#Most Expensive Emerald

[neha24nav]

Aga Khan Emerald - Colombian Emerald That Broke All Records At Christie’s Auction

The 12th of November, 2024, was a date in history, at Christie's in Geneva, when the Aga Khan emerald broke all records, for it has proven to be the rarest and most beautiful and astrological fit ever for gem lore, hence the highest in price. The Colombian emerald, or Panna stone, has been adored over the ages for the meaning it embodies as well as its constant value. Thus, this sale conforms to the eternal magnetism as well as the eternal meaning of emeralds, within the category of precious stones.

[faithinchances]

Would love to know more about anything you’ve got to share about Jamie’s future fish tank, if that’s not too spoilery to ask 🫶 Loving the fic!

I don't consider it spoilery, but I was also unaware that Jamie's concussion was considered mysterious. Since I am apparently not impartial about what reading my fic for the first time is like, enjoy a readmore for anyone who doesn't want Jamie's fish tank to be spoiled for them!

I've been planning the aquascape for Jamie's tank since November 2023, at least. My current rendition is a fairly simply planted tank using plain driftwood and a darkish, rounded stones as the hardscape. A jungly back right corner with lots of plant growth (and places for little fishes to hide!) and then a more open left side of the tank. Something sort like this, but without the stone pile on the left, and with the driftwood being more strongly angled top right to bottom left.

And definitely not those fish either! I'm not sure what they are but they are definitely not for beginners (is that an arowana in the top left??).

Jamie decides for a beginner-friendly peaceful community tank, which he gets to have some fun with because his tank is so large (240 litres is about 55 gallons). The centre piece fish are a pair of honey gourami (top), but I might not include them because the primary schooling fish are the GORGEOUS and LARGER congo tetra (bottom). That photo is a male in the back and a female in front and people on the internet are saying that the female is "drab brown" but I disagree, have you seen her????

The background actors are the notoriously shy celestial pearl danio (top), which Jamie met in chapter 4 and instantly fell in love with, emeraldy corydora (middle), and otocinclus cats (bottom).

Is that a discernible biotype? Absolutely not. Do I give a fuck? No, and neither does Jamie.

[sexbot300]

18+, minors dni! (being a slut for nanami bc honestly who isn’t)

authors note: hello! this is my first-ever post, i hope you guys enjoy it! (I literally have no idea how layouts work yet, bear with me)

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sugardaddy!nanami who scolds you whenever you feel as if you’re “doing too much,” with all the lavish gifts he gives you. nothing is too much for his angel.

sugardaddy!nanami that asks which jewelry set you like best. emerald or ruby? ah. how about both?

sugardaddy!nanami who you thought would be a joyless, serious man as people portray him. they’re not lying, he really is serious, to people that aren’t you. you’ll witness a soft side of him that only shows the most gentle of smiles.

sugardaddy!nanami who gladly scoops you up bridal style in his arms, walking while you burry your head into his chest.

sugardaddy!nanami who unpacks the gifts he gets you on the countertop after a business trip. “kento, baby, you shouldn’t have.” you play with the polyester ribbon while he simply leans back on the fridge opening up a beverage. “I couldn’t help but have the prettiest woman in the world waiting for me at home. it would be embarrassing of me to show up empty-handed.”

sugardaddy!nanami who for the first few times that you went out with him, meticulously kept track of the things you called “cute” and noted wherever your eyes wandered for a minute too long. the next morning you woke up with everything you ogled your eyes at decorating your room. attached is a note that read, “please forgive me, sweetheart, I didn’t know which you liked best. p.s. my sincerest apologies again, I let my own thoughts get carried away. be good for me and wear this tonight.” your fingers gingerly held onto the note, until your eyes fell on two things you don’t remember looking at when you went out shopping. a beautiful silk gown and an expensive lingerie set.

sugardaddy!nanami who will gladly kneel to strap your heel, placing a kiss on your ankle, after trailing his hand up and down your shin.

sugardaddy!nanami who sends you a monthly allowance for your hair, nails, skincare, and whatever you desire.

sugardaddy!nanami who thinks indulging in materialistic things is futile, but he wants to see you decorated in every fine piece of fabric, clothing, and accessories.

sugardaddy!nanami who acts as if he’s unbothered by you curling up on his lap while he types away on his work computer. you couldn’t even tell how much he adores every second of this as he idly types away. he loves to have you pushed up on him all the time, the minute you slightly move? a strong hand is placed on your thigh or waist to prevent you from leaving.

sugardaddy!nanami who’s only condition is to continue this dynamic until you’re unhappy or want nothing to do with it. (you literally want to marry this man but okay).

sugardaddy!nanami who has a saturday night ritual with you where you buy the most extravagant of desserts and feed it to each other. oh yeah, you have to be sitting on his lap the entire time while you both feed each other from the same fork.

sugardaddy!nanami who places his nose on the nape of your neck while you’re seated on him as he sharply breathes in your scent. “as much as I enjoy eating sweets with you,” he said in a whisper, “they could never mimic your taste.”

sugardaddy!nanami who started off paying your rent, bills, and utilities which he felt mentally, secretly disgruntled by. not because he’s paying (duh) or he has to take care of you, it’s just the fact you haven’t moved in with him yet.

sugardaddy!nanami who considers you under his care and deems your wellbeing as his responsibility. you’re hurt? point to where. your body is sore? lay back down while he massages you. you’re hungry? food is being sent over and here’s money for grocery shopping. you’re upset? he kneels down in front of you as he attentively listens to your sobs.

sugardaddy!nanami who supports your hobbies. he’ll drop off little things that he knows have to do with your interests and only says, “you like this don’t you?” you name drop pilates, cooking, art, knitting, whatever it is, he signs you up for the nearest classes.

sugardaddy!nanami who actually notices if you did something different with your hair, if you wore a new shade of lip gloss. little things.

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sugardaddy!nanami who places the most tender of kisses onto your forehead like he didn’t wreck your shit a second prior. “such a good girl… i’m so so proud. taking my cock in so well.”

sugardaddy!nanami that plays with your body in subtle ways. hands? his big, veiny fingers are stroking yours gently. thighs? constantly getting gripped. your waist? a strong arm wrapped around it. your cheek? a thumb stroking it. shoulders? relieving tension from it. collarbone? rearranging your necklace so it lays properly. guts? fucked out of place. makeup? smeared all across his luxurious bedsheets. lips? blown out from sucking his monster cock and making out.

sugardaddy!nanami who rents out an entire summer beach house with a glorious view of the ocean. partially because he likes the privacy of you two alone, surrounded by nature, and romantic sunset dinners. also because he wants to watch you ride him while he leans back on a beach chair without disturbing the public. (nobody is allowed to see what’s his).

sugardaddy!nanami who actually pounded you into another dimension, your mind still in a haze while he carries you to the running bath. “stay with me princess, i need to clean you up.”

sugardaddy!nanami who makes sure you finish several times before he does. oh poor baby, you’re out of breath? would you like some water? we’re not finished yet. poor nanami didn’t get to cum once, and you so badly want him to use your body to do so.

sugardaddy!nanami who buys you a personal collection of sex toys to play with when he’s not there. he personally studies the way your body twitches and convulses with certain toys, he needs to know how to please his princess. sometimes he chuckles to himself because he knows deep down, nothing– no one, can please you the way he does.

sugardaddy!nanami who sees you stressed or crying over school and work and quickly replaces those tears with ones of joy.

sugardaddy!nanami who will have you folded like a damn lawn chair and only whisper sweet nothings while drilling into you.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a high sex drive but hides it in the beginning like the gentleman he is, making sure you feel comfortable and safe.

sugardaddy!nanami who gives you the car you’ve been wanting forever. you ride the car for a bit with him ecstatic, kissing him over and over, giggling. you both quickly found a new way to celebrate. you’re pinned down over the glove compartment, one large hand gripping both of yours as they’re pinned to your back, and the sounds of skin slapping with your loud moans mix in the air. “ke-n-toooo~ I-I don’t want to ge- uh! It m-messy in h-ere…” “don’t worry darling, I-” a low grunt comes out, “i always cum inside dont I?” he quickens up the pace only to have you screaming like a whore. “t-that’s it. just take it. It feels good, I know,” he mercilessly pounds into you, kissing your temple, “just come undone on me, that’s it. make me proud.”

sugardaddy!nanami who texts you to quickly come to the office and sends you a cab for an urgent “visit.” why? he’s stressed and his favorite method to cool down is your throat expanding around his girthy dick. he'll grip the strands of your hair while cooing at you, "i know angel, i know. but you look so beautiful right now, don't stop."

sugardaddy!nanami who groans from the stressors of his job, turning his attention to you while he pushes himself back on his chair. he looks down on his bulge before sighing and tugging his tie down left and right. “go ahead. come suck me off, i need it and I know you want it too.”

sugardaddy!nanami who does the whole pillow underneath, hand pressed on lower abdomen, with a vibrator wand abusing your clit.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a diet that consists of devouring your pussy on a regular basis. “b-babe… i- ah! s-slow down,” as you elicit a loud dirty moan that fills the room, “pleaaaase.” if only you knew he takes more pleasure out of this than you and you’re the one gripping his hair to the point of leaving his scalp red. he further pushes his nose into you, mumbling, “beg all you want, I’m not done.”

sugardaddy!nanami who is a gentleman, really. who will kill anything within 5 meters if it remotely threatens you. but he can’t help but admire the way your little cunt can’t fully take it the first few times together.

sugardaddy!nanami who never thought much of daddy kinks, but when he hears “daddy” slip out of your precious mouth, his heels dig deeper into the mattress, his massive body weight shifts crushing you, angling his dick in an almost sinful way while pressing you deeper into a mating press. “say it again.”

sugardaddy!nanami who watches you squirm with a vibrator jammed to your clit and his tongue lapping up and down your cunt like any separation from his tongue and your pussy will cause his death. “k-kento s-stop this feeli- ah! I th- oh god! I think I need to pee!” he can’t help but chuckle in his head. his baby never squirted before until now.

sugardaddy!nanami who secretly wants to get you knocked up. man loves fucking his cum into you. he has such a big breeding kink that you catch on.

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[gaysindistress]

Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.

[yanderedrabbles]

obsessed with the yandere outlaws!! May I ask what sort of gifts the cowboys would give the reader?

Yandere Outlaws - Gifts

The boss brings you jewellery. He's old fashioned like that. To him, his girl deserves nothing less diamonds and gold. If the gang pulls off a train job then he's going to rip the necklace off some rich old lady's neck, just to bring it home to you.

He doesn't make a big deal out of the fortune he's giving you. Just takes your hand and slips a new ring on your finger, or comes up behind you and fastens a locket around your throat. And well, it's not like you'll ever have the chance to run off with his gifts, so you aren't exactly a risky investment.

He likes seeing you in your jewellery and nothing else. Gas light catching on the emeralds around your throat as he holds your waist and forces you to ride him. You're his stolen treasure - it's only appropriate that you have the accessories to match.

The gunslingers bring you things that look good on you when you're naked. Ribbons for your hair (even though by the time they're done with you, that pretty velvet is crushed and sticky), cameo chokers, garters.

There's something about a girl wearing nothing but her stockings that just drives them wild. Rarely, they might bring you back a silk slip or nightdress. Something that shows the outline of your body, something that feels so awful soft against your skin. They'll fuck you while you're still wearing it, the material bunched up in their fists as they manhandle you. When they inevitably ruin it, chances are it's going in their pockets or around their necks. So they can carry the smell of your cunt with them when they're away from home.

The wrangler brings you sweets whenever he can. Sometimes they're small treats - a bag of peppermint sticks from the general store, some taffy sold by a housewife on a far-flung ranch.

Other times, he gets his hands on the more expensive stuff. Some of it totally unfamiliar to you. Chocolates filled with caramel and peppermint liqueur. Hard toffee that gets stuck in your teeth. Sugar plums.

You can't help but get a little excited whenever he comes back from a job. You know you shouldn't, but whenever he leans down to kiss you some part of you thinks about sugar melting on your tongue.

There's only one condition attached to his gifts. You have to sit on his lap and let him feed you. Most days you don't mind it - his hands don't usually wander below your waist. But when he comes back from a particularly nasty job? If he's been gone a long time? That's when he makes you suck the candy straight out of his mouth.

The boy brings you flowers. Silly and sappy and a little bit romantic. The sort of thing a boy does when he's in love for the first time.

He gives them to you the way a boy in love does, too. Blushing and looking at his shoes and muttering out a quick "For you," before he hurries away.

You aren't sure when he has the time to go about picking flowers. Between chores and wrangling, he scarcely has enough time to eat. But somehow he manages it. Wildflowers fill your room. Almost enough to cover the smell of blood and cum, but not quite.

The second in command brings you books. Hard to come by out in the west, even harder when you're a man on the run. But for you, he manages it.

There's no telling what he'll bring. Penny dreadfuls. Gothic romances. Books on language and history.

He likes to read with you. He doesn't have much free time, but in the late afternoons he'll usually track you down and take you out into the yard to sit with him. There's a huge oak that he likes to sit under, the sunlight turning soft and golden as he rests his chin on your shoulder. He's a fast reader, but it doesn't take long for you to start matching his speed. He likes to ask you questions, a mix of stern schoolmaster and curious lover.

He has a habit of running a hand up your thigh while you answer, humming softly whenever you stutter.

"Hmm, that's not quite right, little dove. Try again."

And if you still struggle to answer him? He'll just have write the answers against your clit with his tongue.

[rubys-domain]

well. i didn't do shit today. not even play games. i just fucking existed. i don't think it's going to be any different tomorrow either. it's frustrating how my interests can just evaporate out of nowhere. what the fuck else am i supposed to waste my time with, since i'm incapable of utilizing it for anything valuable. i don't want to be suckered back into youtube rabbit holes about cryptids or some shit. i'll inevitably see a recommendation that reminds me that i live in the darkest timeline imaginable. and i can't have that because i'm trying to not make myself feel worse than i already do. i probably will just force myself to play these games anyway. i don't hate them; i'm just not particularly motivated to play the way i used to anymore, i.e. The Eternal Grind. i'll probably just empty my stamina and fuck off again. and then i'm back to wondering wtf to do.

[marzennya]

The Northern Consort used to be a spy, don't you know? A good one, too...only the heavens know how far that particular web goes, but it benefits the Emperor's reign, and the Empress is found of him, so who are we to judge, eh?

[+200 Better Lore points!]

Empress Shen is finally here, my God! How difficult was this particular beast, eh? It took me, like, five or six redesigns! The balance between feminine and masculine really kicked my ass here...I think I did pretty well, if you take in account everything. I'm proud of myself, so all of you must be nice to me.

The drama is set during the warring states period, my inspiration was mostly from how they costumed the Queen of Zhao, the dowager Queen of Qin and Haolan when she finally becomes the Queen of Qin. They are all gorgeously dressed, I recommend watching it PURELY for the costuming and also the scheming women.

The design was immensely inspired by the Chinese drama The Legend of Haolan. The main character just has this impeccable Shen Qingqiu face-card, every time I see her I just think 'Yes, Shen Qingqiu, for sure.' Here's her, for reference:

For Shang Qinghua, things were so much easier, though; I watched some episodes of Story of Yanxi Palace and was struck by inspiration™. He was so easy to draw! It's all very Qing dynasty inspired, it just fits him, I think.

It took me so very long to draw the jewellery and the embroidery in both of them...I admire the people who actually do metal and needlework. Heroes, all of them.

The pearl makeup is one of my favourite ancient Chinese makeup trends; I just had to put it in. It's a very fancy form of Huadian, which is where you draw forms, mostly flowers and other pretty things on your face using paints, powders, pearls, gems and glued flowers, and it was popular from the Tang dynasty onwards. The ICONIC pearl Huadian was popularized in the Song dynasty because it (shockingly) represented modesty and elegance.

Shen Qingqiu's greenest ornaments are made out of imperial jade, which is characterized by this vibrant emerald green colour and great translucency. It's also the most expensive type of jade ever.

The! Nail! Guards! Make! A! Comeback!

Shang Qinghua's ornaments are, in the other hand, made out of pearls - for elegance, wisdom, and wealth, and blue jade, for serenity, peace of mind and self-reflection. Mobei-jun buys all of his husband's jewellery with intention, for sure.

They're such big gossips omg, nobody is safe.

[maroonpascal]

It was enchanting to meet you

Pairing: Harry Castillo x reader

Summary: you’ve never imagined that meeting Harry Castillo could change your life forever

Word count: 773

Notes: this is literally just for the vibes and nothing else, wrote it on my way back home from uni just for fun. Based on the moodboard I posted yesterday (og post)

Date nights with him were always a dream and always more than you could ever expect; you were used to easy nights, nothing too special but with him everything was different. You didn’t even imagine how life would have changed when that night he sat next you at that event, offering you a drink, his charm immediately captivating you, an aura that it is hard to find. His brown eyes were the thing that made you forget everything else in an instant, and then the way he talked and his voice, words falling from his lips softly, like the most expensive velvet. And how could you ever say no to all of that, to a man that was taking all your breath away, your heart beating so fast at the way he was looking at you.

That night you kept looking at him as you sipped on your drink, and with every second passing you would notice a new detail, the cute patches in his beard that would resemble to little hearts, his perfume now becoming also yours, given how close you two were, and that green emerald on his right hand; soon you understood that not only he was handsome as hell, but he could also make you laugh and he was smart, having a way of speaking that would make you hang from his lips, and the night took a completely different turn. Would you have ever imagined to end up in his expensive apartment? Surely not, but the universe has its ways, and that is how you ended up there, after a night of talking and smiling with him, hands in your hair as he pushed you against the wall, kissing you like nobody had ever done, a passion igniting you and making you feel more alive than ever. His touch was firm but gentle at the same time, handling you like you were most precious thing in that apartment, more expensive than his own emerald ring.

When you woke up the following morning you had those pristine bedsheets around you, and you turned to him just to see him blissfully sleeping by your side, an arm around your waist, exactly how he had fallen asleep last night. This could be a one nightstand only, you thought, soon I’m gonna leave and everything will go back to normal, I will go back to my normal life and this will remain just a feral dream.

Little did you know.

You had no idea that once you had left that apartment he would have called you, checking on you and simply wanting to hear your voice, and life really wasn’t the same anymore.

What you had thought was one single event, bloomed into something more, as you were attracted by him like a magnet, an invisible force dragging you to him, soon enough having to give a name to whatever was happening between you two.

Soon you also understood that it was a very different relationship from the ones you’ve had in the past, as he would always surprise you in the most incredible ways. Sometimes it would be a huge bouquet of red roses, so many roses that you couldn’t even count them, sometimes he would rent an immense villa only for you two, to spend a little getaway weekend; you could never guess what he had in store for you, because every date could be even wilder than the previous one.

One night he had taken you to the airport, car full of luggage, and only when you arrived there you discovered he was taking you to Paris with his private jet for a romantic week.

So he would surely cover you in gifts, romantic trips, take you to the most expensive restaurants and you were sure you could also ask him to bring you the moon too and he would find a way to do that, but what truly made you fall in love with him wasn’t that. It was the way he would care for you, the way he would hold you at night, and the passion that he had for you, but especially the talking you would do with him at late night, when both of you were tired and you would look at each other with sleepy eyes, stolen soft kisses in the kitchen with dim lights over you, the taste of red wine over your lips and his warm kisses on your neck, hands intertwined. And the truth is, that you could have forgotten all the expensive stuff, scrapped all of that, because what you only needed was him and his infinite love for you.

[colourfulbisexualities]

SUITS AND SASS ; aaron hotchner x female medical examiner

you’re the bau’s new medical examiner, oozing dark humour, sass, and a killer sense of style, ready to shake up the team. but when you butt heads with aaron hotchner on day one, sparks fly while the rest of the team bets on how long it’ll take for you to win him over.

YOU STRUT into the BAU like you own the damn place, and honestly? You should. The overhead fluorescents do their best to wash out your glow, but even the most soul-sucking government lighting can’t dim this.

The emerald green suit hugs you in all the right places, a sharp contrast against the deep red silk blouse that’s unbuttoned just enough to toe the line between ‘professional’ and ‘distracting.’ Your heels which are Louboutin, naturally - click against the floor with every confident step, the sound sharp, decisive, commanding attention even from the most sleep-deprived agents around you. And your jewellery? Impeccable.

Large emerald studs in your ears, a matching ring resting on your manicured fingers. Each piece a carefully curated display of wealth, taste, and an undeniable presence. You don’t just walk into a room; you arrive, and anyone with half a brain can feel it.

Today is your first day as the BAU’s new medical examiner, and if you’re being honest? You’re already unimpressed. Not with the job itself because you live for the thrill of carving open a fresh corpse before most people have had their morning coffee, but the aesthetic of this place is tragic.

Beige walls, government-issue desks, the faint, ever-present smell of burnt coffee and bad decisions hanging in the air. It’s the kind of environment that breeds stress wrinkles and caffeine addictions, and you’ve already decided that you will not be another victim.

No, you’re here for something new. Something interesting. The only reason you transferred was because your last job had become boring, and you refuse to let your skills stagnate among mundane cases and lackluster conversation.

The BAU, at least, promises a bit of excitement—new cases, new killers, new mysteries to unravel. And, if nothing else, the chance to shake up an office full of straight-laced federal agents with your dark humour and sharp tongue.

The bullpen is exactly what you expected. Agents in various states of exhaustion, stacks of paperwork threatening to topple, and the subtle hum of tense conversation punctuated by the occasional ringing phone. It’s an atmosphere of constant movement, of minds working overtime, and while you appreciate the energy, you can’t help but sigh dramatically as you glance around.

“This place is hideous,” you mutter to yourself, brushing a speck of imaginary dust off your sleeve. “Jesus, does the FBI have something against interior design?”

And then you see her ... Penelope Garcia, dressed in an explosion of colour, exuding the kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly who she is and not giving a damn what anyone thinks about it. Finally, someone with taste.

The second her eyes land on you, she lets out a dramatic gasp, one hand clutching at her necklace like she’s just seen the Virgin Mary herself descend into the bullpen. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Who are you?”

You smirk, tilting your head just slightly. “The new medical examiner. And, from the looks of things, the only other person in this building with a sense of style.”

Her eyes sparkle like she’s just found a long-lost soulmate. “Oh, honey, we are going to be best friends.”

“Obviously,” you reply smoothly. “Someone needs to help me cope with the tragedy that is this office décor. Do you think the Bureau would let me expense a new couch? Maybe some curtains? Anything to make this place feel less like a funeral home for the aesthetically challenged.”

“Oh, sweetie, they barely let me expense my glitter pens. You’re asking for a miracle.”

Before you can reply, a voice cuts through the air. Sharp, authoritative, and entirely unimpressed. “You’re late.”

You turn slowly, already knowing that this is going to be fun.

Aaron Hotchner stands before you, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes intense, scanning you like he’s already profiling your entire existence. And damn if he isn’t gorgeous. You hadn’t expected that. The way his suit fits just right, the sharp angles of his face, the sheer command he exudes—it’s almost enough to distract you from the fact that he’s clearly about to be a pain in your ass.

Almost.

You blink at him, deliberately slow, before glancing at the large digital clock on the wall. “It’s 8:59.”

His jaw tightens just slightly. “We start at eight.”

You sigh, placing a perfectly manicured hand over your heart as if this news has wounded you. “Oh, tragic. If only someone had told me that I was expected to conform to the outdated concept of ‘morning people.’” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that I’m expected to function without proper espresso. What kind of barbarism is this?”

There’s a pause, the kind that suggests Hotch is not used to being spoken to like this. Behind him, you catch the subtle exchange of money. Morgan handing Reid a few bills, Emily shaking her head with an amused smirk. Oh, they were betting on this. Good. At least someone in this building understands entertainment.

Hotch, to his credit, doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he exhales, slow and controlled, the only sign that you’re even remotely testing his patience. “Garcia, show her around the building.”

“Oh, I absolutely will,” she says, looping her arm through yours like this is the best thing to happen to her all day.

As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you—calculating, assessing, already irritated. You turn your head just slightly, meeting his gaze with a slow smirk.

“He’ll recover,” you murmur to Garcia, low enough that only she hears.

She giggles, glancing back at him before whispering, “Oh, I hope not.”

Hotch watches you go, pressing his lips together as he forces himself to look away. You’re impossible. He already knows you’re going to be a problem, and the worst part? He can’t decide if that frustrates him… or intrigues him.

[witherby]

Heyyyyy *leans on expensive car* what are you cooking up for the next mer!reader part?😌

-🌭

Heyyy hotdog 😏 ur about to see it babycakes

Human!Damian x Mer!Reader

Part 8

Masterlist is Here!

It's a very grueling two days of monitoring for you in the med bay. You're kept sedated on a wet gurney so you can be examined for wounds, but there's nothing physically wrong with you. They poke and prod you, take your blood, and run test after test after test to see what could've made you turn so bad so quickly, but those results run clean too.

It's a psychosomatic effect, then. Something is distressing you so much that your body is responding to your mental state. When asked about it, Bruce just rubs his face exhaustedly asks the team to make a new care plan that involves Damian's involvement as much as possible.

When you're deemed healthy enough to return to your tank, they wean you off sedation and carefully deposit you back into the water with a special health monitoring cuff on your wrist.

While you were gone, your castle spire had the top half turned into a removable hideaway in case you got stuck again; it now clicks on and off from the bottom half, a little like a Lego, for your safety.

It takes you a day to fully shake the medicine off, so you spend most of it in a weird daze, but when full alertness returns to you, you pick at the bracelet a while, then tiredly float to the surface to receive breakfast from Jon. And Jon is there like normal, sitting on the lip of the tank with a smile, but he's not the one holding your bucket.

It's Damian.

Damian, who looks at you with wide eyes, like he can't believe you're here and you might vanish if he blinks. Damian, who stands there and stares like you're the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. Damian, who looks just as anxious as you feel. The bucket in his hands is trembling minutely.

It's Damian. He's here. He's here. He's here.

He just stares. You don't know what to do except stare back, locking onto those brilliant, emerald eyes you practically begged to see for weeks. The sudden, unadulterated attention from him makes something twist inside you, and you don't know if it's positive or negative.

Jon clears his throat and quietly calls your name. You glance at him.

"Feeling up for a meal? I've got a couple puzzles, too, if you want them. If you're still woozy from the meds, then that's okay too."

Damian seems to pull himself together and finally offers you the bucket. You hesitate just a moment more, then reach out and take it. The tips of your fingers just barely graze his.

You hold the food to your chest, staring at him. Damian stares back. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he opens his mouth like he's about to speak.

You quickly turn away and drift a few feet from the tank's edge, starting to eat. His stuttered gasp tells you the message was well-received.

Jon sucks in a sympathetic breath through his teeth, reaching out and squeezing Damian's forearm. "Give 'em time," he whispers. "You've been away a while, y'know? I'd probably feel a little abandoned, too."

"It wasn't on purpose," Damian mutters, eyes burning. He fights it down, refusing to cry when there is nothing to cry about. His old position as primary caretaker was reinstated (albeit, Jon is secondary caretaker, now, but he'll take what he can get), he's no longer barred from seeing you, and he's got another chance to fix this companionship. He just needs you to give him the ability to act on this chance.

He needs to earn your trust again. He can do that. He will do that, no matter the cost.

--

You're not up for playtime that day, or the day after. When either one of your caretakers mentions getting into a wetsuit, you react unenthusiastically, so they stay out of the tank to respect your wishes.

Damian is visibly distressed by your refusal to engage with him. He uses your name, he offers you toys and treats, and only tries to call you Princess once before you release a low, threatening warble, and does not try again. If he was so upset by being ignored, then fair is fair. Maybe he shouldn't have done it to you. Prick.

The stinging in your chest at the sight of him doesn't get any better, but it also doesn't get any worse. According to your vitals you're stabilizing, but the beautiful florescence of your tail hasn't quite been restored ever since that fateful incident with Bruce pulling Damian away. The missing patches of scales have regrown by now, but your entire color palette seems overall paler. Less enthused and iridescent. Almost defeated, like you've settled into a life of complacency.

The routine adjusts, and you with it. You quietly accept food at mealtimes and half-heartedly engage with toys. During the tours, you go through the motions of swimming idly around and doing basic loops. You no longer press your body against the glass to stare at and admire all the guests. You no longer steal the buckets to make your caretakers dive in and retrieve them. You no longer chirp or chitter or trill.

It's killing Damian, the guilt threatening to swallow him whole. He's tried everything to get you back to how you used to be — old games, sitting and talking to you, even getting into the water to try and play hide and seek — but you are absolutely not interested. Nothing is working.

And when nothing works, he goes back to the basics. He reenters Bruce's office and takes out your files; he pours through them all, page by page, paragraph by paragraph, to scrape together any fleeting idea of how to bring your incredible spark back.

He's flipping through some documents detailing behavior in wild Mer pods when he finds his answer, and he knows what he needs to do.

Damian asks for an hour to speak to his dad. There's an entire myriad of questions thrown at him, most he can answer and some he can't. There's almost shouting, but Bruce manages to cool them both down again. There's a lot of negotiating, a lot of it, but finally, finally, he gets the green light. He leaves his father's office feeling more confident about you than he has in weeks, and it shows.

The following morning, when you drift to the surface to get breakfast, Jon is there with the bucket, and Damian is there with a rock. It's a small thing, barely the size of your palm, but it's beautifully painted. It's not one of the rocks you've had before, meaning he's not re-gifting you something you gifted him.

It's something he made. For you. He made a gift for you.

"Good morning," Damian says, and your eyes snap to his. "I've brought you this. I want...I wanted to express my..."

He sighs, brow furrowing. You tread the water patiently.

"I am sorry," he finally says. "I'm sorry I allowed my father to separate me from you. I'm sorry I started acting like you didn't exist. I was so angry to see Jon replace me that I feared you would not need me anymore."

Your expression doesn't change. Damian swallows thickly.

"Maybe my phrasing is poor. I don't want you to need me. I simply...I care about you a lot. And I did not think you cared as much, so I took to ignoring you almost entirely. But I thought about you all the time. I wondered if these imbeciles were cleaning your tank properly, or remembered that you don't like red snapper when they feed you, or if anyone was playing with you enough."

Damian inches a little closer to the edge of your tank. He holds the rock out to you. His hands are shaking.

"You don't trust me anymore. That's understandable, and a very logical move on your part. But I want to earn it back. I want to prove to you that I'm here to stay this time."

He leans over the edge a bit, eyes locked onto your own.

"I will do whatever it takes to ensure you don't feel alone again."

You pull your gaze away from his and move closer to examine the rock. The bright, rich colors and intricate patterns painted into it make something ease up in your chest. You feel like you can breathe just a little bit easier.

Your hands emerge from the water, rivulets trailing down your palms and wrists, and gently take the stone from him.

Damian's entire body relaxes, relief making a smile appear on his face.

It promptly vanishes, replaced by indignant sputtering when you spit a bunch of water at him. He coughs and wipes his face, then blinks to find you swimming to the bottom of your tank to find the best place to stick your present. You're moving so much faster, so much more energetically than you were before.

"There you are, Princess," Damian whispers into the water, grinning wide.

"...are they gonna come back up and eat?" Jon asks, still sitting with the bucket. "Cause...we can't re-refridgerate this with the other food. It'll have to get tossed."

[zae-heeyyy]

Amenable

Summary: Arthur teaches you a lesson. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,251 Tags: smut, soft kink, dom Arthur, doggy style Warnings: 18+ MDNI

An: A request fulfilment for anon that's been in the drafts since March lol. Dropping freak shit today, getting married tomorrow 🤪✌🏾

Amenable: readily yielding, submitting, or cooperating

Earlier in the evening, you’d emerged from the double doors of Shady Belle glowing like an emerald shining through rock. Arthur had briefly debated canceling the night he’d planned all together to free you from the confines of that green silk and have his way with you. 

Hours later, a one-dollar shot of whiskey mocked him as he sat wondering how the hell he’d become the fifth wagon wheel on his own date. Though, with you looking like that, there was no wonder why Hubert had settled in so comfortably beside you. The man soaking up your attention was everything Arthur hated about Saint Denis: overly shined expensive shoes, perfectly pressed and fitted suits, and the pungent stench of arrogance. Even at his most polished, Arthur knew he could never compete. 

Self-hatred and doubt nagged at him constantly. Somehow, somebody like you had let him court you, make love to you and claim you as his. One day, you’d see the light, and he’d lose the best thing that ever happened to him—he just knew it. 

He knew it that evening when he’d combed his hair back with pomade, when he changed into a tuxedo, and when he adjusted his bow tie in the mirror. Dressing up felt like wearing someone else’s skin—just wrong, but he’d do what it took to keep you, and all he ever wanted was to keep being wanted by you.

And now, from his side of the bar, he felt completely invisible. The cowboy’s knuckles itched with the urge to pound into Hubert’s ribs, but he hammered them into the wood instead, beckoning another shot of whisky to satiate his pang for violence. So far, he’d kept a lid on his temper, but when he caught the image of your gloved hand snaking up the inside Hubert’s coat from the corner of his eye, he’d had enough. 

His whisky glass crashed like thunder against the bartop, drawing your attention away from the other man. You didn’t get a second to process before Arthur was spitting venom from his chops.

“You don’t got yer own woman to hold up, feller?”

Hubert’s features tangled with confusion—only for a moment—before he doused Arthur’s blaze with cooling water. 

“No, sir. Was hoping I’d find her tonight.” 

He couldn’t have responded any worse. 

“Then how ’bout you fuck off, and go look for’er somewhere else?”

The refined man held Arthur’s gaze for a few seconds before excusing himself from the bar. 

“Have a good night, miss. Good luck with your—” his words hung as he looked over your shoulder at Arthur, postered like a rooster puffing his feathers. He decided to say nothing and nodded at you before disappearing to the second floor of the Bastille with the gold pocket watch you were eyeing still attached to its chain.

You forced air through your nose and shot back the rest of your own whisky, trying to drown your frustration. Arthur could feel your eyes on him, disapproving and judging.

“What?” he drew out, playing dumb as ever.

“He was my mark, you jealous fool!”

“Yeah, well—” he waved dismissively and stared down into his empty glass.

“You’ll only prove people right—snapping like a damn dog. I ain’t your bone to guard. Keep on that way and folks’ll see you exactly how you see yourself.”

He heard you—sure—but he wasn’t listening. 

” You finished? I left my ma’ in the grave, and I ain’t lookin’ for somebody else to stand in for’er.”

“Yeah, you’ll have her rolling in it going on that way.” 

Without saying anything else, Arthur stormed off. You were quick on his heels as he made his way up the stairs and into his rented room. You followed him in, slamming the door shut behind you. The cowboy pouted while you continued scolding him.

“Grown men don’t throw tantrums when they hear something they don’t like, Arthur!”

“Tantrums?” He repeated incredulously. “You ain’t seen a tantrum, yet.” 

The whites of your eyes multiplied in size as he stalked toward you, a lion about to pounce on his prey. A calloused thumb and index finger dug firm into the bone of your jaw as he forced you back against the door, pinning you to it with his leg between your thighs. Though he spoke through clenched teeth, you could swear you saw the corner of his mouth turn up for a fraction of a second. 

“You thought I was just gonna tuck my tail while you was feelin’ up on some dandy right in front of me?”

Hot puffs of air burst from his nostrils as he searched you for something—some kind of answer—some kind of reassurance, but you only stared at each other, frozen like prehistoric creatures forever fossilized under icy pride.

Until those two pools of electric blue flame drifted to your lips, melting the glacier. They settled there for a long while, then roamed upward and stopped on yours, scalding still but asking despite his anger because all he wanted was for you to say yes—to always choose him. 

You were a block of stone as if you’d gazed upon Medusa herself, but he felt something—a subtle shift of your hips, a hot dampness in your center, and friction: you giving into him. 

He felt like an animal, being so possessive over you, but you were his, and the thought of somebody else sweeping you away felt like an anvil crushing down on his chest. He didn’t know how to voice that and wouldn’t even if he could, so he settled on a language he knew you’d understand. 

As rough knuckles raked down your neck, he adjusted his knee ever so slightly, giving you more of the friction you silently craved. You tried to rock your against him, but a firm hand on your hip held you in place. Spores of goosebumps ran down your arms as his lips brushed against your ear.

“Next time, instead of rilin’ me up like that, just ask for whatchu want, alright?” He removed the pressure of his body from you, stepping back and twirling his finger in command. “Turn around.”

Obeying, you turned, and the desperate sound that escaped you made his dick twitch in his pants. It took him no time to hike your dress up around your waist and expose your bloomer-clad thighs. In an attempt to stifle a moan, you curled your lips inward as he snaked a hand between your thighs.

“This here?” he cupped your vulva through the fabric, “Mine. Mark or not, don’t even give a bastard the idea that this-–” the tips of his fingers moved in slow circles just on top of the most sensitive part of your anatomy. “—is up for grabs.”

You nod once, small, and suffer another failed attempt at pleasuring yourself against him, whining as he robbed your clit of that sweet pressure. Arthur sneered and huffed as he slipped his fingers under the knot of the bowtie resting snugly on his neck. 

“Damn thing’s been irritatin’ me all night.” 

In a couple of seconds, he undid the cloth accessory. You were so distracted by the ache between your thighs that you didn’t notice him winding the line of white silk around his fingers. You stared down at the wooden planks on the floor as he all but monologued behind you.

“A man plans a nice night for his woman, puts on a damn suit and tie, and how does she thank 

him? By tryin’ to emasculate him? You wanna be treated like a princess? Like a queen? I ain’t a historian, but what I know about queens—” he cupped your cheek, beckoning you to connect with his eyes full of mischief, “—is that they sit pretty, and let the men do the talkin’.” 

His thumb on his free hand pushed through your lips, and he pumped it in and out, groaning at the sight, relishing in how it reminded him of those times you were on your knees doing the same to his cock. 

Arthur presented the white wad of fabric like an engagement ring, holding it at eye level so you could get a good look. Though he wasn’t down on one knee, he was asking—asking yet again for what he knew you’d let him do. 

He wasn’t even surprised when you didn’t make a fuss. Though he knew he’d be in trouble later, the feeling of his blood rushing to his cock overpowered any guilt he could feel as he stuffed your mouth full of the cloth.

“Good girl,” he whispered, then planted a kiss on top of your head. 

His pants and your bloomers hit the floor faster than either of you could think, and he guided you into an arch as you braced for what he was about to give you. Your blood ran cold in the best way as he rubbed the blunt tip of his cock at your slit. 

“Sh—shit.” He gasped as he pushed forward until he couldn’t anymore and adjusted his feet so he didn’t topple over from the sheer ecstasy of your grasp. You’d never not love the fullness and the stretch of him carving his place within you. For a few minutes, you let him make love to you, controlled and steady, but after all of the build-up, it wasn’t enough. 

You steadied yourself, spreading your feet wider apart and readjusting your hands on the door. Then you took the reins, fucking yourself backward on his cock, finally able to use him like you’d tried all night long. Arthur watched himself appear and disappear between you, eyes hazy and glossed over with pure ecstasy. His speech came out slurred, and he lost himself in you.

“That’s it, darling, that’s it. See? Coulda’ had you bent over an hour ago if you woulda just asked.” 

You muffle something he doesn’t catch through the gag, but he sinks his thumbs in the divots of your back and flattens both of you against the door. Your strangled moans almost lull him to the finish line, and he slows, damn near pulling out—only to rub your clit with a vigor that causes you to nearly suck him right back in.

“Now,” he huffed, pumping himself in and out slowly but keeping his pace on your clit steady. “Before you go squeezin’ the life out of me and gettin’ yourself off, I need you to tell you something. You listenin’?”

You nodded vigorously, grinding in time with his fingers.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen… I’m gonna fill you up, then you’re gonna go out there with me drippin down your legs and rob that bastard clean. Can you do that fer me?”

Your vocal cords scream, “Yes, Arthur!” But to his amusement and your dismay, it comes out illegible. He half laughs and half moans as he teases you.

“Didn’t—Mmph—Didn’t catch that sweetheart.”

You whine something fierce and squeeze your eyes closed, ready to let the waves of pleasure wash over you. He keeps circling, keeps trusting, and finally pries the bowtie out of your mouth. 

“Now, whaddya’ say, darling?”

“Yes, Arthur!” You get out at last, so loud that your voice vibrates the door in front of you. Despite the loud piano music filling the establishment, you were sure anybody outside the room could hear you. Arthur Morgan, that bastard—that’s exactly how he wanted it.

“There you go. C’mon now. Let me have it.” 

And you did, your orgasm exploding through you like a chain of dynamite. He wasn’t long after you, fulfilling his end of the deal by filling you up. 

When it all died down, both of you stood there unmoving until he went soft and pulled out. His hold on you turned into a hug, and your turn to snuggle against his chest. You could hear his heart still racing, and you were proud of yourself for it until you looked up to see him frowning down.

“I–I didn’t mean what I said about—I—I got carried away. I can get somebody to draw you a bath, and I’ll clear it out out there so you don’t feel—”

“Arthur, hush up ‘fore I give you the bowtie.” 

His eyes widened, and his brows crinkled together at the thought; then he chuckled through his nose, relieved to hear the playfulness in your tone. You brush your fingers across his cheek and watch the shame for what he just did dissolve away with your touch, “S’okay, Arthur.

"I didn’t mean to humiliate you like that, I never want to—”

"Arthur,” you repeat sternly. When you’re sure he’s listening, you speak with a tenderness only reserved for him.

“It’s just you I want. It’s just you I’ll ever want. Okay?”

He only inhaled deeply, letting the words settle in his gut. You thought that was the end of the matter, but he redressed and slipped away, mumbling something about needing another drink.  

Your lover came back empty-handed a few minutes later but opened the door wide enough for you to see the vacant foyer. He’d cleared the entire floor, just like he said he would, for you to walk three feet to the bath unaccosted. You sauntered across and looked over your shoulder at Arthur, postured like a soldier outside the door.

“I’ll stand guard.” 

“Don’t worry ’bout that,” you said, grinning.

The twinkle in your eye as you tugged on his sleeve and pulled him inside made him believe—for a little while, anyway—that you loved him just as much as he loved you.

[sofiasworld00]

Build A Bear

Lando Norris x reader

Summary: He just wants to spoil his girl.

Warnings: fluff, some spice towards the end.

Word Count: around 2k.

Y/N hesitated at the entrance to the sleek, pink-lit store, her fingers curling around Lando’s as he tugged her inside with his usual cocky confidence. The faint scent of vanilla and floral perfume hung in the air, blending with soft music. Rows of lace, satin, and silk seemed to glow under the store’s spotlights, and Y/N’s cheeks burned as she took it all in.

“Lando, this is too much,” she murmured, trying to pull him back. “We don’t need to be in here.”

“Nonsense,” Lando said, his smirk widening. His sharp green eyes danced with mischief as he leaned closer. “I need to see you in some of this stuff. For purely… research purposes.”

“Research?” she shot back, folding her arms over her chest, though her lips twitched in amusement.

“Yeah,” he replied, dropping his voice a notch as his fingers brushed her waist. “I need to figure out which one will make you blush the most when you wear it. You know, the important things.”

Y/N laughed, the sound tinged with nervousness as she glanced around. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he quipped, guiding her further into the store. “Now, let’s start over here.”

Browsing The Racks

Lando approached the nearest display with all the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. He plucked a delicate set of white lace lingerie from the rack, holding it up for her approval.

“What about this one?” he asked, tilting his head as if deep in thought.

Y/N’s face burned as she grabbed the set from his hands and shoved it back onto the rack. “Lando, stop being embarrassing!”

“Embarrassing? Love, I’m being serious,” he said, stepping closer to her. His voice dropped into that familiar, teasing tone that always made her knees weak. “You’d look incredible in this. Don’t you trust my taste?”

“I trust it,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. “But—”

“No buts,” he cut her off, already reaching for another piece—a deep emerald green bra adorned with intricate lace and matching panties. He held it up to her, squinting like he was picturing her in it.

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, feeling her heart race. “That one’s way too expensive,” she said, glancing at the tag and feeling faint.

Lando rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Y/N, do you know who I am?”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re Lando Norris, Formula 1 driver and professional pain in my ass.”

“And your boyfriend,” he added smugly, tossing the set onto a growing pile of items he was collecting. “Which means I can buy you whatever I want.”

Try On

After much protesting and teasing, Y/N found herself inside one of the plush fitting rooms with a pile of lingerie. The soft lighting in the small space made everything feel more intimate, and she bit her lip as she slipped into the first set—a light pink bra and matching panties adorned with tiny bows.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, smoothing down the fabric and feeling a mix of nervousness and confidence. Lando had been right—his picks suited her perfectly. But still, the idea of stepping out there and showing him felt like a challenge she wasn’t ready to face.

“How’s it going in there?” Lando called from the other side of the door.

“Fine,” she replied quickly, adjusting a strap.

“Let me see,” he said, his voice playful but insistent.

“No way!”

“Come on, Y/N,” he coaxed. “I picked it out. I need to see if I got it right.”

Her cheeks burned as she opened the door just a crack, peeking out. Lando’s eyebrows shot up, and he immediately pushed the door open wider, stepping inside without a hint of shame.

“Lando!” she squeaked, trying to cover herself.

“Relax,” he said, his eyes roaming over her appreciatively. His voice dropped, turning soft and sincere. “You look incredible, love.”

She glanced away, her hands fidgeting nervously. “It’s just… a lot,” she admitted.

“It’s perfect,” he said, stepping closer. His fingers brushed against her arm, sending a shiver down her spine. “And so are you.”

Her protests melted away as he leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

Checkout

Eventually, Y/N changed back into her clothes, and Lando carried the mountain of lingerie to the checkout counter. Y/N’s stomach churned as she watched the cashier ring up item after item, the total climbing higher and higher.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered, tugging on Lando’s sleeve. “You don’t have to do this.”

He turned to her, his smirk returning. “I want to,” he said simply, slipping his black credit card onto the counter without hesitation.

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted, leaning down so his lips brushed against her ear. “You’re mine, Y/N. And I’m going to spoil you. End of discussion.”

She swallowed hard, her heart racing as she watched him sign the receipt like it was nothing. The total could have bought her a small car, but he didn’t even blink.

“You’re insane,” she muttered as they left the store, the bags swinging from his arms.

“And you love me for it,” he replied, grinning.

Home

By the time they got back to Lando’s apartment, Y/N was still trying to wrap her head around the day’s events. The shopping bags sat on the living room floor, the delicate fabrics spilling out like a secret waiting to be revealed.

“You’re still thinking about the price, aren’t you?” Lando asked, dropping onto the couch beside her.

She nodded sheepishly. “I just… I don’t know how to wrap my head around it. You spent so much, and—”

He cut her off with a kiss, his lips soft but insistent against hers. His hands cupped her face, tilting her head to deepen the kiss until she melted against him.

“Y/N,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and commanding. “Stop worrying. I can afford it, and I want to do this for you. Let me take care of you.”

Her breath hitched as his hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer. “But—”

“No more buts,” he said, his tone firm but teasing. “You’re mine. And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

Later

The tension in the room shifted, turning electric as Lando’s lips trailed down her neck, his hands exploring her curves through the fabric of her dress. Y/N’s nerves melted away, replaced by a warm, tingling sensation that spread through her entire body.

“Go try one of those sets on,” he murmured against her skin, his voice husky.

Her heart raced as she glanced at the bags. “Lando, I—”

“Now,” he said, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip.

She bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before grabbing one of the sets—a deep red lace number—and disappearing into the bedroom.

When she returned, Lando was waiting for her, his expression unreadable as he leaned back on the couch. His eyes darkened as they roamed over her, taking in every inch of the delicate fabric and how it hugged her body.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Y/N stepped closer, her cheeks burning as he reached out and pulled her into his lap. His hands roamed over her back, his touch light but deliberate.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers.

She shivered as his hands slid under the fabric, his touch sending sparks through her. “Lando…”

“Shh,” he whispered, his lips trailing down her neck. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of heated kisses, whispered promises, and Lando proving, over and over, just how much he adored her.

remember to repost and share it really helps!

[random-twst-things]

Part 2 of this!

*After the interview, it was cut short*

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Mal?

Malleus: ...yes?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: HOW?! how is it that we're even married?

Malleus: Well-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: We haven't even dated each other?!

Malleus: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Look, it's not that I mind, really but-

Malleus: Really?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Not the point Mal! How did this even happen? And for an entire year?!

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, turns to Mal: Mind explaining?

Malleus: Well, you were the one to court me

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...Me?

Malleus: Yes, do you remember around a year ago the time you gifted me a new tamagotchi, coupled with a pretty rock with a small card saying "love you"?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Yes? It was a while ago, but yea

Malleus: Well, I thought that was you courting me, dear

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...

Malleus: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: You thought that I was courting because I gave you a rock? A simple rock?

Malleus: Correction, a very pretty rock, but yes

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Please don't tell me this is the way faes court?

Malleus: Well, not exactly. Instead of the, VERY, pretty rock you gave me we usually find or buy an unpolished emerald rock and give it to the person we wish to court.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: AN EMERALD?! UNPOLISHED EMERALD?! I gave you nothing close to that!

Malleus: Well, I assumed that given your living situation and expenses you sadly had to use a pretty rock you found instead of the emerald

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Mal, you do know that our way of "courting" is very different, right?

Malleus: I am aware, but I assumed you knew

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, sighs: Okay, okay- wait- this was when?

Malleus: A month before we got married

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: A MONTH?!

Malleus: Yes, a month, I wished to do it sooner but thought I'd wait to respect your human traditions. Lilla also said patience is key.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: MAL A MONTH IS TOO SOON?

Malleus: It is?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: YES BUT-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, sighing: WHEN?! HOW DID WE EVEN HAVE A WEDDING?

Malleus: Dear, the event I held a year ago in Diasomnia's courtyard was our wedding

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: I thought that was some fae holiday or tradition you guys did?

Malleus: It was not, it was our wedding

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, pacing the room: wait- you need a marriage officiant for a wedding to happen though? What about the vows? The walking down the aisle?

Malleus: The vows we said we're done in private, remember? when I poured my heart out telling you how I could never imagine you not being in my life? The marriage officiant was Lillia and the walk down the aisle I chose not to do as I couldn't wait any longer.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Okay, so I remember the "vows" but when did I even sign the marriage license?

Malleus: As soon as you walked into the dorm doors

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: I thought that was a paper to see who came?

Malleus, worried tone, happy face: Dear, you really should read something before you sign it.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: yea, I really should

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: what about the wedding attire? I didn't wear a wedding dress/suit? The ring?

Malleus: The outfit of garments I sent to you the day before our wedding and the ring I'm assuming you thought was a "simple" gift.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: THAT WAS MY WEDDING DRESS/SUIT?! And wedding ring?!

Malleus: Yes, I must say you looked positively gorgeous/beautiful/handsome and I chose the ring very well, it suits you tremendously

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Thank you-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: okay, okay- No big deal- I'm just married to the prince of Briar Valley, descendant of fae, one of the 5 most powerful mages in the world.

Malleus: I prefer to be called "Mal", by you

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Oh by the Seven, I can't believe we got married all because I gave you a SIMPLE ROCK

Malleus: As I said before, a very pretty rock

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Mal, we don't even live together

The rock You/Mc/Y/N/Yuu gave to Malleus:

Authors note: (this turned out longer than I thought 😭)

(FINALLY! DONE! No next part... Unless a part 3 where they talk it out better? Nah.... Unless)

Dividers by/from @/cafekitsune

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter ten: Umasked Tension

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 10 | next

Series Masterlist

The sun barely filtered through the narrow windows of your quarters as the hours before the VIPs’ arrival drew closer. It was a strange, almost oppressive calm in the air, as though everything was waiting for the storm to hit. The excitement, the nerves—they buzzed just below the surface, threatening to bubble over at any moment.

As the clock ticked closer to the arrival of the VIPs, you began to get ready, slipping into a dress you had reserved for this moment. It was sleek and fitted, a deep shade of emerald green that brought out the natural warmth of your skin. The fabric shimmered faintly, catching the light as you moved, a quiet elegance that felt at odds with the world you were stepping into. The heels you chose were sharp, pointed, giving you a little more height, a little more presence as you prepared to walk into a room full of powerful, untouchable men.

When you finished dressing, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your reflection was almost foreign to you. The confident and powerful demeanor that you wore was ready, set aside for the moment, but the truth behind your eyes wasn’t hidden yet. There was a sadness there that even the most beautiful dress couldn’t conceal.

The door to the bedroom opened just then, and In-ho stepped in. He was dressed in his usual dark attire, the mask firmly in place. His presence filled the room, but there was something different today—an unspoken understanding between you both. Neither of you needed to say it aloud. You both would have to deal with stuck up rich guys.

“You’re ready,” he said, his voice softer than usual, but still carrying that familiar calmness.

You nodded, biting back a sigh. “I guess.”

There was a brief moment where he just looked at you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. His gaze wasn’t cold this time. It was different—something that made your heart skip a beat. It was almost like… concern? You couldn’t be sure, but the heat in your cheeks made you wonder if you were imagining it.

Then, without a word, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something. A mask. The same black one he always wore.

“This is for you,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still firm as he handed it to you.

Your fingers brushed against his as you took the mask, and for a moment, everything felt still. The mask was a reminder. A symbol. You weren’t you anymore. You were a piece of this twisted game.

You glanced at him, feeling the weight of the moment. “I’m ready.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but the look he gave you told you everything you needed to know. It wasn’t just about protecting your identity. It was about playing the game. And you both had already gotten too deep to turn back.

When you stepped into the grand hall, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The VIPs were already gathered, a mix of loud voices and expensive fabrics filling the room. The second you walked in, their eyes landed on you. It was like the room held its breath. The way they looked at you—like a rare piece of art they wanted to own, but could never touch—made your skin crawl.

You tried not to let it show. You couldn’t.

Your father was standing off to the side, his back straight, his expression as cold and distant as ever. He didn’t acknowledge you when you entered, didn’t even glance your way as you walked past him.

That sting—the ache that you couldn’t shake—came rushing back. You tried to hide it, bury it deep beneath the mask you wore. But it was hard. It hurt. More than you cared to admit.

In-ho must have noticed the change in your posture. His hand, warm and firm, landed on your shoulder for a brief moment. The touch was gentle, but it grounded you. Reminded you that, at least for now, you weren’t alone in this.

“You’re doing fine,” he whispered, his voice low, reassuring.

It didn’t fix the pain. Nothing could. But it was enough to keep you moving forward.

It wasn’t long before the VIPs began to circle. Their eyes stayed glued to you, their gazes hungry, eager to inspect, to dissect. They made comments—subtle at first, but the undertones were clear.

“You know, I’ve heard the Frontman is very protective of you,” one man said, his voice dripping with something darker. “But I bet he’s hiding something interesting behind that mask.”

Another VIP, younger, with a smug look on his face, stepped forward. “Maybe we should all get to know each other better,” he said, his eyes lingering on the ring on your finger. “If you’re interested, of course.”

The way they looked at you—it was like you were a puzzle they wanted to solve, something they couldn’t have, but would do anything to possess.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced a smile. You had to. It was part of the game. You had to play along, pretend you were just as interested in their hollow words as they were in your appearance.

Before any of them could step closer, In-ho was there. Like a shield. He placed a hand at the small of your back, guiding you toward the VIP room with quiet authority.

“We’ll be escorting you now,” he said, his tone final, and for a moment, the VIPs seemed to respect the unspoken boundary.

You walked beside him, the tension between you both palpable, but at least for now, you were free from their unwanted attention.

When the VIPs had settled into the room, you thought you might finally get a moment to breathe. But the truth was, there was no escape. Not from the eyes that followed you, not from the games you were forced to play.

And then, you saw him again. Your father.

His eyes flickered to you once more. That cold look. No warmth. No recognition. He just… looked right through you.

It hurt.

———————

Chapter 10!!!!! Woohoo! Lemme know what you think! Thank you!

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[esmeefreckles]

Missed you | Ewa Pajor G!P x reader

+18 SMUT MINORS DNI

PRAISE KINK. DADDY KINK. BLOWJOBS. G!P. CUM INSIDE.

A/N: A huge thank you to @sswed for being the best beta reader and helping me so much.

The Barcelona heat was a suffocating blanket, seeping into your flat, making the air thick and heavy. You'd just emerged from a cold shower, a desperate attempt at cooling down. You dressed yourself in a simple miniskirt and an emerald-green tank top, no bra, because frankly, it was too damn hot and you were in the comfort of your own home. You were wiping the dampness from your forehead when the door clicked open and a familiar, electrifying energy filled the room.

Ewa stood there, a mischievous grin playing on her lips and you couldn’t help but feel your heart speed up. 

"Miss me, love?" she purred, her voice husky from the flight back from Poland after the Nations League match. Ewa was finally back and looking absolutely sexy.

Before you could even respond, Ewa closed the distance, her hands finding your waist, pulling you against her hardness. 

"God, you're so evil for wearing that," Ewa breathed into your ear, her voice a low growl, and your heart hammered against your ribs.

Ewa pressed you against the wall, her lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, her teeth nipping and tugging at the sensitive skin. Her hands roamed down your body, fingers pulling at the thin fabric of the tank top, her tongue tracing the frantic pulse at your throat. The scent of Ewa, that intoxicating mix of sweat, expensive cologne and something more, something uniquely hers, filled your senses.

"I missed you," you managed to gasp, your voice barely a whisper.

"Missed this?" Ewa murmured, her hips grinding against yours, the unmistakable hardness of her arousal pressing against you.You whimpered, a desperate sound, as Ewa’s touch ignited a fire within you.

Ewa's mouth moved lower, her tongue tracing a hot path down your neck, her hands tugging your miniskirt higher. 

"I've been thinking about this the whole time I was away," Ewa whispered, her voice thick with desire. 

"Thinking about how much I was going to fuck you when I got back."

Your hands were frantic, tugging at Ewa’s shirt, desperate to feel her skin against yours. The heat between you both was palpable, a tangible thing that filled the room. You felt Ewa's member twitching between the two of you and you were melting, needing her, needing all of her. You would have absolutely told Ewa to slow the fuck down if it weren't for the fact that you were just as on edge, if not more than Ewa was. The palms of your hands were vibrating as you tugged at Ewa's shorts, desperate to be as close to her in any way you could humanly manage.

Your hands slid up the nape of Ewa's neck as your mouths gilded against one another. A mixture of pants and wet skin surrounding the air around you. Ewa pulled you closer, your arms circling fully around her neck and all but melting into her. 

Ewa’s fingers snaked down the front of your skirt, grazing along the fabric of your soaked underwear, teasing where you needed her the most right now. You whimpered over and over and over, almost a puddle against the wall as Ewa's fingers slid in excruciatingly slow circles.

Ewa pulled back slightly from your mouth, a glimmer of saliva lined between both your lips. She watched your flushed face with devilish awe as her fingers then tugged your panties to the side slightly, pressing her fingers fully, just firm enough to coax a strangled noise out of you.

A grin lined Ewa's lips as she leaned forward and murmured against your parted lips, "You're so ready for me."

You let out a groan, hands impatiently roaming under Ewa's shirt before flipping her against the wall. You drank Ewa's lips a little longer, trailing your hands down her waist and pressing one more kiss to her lips before sinking down to your knees. Your fingers hooked at the hem of Ewa's shorts and boxers with practiced ease, hurriedly tugging them down as Ewa let out a shaky breath.

"Oh, fuck."

Your hand wrapped softly around Ewa's cock, caressing very lightly at the firm, reddened length. Your eyes glimmered as you gazed up at Ewa before you leaned forward to take it into your mouth. Your tongue slid torturously around the head, wetting the skin as you drew her cock in deeper. You moaned lightly on Ewa’s length before pulling back and glancing upwards, eyes full of mirth and vulgarity. 

Ewa's head bumped loudly against the wall, fingers stringing through your hair as she groaned, "Fuuucking hell, baby."

A quiet laugh sounded from your mouth, closing your eyes and drawing Ewa deeper into your mouth. Ewa's fingers tightened in your hair as you bobbed your head back and forth, whimpering softly as Ewa's hips chased your lips; the mix of salt and sweat and saliva, the taste of Ewa's precum lining your tongue as her cock slid in and out of your mouth, all left your head reeling.Left you obscenely wet between your thighs, left you needing more now than ever.

Your hands came up to grip Ewa's ass, needing to feel more, needing to absorb the flavor as much as your own mouth would allow. You pressed deeper, faster onto it, the length twitching hard in your mouth as Ewa let out really loud moans that were quickly dissolving into incoherency, hips now thrusting lightly into your mouth.

"God, you're so good. So good."

Your eyes gleamed up at hers, watching a flush of red blooming over her cheeks and nose as she moaned into the air, up against the wall, shirt pulled up to reveal the chiseled curve of her hips, raining praise of your name being chanted in the air. It was every bit of perfection. You pulled your mouth away, spit gleaming as it rolled down your chin, hand still stroking along. 

Your voice was feather-light as heated awe flickered in your eyes, "Cum in my mouth, daddy. Please."

"Yes, yes. Fuck yes."

A fervorous want seeped into your movements as you groaned against the length, taking Ewa as deep as you could. You hollowed out your cheeks and slid your mouth up, tongue swirling around the swollen head, swallowing the taste of precum now streaming from Ewa's cock as her body lurched against the wall, fingers trembling in your hair.

You could feel Ewa losing her grasp on her surroundings, feel her legs starting to falter in your hands. Her elongated moans now dissolved into high-pitched pants and you loudly moaned on her length because you wanted to taste every last drop of Ewa so badly, but you then felt her hand lightly pull your head back away from her cock completely.

 It released with a pop and slapped rigidly against Ewa’s stomach. Your brows twisted instantly (with an almost annoyed furrow because she was so wet and so ready, it could've been a crime), and you looked up, chest heaving, worried you'd hurt her, hoped you hadn't accidentally bitten her or something embarrassingly horrific.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

Ewa's chest rose and fell, a brazen sheen of sweat lining her skin as she panted breathlessly, "No, no, no, I wanna... inside."

Oh.

Her words were breathy and broken but couldn't have been clearer. You grinned and stood up, pressing a gentle kiss to Ewa's reddened lips with allure, anticipation dancing wildly in your darkened eyes.

"You're quite lucky I stopped then."

Ewa scoffed, "I won't be lucky in a couple of minutes."

"But I will."

A toothy grin lined Ewa's lips as she quickly leaned over and lifted you in the air while she peppered your face with kisses onto your cheeks, your mouth, your forehead, anything her lips would reach as she sped-walked both of you to your bedroom. You barely had time to wrap your arms around Ewa's neck and kiss her back before you were tossed onto the bed covers, letting out a giggle.

"You've too many clothes," Ewa breathed, climbing over you, between your legs, and tugging at your skirt as she leaned down.

Her mouth roughed at your neck, grazing and scraping at the skin with her teeth as she pressed her body against yours. Your legs fell to the sides as you groaned softly, feeling Ewa's stiff length rubbing diligently through your underwear, at your absolutely soaked center. Your arms circled around Ewa's neck, hips mindlessly grinding upwards, trying to feel as much as you could.

Ewa smiled and hummed against your skin, "You're going to make me do all the work?"

She then leaned up, yanking her shirt and bra off in a swift motion and reaching down to tug your tank top over your head. She tossed the items off to the side, clumsily pressing her lips against you again, feeling positively feverish at the heat of your bare skin against each other. Ewa ducked her head down, grazing her tongue against a taut nipple, sweat coating her brow, marveling at the whimpers that you let out. You writhed shamelessly, your voice breathy, needy, and impatient.

"All the work but not the important part," you huffed, reaching down to push your skirt and underwear down your hips. 

You flicked them off your feet, pulling Ewa's nude frame against your own. Your body buzzed as Ewa braced one hand on one side of your head, the other hand reaching between your bodies. She grabbed her cock, still throbbing madly as it slid between your wet center.

"God, please, please, daddy, please," you whined, your trembling fingers coming up to dig into Ewa's shoulders.

Ewa squeezed her eyes shut, willing God to please have mercy on her for at least another minute or so, but then she slowly pushed inside, you were so wet and tight, already clenching around her cock, the embodiment of the untouched perfection beneath her and Ewa’s mouth fell open as her body shivered. She pulled out slowly, almost completely, before pushing her cock back into your warmth with a little more force, and you let out a loud noise.

"Ewa… fuck, please, more."

"You feel so good, baby girl," Ewa whispered, her pace already moving faster than she realized. 

Your pants mixed with your moans, your chest slick with sweat and your hair splayed wildly across the bed. You didn't bother biting your lip now, instead wailing into the air high and loud, hips trying to meet Ewa’s thrusts. You wrapped your legs around Ewa's waist, drawing her in closer, feeling her go even deeper, hitting a mouth-watering angle inside you.

"Fuck, daddy, please."

Ewa pressed her needy mouth to yours, eyes squeezed shut, thrusting steadily and murmuring onto your lips, "Come for me, baby girl."

You shook your head, frenzied and drenched in sweat. You were reeling, your legs shuddered around Ewa's frame, and you brokenly whimpered, "I want you..."

"I wanna feel you all over me," Ewa hummed, her breaths coming out stuttering.

She ignored the relentless throbbing in her cock, the way your walls fluttered around her, head falling down to press hot breaths against your ear. Ewa slipped her hand down, snaking against sweaty skin to circle at your clit. Your body tensed up, and a frantic wail bubbled out of your lips.

"Oh, please, please."

"That's it, baby, you're almost there. You're doing so well, that's it."

Ewa’s soft words were all the more you needed to give way completely, your legs fell, tensing and twisting against the sheets as you writhed, breaths coming out loud and hot and you felt like you were bursting at every seam, unraveling entirely. You clenched around Ewa's cock, riding the thrusts as you chanted Ewa's name into the air. Your heart loudly pattered in your ears and your vision seared hot-white as Ewa fucked you through it, moaning softly against the shell of your ear.

"Keep going. That's my good girl."

A final wave flooded over your body, pleasure tearing through your every sense. You babbled underneath Ewa as your body went taut, words coming out in a string of incoherent whimpers. Ewa stilled her hips and remained inside, pressing damp kisses to your cheeks. You panted underneath her, your bones feeling melted and weightless. Ewa pressed a soft kiss to your lips, reveling in your glow with a smile.

"You okay?"

You swallowed thickly and nodded, throat slightly hoarse, not even giving yourself time to catch your breath before you were palming at Ewa's face.

"Your turn."

Ewa let out the slightest groan, chest red and heaving, cock painfully stiff as she desperately started sliding in and out of you, her forehead dripping with rivers of sweat  that clung to her skin.

"Fuck me, fuck me, daddy... right there, fuck, yes."

Your chants poured over Ewa, making her moan unabashedly, leaving her burning from head to toe. Her hips rutted faster, her eyes fell closed and her jaw fell open. Stars were beginning to glitter in her eyes and her vision was starting to bleed white-hot, she was so, so close, didn't even know how she'd managed to make it this far, and you pulled her close, your nose grazing against the tip of Ewa's. Your words were hazy and angelic as she breathed out.

"Please, please, daddy, cum inside me... please."

Ewa let out a strangled moan as the words died on her tongue. The crude noises of your skin smacking against one another, the feeling of you fluttering around her cock, the sweat and saliva mixed between your lips and tongue and your soft pleas echoing in the air. Ewa simply couldn't handle it any longer.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum..."

Her hips stuttered, driving herself hard and deep as she felt herself spill inside you within an instant. 

The muscles in her arms trembled as she gritted her teeth, pushing fast as she let out broken wails, her chest felt like it was imploding as she stammered your name over and over and over in uneven breaths. Ewa drove her hips hard once, twice, three more times before she settled on top of you in a mess of sweat and limbs. Her nose nuzzled deep into the crook of your neck, the smell and feel of your skin leaving her spinning, chest blooming, an absolutely stupid smile plastered on her face.

"Was it worth the wait?" you grinned, threading your hands through Ewa’s hair, feeling spent, feeling ridiculously in love.

"Mhm. Even though it's, like, ten degrees hotter in the flat now."

"It's your fault for ambushing me right out of the shower."

"Speaking of," Ewa pushed up, a renewed purr in her voice as she pulled out and flipped you onto her stomach, "Don't think I'm quite done with you yet."

[kittenan]

Igniting Spark

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

AU: Street Racer!Jin x Good Girl!Reader

Words: ~8k words

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Explicit smut, rough dom!Jin, brat tamer kink, choking, degradation kink, possessive!Jin, semi-public sex, dirty talk, voice kink, unprotected sex (use protection, folks), emotional undercurrents, mentions of violence (minor fight-related injuries), light pain kink (tattooing), detailed angst from past betrayal.

Tropes: Punk x Good Girl, enemies-to-lovers, forbidden attraction, slow-burn sexual tension, possessive romance.

A/N: This one’s for my Tumblr babes craving for Bad boy Jin Smut.😈 Reblogs & comments are my lifeblood—let me know what you think!

You’ve known Kim Seokjin since you were fifteen, a freshman at Lincoln High, navigating the crowded halls with your head down and your heart quiet. He was a junior then, the golden boy who seemed to glide through life without a single misstep. Student council president, track star, the kind of guy who could charm teachers with a smile and make girls giggle just by walking past. His hair was always neatly tousled, his letterman jacket slung over one shoulder, and his laugh—God, his laugh—was a bright, infectious thing that echoed in the cafeteria, drawing every eye. You weren’t immune. No one was.

You fell for him quietly, the way you did most things. It started with stolen glances in the library, where you’d pretend to study while watching him joke with his friends, his grin lazy and confident. By junior year, you were tutoring him in calculus, a gig your math teacher pushed you into because Jin was skating by with a C-minus and needed to keep his GPA up for college apps. Those late-night sessions in the school’s empty study room were torture and bliss. He’d show up ten minutes late, cologne sharp and dizzying, leaning over your notebook so close his arm brushed yours. His voice was low, teasing, as he asked you to explain derivatives again, and you’d stammer through it, hyper-aware of every shift in his posture, every time his knee bumped yours under the table.

“You’re too smart for me,” he’d say, flashing that grin, and you’d blush, thinking maybe, just maybe, he saw you. He’d linger after, walking you to your mom’s beat-up sedan in the parking lot, his hands in his pockets, asking about your day like he cared. You let yourself believe it, let yourself hope, because his eyes were soft when they met yours, and his laugh felt like a secret shared just between you.

Prom night was supposed to be the culmination. He asked you in the hallway, casual but deliberate, catching you off guard as you fumbled with your locker. “Be my date,” he’d said, leaning against the metal, all easy confidence. “It’ll be fun.” You’d spent weeks saving up for a thrift-store dress—emerald green, simple but elegant, the only thing you’d ever felt pretty in. You stood outside the gym that night, heart pounding, checking your phone every five minutes as the music thumped inside. He never showed.

You waited until the parking lot was nearly empty, your heels pinching, your mascara smudged from tears you didn’t want to admit to. Later, you heard the truth from a friend of a friend: it was a bet. Jin’s buddies had dared him to ask out the “nerdy tutor,” a cruel laugh at your expense. He’d ditched you for the afterparty, where he hooked up with the cheer captain, a blonde bombshell who’d bragged about it on Monday. You saw him in the hall, laughing with his friends, his head thrown back in laughter like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing.

That betrayal carved itself into your bones. You’d trusted him, let him see the parts of you no one else did—the shy girl who laughed at his dumb jokes, who stayed up late rewriting notes so he’d understand. He’d thrown it away for a laugh, a fling, a moment of glory with his shallow friends. You swore you’d never let him close again, never let that lazy grin or those soft eyes fool you. After graduation, you thought you’d escaped him, but college brought you back to your hometown for masters, working part-time at your uncle’s garage to cover textbooks. Jin, meanwhile, had traded his letterman for leather and ink, a street racer with a rap sheet and a reputation. Your uncle, who’d known him since he was a kid sneaking into the shop to tinker with bikes, let him come by after hours to fix his busted-up motorcycles, saying “the kid’s got no one else.” You hated it. Hated his cocky smirks, the way he chewed gum like he was mocking you, the way he lingered when you were closing up, daring you to snap. Most of all, you hated the heat that flared every time his eyes raked over you, like he knew exactly how you’d sound falling apart for him.

Tonight, the rain’s hammering the garage roof, a relentless drumbeat matching your pulse. You’re wiping down the counter, motor oil and degreaser thick in the air, when the bell jangles.

Jin strolls in, soaked, his sleeveless Metallica tee clinging to every muscle. Ripped black jeans hang low, chains clinking, and his combat boots track mud. A bruise blooms along his jaw, lip split from a fight. He slings his leather jacket over one shoulder, raking a hand through wet hair, silver rings glinting.

“Evening, princess,” he drawls, voice low, popping gum in his mouth. He chews slow, smirking. “Miss me?”

You roll your eyes, tossing the rag down. “Shop’s closed, Seokjin. And you look like you got run over.”

He chuckles, sauntering closer, boots thudding. “Just a fist. Guy thought he could swing after a race.” He leans on the counter, tattooed forearms flexing—skulls, roses, a dagger curling under his shirt. “Gonna play nurse, or keep pretending you hate me?”

“I do hate you,” you snap, grabbing the first-aid kit. “Sit. Don’t bleed on anything expensive.”

He brushes past you, arm grazing yours, the cold metal of his rings sending a shiver down your spine. He smells like rain, leather, and something darker, making your thighs clench before you can stop it. He sits on the stool by the workbench, legs spread, gaze burning as you tear open an alcohol wipe.

You step between his knees, focusing on the cut above his brow, but his proximity’s suffocating. His hands rest on his thighs, fingers twitching like he’s fighting not to touch you. You dab at the blood, and he hisses, but his eyes stay locked on yours, dark and heavy.

“Hold still,” you mutter, voice shaky.

“Hard when you’re this close,” he murmurs, voice low, sinful. “Still mad about prom, huh?”

Your hand freezes. He’s never brought it up before. “You humiliated me,” you say, voice sharp, trembling with years-old hurt. “Asked me out for a bet. Left me standing there while you fucked the cheer captain. You think I’d forget that?”

His smirk fades, eyes flickering with something—guilt, regret. “I was just eighteen,” he says quietly. “Stupid. Trying to fit in with assholes who didn’t deserve my time. I didn’t know how much I’d hurt you. And for God sake, I didn't fuck anyone afterparty. Who the hell spread those rumours, I don't know.”

You scoff, taping the bandage. “Save it.”

He catches your wrist, grip firm, thumb brushing your pulse. “You think I don’t see you watching me? You’re fighting it, but you want this.”

Your heart stutters, but you yank your hand back. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” He stands, towering over you, backing you against the wall. The concrete’s cold, his body heat radiating through his damp shirt. His hands cage you in, and you feel the hard lines of him, inches away. “You hate me, but you’re soaked right now, aren’t you?”

“Seokjin,” you warn, breathless.

He leans in, lips near your ear, breath hot. “Get on your knees, princess. Show me how much you hate me.”

Your knees buckle, and you sink to the floor, grease-stained linoleum cold, hands trembling as you reach for his belt. You hated how your body obeyed his every command, even though you were elder than him. His eyes darken, a groan rumbling as you fumble with the buckle, metal clinking. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lips, parting them.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise sends heat to your core.

You free him from his jeans, his cock heavy and thick, already hard. Your fingers stroke slowly, and he hisses, head tipping back. You lean forward, lips brushing the tip, tasting salt and rain. His hand slides into your hair, gripping just enough to sting, guiding you as you take him deeper, tongue swirling.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rocking slightly. “That’s it. Just like that.”

You hollow your cheeks, taking him deep, hands braced on his thighs. His rings are cold against your scalp, grip tightening as you work him, savoring every curse. He’s unraveling, and the power of it makes you dizzy, makes you wetter than you’ll admit.

“Eyes on me,” he orders, tugging your hair. His gaze is molten, possessive, and you moan around him, the vibration drawing a sharp curse. “Don’t look away. I want you to watch yourself until you come undone for me.”

Your thighs press together, desperate for friction, but you obey, holding his gaze as you bob your head, lips stretched. His thumb traces your cheek, tender despite the filth spilling from his mouth, and the contrast makes your head spin.

“Gonna make you mine,” he mutters, voice raw. “No one else touches you like this. Say it.”

You pull back just enough to gasp, “Only you.”

His jaw clenches, and he hauls you up, spinning you and bending you over the workbench. Tools clatter, but you’re too far gone, focused on his hands yanking your jeans down to your thighs. His fingers slide between your legs, finding you soaked, and he groans, low and filthy.

“Look at you,” he growls, teasing with slow strokes, “so fucking wet for someone you hate. You act all innocent, but your thighs tell the truth.”

You whimper, pushing back against his hand, but he pins you, his other hand wrapping around your throat. His rings are cold, the pressure just enough to make your pulse race, to make you lightheaded.

“Say please,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Slower.”

“Please,” you whisper, dragging it out, voice trembling.

He chuckles, dark and possessive, and then he’s inside you, filling you in one rough thrust that makes you cry out. The workbench creaks, fingers scrabbling for purchase as he sets a brutal pace, each thrust driving you higher, deeper, until you’re nothing but sensation.

“Quiet,” he hisses, clamping a hand over your mouth as you moan. “Don’t want the street hearing you.”

You try to obey, but he makes it impossible, fingers slipping down to circle your clit, his cock hitting just the right spot. The pressure builds, white-hot, until you’re trembling, nails digging into the wood.

“Come for me,” he growls, tightening his grip on your throat. “Now.”

You shatter, vision sparking white, body clenching around him as you come, hard and fast. He follows, thrusts erratic, a low groan tearing from his throat as he spills inside you, forehead pressed against your shoulder.

He pulls away, and you straighten, yanking your jeans up, avoiding his eyes. The high school hurt, the fresh betrayal of your own body, burns too hot. “This changes nothing. Think of it as my revenge.” you mutter, voice cold, grabbing your bag and heading for the door.

He watches you go, smirk faint but knowing, like he’s already plotting his next move.

For weeks, you play a dangerous game with him. Some nights, you ignore him completely, brushing past his lingering presence in the garage, pretending his low voice and heated stares don’t set your skin on fire. You lock up early, leave before he can corner you, and delete his texts—short, taunting things like “You can’t run forever, princess” or “I know you’re thinking about me.” Other nights, you lean into the tension, testing how far you can push him, how much you can make him squirm before pulling away.

One evening, the garage is quiet, the rain a soft patter outside. Jin’s there, as usual, tinkering with his bike, his sleeves rolled up, tattoos stark against his skin. You’re restocking supplies, deliberately wearing a tight tank top that rides up when you stretch, knowing his eyes are on you. He’s watching, chewing that damn gum, his jaw flexing as you bend over to grab a wrench, letting your shorts ride up just enough to tease.

“Need help with that?” he calls, voice low, edged with hunger.

You glance over your shoulder, smirking. “Not from you.”

He chuckles, standing, wiping his hands on a rag as he stalks closer. “Keep playing, princess. You’re gonna regret it.”

You don’t back down, stepping into his space, close enough to feel his breath on your cheek. “Maybe you’re the one who’ll regret it,” you murmur, letting your fingers brush his chest, trailing down to the waistband of his jeans. His eyes darken, a low growl in his throat as you palm him through the fabric, feeling him harden under your touch.

“Careful,” he warns, voice rough, hands hovering at your hips but not quite touching, like he’s waiting for you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate, unzipping his jeans, slipping your hand inside to stroke him slowly, deliberately, watching his jaw clench, his breath hitch. You keep your eyes locked on his, reveling in the way he’s coming undone, his hips bucking slightly into your hand. You bring him to the edge, his groans growing desperate, his grip on the counter behind you tightening until his knuckles are white.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” he rasps, voice raw, his head tipping back as he’s right there, teetering on the brink.

And then you do. You pull your hand away, stepping back with a wicked smirk, leaving him hard and aching, his chest heaving. “Good luck with that,” you say, voice sweet but dripping with venom, grabbing your jacket and sauntering out the door.

He curses under his breath, the sound following you into the night, and you feel a thrill of victory, knowing you’ve left him restless, wanting, just as he’s done to you for years.

Another night, you push him even further. It’s late, the garage nearly empty, just you and Jin, the air thick with unspoken tension. He’s leaning against a workbench, shirt off, sweat and grease smudging his tattoos, his eyes tracking your every move as you clean tools nearby. You’re in a cropped hoodie and low-rise jeans, moving deliberately, letting him see the sliver of skin above your waistband, the way your hips sway as you walk.

You catch his gaze, holding it as you saunter over, stopping just close enough for your perfume to mix with the scent of motor oil. “You’re staring,” you say, voice low, teasing.

“You’re making it hard not to,” he shoots back, voice rough, stepping closer until he’s crowding you against the workbench.

You don’t flinch, leaning back slightly, letting your chest brush his as you look up through your lashes. “Poor Jin,” you murmur, fingers trailing down his bare chest, over the ink, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. “All worked up and nowhere to go.”

His hand grips your wrist, but you twist free, dropping to your knees before he can react. His breath catches as you tug his jeans down just enough, taking him in your hand, stroking slow and deliberate. You lean in, lips brushing the tip, then take him deep, tongue swirling, savoring the way he groans, low and guttural, his hand fisting in your hair.

“Fuck, princess,” he gasps, hips rocking into your mouth, his control slipping. You work him expertly, bringing him right to the edge, his breaths ragged, his cock twitching as he’s about to come.

And then you stop. You pull back, standing with a smirk, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “Not tonight,” you say, voice dripping with mock sweetness, turning on your heel and leaving him panting, jeans around his thighs, cursing your name into the empty garage.

He’s relentless after that, his teasing more pointed, his presence inescapable. He shows up with that smirk, leaning against the wall, dropping filthy promises just loud enough for you to hear. “You’re gonna beg for me one day, princess,” he murmurs one night, brushing past you, fingers grazing your hip. “And I’m gonna make you pay for those little games.”

You keep up the game, sometimes ignoring him, sometimes pushing him to the edge only to leave him hanging, each encounter fueling the fire between you. The tension’s a live wire, crackling with every glance, every touch, until it feels like the air itself might ignite.

And again, you began treating him like he was invisible, a ghost in the room. You wanted him to taste the sting of being left wanting, to feel the ache of being abandoned mid-breath. One night, he catches you locking up, pulling up in his truck just as you’re about to leave. The rain’s a light mist, dampening your hair, your clothes. He’s in the driver’s seat, window down, arm resting on the frame, tattoos glistening under the streetlight.

“Get in,” he says, voice low, not a question.

“No,” you snap, turning away.

He’s out of the truck in a flash, grabbing your wrist, spinning you to face him. “Stop running,” he says, eyes dark, searching yours. “You can’t keep pretending this doesn’t mean something.”

You yank your hand free, but he’s close, too close, and your resolve wavers. “It was a mistake,” you lie, voice unsteady.

His smirk is gone, replaced by something raw. “Then let me make it right.”

Against your better judgment, you let him lead you to the truck, climbing into the passenger seat. He drives in silence, the city blurring past, until you pull up to a dimly lit tattoo parlor, the neon sign buzzing in the mist.

“Trust me,” he says, opening your door, his hand lingering on your lower back as he guides you inside.

The parlor’s gritty, the air sharp with ink and antiseptic. Jin’s friend, a burly guy with a neck tattoo, nods and leaves you in a private room. Jin’s in his element, leather jacket slung over a chair as he preps the machine, his movements precise, reverent.

“Relax,” he says, voice soothing, but his eyes are wicked. “I’m marking you. Something small. Something mine.”

You swallow, pulse racing as he guides you to lie back on the table. He pushes your shirt up, exposing the skin just below your breast, fingers brushing with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. The needle buzzes, and you tense, but his hand on your thigh grounds you, thumb stroking slow circles.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The pain’s sharp but fleeting, blending with the heat pooling in your core as he works, his focus intense. When he finishes, he wipes the spot clean—a tiny star with moon, delicate but stark, its edges glinting with silver ink.

“Perfect,” he says, voice rough with satisfaction. He kisses the sensitive skin, tongue flicking to soothe the sting. You gasp, hands fisting the table, and he chuckles, lips curving.

“Hold on,” he says, sliding your jeans down to expose the skin above your bikini line. “One more.”

The pain’s sharper here, more sensitive, but his fingers wander, teasing just close enough to make you squirm, to make you drip. By the time he finishes—a smaller star, his initials hidden in the points—you’re a mess, thighs slick, breath desperate.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, wiping the ink, fingers lingering. “So fucking wet, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He doesn’t wait, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them just right, thumb circling your clit. You arch off the table, a moan tearing from your throat, and he kisses you to muffle it, mouth hot and demanding.

“Come for me,” he whispers, and you do, hard and fast, body shaking as he works you through it, eyes never leaving yours.

You don’t talk about it after, but something shifts. You still snap at him, still roll your eyes, but the heat’s undeniable, a current neither of you can ignore. One night, you push him too far, teasing him at a bar, brushing against him, smirking when he tries to pull you close. His grip on your wrist is tight, jaw set, and when he gets you to his truck, he hauls you into the backseat, windows fogging.

“Think you’re cute?” he growls, pulling you onto his lap, leather jacket half-on. “Rolling your eyes like I won’t make you pay.”

You grind against him, smirking, and he slaps your thigh, hard. “Don’t test me, princess.”

He yanks your shirt up, jeans down, spanks you and then he’s inside you, hands gripping your hips as you ride him, slow then faster, the truck rocking. His hand wraps around your throat, rings cold.

“Say you’re mine,” he orders, voice dangerous.

“I’m yours,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!”

He groans, pulling you down for a bruising kiss, hips snapping up. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise sends you spiraling, your orgasm crashing over you. He follows, grip tightening, breath hot against your neck as he comes, muttering your name.

The garage becomes your battleground, your confession booth. Every night, he pushes you, claims you, and you let him, because you’re his, and he’s yours, in a way that’s messy and raw.

One night, as the rain falls, he pulls you close, lips soft against your forehead, arms wrapped around you. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, barely audible, the boy from high school bleeding through the man he’s become.

You tilt his chin up, meeting his eyes, seeing the guilt, the want, the love he’s too scared to name. “You’re grown up now and you are enough,” you say, and you mean it.

He kisses you, slow and deep, and it’s not about possession or power. It’s about something more, something neither of you can name but both of you feel, heavy and true.

And as the rain keeps falling, you know you’ll never be the same.

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