the waxing moon outside the large glass windows curtained with heavy drapes parted a couple inches beams through weakly down, leaving a six inch pale strip to highlight the heavily polished floor.

Kansas and its cornfields feel like worlds away. This is almost like a dream in of itself, but I know it isn't because every day I wake up and I'm still here, you muse sleepily.

Maybe you're staying with the wrong man, and it will end badly between you two. But honestly at this moment, you are too smitten by this lavish lifestyle you stumbled into, his seemingly sincere ongoing affections, and the raw primal love you extract from his flesh on passionate nights like this to give too much of a hoot about it.

[celebtf]

FIYERO AND THE WIZARD ( SCRAPPED BOQ VERSION )

The air in Oz had shifted the moment Fiyero arrived. His effortless charm turned heads, and his dazzling smile seemed to brighten even the dreariest corners of the land. Among those captivated was Glinda, whose laughter now rang louder in Fiyero’s presence than it ever had around Boq.

Boq, the loyal Munchkin, felt the sting of jealousy. He had long admired Glinda, dreamed of being the one to win her heart. But how could he compete with someone like Fiyero? Fiyero was everything Boq wasn’t—tall, confident, and dazzling. What burned most was that Fiyero treated him kindly, like an equal. It was almost unbearable.

Boq’s desperation grew with every passing day. He had to do something.

That’s when he remembered the Wizard.

The Emerald City shimmered in the distance, its towering spires a beacon of power and possibility. Boq entered the Wizard’s grand chamber, trembling as he explained his plight. The Wizard, with his ever-present smile and calculating gaze, listened intently.

“You have such a pure heart, Boq,” the Wizard said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “But I see the fire of ambition in you. It’s admirable. I can help you, but there’s a catch. You must bring Fiyero here. Together.”

Boq hesitated but only for a moment. The plan was already forming in his mind.

Back in Oz, Boq crafted a forged invitation from the Wizard himself, writing in elaborate, elegant script:

"To the noble and dashing Fiyero: I, the Wizard, humbly request your presence in the Emerald City. You may bring a companion of your choosing. I look forward to meeting you and discussing matters of great importance."

When Boq presented it to Fiyero, his face lit up. “You’d come with me?” Fiyero asked.

“Of course,” Boq replied, masking his nervousness with a smile.

The two journeyed to the Emerald City together, Fiyero marveling at its grandeur while Boq’s mind raced with anticipation.

The Wizard greeted them with his signature grin, his arms wide as though welcoming old friends. “Ah, Fiyero! A pleasure to finally meet you.” He turned to Boq, winking subtly.

Before Fiyero could respond, a figure emerged from the shadows. Chesery, the Wizard’s loyal partner, was silent but swift. Before Fiyero realized what was happening, he was bound tightly in enchanted ropes.

“What is this?!” Fiyero exclaimed, his voice tinged with confusion and betrayal.

Boq stepped back, unsure of what to do. The Wizard laughed, his voice echoing ominously. “You’ll see soon enough, my boy. Let’s begin, shall we?”

The Wizard opened the Grimmerie, the ancient spellbook, its pages glowing with an eerie green light. Chanting in a language Boq couldn’t understand, he directed his energy at the trembling Munchkin.

A surge of power overtook Boq. He felt his body stretching, his muscles growing. His ginger hair darkened to a rich brown, streaked with gold, and grew longer. His face sharpened, stubble appearing on his chin. His Munchkin clothes morphed into royal blue and gold, perfectly tailored to his new, athletic frame.

Boq gasped as he looked down at his hands. They weren’t his hands. They were Fiyero’s.

Boq turned to Fiyero, his lips curling into a triumphant, wicked grin. He took a step forward, the sound of his boots echoing in the chamber. The sensation of power and perfection coursing through his veins was like nothing he’d ever felt. He couldn’t help but roll his shoulders, letting his newly broadened frame stretch under the finely tailored fabric of his royal blue jacket.

“Oh, Fiyero,” he began, his voice now rich, smooth, and dripping with mockery. The deep timbre—the voice Fiyero himself had used to charm everyone around him—felt intoxicating as it rolled off Boq’s tongue. He laughed, low and confident, his eyes locking on the bound and helpless prince. “You always had it all, didn’t you? The charm, the attention, the looks. You didn’t even have to try. Meanwhile, I stood in the background, invisible. But now...”

Boq paused, his hands moving to his chest, his fingers brushing over the firm ridges of his new pecs and abs. He gasped softly, almost overwhelmed by the sensation. “Now this,” he said, dragging his hands down slowly, deliberately, savoring every contour of his sculpted torso. “This is what it feels like to be... perfect.” He gave his abs a sharp slap, grinning as he watched the muscles ripple beneath his hand. “Solid as a rock. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.”

He turned to the mirror, his eyes lighting up as he caught sight of his reflection. His smirk widened, his hands running up to his shoulders, down his arms, and back to his chest. “And this build,” he mused, flexing his arms to watch his biceps swell against the sleeves of his jacket. “So strong, so powerful. No wonder everyone followed you without question. Just standing there, you command attention.”

Boq ran a hand through his hair, marveling at the soft, golden-brown strands that fell perfectly back into place. “And this hair,��� he said, his tone almost reverent. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Silky, thick, flawless. You could walk through a storm, and it would still look like this.” He laughed sharply, turning back to Fiyero. “No wonder Glinda’s eyes light up every time you’re near. With this hair and this face...”

He stepped closer to the mirror, leaning in to study his new jawline. His fingers brushed against the light stubble that now adorned his chin, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “This is incredible,” he muttered, testing out his new, dazzling smile. He tilted his head, flashing the grin at his reflection, watching as it lit up his entire face. “How could anyone resist this? No wonder you were the center of attention everywhere you went.”

Turning back to Fiyero, Boq’s grin took on a sharper edge. He ran his hands slowly down his torso again, stopping at his waist before letting them drift lower. “And this,” he said, giving his crotch a deliberate squeeze. He let out a soft, mocking chuckle, his eyes locking on Fiyero’s horrified expression. “You know, I always wondered why people whispered about you behind your back. Now I get it. You weren’t just handsome—you were blessed.”

He stepped closer to the bound prince, leaning down slightly to sneer in his face. “But you didn’t deserve it, did you? All this perfection, and you never really appreciated it. You just walked through life, taking it all for granted. Well, don’t worry, Fiyero. I’ll make sure this body gets the attention it deserves.”

Boq straightened, turning slightly to admire his reflection again. His hands moved to his backside, giving it an exaggerated pat. “And this!” he exclaimed, laughing as he gave it a firm squeeze. “This is just... absurd. How did you even walk around without everyone stopping to stare? Honestly, Fiyero, it’s a little unfair to the rest of us. But now... it’s mine.”

Fiyero’s face burned with a mixture of fury and humiliation. “Boq, stop this! This isn’t who you are!”

“Oh, but it is,” Boq shot back, his tone venomous and full of delight. “Maybe this is who I’ve been all along, Fiyero. Waiting, watching, knowing I’d never measure up—until now. Now I don’t just measure up; I surpass you. I’m stronger, better, perfect.”

He leaned in even closer, his lips curling into a smirk as he stared into Fiyero’s betrayed eyes. “But don’t worry,” Boq whispered, his tone mockingly sweet. “You won’t be forgotten. In fact...” He paused, his grin widening. “I think I’ll give you a proper goodbye.”

Before Fiyero could react, Boq leaned in and pressed his new lips against Fiyero’s in a mocking, exaggerated kiss. It wasn’t an act of affection; it was a final, cruel taunt. When Boq pulled back, his smirk was wider than ever, and Fiyero’s face twisted in stunned disgust.

“Goodbye, Fiyero,” Boq said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Enjoy obscurity while I enjoy... this.”

The Wizard’s laughter filled the chamber, a booming symphony of malice. Chesery stepped forward, dragging the real Fiyero away as he struggled futilely against his bonds. His protests faded into the shadows as Boq turned back to the mirror, his hands moving over his new body one last time, reveling in every inch of his stolen perfection.

“Yes,” he said softly, his voice brimming with confidence and delight. “This is who I was meant to be.”

The Wizard clapped a hand on Boq’s shoulder, his grin wide and approving. “You’re perfect, my boy. The new Fiyero is ready.”

Boq adjusted the collar of his jacket, flashed one last dazzling smile at his reflection, and turned to the Wizard. “Let’s get started.”

Hii I'm posting an Extra story, this is a scrapped Version of the " Fiyero And The Wizard " story that I didn’t post for alot of reasons, but I still liked it, so here you go, there's even a THIRD scrapped Version coming to patreon tomorrow!!

[bunnysnuff]

Heavy.

Pairing: Elphaba Thropp x Reader.

Trigger warnings: vulnerability, kinda sad.

Request.

The two of you had managed to find refuge in a small, abandoned garden tucked away in a corner of the Emerald City, far from the chaos of the palace. The cool night air was heavy with the scent of flowers, their vibrant colors muted in the dim light. Elphaba paced restlessly, her boots crunching against the gravel path.

She hadn’t spoken much since you escaped, and you could feel the storm of emotions swirling inside her—anger, sadness, betrayal, fear.

“Elphaba,” you said softly, standing in her path. “You need to rest.”

She stopped, her sharp green eyes locking onto yours. “How can I rest?” she snapped, though her voice wavered. “Glinda abandoned me. The Wizard wants me silenced. And now, I’ve dragged you into this mess—”

“You didn’t drag me into anything,” you interrupted, stepping closer. “I chose this. I chose you.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Her defenses were crumbling, and it hurt to see her struggling so much with her own worth.

“I’m not like Glinda,” you continued, your voice steady. “I’m not going to leave you. No matter how hard it gets, no matter what they throw at us, I’m staying.”

Her breath hitched, and she looked away. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Don’t I?” You reached out, cupping her face gently and guiding her gaze back to yours. “Elphaba, I’m here. I’m with you. And nothing—not the Wizard, not the city, not anyone—will change that.”

For a moment, she just stared at you, her expression raw and vulnerable. Then, before you could say another word, she closed the space between you, her lips crashing against yours in a desperate, almost frantic kiss.

The world seemed to fall away. Her lips were soft but insistent, her hands clutching at your jacket like you were her lifeline. You kissed her back just as fiercely, your fingers threading through her dark hair.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, her breathing uneven. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She hesitated, her fingers still gripping your jacket. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to let someone—”

“You don’t have to be good at it,” you said, your voice soft. “Just let me in. That’s all I need.”

Something in her eyes shifted—hope, fragile but undeniable. She leaned in again, this time slower, more deliberate. Her lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

The kiss deepened, and the tension in her body began to melt. Her hands slid from your jacket to your waist, pulling you closer. You lost yourself in her—her warmth, her strength, her quiet vulnerability.

When you finally broke apart, you rested your hands on her shoulders, keeping her close. She looked at you, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glistening. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.

You smiled, brushing your thumb across her cheek. “You deserve everything, Elphaba. And I’ll remind you of that every day, if I have to.”

She let out a shaky laugh, the corner of her mouth lifting into a small, genuine smile. “You’re insufferable,” she teased, though her tone was soft.

“And yet, you’re stuck with me,” you replied, earning another laugh.

For the first time that night, Elphaba seemed lighter. She kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every moment. And as you held her in the quiet garden, the weight of the world felt a little less heavy.

[cobrakaisb]

end of beginning

summary: you’re back at camp half-blood after spending months on the princess andromeda and all you feel is the haunting of luke’s presence

featuring: SPOILERS for BOTL and TLO!!!, brief spoilers for the outsiders (just mentions of a quote from the book), 3+1, multi-pov: reader, luke, and percy, angst and only angst (i cried a little while writing)

word count: 2.4k

author’s note:guys, the end is near. there’s one blurb, and then the post heroes of olympus fic. so crazyyyyyy

series masterlist ||| previous ||| next

connor and travis stoll

the hustle and bustle of the city was a nice contrast from the stifling loneliness at camp half-blood. most people wouldn’t describe the hidden oasis buried between the forest and long island sound that way. they’d talk about the camaraderie between cabins, or the sense of family within their own. maybe they’d emphasize the humidity, and the temperature controlled barrier which prevented major storms or severe weather. then again people like clarisse and annabeth, those with a warrior mindset, wouldn’t feel the cloak of loneliness as they’re too busy with clashing swords and grunts of pain characteristic only to the training arena. 

none of those things, however, were pertinent to you. so, when connor and travis invited you to the farmer’s market to sell the overflow of camp strawberries, you jumped at the chance to escape. 

“i can’t believe we made it here in one piece,” connor exclaims, closing the door to the van once it's in park. 

“hey! i needed to practice my driving at some point,” travis defends, meeting you and connor at the back doors. 

while the boys argue back and forth about who’s the better driver — you or travis — you start unloading the cartons of strawberries. the farmers market is already starting to get busy. between other vendors setting up their booths and the diehard organic hippies already perusing the options, it seems like today will be an eventful day. 

and you were right. 

your eyes catch on someone lurking a couple booths over from yours. the guy is tall and wearing a leather jacket, so he sticks out like a sore thumb while sifting through the oranges in front of him. you squint in his direction. he looks vaguely familiar but you can’t place it. he must feel someone staring, because he turns to face you. you gasp at the sight of him, dropping the small carton of strawberries in your hand. 

“you okay?” connor asks, approaching you. 

you shake your head, crouching down to pick up the berries before they get squished under someone’s birkenstocks. connor is right beside you, speeding up the process. you can’t help it when your eyes drift back to the direction where you saw luke, but the person is gone. 

you let out a sigh of relief, “sorry, had a moment of clumsiness there.” 

connor nods in understanding, “all good. besides, i wouldn’t expect anything less from you since i’m around. i know my good looks and charming personality make you nervous.” 

you laugh loudly at his words, shoving his shoulder before he can walk away to discard the ruined berries. 

annabeth chase

“the bookstore is just down this way,” annabeth exclaims, sipping on her drink from the cafe. 

you nod, mustering a smile as you follow her lead. when annabeth asked you to visit her over spring break, you were hesitant, but she was insistent. there was a lot of history between the two of you, most of it revolving around your traitor boyfriend, but neither of you mentioned it. and whenever the subject did get brought up, one of you quickly changed it. 

“they have so many books. and i think there’s even a record section too,” she explains, pointing toward the quaint bookshop on the corner of a street in san francisco 

the awning is a faded emerald green, and the white letters detailing the store’s name are barely legible. but you can tell that it’s well loved. there’s a large bay window where a young mother and her children are sitting, flipping through a picture book with a pig and elephant character. you stop in your tracks for a minute, letting annabeth get a couple steps ahead of you. 

that could’ve been us, you think, twirling the golden band around your finger three times. it should’ve been us. 

“you okay?” annabeth asks, stopping at the base of the three cement steps. 

you nod, taking one more fleeting glance at the little family, “fine. just lost in thought i guess. you think they’ll have a copy of the outsiders?” 

“probably. maybe in the young adult section,” she answers, opening the door. 

a bell chimes overhead, and the middle-aged woman behind the counter greets her warmly. annabeth stops to talk with her, while you hover awkwardly. it’s so clear to you that she’s built a life for herself, one outside of camp half-blood and her demigod status. she laughs at something the woman says, and you almost feel jealous of the fourteen year old. she’s lost so much, yet she has so much more. you can’t say the same. 

there’s no one else for you. he was the one. you’ve always known that, even aphrodite confirmed that a long time ago, claiming that you two were one of her favorites. that never seems to work out though does it? her favorite couples always ending in a tragedy: romeo and juliet, orpheus and eurydice, liam neeson and natasha richardson, and now you and luke. 

you won’t get a happy ending, that you’re sure of. 

“you didn’t have to wait, i would’ve found you,” annabeth appears, startling you. 

you wonder how long she’s been there — how long you've been staring off into space. looking down at her, you meet her inquisitive gray eyes. she’s trying to get a read on you, but you don’t want her to; it’s not what either of you need. 

you grip her shoulder, the one without the tote bag, and say, “let’s go find the outsiders.”

she nods, but somehow you know the conversation isn’t over as she leads you down the aisle. the store is fairly quiet, not many shoppers except for the family, a group of college students, and the two of you so it’s easy to navigate. the young adult section is even emptier, but it still makes you feel claustrophobic. the smell of books and the thick tension is suffocating you. the teen must feel the same way, because she’s the first to break it after picking up a book. 

“you don’t need to feel guilty. i don’t blame you,” she whispers.

you gulp at her words, tugging on your baby tee as you pretend to pull off a string. 

“neither does percy, or anyone else at camp,” she finishes. 

you nod, picking up a copy of the outsiders. the cover is black and white, featuring a photo of a boy in a leather jacket. his face is turned downwards, but you see him clear as day: brown eyes and a white scar. 

“you know what i like about this book?” you ask, but the question’s rhetorical.

“i like johnny’s take on the world. there’s so much good in it, but we get so caught up in the bad that we forget…we forget how beautiful it is,” you say, choking on your words as tears well up in your eyes. 

“i think he forgot that too,” you whisper, and you don’t need to specify who you’re referring to, annabeth just knows. 

she throws her arms around you, squeezing your abdomen tightly. you close your eyes, struggling to hold back the tears, but a few drip down your cheeks anyways. you sniffle, and she squeezes you even tighter. when she pulls away, you look over her shoulder. you swear you meet brown eyes and a white scar. 

may castellan

luke hated westport. everyone there was the same, entitled, stuck up, and selfish. all the houses stood in a line. each one an exact replica of the one before it: pocket white fence, pristine green lawn, and a faded blue siding. his house, or rather his mother’s house, was no different. 

everything looked exactly the same as when he returned at fourteen. her kitchen window looked over the front yard and main road. he can picture her standing there, washing dishes and mumbling unanswered prayers to a god who never cared. he hates how easily she fell victim to him and he hates how emotional it makes him. 

at same time, there’s something different about his childhood home. a place that should have been filled with love, warmth, and happiness no longer harbors the coldness and terror he always associated with his childhood. somehow, the house feels more homey. there’s a floral wreath hanging on the wooden door, hidden behind the screen. he spots a vase of sunflowers on the kitchen windowsill; their bright yellow petals starkly contrasting the darkness inside. the house almost looks lived in. if a neighbor were to walk by, they would never guess it’s inhabited by a crazy person. luke would never guess that, especially with the beat-up red pickup parked out front. 

wait, he thinks, doing a double take. 

he’s seen that red pickup before, but he can’t figure out where. he looks at the license plate, hoping that will give him a clue into the owner. it’s navy blue and yellow, a clear sign that it’s from new york and that alone makes luke think of you. 

he’s come to visit a couple times, and each time he’s almost gotten caught. at the farmers market with connor and travis it was pure luck that he startled you into dropping the berries. when he showed up to talk to annabeth, it was a coincidence that you were there too. (it’s not like he had silena beauregard keeping tabs on you or anything.) but even if he did, hypothetically have her reporting back to him about your every move, he never expected you to be at his mom’s house. 

the front door opens, and he can hear your voice ring out into the stillness of the neighborhood: “i’ll be back later this week, okay may?”

“shit,” he seethes, crouching down behind one of the neighbor’s suvs. 

he hears a commotion in the house, and watches as you wait patiently at the door. his mother must say something to you, because you smile softly and nod your head. he wishes he could hear her words, but he knows you’ll catch him with one move. 

that’s not necessarily a bad thing, says a small voice inside his head. 

he shakes his head at those words, curls bouncing from the action. he runs a hand through his hair, frustration and anger building up inside him. he ruined this, not you. and no matter what he truly wants, luke knows there’s nothing he can do to win you back. 

the creaking of the wooden porch stairs and slam of the screen door draw his attention back to what’s right in front of him. it takes a bitter laugh out of him; ironic how he’s longed for your proximity and now that he has it he’s ignoring it. 

you freeze at the gate, left hand on the hinge and right on your ring. your eyes dart around the neighborhood, looking for the cause of the noise, but you never find him. he watches as you release the breath you’re holding and twirl the golden band three times. opening the gate, you step towards the truck.

he waits patiently, not daring to move a muscle until your car pulls away from his mother’s house. even then, when the engine is nothing but a faint rumble in the distance, he doesn’t move. he remains crouched behind the suv for a few extra minutes, gathering both his courage and sanity. with a final breath, he gets up, fixes his jacket and approaches the house. 

“mom,” he calls out, knocking on the door, “i’m home.”

the door swings open and her arms wrap around him. she smells faintly of burnt cookies, but it’s overpowered by shea butter and coconut shampoo. she’s crying into his shoulder, mumbling about how she always knew it wasn’t true; that wasn’t her son’s fate. 

but she has no idea, luke thinks, that i break everything i touch.

luke castellan

percy hears your scream before he sees you.

it’s loud, shrill, and gut-wrenching. his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach and bile climbs up his throat. 

i’m gonna be sick, he thinks.

percy faced a lot today. silena died. ethan died. annabeth almost died. now he’s stuck watching as you try to console luke.

you’re sitting beside him, bow and arrows haphazardly thrown to the side. there’s a cut on your shoulder caked with dry blood, and other bruises litter your body. he imagines that the pain from them is the least of your concerns. 

“it’s okay. you’ll be okay,” you keep whispering, cupping the older boy’s cheeks. 

luke grabs your left wrist, his thumb rubbing over your engagement ring. “i’m okay sweetheart. you’re gonna be okay.”

he approaches the two of you. it feels like he’s intruding on an intimate scene. percy feels a strange sense of deja vu when luke squeezes your wrist before returning his gaze to him. he wishes that he just caught the two of you sharing a vape instead of your final goodbye. 

“never again percy…don’t let it happen again,” luke croaks out. 

percy promises that he won’t, all while watching you. you bite your bottom lip, turning away from luke as you squeeze your eyes shut. he knows you're trying to be strong, but it doesn’t work as tears leak past your lash line and create tracks on your grimy face. 

“i love you,” luke whispers, and you echo the words right back. 

when his eyes close, percy swears that you’ll go with him, falling on top of annabeth’s dagger. but all you do is sit there, cradling luke’s face in your hands. you trace over his features: the bridge of his nose, his cupid’s bow, and the white scar. 

percy placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reaffirming squeeze. you sniffle, placing luke’s head down gently onto the destroyed cobblestone. your fingers brush his curls away from his forehead, and you unclasp the necklace resting against his collarbone. it’s a silver chain with three clay beads and a golden ring to match yours. you pocket the jewelry, and force a drachma in his hands. 

wiping your nose, you get up from the ground, collect your bow and arrows, and head towards the elevator. 

percy thinks he should call out to you, beg you to face the olympian council with him, but he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 

“leave her. my daughter won’t be joining you percy jackson.”

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @maraschinocherry3 @used2beeeeee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcilla @obxstiles @dracoslovergirl @vanessa-rafesgirl @l1a-pjosversion @vikimontethegirlblogger

[unholyhelbig]

oversight part 6 ??

Title: The Oversight [Part 6/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 6237

Warnings: SMUT UNDER 18 DNI, oral (r recieving), Dom/sub dynamic, slight mommy kink if you squint, fingering (r recieving), and horrible grammar

[A/n: This took literally all day because I hadn't started it until this morning, and it's now 12am. Good thing it's -15 degrees outside and I physically cannot leave my home. I haven't written Nat smut... ever. Go easy on me.]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Natasha Romanoff knew how to handle a gun. She tested its weight; the mix of metal and plastic was familiar to her as lungs were to breathe. As ocean was to water, as sky was to rolling thunder. Handling a gun, especially while loaded, was a delicate process. She’d stroke the trigger, ghost her fingers over the barrel and expertly tease the weapon into doing exactly what she wanted.

Natasha Romanoff was not one to do anything without calculation, not one to do something without complete control. But, the soft noises that escaped your throat as she nipped across your jawline and licked over the burning bites to soothe the smallest bit of pain made her stop thinking. Stop calculating. It threatened to take her control.

Your back was up against the cool mahogany of her bedroom door. You’d barely gotten a chance to close it before her hands were all over you, and that floral scent invaded your lungs. You were frantic to pull her as close as possible, to feel her body fully against yours. You needed Natasha Romanoff more than you needed life itself. You needed her inside of you.

She seemed just as beside herself. Her nails ran up and down your sides, brushing against the exposed skin that the slit in that beautiful emerald dress provided. You were enamored with it earlier in the night. Now you were grateful for all the exposed parts of you, the hot touches and breathless kisses.

“So needy, malyshka” Natasha whispered between kisses. “You need me to take care of you, don’t you?”

Yes. You wanted that more than you could vocalize. Instead, you let out a groan that was muffled by her lips against yours. You understood the irony, feeling so safe with a woman who was one of the most feared within the city.

She reminded you in a gentle growl “words, baby, use your words.”

“Please, I need you.”

Natasha didn’t need another green light. She hauled you into her arms in a feat of strength, backing you onto the bed. The sheets were cool against your bare legs. The last time you’d been in this bed, you were in much worse shape. You preferred this, coming undone with Natasha’s wandering hands and damp kisses.

You hungrily pushed her jacket from her shoulders, brushing the pads of your fingers over her defined muscles. She smiled against your lips, throwing the expensive garment to the floor. You made quick work of the buttons down the front of her waistcoat, barely exposing the curve of her chest before her fingers reached up and grabbed yours.

“You’re far too clothed, darling.”

The objection was soft, and you were quick to comply when she pulled the dress up to expose your thighs. You lifted your hips and she moved the dress the rest of the way over your head, tossing it to the side. Her eyes raked hungrily over your dips and curves, hands caressing your sides, watching as your pulled air in and let it out in excitement.

“You knew this was going to happen?” Natasha said with a wolfish smile as she took in the lacy bra and panties that you wore.

“Hoped, really.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“Do I need one?”

Her smile widened as she expertly slid the buttons from their proper place and pulled her waistcoat off. You were met with tanned skin, with a toned stomach and breasts that you itched to palm. She started to kiss along your neckline, down your chest, and the very start of your stomach. Expertly, she unhooked your own bra, tossing it in the same direction as your dress.

Natasha bit and sucked in the right places and your back arched in eager response. It distracted you from her wandering hands. You shuddered as she pushed past the elastic of your underwear, she brushed her finger up the length of your slit, and a breath got stuck in your throat.

“So wet already, just from a little teasing.”

“Natasha,” You moaned her name.

You squirmed as her touch moved lower, she kissed along your waistline, moved your underwear down your legs until you were fully exposed to her. She let out a content breath that was hot against your center, you fought the urge to press against her.

“Zaychik, I have a few rules,”

“Anything, just… anything.”

She kissed against your thighs, ever so close to you. It was driving you nuts, and while you trusted Natasha with your life, with your sanity, it was you who was struggling with control. You craved her touch and then resented how much you relied on it. You had never wanted anything more in your life.

“You belong to me. And that means, you can only cum when I give you permission.” You whined under her soft ministrations, bucking your hips forward. She bit hard against the expanse of your skin, enough to bruise. “Am I clear?”

“Y-yes, yes. Clear. Crystal. Baby please.”

Natasha hummed against you. “Good girl.”

Your cheeks heated at the positive reinforcement and your fingers curled into the expensive sheets. A gasp escaped you when her tongue met your folds. She licked expertly across the length of your center and an entirely pornographic noise left your throat when she stopped at your clit, sucking softly.

You could feel your heartbeat in your chest, pounding against your ribs in a perfect rhythm. Natasha slid a singular finger into you. It was painfully slow, and far from enough to fill you up. You resisted the urge to grind further into her. Another finger, another soft noise.

A combination of her quick movements and attention mouth brought you close to the edge embarrassingly fast. You had thought of this moment for months, how skilled she was, how your naked body would be writhing under her touch exactly as it was now.

When Natasha added a third finger, your mind started to grow foggy. You had known for awhile that you would do anything for her. It wasn’t a feeling that you shied away from in the slightest. Excitement was building in your core, breath coming quicker, sweat slicking against every inch of your body.

“Remember your manners, baby girl.” Natasha’s words vibrated against your core, making your squirm. “Not until I say.”

Her fingers curled inside of you, your walls tightening expertly around her. It took everything in you not to give in to her. There was an impossible pressure building inside of you. You gasped in as much air as you could muster.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” the answer came without hesitation. “Only you,”

“That’s right. You’re all mine, my little toy.”

Her words only worked you up more. You wanted to take care of her, wanted to worship her. You’d do anything she commanded. The word slipped past your lips without a second thought. She was working so hard to undo you. “Natasha… mommy”

Natasha let out a moan at the title, her pace increasing. She returned her hot mouth to your clit, circled it with your tongue expertly. She mumbled against you, words vibrating. “You can cum, princess.”

She didn’t’ have to tell you twice. You tightened around her fingers, arching off the bed as pure extasy washed over you. You clenched every part of your body, groaning into the crook of your arm to muffle the noise. Pleasure rolled over you, through the pit of your stomach.

Her mouth continued to work throughout the lingering pressure of your orgasm, threatening to build to another one. Natasha pulled her fingers from you with a wet noise. She breathlessly moved herself next to you, kissing your neck, your jawline. Natasha pressed her fingers against your lips, and you were eager and ready to accept them. 

You could taste yourself on her, sucking them as she nipped at your earlobe. She whispered, feeling hot against your skin. “Such a good whore, so willing and ready to suck anything. Take anything. I can’t wait to give you a strap.”

Your heart began to race at the thought, and she smiled against you, clear that she could feel the increase of the rhythm from your closeness. Natasha removed her fingers, she kissed you hard, and you kissed her back with just as much passion, pulling away slightly to stifle a yawn.

“Tired already, Zaychik?”

You chuckled “you wear me out. Though, I’m not too worn out to make you feel good.”

“Mm, you’ve already made me feel good. I think we should get some sleep.”

You wanted to fight her on it, body still trembling from the rolling orgasm she had given you. But exhaustion was fighting too and Natasha readjusted you both until you were settled gently into the crook of her neck, one arm lazily over her midsection. She was gentle and attentive with her movements. Brushing strands of your hair behind your ear. Who knew Natasha Romanoff was a cuddler?

A spring storm had taken full effect by the time you had crossed back into the city, but it seemed that nothing could dampen your mood. The clouds that formed in dark clusters and released sheets of rain were something of beauty, not despair. The day was still warm, the breeze cold to cut through the sweat that formed on your brow. You’d cracked the window, allowing stray drops to cool your skin.

You stopped by the mailbox on the bottom floor, wiggling the smallest key on your ring into the lock until it opened. You barely checked the mail and it was stuffed full of coupons, advertisements, and the occasional statement from Veronica’s after-school daycare.

You tucked the papers under your arm and started the long ascent to your floor. You avoided the nails that stuck up through cheap wood. The spots in the carpet that had been soaked through with water damage. None of it seemed to bother you.

“Good morning, Miss Baxter.” You mumbled to the older woman who always perched in front of her door in a busted lawn chair. She had a perfect view of her neighbor across the hall. Her little, crusty white dog barked in morse code at you.

“What’s so good about it? Raining buckets and everything in this godforsaken place leaks.”

“Well, I suppose that’s where the buckets would come in handy.”

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat but you were already a good portion of the way up the final flight of stairs. You pressed your shoulder tactfully against your apartment door pushing it open before you threw the mail on the table and flicked on the kitchen light. The air conditioning chilled you to the bone, drying the damp spots on your clothes.

There was a click in the far side of the room, one that was unfamiliar from the ticking of the air unit, or the settling of an old building. You were used to those noises. This was entirely too human for your liking, so you drew your gun in a fluid movement, much like the other night.

Without hesitation, flicking off the safety and aiming.

Darcy was sitting in the beaten recliner in the corner. There was an upturned book on the side of the chair. You weren’t sure how long she had been sitting there, but from the bags under her eyes, the way her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, you knew it had been awhile.

You instantly lowered the weapon, hands suddenly shaking. “Darcy, what are you-?”

“I… I knew that something was up these last few months. I thought you had started seeing someone, a regular at the diner, or, or God forbid the dude who works behind the grill. But when I went to the diner you weren’t even there. They said you hadn’t been there for months. And can you please put that thing away?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry” your words were pinched as you rebolstered your weapon. “I can explain.”

“Can you?” She stood, closing the distance between you both now that there wasn’t a loaded gun in the middle. You straightened up, heart pounding haplessly in your chest. “Because Monica Rambeau came up to me at work the other day and told me that you were lying. She… she wouldn’t tell me what, just that you weren’t being truthful, and I defended you, y/n.

“I defended you because you’re my best friend. You have been for years. I’ve stood by you through everything. Through meeting Ronnie’s father, and getting pregnant and comforting you when he left you- because he did leave both of you!”

“Darcy,”

“No. Let me finish. Let me finish. I’ve been here for you every step of the way. Every single step and the only thing that I’ve ever expected from you is honesty. Don’t you think I deserve that? Don’t you think Ronnie deserves that?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching her carefully as she caught her breath, and her bearings. You had only seen Darcy this angry once, and it had been years ago. Sophomore year of high school when her parents decided to split, and her father tried to get her to move to Washington state with him.

She fought and fought because they waited until the last minute to tell her. They weren’t truthful, and you hadn’t been truthful either. More importantly, in both situations, she had been right.

“The y/n I know, can’t draw a gun like that, and doesn’t come home covered in bruises, and doesn’t flinch into action at every little noise. The y/n I know wouldn’t have lied to me in the first place. So, what is going on?”

“Can we… sit?”

You didn’t entirely trust the strength of your legs right now. Parts of you were sore, you had realized that as you climbed the stairs. You could feel them trembling now and fought the urge to curl up on the carpet that was right under your feet.

“I’m fine standing.”

“A drink, then? It’s uh, it’s five somewhere, right?”

“y/n.”

“Right, yes. I know.”

And you did know, but only to a certain extent. If Monica hadn’t gone to Darcy, would you have? It was a single night of drunken lovemaking followed by a less-than-graceful exit into the cold of autumn. There was a tightness to seeing her again, and the underlying fear that this would happen. But so many things were happening.

“I am sorry that I haven’t been truthful with you, but you have to believe me, it was for your own safety. For Ronnie’s safety. I would never lie without a good reason.”

“Well, that’s subjective, isn’t it?” Darcy’s breathed “You always think you know what’s best for me, what’s best to hide from me. But you don’t know what I can handle.”

Okay, you absolutely needed that drink. Darcy wasn’t going to leave now, not without answers she was pushing so hard for. Ronnie was getting too tall for her own good, so you hid the good liquor in the cabinet above the fridge.

Bourbon, warm or not, was your choice and right now you couldn’t bother with ice, just a mug that you had gotten from a thrift store. It was from Cabo and had a little white sand beach and a flamingo wearing sunglasses on the front. You’d never been to Cabo.

The first sip went down burning, and the second soothed the first. “I took a loan.”

“Like, from a bank?”

“From a shark. Technically. They don’t call them that, but that’s what they are. I didn’t realize it at the time, or else I wouldn’t have, but I was already two months behind on rent and I refused to ask you to cover me again. That’s not your responsibility. You already do so much for me and Ronnie.”

She opened her mouth to object, to rush in and say that she would have given you anything and you knew she would. But that didn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t have asked her in the first place.

“I didn’t pay them back in time and they weren’t very lenient. They took me under their custody to persuade me into coming up with the money.”

“Persuade? Their custody?”

“Kidnapped… beat within an inch of death. Whatever way you look at it, I was on their bad side.”

With horrible judgement you filled up another two fingers of whisky, only swallowing half but making eye contact with Darcy as you had done so. Simmering behind her deep blue stare was a mix of pity you were desperate to avoid. It soon dwindled back into discontent and that made you want to continue.

“I was spared on account that I wasn’t their usual clientele. Natasha, she called me… shit, what was it? An oversight? I was a blip in the system. I wasn’t supposed to happen and for that reason, and that reason alone, she offered me an ultimatum.”

Darcy sidled up to the counter that rested like a drawn line between you both. Her fingers tapped nervously on the surface but some of the tension had drained from her shoulders. “Natasha? That.. woman from the fair? The one with Clint?”

“Oh, Clint, you remember?” You smiled.

“He’s strong. Rugged.” She shrugged, frowning “That’s not the point. You’re telling me he’s a part of this sharking business? You’re telling me you let a known criminal that close to your daughter? To me?”

“I get how that sounds bad, Dee, but he’s really not a horrible guy. He’s a father himself and you’re right. You’re right. It’s not the point.” You swallowed the second half of your drink and placed the novelty mug in the sink to stop yourself from polishing off more of the bottle. “They gave me an ultimatum.”

“An ultimatum?”

“I could kill myself working at the diner everyday for the rest of my life. Twelve-hour shifts with most of the funds feeding right back into their palms. It would take decades to give back the money I took from them. Or, I could work for Natasha and pay off my debts in a quarter of the time.”

Silence filled the room. The only type of silence that you knew, that was filled with the sounds of the city. Your neighbors to the left were having a fight that seemed bigger than the one you and Darcy had now. A boombox blasted reggae music across the street and certain beats bled through the thin glass windows.

You swallowed the acrid flavor on your tongue. “For the last four months instead of the diner, I have been with Natasha. With Clint. They’ve been teaching me, and at first, I hated every single second of it. I was scared for… for weeks. But, Darcy, I’m starting to enjoy it and that scares me more than anything.”

“I need to sit down,” She mumbled.

“I offered,”

“I know.”

She flopped down onto the sofa that folded out into a bed. You’d slept there for a month when Darcy’s apartment was being fumigated and you refused to make her take the couch. It was hell on your back, but Ronnie had never been happier to wake up to the both of you each morning.

It carried a familiar clean scent. Darcy pulled a blanket into her lap and ran her fingers over the bumps in stitching. You cautiously lowered yourself down next to her, starting to feel the effects of an empty stomach and too much liquor for the afternoon. You were suddenly nauseous and starving all at once.

“There’s more,” Darcy said, “What you just told me was a lot, but there’s more. I know you, y/n, and I’m giving you an opportunity here to tell me everything.”

You sighed, slumping on the couch. You could feel the bar in the center of the couch push against your spine. There was a crack in the ceiling next to a gray and brown water stain that looked like a Rorschach test.

“Natasha. I think I’m in love with her.” You could hear Darcy turn her head with a dizzying quickness. “I’m not supposed to be, it’s the last thing I’m supposed to be. I’m supposed to be protecting her and that’s incredibly hard to do when I’m distracted by her eyes.”

Darcy was laughing and it lightened the mood in the room. The tension was still thick enough to slice with a knife, but it was enough to get you to look at her. “You’ve got it bad, huh?”

“The worst.”

“You really think this is what’s best, huh? Putting yourself into the line of fire like this? Handling a gun?”

“I do. I really, really do.” You picked up her hand, relieved that she didn’t pull away so you squeezed it, just to make sure that it was real. That she hadn’t run at the first sign of trouble. “I always tell Ronnie that I’d get us out of here one day. All of us. And I never knew how to do that on $2.00 an hour.”

Darcy sighed heavily; she leaned her head on your shoulder. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know. But some risks you just have to take.”

The sun had broken through the clouds for the first time in days. It streamed through the windows of Natasha’s private office, nestled at the back of the large house. In the past week, you had been here twice and each time your heart thudded impossibly fast.

This time, she had summoned you before you were through the doors for your normal shift. There were no extra caveats. You weren’t meant to head down to the docks, or to one of the many storefronts that were rented from the Romanoff family. Instead, you were simply meant to be here.

The home was empty, you knew from the lack of cars that were outside. Natasha’s was the only one in the lot besides yours. There was a certain quiet to the day and the French doors that led to her private office were ajar to strengthen the airflow.

She was focused on the work in front of her, hair in a messy bun and two strands falling from her haphazard job. There were black frame glasses on her face. Her face was scrunched up in a frankly adorable expression. It softened when she glanced up and saw you, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

Much to your dismay, she removed her glasses “Come in, close the doors behind you.”

You did as you were told, letting them fall with the subtle shake of the blinds. They’d been closed but a small stream of golden light was splayed across Natasha’s desk. It caught the intensity of her eyes, the sharp green color that only came out when she was surrounded by these walls.

“Sit,”

Obediently, you moved to do so, pulling one of the leather chairs out from its spot on the other side of the desk. You felt shame, despite last night. She was still your boss, still the person you were meant to protect. That’s what you were being altered for.  

“Not there.”

You lifted your eyebrows, halting in your spot. Natasha pushed back in her rolling chair, ever so slightly. She gestured vaguely to her lap. She can’t be serious? This had to be some type of test? It didn’t seem like one. You certainly wouldn’t mind having her arms wrapped around you, her scent enveloping, intoxicating.

Cautiously, you did as you were told, lowering yourself onto Natasha’s lap. There was an overwhelming warmth, a destined comfort to being in her arms, so much safety in the simple gesture of her pulling you close.

She guided your chin until your lips were close to hers, not quite touching. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” You responded before closing the distance. She hummed into the kiss, her tongue running over her lips, against the roof of your mouth. You could taste her morning coffee and a hint of mint.

“I missed you.”

“It’s been two days,”

She hummed, pressing her cold nose against your throat. The weekends were reserved for relaxation, and as much as you wanted to stay with Natasha in this giant house, you had a life within the city; a daughter, friends, responsibility.

“I don’t want you work for me anymore.”

You frowned and pulled slightly away from her, your arms still circling her neck. This certainly had to be a test but there was no indication to such on her face. She had nothing but a tender expression, a quiet one that left no room for argument, but you weren’t built like that.

“What?”

“I,” Natasha dipped her gaze, pressing her forehead against your cheek. Her words were a whisper. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You can’t get hurt if I don’t put you in the line of fire.”

There were a few moments of silence aside from the large clock on one of the bookshelves that clicked with each passing second. Natasha had never been vulnerable with you like this. There had been moments of soft expressions, but never this.

Gently, you lifted her chin, forcing her to look at you. “Natasha, I can’t do that. I can’t just stop protecting you. It’s all I’ve been training for these last months.”

“I want to offer you something more, y/n. You and Ronnie both. I want you to have a home here… with me.”

You breathed her in, your forehead against hers. Your eyes were closed, but you could feel her watching you for any kind of reaction, anything that would give your feelings away. She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture making your shudder against her.

“I want that too. But more than anything, I want to keep you safe. I still want this. I still want to be there for you like I have been. Behind you every step of the way.” You chuckled sadly, “While being a trophy girlfriend sounds amazing, I want to earn my keep.”

Natasha smiled at you, “Girlfriend? That’s quite the title.”

“I mean it,” you played with her necklace, an equally as small gold chain. “I want to keep training. Girlfriend or not. If you’re going to keep me around.”

She moved forward, kissed against the small expanse of skin behind your ear, down the side of your neck. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mmhm, but I was serious about you and Ronnie.” She pulled back, brushing her thumb over your flushed cheek. “I like you, y/n. You make me happy.”

Before you could respond, her lips were against yours again, her hands tracing up your sides. You were well aware of how close the two of you were, of how easy it was to get heated in this position, of Natasha’s cold fingertips as they ghosted under the hem of your shirt.

“I brought pizza from that place on the corner that you like,” You balanced the large and greasy box on your hip. It wasn’t your favorite place, the man behind the counter was always rude and the line was out the door. But it was for good reason, you had to admit, because the food was always delicious and made you forget about all the complications.

Darcy ate pineapple on her half the pizza like a criminal. You and Veronica were content with pepperoni, but you’d have to sprinkle extra parmesan cheese on her slices, cutting them into small pieces and providing her with a fork.

There was quiet to Darcy’s apartment. One that reminded you of the many times you had pulled your weapon in preparation. Your hands were full with the box, with a plastic bag filled with off-brand soda and two-dollar movies that were on the shelf at the corner store.

You struggle to swallow your own fear at the sight that lies in front of you. The television is muted, but a cartoon continues to cast the living room in a pale, blue light. Darcy is sprawled on the couch, her chest rising and falling in what seems to be a heavy sleep.

The light above the oven is on and the kitchen table is far from unoccupied. Ronnie looks up at your entrance, content with the array of markers, colored pencils, and crayons that are scattered in front of her.

Carol Danvers sits in an adjacent chair, working on staying in the lines of her own picture. You weren’t close enough to see what she had drawn, but based on her track-record you were sure it was something ghastly.

Monica Rambeau sat in the recliner, a mug of something steaming in her hand. Her eyes were trained on the television despite the lack of sound. They didn’t flick to you when you entered. She was confident that you weren’t going to make a move. Cocky.

“Is that from Ginos?” Carol asked, capping the marker that she was using. “God, they have the best pizza.”

“Yeah, it is.” You whispered.

Cautiously, you let the door close behind you. With an almost domestic way about you, you set the box and the bags down on the counter before wiping the sweat on your jeans. You made quick eye contact with Monica. She nodded at you, regarded you quietly.

“Sit, I was just telling Veronica that she’s very good at coloring. You’ve got a real artist on your hands, Y/n.”

“So, I’ve been told.” You sat down, keeping both of your hands on the table. Kate told you that it was a sign of trust. That if you were quick enough, and she was sure that you were, it wouldn’t matter how far away your weapon was. “What did you do to Darcy?”

“Oh, she’s just so exhausted. Sometimes working a nine-to-five will just take it right out of you. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning after some much needed rest.”

You nodded; mouth incredibly dry. Carol was watching you carefully. She had scribbled something that looked like a mass of color but the more you stared, just like the stain on the ceiling in your own apartment, the more it looked like something more.

She laughed, shaking her head “I’m afraid I’m not as good of an artist as your daughter.”

Ronnie looked at you, her eyes searching your face. It was easy to read her. You had for years. There was curiosity there, but no fear. Carol had probably led with something along the lines of I’m friends with your mother.

Or maybe it had been Monica who forced her way in first. She’d wandered into the kitchen and opened the box of food. Her nose scrunched up at the prospect of fruit on pizza, but she made quick work of picking off the offensive items.

Carol pushed the sheet of paper close to you. “Tell me, y/n, what do you see?”

“I… I don’t know. It looks like a duck.” She lifted her eyebrows, looking or more, and you confidently pointed to each element. “The beak is right here, and the eye is here.”

“Right.” Carol made a swift movement and flipped the photo. “What does it look like now?”

For someone that claimed not to have a good eye for art, Carol sure had a high opinion of a diagram she’d created with a few waxy crayons. It wasn’t the best drawn creature, but you got the general idea.

“A rabbit.”

Carol beamed at you and it made you feel sick to your stomach. “Clever one, aren’t you? Do you see how the world can be viewed in more than one way? To you, this could be a duck, or a rabbit, or just a poorly drawn abstract painting.”

“It’s very well done.”

“Don’t flatter me. I know what I’m capable of. I know what I’m up against. More importantly, I need you to know that sometimes, perspective can change everything.” She leaned back in her chair, rolling a crayon under her fingertips. “The Romanoff family is on the wrong side of an ongoing war, and by association, so are you.”

Veronica got out of her chair then, finally losing interest in the activity that was given to her. Monica and Carol tensed, as did you. But your daughter gave you a look that indicated television. Something else to occupy her mind. You let out a shaky breath.

“Sure, baby. Keep it low, okay?”

She nodded at you and scrambled over to the living room. There were soft noises from the cartoons afterwards. She sat patiently close to the screen to she could hear. She minded you well, hugging a throw-pillow close to her chest.

“It was very easy to track you down. Did you know that? Almost as easy to get in here, to have full access to your life. The life you had before you met Natasha Romanoff.” Carol reached into her coat pocket, she pulled out a business card. “You need to choose a side. If you’re going to stick around in this town, you need to choose a side, or get better locks.”

She left it on the table along with the smattering of art supplies and her crudely drawn photo that was supposed to teach you about perspective. Though, you were certain you knew all you needed to. There wasn’t even a question.

Carol stood and gestured for Monica to follow. She clapped you on the shoulder before she left, her words just the quietest of whispers. “I understand her allure, y/n. But there’s more than one force to deal with in this city.”

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[incorrect-green-lantern-quotes]

The Bird & the Airman

(How Robin met "Uncle Hal")

Dick just about had a heart attack when he stepped out of the elevator into the Batcave and found a stranger taking apart the Batplane's engine, whistling cheerfully as he did so. Absurdly, the man wasn't even dressed like one of Gotham's colorful rogues or a League ninja- instead, he wore a brown leather jacket over faded blue jeans and scuffed work boots. Fortunately, he seemed to be totally engrossed in his sabotage, so Dick quickly pulled on his domino mask and crept over to where his utility belt was stored.

None of the gadgets appeared to have been tampered with, so Robin quickly extracted a bola and hurled it at the intruder. His aim was true, and the man yelped as he toppled over and landed face-down. In a muffled voice, he grunted, "That's not funny, Bruce!"

Robin's alarm doubled at that. Who was this guy, and how did he know Batman's secret identity???

After sure his mask was securely in place, Robin grabbed the largest batarang he could find before rolling the intruder onto his back. Holding the sharp edge of the batarang to the man's neck, he growled, "Who are you? How did you get in here?!"

"Robin?" The stranger looked nonplussed for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Sorry kiddo, I should've figured you wouldn't recognize me like this."

The man's hand twitched at his side, and Robin's eyes only caught a glimpse of the ring on the middle finger before a flash of emerald light erupted from it.

The Boy Wonder blinked his eyes rapidly to clear his vision of dancing spots, then noticed that the intruder's clothes had been replaced with a much more familiar green, black, and white uniform. Green Lantern sat up and glowing green hands formed around him, unwrapping the bola and freeing his arms. "I guess Batman must've forgotten to tell you that I was coming over."

"I-uh... what??" Dick stammered, his mind still grappling with the realization that he'd attacked a member of the Justice League. "Oh man, Alfred is gonna ground me for the rest of my life!"

Green Lantern chuckled. "Well, only if he finds out. I'm certainly in no hurry to admit that a pre-teen got the drop on me. Bats would never let me hear the end of it."

Hearing the older hero joke so casually did make Dick feel better about the whole mess. "I'm really sorry about attacking you. I thought you were a bad guy who'd managed to get into the cave somehow."

"No worries, I know Spooky's real strict about the whole secret identity thing. But you seem trustworthy enough." Green Lantern winked, then his uniform vanished, leaving him in civilian wear once more. He held out his hand. "I'm Hal Jordan, test pilot and aerospace engineer for Ferris Air. I help Bats design and build all his jets."

Well, that explained why he was here. Dick shook Hal's hand. "Do you need any help with that?"

"Sure!" Hal quickly began explaining the inner workings of the jet engine he was reassembling while Dick handed him the parts he asked for. Most of the technical jargon went completely over Dick's head, but he nodded along anyway. Then, Hal asked, "Say, does Bruce let you fly this thing?"

"No... he won't even let me drive the Batmobile until I get my license." Dick grumbled.

"That's rough, buddy." Hal commiserated. "I knew since I was a kid that I belonged in the sky, but had to wait until I turned 18 and joined the Air Force to get there. Hopefully Bats won't keep you on the ground as long."

"I've always felt more at home in the air." Dick admitted. "My mom, she gave me the name Robin because as soon as I could hold a trapeze bar, I could fly like a bird."

"Your parents were the Flying Graysons, right?" Hal seemed to anticipate Dick's obvious question, because he continued with, "Batman didn't tell me your identity, but it's not hard to figure out if you already know that he's Bruce Wayne."

"You knew my parents?"

"Not personally no. I saw them perform once, years ago when Haley's Circus came to Coast City, and my God... I've never seen anyone soar like they could, not even among the other Green Lanterns."

They fell into a companionable silence as Hal finished reassembling the engine, then used his ring to put it back inside the jet.

"There, all that remains is to give her a test drive." Hal wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving grease marks. A wicked grin spreads across his face. "Usually I do that with Batman, but it seems we're ahead of schedule thanks to your help, and one good turn deserves another. Whaddya say Robin? Wanna see how a Green Lantern flies?"

[shiorihyugawrites]

Owned - Eren x Reader Modern AU

You were hired to sing at the most exclusive lounge in Paradis City—classy, high-end, and quietly owned by none other than the infamous Eren Jaeger. The moment he sees you on stage, he’s hooked.

You try to resist. He’s your boss. He’s dangerous. He’s taken.

But Eren doesn’t take no for an answer.

He showers you in gifts, whispers promises against your skin, and drags you into a world of dark secrets and criminal power. Even as guilt and jealousy twist inside you, the heat between you burns out of control.

He has a girlfriend. He doesn’t care.

And when he finally claims you? He makes sure you know one thing—you belong to him.

A/N: 18+ Only Minors Do Not Interact

PART TWO: DIAMONDS AND DECADENCE

The Parisian jewelry store was a cathedral of excess, its air heavy with the scent of polished leather and wealth. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls, scattering light across glass cases that housed gems so brilliant they seemed to pulse with life. You stood beside Eren, your pulse a wild staccato, as he fastened a diamond bracelet around your wrist. The cool metal kissed your skin, each faceted stone catching the light in a kaleidoscope of fire. His fingers, calloused yet precise, lingered on your wrist, tracing the delicate veins beneath your skin. Then, with a slow, reverent motion, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the pulse point that thrummed beneath the diamonds.

The gesture was intimate, almost sacred, and it sent a furious blush scorching across your cheeks. Your heart stuttered, skipping beats as his emerald eyes met yours, a glint of possessive satisfaction in their depths. The staff nearby couldn’t hide their reactions—a young woman with a sleek ponytail let out a soft gasp, her eyes starry with envy, while an older man adjusted his glasses, a faint smile tugging at his lips as if he’d witnessed a scene from a romance novel. You couldn’t blame them; Eren’s presence was magnetic, his long hair tied back in a loose bun, strands framing the sharp angles of his face, tattoos peeking from the collar of his black shirt. He towered over you, his stoic demeanor only amplifying the intensity that radiated from him.

You couldn’t believe you were here, in Paris, with him. The last few weeks had been a fever dream, a whirlwind of desire and guilt that had left you spinning. Eren Jaeger, the most feared man in Paradis City, had pulled you into his orbit, and you were helpless against his gravity. The bracelet, the store, the city—it was all surreal, a fantasy you’d never dared to dream. Yet his gaze grounded you, tethering you to this moment, to the dangerous allure of the man who’d upended your life.

…

Flashback: Five Weeks Ago

The dressing room still held the faint echo of your encounter with Eren, the air thick with the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he’d unraveled you until you were trembling and breathless. You’d barely processed the weight of what you’d done—sleeping with your boss, a man with a girlfriend—before he doubled down on his pursuit. The gifts arrived like a tidal wave: a pair of emerald stud earrings that matched his eyes, a silk slip dress so soft it felt like a whisper against your skin, a sleek leather jacket that hugged your curves like it was made for you. Each came with a note, his handwriting sharp and deliberate: “Wear this and think of me.” or “You’re too beautiful for anything less.”

His words were a weapon, whether whispered in the dim light of the lounge or sent via text in the dead of night. One evening, after a performance that left you drained, your phone buzzed with a message: “You were unreal on stage tonight. Had to grip my chair to keep from storming up there and taking you right in front of everyone.” Heat flooded your body, your fingers trembling as you read it, alone in the quiet of your apartment. You hated how easily he could dismantle your defenses, how a few words could make you forget the moral line you were crossing.

Because Mikasa was always there, a shadow in the back of your mind. 

You’d seen her at the lounge only twice since that first night, but each time was a dagger to your heart. She moved with Eren like they were two halves of a whole, her hand resting lightly on his arm, his lips brushing her forehead with a familiarity that made your chest ache. The second time, you’d been mid-song, pouring your soul into the melody, when you caught him kissing her in the VIP booth, his hand tangled in her hair. The pain had nearly broken your voice, but you pushed through, letting the hurt fuel your performance.

And yet, like a moth to a flame, you let Eren find you backstage afterward. He’d corner you, his presence filling the room, and before you could protest, his mouth would be on yours, his hands claiming you with a hunger that erased every rational thought. “You’re fucking killing me,” he’d growl, his voice rough with need. “I’m addicted to you.” And you’d fall, every time, letting him take you against the wall, on the couch, anywhere he wanted, letting his promises wrap around you like chains.

You weren’t proud of it. You’d always prided yourself on being a “girl’s girl,” someone who’d never dream of touching another woman’s man. But Eren was a drug, and you were hooked. The guilt ate at you, but the high of his attention, his touch, was too intoxicating to resist.

You’d met his friends one night at the lounge, a rare glimpse into his world. After your set, he’d summoned you to his table, where Armin, Jean, Connie, Floch, and Levi sat like a council of wolves. Your nerves had spiked, but Eren had pulled you onto his lap without hesitation, his arm a possessive band around your waist. “This is my songbird,” he’d said, his voice low and proud, introducing you to the men who ran Paradis City’s underworld with him. Armin had offered a polite smile, his blue eyes sharp and calculating. Jean had smirked, tossing out a playful, “Nice catch.” Connie had grinned, clinking his glass against the table, while Floch’s stare had lingered too long, making your skin prickle. Levi, ever the stoic, had merely nodded, his gaze cutting through you like a blade.

The nickname—songbird—had burrowed into your heart, a private endearment that made you feel cherished, even as it reminded you of your place: a secret, a treasure kept hidden. Unlike Mikasa, who Eren paraded openly, kissing her in front of you without shame.

The breaking point came when you confronted him. You were tired of being his dirty little secret, of stolen moments in the lounge and late-night visits to your apartment—an apartment he’d recently started paying for, another extravagant gesture that made you feel both adored and cheap. Over text, you’d unleashed your frustration: “I’m not your fucking sidepiece, Eren. I’m done being hidden while you flaunt Mikasa. Find someone else to toy with.”

You’d expected him to brush it off, maybe send another gift to smooth things over. Instead, an hour later, your phone pinged: “Pack your bags. We’re going to Paris.” You’d laughed, thinking it was a bluff, until you heard the growl of his black G-Wagon outside your building. He’d stepped out, first-class tickets in hand, his expression unreadable but resolute. “Let’s go,” he’d said, and against every shred of reason, you’d gone.

…

Present Day: Paris

Now, in the jewelry store, the memory of that reckless decision felt like a distant echo. Eren’s lips lingered on your wrist, the diamond bracelet glinting under the chandeliers. “You like it?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

“It’s… stunning,” you said, your voice soft, still reeling from the intensity of his gaze. “Eren, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he cut in, his tone firm but laced with a warmth that made your chest tighten. “You deserve the best, baby. I’m gonna make sure you have it.”

Your blush deepened, and you ducked your head, unable to hold his stare. The staff hovered nearby, their polite smiles barely masking their awe. Eren didn’t seem to notice—or care. His focus was entirely on you, his presence commanding the room as effortlessly as he commanded Paradis City.

Then, without warning, he pulled you closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he kissed you—deep, possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth with a hunger that stole your breath. You gasped against his lips, your hands instinctively gripping his shirt, the diamonds on your wrist catching the light. The kiss was brazen, unapologetic, and you could feel the staff’s eyes on you, their whispers fading into the background.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your skin. “Stop stressing that pretty little head of yours,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “None of that shit matters. I’m here with you. You want me, I want you. It’s fucking natural.”

Your heart stuttered, the warmth of his words warring with the guilt that never left you. “Eren,” you said, pulling back slightly, your voice trembling. “It’s not natural. You’re in a relationship.”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair, the tattoos on his forearms flexing with the motion. “Jesus, why do you keep bringing her up?” he snapped, his voice low but sharp. “You’re ruining the fucking mood. Every time we’re good, you start overthinking and make yourself miserable.”

You bristled, your own anger flaring. “Ruining the mood? Eren, you’re the one with a girlfriend! I’m not the one cheating here—you are! Don’t act like I’m the problem for having a conscience.”

He scoffed, his eyes narrowing, the air between you crackling with tension. “Oh, please. Don’t give me that moral high ground bullshit. If your conscience was so fucking pure, you wouldn’t have let me fuck you in that dressing room. You wouldn’t be here, letting me buy you diamonds and fly you to Paris. Face it, you want this just as bad as I do.”

Your mouth dropped open, the audacity of his words hitting you like a slap. “Are you serious?” you hissed, stepping closer, your voice low to avoid the staff’s prying ears. “You pursued me, Eren. I didn’t want this—I tried to push you away, but you kept coming, kept pushing until I—” You cut yourself off, your throat tightening with frustration. “You made me fall for you, and now you’re throwing it in my face?”

His expression softened, but only slightly, his eyes still burning with intensity. “Yeah, I pursued you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, but no less commanding. “Because I saw you, and I knew I had to have you. You think I planned this? You think I wanted to feel this fucking obsessed? I didn’t. But here we are, and I’m not letting you walk away just because you’re feeling guilty.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding, torn between anger and the undeniable pull he had over you. He was so frustrating, so toxic, and yet… you couldn’t deny the way your body responded to him, the way your heart ached for him. “You’re sick in the head,” you muttered, turning away, your fingers brushing the bracelet as if it could anchor you.

Eren grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to face him. His grip was firm but not painful, his eyes locking onto yours. “Maybe I am,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “But you’re not going anywhere. You’re mine, and I’m not letting you fuck this up over some pointless guilt.”

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes blazing. “Pointless? You’re cheating on Mikasa, Eren. That’s not pointless—it’s wrong. And I’m wrong for letting it happen.”

He stepped closer, his towering frame looming over you, his voice dropping to a husky growl. “Wrong? You think this is wrong?” His hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his lips brushing your ear. “Does it feel wrong when I’m kissing you? When I’m fucking you so good you can’t think straight? Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll walk away right now.”

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you as heat pooled low in your belly. You hated how right he was, how your skin tingled under his touch, how your resolve crumbled when he looked at you like that. “I…” you started, but the words died in your throat.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his lips grazing your jaw. “Stop fighting it.”

You pushed against his chest, needing space to think, to breathe. “I can’t just ignore it, Eren,” you said, your voice shaking. “I’m falling for you, and it’s terrifying. I don’t want to be your secret anymore.”

His expression darkened, but he didn’t let go, his hands settling on your hips. “You’re not my secret,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m choosing you. I know I’ve fucked this up, keeping you in the shadows, but I’m trying to fix it. This trip, this bracelet—it’s me showing you I’m serious. I’ll deal with Mikasa, I swear. Just… give me time.”

You searched his eyes, looking for the lie, but all you saw was raw sincerity, a vulnerability he rarely showed. It made your heart ache, made you want to believe him, even though every instinct screamed that this was a mistake. “Time,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. “How much time, Eren? Because I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on your hips. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.”

The words were a dark promise, one that thrilled you as much as it scared you. You wanted to argue, to demand answers, but the weight of his stare, the warmth of his hands, made it impossible. Instead, you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you.

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “No more overthinking,” he said, his voice soft but commanding. “We’re in the city of love. Let’s just… be here.”

You nodded, your resolve crumbling under the intensity of his presence. “Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling like a surrender.

He smirked, sensing your capitulation. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that husky timbre that always sent heat racing through you. “Now, let’s get out of here. I’ve got plans for you.”

…

The Parisian evening unfolded like a dream. Eren led you through the city’s winding streets, his hand warm in yours, the diamond bracelet glinting under the streetlights. You dined at a hidden bistro, tucked away in a quiet alley, where the air smelled of fresh bread and roasted garlic. The table was small, intimate, with a single candle casting a warm glow over your faces. Eren ordered for you—coq au vin, a glass of crisp Chablis—his confidence making you feel both cherished and out of your depth.

He watched you eat, his gaze lingering on your lips as you sipped your wine, a slow smile curling his mouth. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” he said suddenly, his voice low and rough. “Makes me wanna drag you back to the hotel and fuck you till you can’t walk.”

Your fork froze, heat flooding your face as you glanced around, praying no one had overheard. The other diners were lost in their own worlds, but the brazenness of his words still made your pulse race. “Eren,” you hissed, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

He chuckled, leaning forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. “What? You don’t like it when I tell you how bad I want you?” His voice was a seductive purr, his hand brushing yours under the table. “Don’t lie. I know how much you love it when I talk to you like that.”

You swallowed hard, your thighs pressing together as arousal sparked low in your belly. “You’re infuriating,” you muttered, taking a long sip of wine to steady yourself.

He grinned, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your wrist, the bracelet catching the candlelight. “Infuriating?” he echoed, his tone teasing. “Nah. I’m just honest. You want me to stop, just say so. But you won’t.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t, because he was right. The guilt, the anger, the fear—it all melted under the heat of his gaze, the promise of his touch. You were falling for him, hard and fast, and Paris only made it worse, wrapping you in a fantasy that felt too good to be true.

…

Hours later, the Parisian night was alive with possibility, the city’s pulse thrumming through the open window of your hotel suite as you stood before the full-length mirror. The silver dress you wore was a daring choice—backless, with a high slit on the left thigh that revealed a glimpse of skin with every step. The fabric clung to your curves, shimmering like liquid metal, swishing softly with each movement. It was dangerously short, barely grazing mid-thigh, and undeniably expensive, a gift from Eren that made you feel both powerful and exposed. You turned slightly, admiring how the dress accentuated your frame, your thighs, your waist, and the curve of your hips. The diamond bracelet on your wrist sparkled under the soft light, a dazzling complement to the silver hoops in your ears and the delicate necklace at your throat. Your hair was swept into a high ponytail, the sleek style elongating your neck, and your smokey makeup—dark eyeliner and a sultry shimmer—gave you a fierce, confident edge. You felt like a goddess, untouchable yet aware of the eyes that would inevitably follow you tonight.

The door clicked softly behind you, and Eren’s reflection appeared in the mirror, his presence filling the room like a storm rolling in. He was dressed in a black dress shirt and tailored pants, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the intricate tattoos winding up his forearms. His expensive watch gleamed, catching the light, and the faint scent of his cologne—spiced cedar and smoke—wrapped around you, intoxicating. His hair was loose now on his shoulders, framing his sharp jawline. He looked devastatingly handsome, his demeanor only amplifying the raw intensity that radiated from him.

His eyes raked over you, dark and hungry, and a slow smirk curled his lips as he stepped closer. “Fuck,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. “You look like you were made to ruin me.”

Before you could respond, he was behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His hands roamed, possessive and bold, tracing the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist. His lips found your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, each one igniting a spark that raced through your veins. You leaned into his touch, your body betraying you as always, a soft moan escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your earlobe.

“Eren,” you breathed, your voice shaky with the immediate heat he stirred in you. His hands slid lower, slipping under the hem of your dress, fingers brushing the lace of your panties. You gasped, your head tilting back against his shoulder as he teased you, his touch deliberate and maddening.

“You feel how much I want you?” he growled against your neck, his fingers finding your clit and circling slowly, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “This dress… fuck, it’s killing me. Can’t wait to peel it off you later, have you screaming my name.”

Your breath hitched, your core already dripping as he dipped a finger inside you, pumping slowly, teasingly. The wet sound of his touch was obscene in the quiet room, and you gripped the edge of the dresser, your knees weakening. “Eren, please,” you whimpered, your hips rocking against his hand, chasing the pleasure he dangled just out of reach.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Get nice and wet for me. Wanna feel this pussy begging for my cock.”

You were on the verge of begging, your body trembling with need, when a sharp ding from his phone shattered the moment. Eren stilled, his hand pausing before he pulled his finger out of you, leaving you aching and frustrated. You turned your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen, but his height made it impossible, his broad frame blocking your view as he glanced at the notification.

“Who’s that?” you asked, your voice sharp with suspicion, your intuition screaming Mikasa. The thought of her sent a familiar pang through your chest, the guilt and jealousy you’d tried to bury clawing their way back.

“No one,” he said curtly, pocketing his phone with a frown. “Driver’s downstairs. Let’s go.”

You narrowed your eyes, your lips pressing into a thin line. You knew he was lying, or at least hiding something, but you also knew pushing him would lead to another fight. And you were tired—tired of the arguments, tired of the constant tug-of-war between your heart and your conscience. So you bit your tongue, swallowing the questions that burned in your throat, and let him take your hand, his grip firm as he led you out of the suite and into the elevator.

The silence in the elevator was heavy, your attitude palpable. You stood with your arms crossed, staring at the polished doors, the reflection of your silver dress glinting back at you. Eren noticed, of course—he always did. Without warning, he grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you into a searing kiss that stole your breath. His lips were demanding, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting of mint and whiskey. Your knees buckled, your hands instinctively grabbing his shirt as he pressed himself closer, his body a wall of heat and muscle.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, his voice low and commanding. “Stop overthinking,” he said, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “You’re here with me. That’s what matters. Don’t fuck up our night.”

You wanted to snap back, to call him out for dodging your question, but the intensity of his kiss lingered, clouding your thoughts. The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to reveal the opulent hotel lobby, all marble and gold. Eren took your hand again, leading you through the crowd of well-dressed guests, their eyes lingering on the two of you—him, the towering, tattooed man exuding danger, and you, the singer in a daring silver dress, diamonds sparkling on your wrist.

Outside, a sleek black car waited, the driver holding the door open. You climbed into the backseat, the leather cool against your bare thighs, and Eren followed, his presence filling the space. One hand rested possessively on your thigh, his fingers tracing lazy patterns that sent sparks through you, while the other typed rapidly on his phone. The soft glow of the screen illuminated his face, his jaw tight, his eyes focused. You tried to ignore the irritation bubbling in your chest, the suspicion that it was in fact Mikasa on the other end of those texts. But you held your tongue, staring out the window at the Parisian streets, the city’s lights blurring into streaks of gold and red.

…

The nightclub was a sensory overload, a pulsating cathedral of hedonism tucked into the heart of Paris. The line outside stretched around the block, a sea of sequins and stilettos, but Eren didn’t even glance at it. He strode up to the bouncer and said simply, “Jaeger.” The bouncer nodded, unhooking the velvet rope without a word, and you followed Eren inside, your hand still clasped in his.

The club was alive, the air thick with the scent of perfume, sweat, and expensive liquor. Neon lights flashed in sync with the pounding bass, casting the crowd in shades of electric blue and violet. Dancers in neon cages swung above the dance floor, their bodies moving with hypnotic grace, their costumes glowing under blacklights. The music was a relentless pulse, vibrating through the floor, urging your body to move.

Eren led you through the crowd, his hand firm on the small of your back, guiding you to the VIP area—a raised platform with plush velvet booths and a private bar. The bouncer there nodded at Eren, and you slid into a booth, the cushions soft against your skin. Eren ordered drinks—something expensive, a cocktail with a name you couldn’t pronounce, the glass rimmed with gold dust. The first sip was sharp and sweet, the alcohol warming your chest, loosening the tension that had been coiling inside you.

You sipped your drink, your body swaying slightly to the music, the rhythm infectious. Eren watched you, his eyes glinting with approval as you moved in your seat, the silver dress catching the neon lights. “Look at you,” he said, leaning closer, his voice barely audible over the music. “Moving like that, you’re gonna make me lose my damn mind.”

You smirked, feeling the alcohol embolden you. “Good,” you teased, rolling your hips subtly in the booth, the slit in your dress revealing a flash of thigh. “Maybe I want you to lose it.”

His eyes darkened, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Careful,” he said, his hand sliding to your knee, squeezing lightly. “Keep moving like that, and I’ll fuck you right here in this booth.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, but the thrill of his words sent a pulse of arousal through you. You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear. “Promises, promises,” you whispered, your voice sultry, daring him to make good on his threat.

He chuckled, the sound dark and dangerous, and stood, offering you his hand. “Come on,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “Dance with me.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet, the alcohol and music making you bold. He led you to the dance floor, the crowd parting for him like he was a king. The bass thumped through your bones, the lights flashing in time with the beat. You felt alive, powerful, the silver dress clinging to your curves as you moved, your body finding the rhythm effortlessly.

Eren pulled you close, his hands settling on your hips, guiding you against him. His body was a wall of heat, his tattoos peeking out from his shirt, his cologne wrapping around you. You swayed together, your movements fluid, sensual, the slit in your dress riding higher with each step. His hands roamed, one sliding up your bare back, the other gripping your thigh through the slit, his fingers dangerously close to the edge of your panties.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growled in your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin. “This dress, the way you move—fuck, I wanna rip it off you right now.”

You shivered, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. “Then why don’t you?” you teased, your voice low, your lips grazing his jaw. The alcohol had loosened your inhibitions, and you felt bold, reckless, ready to push him as far as he’d pushed you.

He groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he pressed himself closer, his hardness evident against your stomach. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m trying to be good, but you’re making it real fucking hard.”

You laughed, the sound swallowed by the music, and spun in his arms, pressing your back against his chest. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his lips finding your neck again. You tilted your head, giving him better access, your body moving in time with his, the dance floor a haze of heat and desire.

The crowd around you faded, the world narrowing to just the two of you, your bodies locked together, moving as one. His hands wandered, one slipping under the slit of your dress, teasing the edge of your panties again. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice a low growl in your ear. “Bet I could slide my fingers inside you right here, and you’d let me.”

Your breath hitched, your core clenching at his words. “Eren,” you gasped, your voice a mix of warning and plea. “People are watching.”

“Let them watch,” he growled, his hand sliding higher, brushing your inner thigh. “Let them see how much you want me.”

You turned in his arms, facing him, your hands gripping his shirt as you pulled him down for a kiss. It was hungry, desperate, your tongues clashing as you poured all your frustration, desire, and confusion into it. He groaned into your mouth, his hands cupping your ass, pulling you tighter against him.

When you pulled back, breathless, his eyes were dark with lust, his lips swollen from the kiss. “You’re driving me fucking crazy,” he said, his voice thick. “I need you. Right now.”

You bit your lip, torn between the heat pulsing through you and the nagging voice in your head, the one that whispered Mikasa. But the music, the alcohol, the feel of Eren’s hands on you—it was too much, too overwhelming. “Then take me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music.

His eyes flashed, and he grabbed your hand, pulling you off the dance floor and through the crowd. You barely registered where he was leading you, your heart pounding, your body thrumming with anticipation. He found a dark corner of the club, a secluded hallway lined with velvet curtains, the music muffled but still vibrating through the walls.

He pushed you against the wall, his body pinning yours, his hands already tugging at the hem of your dress. “Fuck, I can’t wait,” he growled, his lips crashing into yours, his tongue claiming your mouth. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress up to your hips, exposing the lace of your panties.

“Eren,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as he hooked a finger under your panties, tugging them aside. “Someone could see—”

“Don’t care,” he said, his voice rough with need. “Need to feel you, need to fuck you right now.”

He slid two fingers inside you, and you moaned, your head falling back against the wall as he pumped them slowly, his thumb circling your clit. The pleasure was immediate, overwhelming, your body arching into his touch. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, his lips brushing your ear. “This pussy’s mine, isn’t it? Say it.”

“Yes,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Yours, Eren.”

He groaned, his fingers speeding up, the wet sound of your arousal loud in the quiet hallway. “That’s right, baby,” he said, his voice thick with lust. “Gonna make you come so hard you forget everything but my name.”

Your orgasm hit fast, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, your walls clenching around his fingers as you cried out, your body trembling. He didn’t stop, drawing out every shudder, every gasp, until you were a quivering mess in his arms.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he murmured, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean. “You taste so fucking good.”

You were still catching your breath when he unzipped his pants, freeing his cock, hard and leaking. He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist, the wall at your back. “Shit,” he growled, and with one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you, ripping a sharp cry from your throat.

He was relentless, his thrusts hard and deep, each one hitting that sweet spot inside you that made you see stars. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he snarled, his hands gripping your hips, bruising in their intensity. “This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your arms clinging to his shoulders, your nails carving crescents into his skin. “Eren, please—”

“Please what?” he growled, his lips brushing yours, his thrusts never slowing. “Tell me what you want. Want me to fuck you harder? Want me to make you scream?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your head falling back as he drove into you, the pleasure building again, coiling tight in your core. “Harder, Eren, please.”

He obliged, his pace brutal, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the hallway. You were lost in him, in the heat, the intensity, the way he filled you completely. “Gonna come again, aren’t you?” he said, his voice rough. “Gonna come all over my cock, right here where anyone could see.”

The thought sent a thrill through you, pushing you over the edge. Your second orgasm hit, a scream tearing from your throat as your walls clamped around him, pleasure blinding you. Eren groaned, his thrusts erratic, and with a final, guttural curse, he spilled inside you, his warmth flooding your core.

For a moment, you stayed there, tangled and panting, his forehead resting against yours. The music from the club pulsed faintly in the background, a reminder of the world outside this moment. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice wrecked. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You laughed softly, your heart still racing, your body humming with the afterglow. But as the haze cleared, the weight of reality crept back in. The text, the secrecy—it all lingered, a shadow you couldn’t escape. Eren seemed to sense it, his hand cupping your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Don’t,” he said softly, his voice firm. “Don’t ruin this. We’re good, yeah?”

You nodded, but the doubt lingered, a quiet ache in your chest. You were falling for him, hard and fast. But as he helped you adjust your dress, his hands gentle now, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep this up, caught in the web of a man who was both your salvation and your ruin.

…

Hours of decadence in the club passed, and the night was now thick with the scent of revelry as you and Eren stumbled out of the nightclub at 3 a.m., the city’s pulse still humming through your veins. The cool air kissed your sweat-dampened skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the club, where the bass had thrummed through your bones and Eren’s hands had left trails of fire on your body. Your silver dress clung to you, the fabric slightly rumpled from dancing—and the heated encounter in the secluded hallway. The diamond bracelet on your wrist caught the streetlights, sparkling like a promise you weren’t sure you could trust. Eren’s arm was slung around your waist, his grip possessive yet steadying as he guided you toward the waiting black car, the driver standing sentinel by the open door.

You slid into the backseat, the leather cool against your bare thighs, and Eren followed, his presence filling the space like a storm. You were trying to convince yourself to let go, to savor this fleeting moment in Paris, to push aside the weight of the secrets that shadowed your every interaction with him. One more day—that’s all you had left of this impromptu weekend escape. Who knew when, or if, you’d ever be back in this city of love, wrapped in the fantasy Eren had spun around you? The thought made your chest ache, a mix of longing and dread. You wanted to lose yourself in the moment, to let Paris wash away the guilt, but the truth lingered like a bruise you couldn’t ignore.

Eren was on his phone, his voice low and clipped as he spoke to Levi, one of his right-hand men. “Yeah, I’ll be back for the meeting,” he said, his tone all business, his jaw tight. “Handle it until I’m there.” A pause, then a sharp, “No, Mikasa doesn’t know I’m here. Just… keep it that way.” His eyes flicked to you, a brief acknowledgment, before he continued. “I’m with her. Yeah, her.”

Your ears perked up, your heart stuttering as you caught Levi’s voice through the phone, sharp and laced with disapproval. “You’re fucking kidding me, Eren. You took your whore to Paris while Mikasa thinks you’re in London for business? Real classy.”

The word whore hit like a slap, your breath catching as heat flooded your cheeks. You turned to stare out the window, pretending you hadn’t heard, but the sting was undeniable. Eren’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening around the phone. “Mind your own fucking business, Levi,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t need your moral lecture.”

Levi said something else, too quiet for you to catch, and Eren’s response was a muttered curse before he lowered his voice further, their conversation dropping to a hushed exchange. You strained to hear, but the words were lost in the hum of the car’s engine and the distant sounds of Paris at night. Eren hung up abruptly, tossing his phone onto the seat beside him, his expression stormy.

You glanced at him, your lips parting to ask, but the words died in your throat. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something—guilt, maybe, or frustration. “Sorry you heard that,” he said, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. “Levi’s got no right to talk about you like that.”

You nodded, your throat tight, but the word whore echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder of your place in his life. You reached for his clenched fist, your fingers gentle as you pried it open, lacing your hand with his. His grip relaxed under your touch, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, and for a moment, the tension eased. 

…

As you arrived back at the hotel suite, you were sweaty, your skin sticky from the hours of dancing and the heated moments with Eren in the club. The jet bathtub in the bathroom called to you, its promise of relaxation too tempting to resist. You kicked off your heels, the cool floor soothing against your aching feet, and began peeling off your jewelry—the diamond bracelet, the silver hoops, the delicate necklace. You wiped away your smokey makeup, the mirror reflecting your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged eyeliner, a testament to the night’s intensity.

Filling the tub, you poured in a generous amount of bubble bath, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling the air as the water churned into a frothy cloud. You slipped out of your silver dress, letting it pool on the floor, and stepped out of your lace panties, your body aching for the warmth of the water.

Eren appeared in the doorway, his black dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal the tapestry of tattoos across his chest, his hair loose and framing his face. He leaned against the frame, his eyes raking over your naked form with a hunger that made your pulse quicken. “Taking a bath?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “Mind if I join you?”

You hesitated, the weight of the night still heavy on your shoulders, but the sight of him—tall, commanding, his emerald eyes soft with something you couldn’t quite name—made you nod. “Sure,” you said, your voice soft, almost shy.

He stripped quickly, his clothes joining yours on the floor, and you couldn’t help but admire the hard lines of his body, the tattoos that curled across his arms and torso like a map of his sins. He stepped into the tub behind you, the water sloshing as he settled in, his legs bracketing yours. You leaned back against his chest, the warmth of his skin and the soothing heat of the water enveloping you. He reached for a loofah, dipping it into the bubbles before gently scrubbing your shoulders, the motion slow and deliberate.

The tranquility of the moment was almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the chaos of the club. You could feel the tension in Eren’s body easing, his breaths deep and even, his hands steady as they moved over your skin. It was peaceful, intimate, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it, let the world outside fade away.

But the question that had been simmering in your mind, the one you’d tried to bury, surged to the surface with a sudden burst of courage. You turned slightly, looking up at him, your voice steady despite the nerves twisting in your gut. “Eren,” you said, “do you love Mikasa?”

His eyes snapped to yours, his body tensing behind you, the loofah pausing mid-scrub. The air in the bathroom thickened, the steam curling around you like a veil. He opened his mouth, a flash of annoyance crossing his features, and you knew he was about to brush you off, to accuse you of ruining the moment again. But you cut him off, your voice firm. “Don’t. I have every right to know. And I’m guessing you don’t love her, because if you did, you wouldn’t be here, fucking me.”

Eren’s jaw tightened, his eyes boring into yours, a silent standoff that made your heart pound. For a moment, you thought he’d shut you down, but then he sighed, the sound heavy and resigned. He set the loofah aside, his hands resting on your hips, his fingers digging in slightly. “Yeah, I love Mikasa,” he said, his voice low, almost reluctant. Your heart dropped, a surge of jealousy and heartbreak flooding your chest, and he saw it immediately, the pain flashing across your face. “See?” he said, his tone sharper now. “This is why you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

You started to pull away, the hurt too raw, but his grip tightened, keeping you in place. “Wait,” he said, his voice softer, almost pleading. “I love her, but I’m not in love with her. There’s a difference.”

You blinked, confusion knitting your brows as you turned to face him fully, the water sloshing around you. “What does that even mean?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Eren exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair, the strands clinging to his fingers. “Mikasa and I… we go way back. Childhood friends, always close. She’s always had a thing for me, and I didn’t see it for a long time. We went to high school together, college too. Then, sophomore year, we hooked up at a party, and it changed everything. I realized I had feelings for her, and I thought I could make it work. She’s always been there, always supportive, like a fucking safety net. But her love… it’s heavy, you know? Smothering. She loves me more than she loves herself, and I’ve never had the guts to end it because I know it’d break her.”

You listened, your heart aching with a mix of sympathy and frustration. His words painted a picture of a man trapped by loyalty, by guilt, but they didn’t erase the sting of knowing he was still tied to her. “So you just… stay with her?” you asked, your voice quiet. “Even though you don’t love her like that?”

He nodded, his eyes distant, like he was seeing memories you couldn’t access. “Yeah. I’ve strayed before, looked at other women, but I never acted on it. Not until you.” His gaze snapped back to you, intense and unyielding. “You changed everything. You walked into that lounge and sang, and I was fucked. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stay away.”

Your breath caught, his confession stirring something deep inside you—a mix of hope and fear. You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “But in the jewelry store, you said you’d handle Mikasa. You said I shouldn’t worry. But you just admitted you don’t have the heart to break things off with her. What’s different now? How do I know you’ll actually do it this time?”

Eren’s eyes softened, and he reached for you, his hand cupping your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “The difference is you,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “You make me feel alive in a way she never has. I’m not willing to lose you. I know you deserve more than this, more than being my secret. And I’m gonna give you that.”

You searched his eyes, looking for the lie, but all you saw was sincerity, a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache. “I don’t know Eren, how long is it gonna take to ‘sort out’?” you pressed.

He sighed, his hand dropping to your shoulder, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone. “It’s not just about feelings,” he admitted. “We’ve got investments, properties, deals tied up together. Breaking up with her isn’t just personal—it’s financial, too. It’s a delicate fucking mess, but I’m working on it. I promise you, once it’s sorted, we can be together for real. No sneaking around, no secrets. Just you and me.”

Part of you wanted to believe him, wanted to cling to the hope that he’d leave Mikasa, that you could have a real relationship, one where you could walk hand-in-hand in Paradis without fear of judgment. But the rational part of your brain screamed that he could be lying, that his promises were just pretty words to keep you hooked. You opened your mouth to argue, but he silenced you with a kiss, soft and gentle, his lips warm against yours.

“You’re my world,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. “Don’t doubt that.”

Your heart melted, the earnestness in his voice, the tenderness of his touch, dismantling your defenses. He adjusted you in the tub, guiding you to straddle his lap, the water lapping at your skin. His hands moved to your breasts, massaging them gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending a shiver of pleasure through you. You felt him harden beneath you, his cock pressing against your thigh, and your core clenched, arousal pooling despite the doubts still swirling in your mind.

“Eren,” you whispered, your voice shaky as he lifted you slightly, positioning you over him. He guided himself to your entrance, the tip brushing your folds, and you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “Just let me take care of you.” He lowered you slowly, his cock sliding inside you, stretching you with a delicious ache. This wasn’t like the frenzied, desperate sex you’d had in the club—this was slow, deliberate, each thrust deep and measured, his hands steady on your hips.

You moaned softly, your head falling back as he filled you, the water amplifying every sensation. His lips found your neck, kissing and sucking gently, his teeth grazing your skin. “You feel so fucking good,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “So perfect, like you were made for me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body moving with his, the rhythm slow and intimate. The bubbles clung to your skin, the lavender scent wrapping around you, and for a moment, the world outside the tub ceased to exist. It was just you and Eren, your bodies joined, your breaths mingling, the water lapping softly around you.

“Eren,” you gasped, your hips rocking against him, the pleasure building steadily, a warm glow spreading through your core. “I… I want this, but—”

“No buts,” he murmured, his hands sliding to your ass, guiding your movements. “Just feel me. Feel how much I want you, how much I need you.”

His words, his touch, the way he looked at you—it was overwhelming, erasing every doubt, every fear. You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss, slow and deep, pouring all your longing, all your hope into it. He groaned into your mouth, his thrusts growing slightly faster, but still controlled, still tender.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your lips, his hands tightening on your hips. “No one else, just you.”

The words pushed you over the edge, your orgasm building slowly, a wave of warmth that crested gently, washing over you in soft, shuddering pulses. You cried out, your walls clenching around him, your body trembling in his arms. Eren followed moments later, his breath ragged, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he spilled inside you, his warmth mingling with yours.

For a long moment, you stayed there, tangled in each other, the water cooling around you. Your forehead rested against his, your breaths syncing, the intimacy of the moment wrapping you in a cocoon of peace. Eren’s hands slid up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, and he kissed you again, soft and lingering.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m gonna make this right. Just… trust me, okay?”

You nodded, your heart full and heavy, the doubts still there but muted by the sincerity in his eyes, the way he held you like you were his anchor. “Okay,” you whispered, and for now, it was enough.

You both lingered in the tub, the water growing cooler, until Eren finally stood, helping you out and wrapping you in a plush towel. He dried you off with a tenderness that made your chest ache, his hands gentle as they moved over your skin. You dressed in silence, slipping into a soft robe, while Eren pulled on a pair of sweatpants, his tattoos stark against his skin in the dim light.

As you climbed into bed, the Parisian skyline glittering outside, Eren pulled you close, his arm draped over your waist. “One more day,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “Let’s make it count.”

You nodded, nestling against him, the weight of his promise settling over you. One more day in Paris, one more day to pretend this could be real. But as you drifted to sleep, the shadow of Mikasa lingered, a reminder that some promises were harder to keep than others.

~

Masterlist | Patreon

Tags: faerie-soirxx

[crazymadpassionatelove]

Cool Fiancè

Notes: 18+ sex mentioned

Special shout-out to @ab4eva and her fabulous editing skills! This is the second installment in my cool girl saga. Read Part 1 here

---

Five Things to know about Austin Butler’s New Fiance ::

Although his reps couldn't be reached for comment, sources close to the Elvis actor confirm he has popped the question to his mysterious lady love!

Butler and the stunning brunette were recently spotted at the iconic Les Puces market in Paris last Friday, and she seemed to be sporting a new accessory. Austin was dressed in a black leather jacket, a white v neck tee, and black moto boots. She was clad in a classic trench coat and vintage Dior kitten heels as she kept her head down and let the winner lead the way. His face was mostly obscured by aviator sunglasses, but his smile was very apparent according to onlookers. “Austin was holding her hand and pointing out jewelry at different booths. They were very friendly with local vendors and Austin ended up buying her a gold charm bracelet. He told the dealer the bracelet was a momento to celebrate their recent engagement,” a fellow American tourist overheard. The twosome reportedly spent the prior week soaking in the city of lights and meeting with the YSL fashion house. Austin was recently tapped as the brand's newest ambassador.

Since returning stateside paparazzi pics have finally surfaced and revealed a closer look at that ring. Montana based indie jeweler Jada Kaye has been revealed as the designer of that serious sparkler. The 5 carat, flawless emerald-cut emerald is set in solid gold and flanked by two white diamonds on either side. Inside sources told Elle Magazine that Kaye and Butler worked closely together to craft the one of a kind creation. There's even rumored to be an inscription on the inside that's significant to the couple and the ring is estimated to cost a cool $100,000. Austin's fiancè was photographed heading into a ballet studio yesterday wearing pink tights, a pink leotard, Ugg boots, and of course that ring. Her curly dark brown hair was slicked back into a bun and she seemed to be sporting a pair of the actor's sunglasses.

Here's everything you need to know about the future Mrs. Austin Butler;

She's from New England —

A, as she's known, was born in Rhode Island. She grew up splitting her time between Rhode Island and Kennebunkport, Maine. Her teenage years were spent working the local Del’s lemonade truck, former neighbors say. She attended the Rhode Island School of Design after high school but never graduated.

She and Austin met via her former job –

Whilst working at the New York location of Vibrant Vintage, A, served as the fashion archives buyer. She also happened to be on hand when Butler visited the store. Supposedly she helped him find the perfect pair of leather boots, and the rest is history. Things clearly moved quickly between the two lovebirds, with A relocating to Los Angeles not long after. According to Vibrant Vintage, she is no longer employed there but “remains a close friend and consultant,” says their PR team.

She's a hit with his friends –

She organized a birthday party for her man’s co-star and close friend, Callum Turner. Turner posted an Instagram story showing off a fairly large garden party celebration and a “homemade blueberry glaze cake” according to the post. “Huge thanks to Austin's lovely lady xx” accompanied the video footage. She and Austin were also seen dining with his other Masters of the Air co-star, Nate Mann, while in Paris recently.

They've (supposedly ) got matching ink –

An unnamed employee at the iconic Bang Bang tattoo in NYC has said that Austin and A made a late night visit to the tattoo studio. Where exactly are the said-to-be matching minimalistic tattoos? Reportedly, Austin was inked on his left hip and A on her inner left thigh.

Old fashioned love letters are her thing -

Notably social media shy, Austin and A have taken up the lost art of handwritten love notes. Sources exclusively say that custom monogrammed stationery was crafted for the duo whilst Austin was filming in England. The hand pressed, vintage inspired paper bears a unique coat of arms style symbol with intertwining letter A’s and two sparrows (Fun fact! Sparrows mate for life and always find their way back, no matter how far they fly). While separated, the couple often writes letters to one another, even having the letters sent via jet instead of mail for privacy reasons!

_______

Suddenly one morning articles begin to pour in about your engagement. It catches you off guard, that ring akin to a skating rink has been sitting pretty on your hand for a bit now. The engagement had happened so naturally as everything with the two of you seems to. In the early morning hours while his swollen, rock hard member thrusts into you repeatedly you begin to awaken. On your side, his teeth clamp down on your shoulder as his finger twirls round the curls at the nape of your neck.

His gasps and needy groans tickle your ear. “Couldn't help myself..”, he shudders as you suddenly clamp down around him, barely able to register it all. You stretch and arch, allowing him the room and space to take what he needs. It is his after all. His teeth and pillowy soft lips mark your shoulder blades and when you reach down to where the two of you are joined, you feel his very full balls. Your newly manicured fingers tease and tug the best you can, scrunched up like some sort of acrobat. “Ugh, ugh…baby… you're gonna make me -”. Then he does. Hot, viscous, cream floods you and makes you sigh in a contented whimper. “Thanks darlin’,” he pets your head and you close your eyes dreamily. That is until you hear him rustling around in the bedside table next to him.

You cock open an eye, figuring he's looking for smokes or even the book he had been reading late last night. Your hands are stretched above your head, gripping a pillow. The perfect position for him to suddenly slip the most gorgeous piece of jewelry you've ever seen onto your finger. When your eyes shoot open and you jump up, he's lying there grinning that smile that makes you weak at the knees. “Will you be my wife?” As if your answer would be anything but yes, please Daddy. You smother him in kisses, straddling him and giggling. It's the perfect moment, the perfect proposal. You were never one to want a fireworks display or heaven forbid, those ridiculous and wasteful walls of flowers other celebrities seem to have for every occasion. This private, simple moment is everything you could ask for.

You feel the sudden urge to take him in your mouth despite him just finishing. With your head hanging off the side of the bed, you take him down your throat. Choking and gagging, you really give it your all. Fighting to keep your eyes open so you can see the way his lip curls and his eyes slam shut. Talking is always your thing. This time, though, he's sputtering and rasping words of utter devotion and love. Promises to worship your body until the day he dies. My perfect, perfect wife. Soon you can't be sure if the tears are from his cock down your throat, or his beautiful words. Maybe both. Those pretty boy fingers twist and tug on your nipples and then crawl lower and flick that special spot. The only fireworks you enjoy happen, twice for you actually. He's so dutiful and charming, when you're done pulling yourself back together and fixing your hair, he's handing you a surprise glass of champagne. What a way to mark the occasion.

You decline a proper press announcement. Phone and FaceTime calls follow to those who truly matter to you both - your families, both absolutely thrilled. Then Baz, Cal, The Presley's, everyone can't stop gushing about how perfect you are for each other. That ring, oh how sweet he designed it himself. You come up with a family-appropriate story to describe the proposal and the evening that followed, conveniently leaving out the mind-blowing sex the two of you have all over the house and in the hot tub. Why do things feel so different now that you're engaged? You can't get over the way the light hits the ring as you stroke him and something in that dirty girl heart of yours feels like it's really, truly, official when you have to clean his cum off the stone.

He's due back to set for some reshoots a few days later and of course you follow. Bringing throw pillows from your living room to spruce up his trailer and plotting out how to plan the most private, under the radar wedding possible while you lounge in his trailer in a cute little dress you sew yourself from vintage scarves bought in London. Your newest hobby, that and the ballet classes. He yammers on and on about wanting to sneak in and see you dance. You're sure it's just the tights and leotards spurring his interest though, let's be real. The paparazzi are as relentless as ever, but head down with big sunglasses helps keep the chaos at bay.

You visit Disney World, a whole crew, the two of you, your families, friends with their little ones. Thankfully Disney security is familiar with celebrity guests and you can actually let your guard down for once. Which is good, because seeing Austin chase after your friend's newly toddling little ones makes your stomach flip flop with joy. You make a mental note to expedite the wedding plans, he makes it known that he's chomping at the bit to be a father. When you visit Main Street, you decide a pair of new Mickey ears are in order. Gold stitching with Mrs. Butler is what you finally decide on after Austin's encouragement, his hand on your lower back as you walk miles and miles around the park with hands full of churros and cotton candy. Sure, some overzealous fans snap cell phone pics of you with your ears and immediately post them to those ridiculous Austin fan blogs who've now decided you are the evil villain in his story. You won't allow them to burst your Disney bubble though. Your fairytale is just beginning after all.

__

[ellewritesalright]

The Lost Princess - Part 1

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

Synopsis: The old Queen Mother of Kerch's former royal family is offering a hefty reward to whoever returns her rumored-to-be-alive granddaughter to her. Kaz being Kaz hears about the reward and hatches an elaborate plot involving a fake princess. Reader is a lowly amnesiac orphan and escaped indenture who flees to Ketterdam where she gets tangled in Kaz Brekker's plot.

A/N: Hello friends!! Here is part one of a series I started writing a few years back but never published. It's inspired by the movie and musical Anastasia. I hope you all enjoy, and I hope it makes enough sense haha

Warnings: sickness, mentions of death, mentions of drowning, mentions of violence. pls let me know if I've missed anything

Word Count: 2056

..........

It was happening again.

You sat upright in the bed of your cheap lodgings, swinging your legs to the side and touching the floor. The threadbare rug was itchy against your toes as you took deep breaths, a desperate attempt at grounding yourself. Still, the dizziness did not subside. It came along every so often, never without the cryptic nightmares. There was always vertigo and memories of plunging into dark waters.

At least, you thought they must be memories. There was a significant gap in your mind from birth to the age of about ten, and the first thing you could remember was waking up on a fishing boat on the True Sea. The fishers handed you over to their boss, a wealthy merchant named Devisser, once you made port, and you were made to work for him in a fifteen-year indenture. You had worked as a scullery maid in that man's second home on the southern shores, but you managed to escape your indenture five years early, running off to Ketterdam.

Nowadays you were free to do whatever you pleased--if it was within budget, of course. You had precious little in your life, and you couldn't squander your money in the gambling dens of the city. 

You had to be smart if you were to make it to Os Kervo. Another maid at the house had said that there was a better chance of smuggling yourself to Novyi Zem than to find a safe passage to Ravka, but you didn't let her sway you. You had to get to Os Kervo. It was difficult to explain, but you felt instinctively that someone was waiting there for you. In your dreams, the better and brighter ones where you could feel the warmth of arms around you, there was a voice that whispered, "I'll meet you there, my little tiger. We'll be together in Os Kervo."

The only trouble was how you could get there. You had no travel papers or identification, and it was difficult to obtain any--even fake ones--with such little money. It was a difficult position you were in. 

So you went about your life, picking up odd jobs using fake names. Your name is already fake as it was. The surname, Vos, was given to you by one of the more kind fishers who pulled you from the water. He gathered a mound of blankets around you and sat with his arm around you, trying desperately to keep you warm. Sometimes you wondered about him, wondered whether he was still fishing for Devisser. Perhaps if the captain of that ship had not seen fit to hand you over to their boss the kind fisher would have taken you in. Life might have been better if you had been offered a chance at a family instead of an apron and a crushing daily workload. 

Your feet carried you to the wardrobe in this shabby lodging room. You had to sweep a spider off your jacket before you slipped it on. The morning air was a nice reprieve against your warm face as you walked down the streets. Shops were opening, food vendors were starting the fire in their ovens; Ketterdam was waking up.

You meant to walk further than the Barrel, but you stopped as you saw the window of some sort of pawn shop. There was a dress in the window. It was the emerald green of a kind of fabric you had never owned but knew instinctively would be smooth to the touch, like a flat stone one might skip on the ocean. There was something so familiar about the short ruffles of the over-the-shoulder sleeves; perhaps you had seen a guest at the big house wearing something similar when you used to spy from the door to the servant's quarters. 

There was no way you would be able to purchase such a beautiful gown, you barely had enough money to get by as it was, but you were drawn into the shop because of it. You had to spend some more time around it and the other beautiful items in the shop. You hadn't been around such lavish things since… well, never.

The bell above the shop door jangled, alerting a woman at the counter to your appearance. She smiled, but the sight struck you in the chest. As an amnesiac orphan, you learned early on that people saw you as weak, helpless, and naive. For your youth and lack of guidance, you were perceived as easy pickings, and people tried their tricks on you more often than you could count, especially here in Ketterdam. You'd learned to tell what was genuine and what was fake when you interacted with others, and the woman's smile was the first real smile you'd seen in a long time. 

"A beautiful dress for a beautiful young lady," the woman said.

You shook your head with a pleasant enough smile. "I was just looking. I could never afford such a thing."

"And yet here you are in my shop." She followed your eyes to a case of assorted valuables. When she saw the dull music box you stared at she hummed. "Would you like to know a secret?" You turned to her "That music box is from the old palace. It belonged to the missing princess herself, I swear on Ghezen and the saints."

You pondered the validity of her words, keeping a level expression so as not to upset her with your doubt. Everything you heard about the dead royal family seemed like it happened a lifetime ago, and no amount of rumours about one of their daughters being alive somewhere would make it any less a ghost story. 

Still, you smiled politely. Despite her pleasant expression, she was only trying to sell you something, something you would not need even if you could have it. It wasn't even the most eye-catching thing in the display, just a decrepit old music box of tarnished silver. The music probably didn't even play anymore.

"It's lovely," you lied, "though I don't believe I could afford it."

"I could give you a special deal. I like to think there's something in my shop for everyone. The music box deserves to go home with you."

"That's generous, but--truly--I cannot make a purchase."

She tilted her head at you. "What is it you want, my dear? You've come into my shop, looked around, and you have the nerve to refuse my generosity--what is holding you back?"

"I've already told you," you said, "I couldn't afford it."

"And if I gave something for free?"

You brushed her off. "That's a terrible business model."

"Perhaps. But I like you, little runaway that you are. You're a long way from home--you deserve something nice."

You felt your pulse quicken. She shouldn't have known that. You weren't on the list of runaway indentures, so the stadwatch wouldn’t be looking for you. You breathed in before you could turn to her, balancing your composure with great care. Emotions were not useful in situations like this. "What brought you to that conclusion?"

"You keep your head down, which is normal in the Barrel, but you're not doing it out of habit, you're doing it out of fear. You must be hiding from something--from someone."

She was apt, you'd give her that. The trouble was figuring out the degree to which you could trust her. She could sell you back to Devisser in a second if she wanted to, but she could also be willing to help you. After all, she did say she liked you. You looked her in the eyes and then spoke.

"I'm trying to get to Ravka. The thing is, I don't have the money for travel papers, be they legal or illegal. I can't afford even that, and I could never afford anything in your shop." You straightened out, about to leave. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time--"

"Brekker can help you."

You stopped in your tracks. 

“He can get you to Ravka, no travel papers necessary.”

You faced her again, questioning, “Where can I find this Brekker?”

“He owns a club down the road from here. The sign has one of those annoying blackbirds on it.”

“A raven?”

“No, a pesky crow.” She fiddled with a set of keys around her neck. “Anyways, he can help you on your way. I assure you.”

“How much will this information cost me?”

“Nothing, my dear. I hope you make it to Ravka.”

You thanked her, ducking your head as you left the shop. You kept a wary eye about you as you wove through the streets, finding your way back to your lodgings. There was little trust in such a wicked city as Ketterdam, specifically here in the barrel, and you were constantly looking out for any sign of danger. The shopkeeper wasn’t dangerous, not from what you could tell, but you had to keep your wits. One false move and you could be sent back to Devisser. 

You couldn’t let that happen.

..........

Kaz stepped out from the back of the shop after the bell above the door rang out once more, signifying your departure. He was lucky to have been behind a particularly packed shelf furthest from the door, else you would have seen him and wouldn’t have explained your plan to Eugenia, the shopkeeper. Eugenia, for her part, did well to nudge you in the direction of the Crow Club. Undoubtedly she would want some credit for that, he knew. And, just as he thought, she brought it up as soon as he reappeared. 

"I've found your missing princess for you, Kaz," Eugenia smirked. "And how valuable she'll be for you."

"You didn't do anything for me, Eugenia. She'll be just as impossible as the others," he retorted.

He'd been auditioning young women to play the part of the missing princess for months now. Ever since he'd heard of a hefty reward posed by the old duchess and grandmother to the princess, he'd devised a plan, learning everything he could about the toppled royal family.

"I think she's the one. Do you know why?"

He kept his stare neutral, but the disapproval remained on his lips in permanence. Eugenia liked to speak as though she knew best, leading tourists and tramps into traps as she sold them tin under the guise that it was rare silver. Even wisdom offered by her would be false.

She continued. "She'll play the part--and she'll be damn good at it--because she's desperate. Desperation makes us do what we otherwise would not."

He tilted a brow at her. "What do you want?"

"Waive six months of my rent," she said. There was no way she thought that he would accept this deal. He didn't even have confirmation that you would find him or that you would be willing to go through with his masquerade. Eugenia was a fool.

"If she is a good fit for the princess, I will waive one month of your rent," he bargained.

"Hold on, she is going to make you a million Kruge--I deserve more than a month for that."

Kaz frowned at her, leaning into his cane. Who was she to make demands? "Firstly, there's no guarantee that she can do the job. Secondly, even if she is a good fit, I don't owe you anything. You decided to send her to me before you thought to broker a deal; I don't owe you a thing." 

She thumbed at her ring of keys. Eugenia was upset with herself and with him, he could tell. 

"If she can play the part," Kaz said, straightening out, "I am willing to waive three months of your rent on the condition that you supply me with whatever I might need from this shop free of cost."

"Whatever you need for the job, right? I can't just give you anything you want from now on."

He nodded. "Just for the job. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal."

Kaz left the shop without the rent that he'd initially come to collect, but with something much more valuable if he played his cards right. He'd only caught a glimpse of you, but he was inclined to believe what Eugenia said. Desperation makes us do what we otherwise would not, and you had sounded plenty desperate.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the other parts of this series please comment on this part or send me an ask. And if you want to request a fic, please feel free to send in an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Part 2

Tags: @justvibbinghere @happyhauntt

[galindathrop]

Things I want to happen in Wicked: For Good (most of these are a given to happen and mostly Fiyeraba related):

Elphaba finding Fiyero's jacket in the forest from when they rescued the lion cub

Elphaba keeps the poppy from Fiyero preserved

Elphaba has her apartment in the Emerald City like she does in the book. (The decor is better though)

Glinda is left at the altar and that's where "I'm not that girl (reprise)" happens.

The new songs are for Glinda and Fiyero.

Elphaba is kind to Toto when Dorothy is locked up.

Cynthia Erivo singing somewhere over the rainbow

The deleted montage scene from part 1 is in this movie.

"Wicked Witch of the East" is on the soundtrack

Nessa and Elphaba have more scenes together.

Glinda and Elphaba are both featured in "Wonderful". Glinda would realize similarities between Elphaba and the Wizard.

Elphaba gives Glinda her mother's green bottle for her "something borrowed". Unfortunately, Elphaba never gets it back.

Liir is heavily implied.

Fiyero has the diamond tattoos on his chest.

Glinda is a canonical lesbian. Aka, there's a scene where Glinda kisses Elphaba goodbye during "For Good" scene.

The lighting is in front of them instead of the ugly backlighting during part 1.

Fiyero and Elphaba float on the broom during as long as you're mine.

We get more Fiyero/Winkie lore.

The wise ones (Kristen and Idina) have another cameo.

Elphaba makes Nessa able to fly with and without her chair during the "Wicked Witch of the East" scenes.

The reasoning that Fiyero didn't fall asleep with the poppies in part 1 is revealed.

Spoilers below:

Dorothy figures out who Fiyero is and is in on the plan to fake Elphaba's death.

Boq also figures out who Fiyero is after Dorothy goes home. They get a chance to make up.

Wizard of Oz plot is a shown subplot and not just mentioned.

The scarecrows face isn't shown like how it is on the stage play with Dorothy. We don't know that he's actually Fiyero until Dorothy realizes.