#also looking forward to that mystery feature

[lamaery]

This time it is Rlain's turn to gaze. :D There's a reason mateform makes you unfocused. Here is Renarin looking back

ID: The first image features Renarin through Rlain's loving eyes. In all, Renarin glimmers with handsomespren. In none of them is Renarin looking back at us. They paint a beautiful vision of being in love with a man who prefers not to make a lot of eye contact. In the first drawing, Renarin looks out from a slightly ducked posture, his attention focused elsewhere and his expression privately delighted, as if he'd just thought of something wickedly clever that he hasn't yet shared. The light catches his features in an alluring way, and the viewer knows exactly what Rlain loves about his boyfriend's brilliant mind. In the second drawing, Renarin looks out into the middle distance, his expression serious and emotionally neutral, but somehow weighted with responsibility. His wide Blackthorn jaw seems slightly clenched, but unconsciously. His collar is tantalizingly open, allowing Rlain to enjoy the elegant length of his neck and that secret hollow of his throat. In the third sketch, Renarin is seen from above. He's leaning back in a chair, his head resting comfortably and uninhibitedly, supported by the chair's curved back. He's looking in the opposite direction from the viewer, but he smiles with teeth. His collar is wide open, and he looks so comfortable in his own skin. Like, he's so completely relaxed, so uninhibited, like sharing his personal space bubble and his body with Rlain is effortless. In the fourth sketch, Renarin stands across the room, about twenty feet away. His weight is subtly on his back foot to compensate as he holds up at an arm's length an impeccably pressed, regal knee-length Kholin jacket. In his other hand, he holds his shorter Bridge Four jacket, in a way that will keep the collar from being creased. He's wearing an undershirt that my heart knows was custom made for his measurements with a pair of pants with a line of coy, delicate little buttons down the split in his lower pants leg, from knee to lower calf. The split shows a tantalizing sliver of calf, and he doesn't even realize how handsome he is. His pants make his butt a little flat, but we all must cope with devastating trials in this mortal realm. He has elegantly boned feet and there's a slim musculature behind his leanness now, and isn't that all that really matters in this universe? Rlain thinks so. In the fifth drawing, Renarin leans over a few scribbled pages, one hand pointed outward as it presses flat against the table.  He seems deep in conversation with Glys, attention focused inward as he focused on the complexities of a mystery.  He's wearing a buttoned-down version of a fancier outfit: a tailored cross-body vest that emphasizes the slimness and sleekness of his build. and matching trousers.  Beneath that is a button-up shirt with an open collar and rolled-up sleeves, because Marie loves us and she wants us to be happy. The second image, at the top right, is a very cartoonishly minimalistic and humorously stylized illustration of mateform Rlain standing with absolutely zero chill, his arms crossed in a way he wants you to think is relaxed, but clearly isn't relaxed at all.  He's staring forward and sweating, the words "Trying very hard to concentrate." snaking around his head.  He's also wearing a very wide open collar in harmony with his stouter overall physique.  He also has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because everyone deserves to see their favorite forearm circumference represented in media. 3 and 4 are a trio of very quick and sketchy but also ADORABLE illustrations, Rlain grabs a surprised Renarin's vest front, which draws a deep blush and a very enthusiastic and eager little grin.  Surprises are not always great, but he's 100% down with this one!  They meet in a kiss, craning over the table between them, Rlain's hand still clutching a fistful of Renarin's vest and Renarin reciprocating with passion, cradling the back of Rlain's neck with one hand, one finger running up the bare skin where neck meets skull.  Passionspren fall thickly around them.

[ibbythebee]

Anything

pairing: Fred Weasley x Prefect!Reader

summary: Fred would do anything to see you, 'Hogwart's strictest Prefect', loosen up.

genre: fluff 'n stuff, and only slight angst, also borderline slowburn

warnings: swearing, bullying moments, implied that reader is in Slytherin, lots of teasing, flirting, kissing, Fred is completely and utterly whipped for reader, "your highness" nickname

a/n: not me in the middle of writing a neville fic and then having a shower thought of a fred x reader and writing this instead.

words: 6.9k

masterlist

»»————-　⌁　————-««

You can hear them. And you know it's them, because of the sniggering and that laugh.

By now, when you patrolled outside of class hours you'd find yourself actively seeking out these boys. Today happens to be good day to continue your spotless Prefect record.

With a hand sliding to your hip, you smoothly round the corner of the door to your Potions classroom and as you suspected, Fred and George Weasley are there, huddled over a particular cauldron. Something's clearly already been brewed and Fred is holding a cork screwed flask with the mysterious liquid.

It takes a minute until Fred happens to glance toward the door and sees you there, nose in the air and hands now clasped in front of you. He's trying not to laugh when he sees you, and elbows his brother.

The said Weasley is about to say something, but as he meets your gaze his lips press together in a slightly curved line.

Successful in catching their attention, one eyebrow and then one corner of your lips gently raise. "We've really got to stop bumping into each other like this."

"I think you wanted to bump into us," Fred says with a prominent smile. He looks innocent, just like always.

You neither confirm nor deny his remark and instead stride closer to them. You take your time, head turning in each direction, eyes scanning for any other suspicious looking activity. It feels good, because you can feel their stares and how they wait with bated breaths for your next move.

With a last step you settle on the opposite side of their table. You look at Fred, head tilted softly, studying his expression.

His smile only grows when you reach his eyes and it's finally time to address the elephant in the room.

In a newly straightened posture you say in a slow and sarcastic tone, "did you know... that I can take away points from your House? From each of you, in fact?"

"Oh, come on. Our favourite Prefect. Can't you pretend you never saw us, like last time?" George answers.

"Sorry what was that? You'd like 30 points taken away?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Fred waves with a chuckle, "let's not get hasty. What about... a-a compromise?"

George nods desperately.

Your eyebrow raises again, and you lean back, crossing your arms. "A compromise, instead of taking away your precious points?"

"Yes, we'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything." Fred glides a tongue over his bottom lip, speaking to you through his eyes.

For once he looks completely serious and it makes you smile in delight. An expression seldom found in your features. It's completely magical and Fred finds no regret to bargaining with you.

"There is something you can do for me," your eyes glaze over Fred's face and then you turn to George, leaning forward over the table on your elbows. "The next Quidditch Game."

"Yeah? Slytherin v Gryffindor. Need us to bug someone?" George grins.

You shake your head and smile again. You're frighteningly beautiful with that curve on your face as you continue. "I need you to make sure that Slytherin wins."

"What?"

Fred captures your attention, so you lean in closer to his side of the desk. "It shouldn't be too hard for you both, right?"

He squints, unable to hold back a smile of his own. In the previous times when you had caught the twins in the middle of scheming, you'd never been so coy with them. Ruffling your feathers a bit was always the boys' goal when getting caught by you, however now that you seem to be playing along, Fred can't get enough. "That's hardly something to wish for, your highness. You can have anything from us, really anything. Don't hold back."

You shrug, "well, that's what I choose."

"But if you think about it you cou—"

"I can take the points off now, if you like? It's really no problem."

"Fine. W-We'll do it." George huffs, and his brother follows with a playful bow.

"Your wish is our command."

"Please just don't take the points off. We'll be kicked out of Gryffindor if you snitch again."

"Me? Snitch?" Your voice drips in sarcastic innocence, and you push yourself off of the desk. Your feet turn to walk back outside first, but your eyes remain on Fred until it's physically impossible to stay focused on him. As you saunter to the door, you feel their gazes on you again and it's oh so satisfying to know that you get the last say. "You need to get better at not getting caught. Because, if I didn't know any better, it looks more like you want me to bump into you."

You turn around to face them again, and stare at the flask in between Fred's long fingers. By some miracle you'd never found yourself to be the butt of their schemes, unlike the other prefects. Even as a chaser of the twins' opposition in Quidditch, you've been the only lucky soul on your team to come out the other end. The question was why? Why spare you?

"Who in Salazar's name threw that?" Your captain shrieks, massaging the back of his head, small flakes of snow dropping to the skin of his neck.

How bothersome, you think, looking around at the rest of your teammates who're busy cooling down after Quidditch training.

"What?! A snowball just happens to gain sentience and hit me, huh? An owl maybe? Just come forward, admit you did it and I'll go easy on you—"

The spray of snow flies off of the captain's head again and you dodge the icy substance in time, some of it landing on your beater and chaser teammate. Everyone exclaims except you, you're too busy scanning over the field.

Suddenly, the burly boy of a captain huffs toward you, and you take a shove to the shoulder.

Stumbling back by a metre, you frown. Increasingly annoyed by your captain's baseless judgements. "What the hell is wrong with you? How many times do I have to tell you I'm a prefect?"

"I know a guilty person when I see one."

You're about to give him a piece of your mind until the idiot is hit again and you stifle a laugh at the noise he makes.

"Clever," he says through gritted teeth. Despite clearly looking at you just seconds before the snowball made contact with his thick skull, his pride is still hell-bent on accusing you. "I knew you were good at school, but I didn't think you'd stoop so low to use non-verball spells for something so stupid."

"Well, I knew you were delusional before, but now it's perfectly clear that you just don't have a brain."

As though your words were a signal, a tsunami of white ice balls appear in the sky and you don't hold back your smile as it pauses over your team. They each look up, faces with panicked expressions, and before they can even begin to escape, the snow crashes down over your peers. Figuring, it's the perfect moment to leave, you zoom out of the field on your broom and land to your feet once you can't see those angry faces anymore.

And that's when you hear him. That laugh, and he's looking at you and combing a hand through his ginger hair, all whilst adorning a satisfied ear-to-ear grin.

"Thanks." Is all you can say at first, then you realise his partner-in-crime George isn't right by his side. "Where's your brother?"

"On the other end of the field."

You nod. When you don't say anything more and turn to leave, you feel long fingers wrap around your wrist. He's warm against your icy skin, and your eyes shoot up, only to be greeted by a soft smirk.

"You're not going to snitch on us are you, your highness?"

"Me? Snitch?" You stop yourself from feeling so giddy about the previous event and instead focus on the fact that would you be doing your prefectoral duties correctly, you would have absolutely told a Professor about the twins. But the adrenaline rush feels too great and so you finally shake your head at the tall ginger. "You were just... watching us practice, right? I don't see anything suspicious about that."

His smirk twists into a genuine smile, and he allows your wrist to slide out of his grasp. A twinkle of mischievousness reaches your eyes, and then you're off, jogging into the distance. A few metres in, you take a chance to glance back to where you left Fred. And you don't know whether it was from training or the adrenaline, but you feel your neck and cheeks flare with heat at the sight of him lean against the frame of the entrance, steadily watching you run.

Clearing your throat, you push your recollection of the past away and take out your wand.

“You know you’re not allowed to use spells outside of class, your highness,” says Fred, his voice playful.

“That’s okay,” you shrug, “because I know you won’t tell on me.”

“Are you quite sure about that?” George chimes.

You nod immediately, the easiest question to answer. “I’m your favourite prefect, am I not?”

Fred’s expression is unreadable to you at first as he shakes his head slowly. He looks shocked, but at the same time pleased and a hint of something else that you can’t quite grasp.

Figuring you’ve stared at him long enough you send the twins’ a wink and the door shuts with a swipe of your wand.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Your robe is floating behind you, a spitting image of Professor Snape, as you walk with purpose to your class, books cradled in your arms and head held high. You round a corner of the halls smoothly and find yourself at your Potions classroom. It's been a week since finding the Weasleys in there, and you still haven't found out what concoction they had created.

In any case, your class has already begun, and Snape's voice is barely audible with the door in front of you. You let your fingers clench around your books for a moment, taking in a breath. Then you push your way in, and each one of your classmates turn their attention to you.

"How lovely of you to join us, Miss L/N."

Having already predicted the Professor's sarcasm-filled reaction to your tardiness, you hand out a small slip of paper. "A note from Professor McGonagall."

He barely skims over the words and indicates for you to find a seat. Fingers clenching around your books again, you let yourself look over your peers. There's a seat next to Ginger Jorkins from Hufflepuff, but after noticing your stare she's quick to put her belongings where you could have sat. You hold off from sighing, because to your relief there is one more free seat, all the way at the back of the room. Right beside the vacant spot is a familiar head of red hair, and the pain from your tight grip subsides upon seeing him. That sigh you've been holding lets free once you sit down and the class continues.

"Welcome to the back of the class," Fred whispers with his signature grin. "You're with the cool kids now."

"Speaking of..." You glance behind him and frown. "Where's your brother?"

He makes a face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." And then it hits you. The Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch Game. The compromise. The "make-sure-that-Slytherin-wins" game. The "George-has-been-completely-annihilated-by-a-bludger" and "won't-be-walking-around-anytime-soon" game.

"Oh... right."

Fred simply nods, finding the way you froze for a moment to be equally funny and endearing. The rest of your face doesn't show it, but he notices the panic in your pretty eyes and gives your arm a little nudge. "Hey. The git's okay. Says it was worth the pain because the girl he fancies paid him a visit."

You bite your lip and let yourself focus on Snape, who's mouth is moving, but you can't hear anything coming out. "It's still technically my fault. He looked awful."

Fred leans forward, his head turning to rest against his crossed arms. He studies your features as you attempt to listen into the class. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper again. "Come to Hogsmeade with me."

You give him a side glance. No one's ever invited you to come before and for all you know he could be making fun of you. It'd been hard in the beginning, though you eventually found comfort being in your own presence; drinking butterbeer while other people joked and laughed and shared stories and the gossip of the week. And talked about how they received a pointless detention after being told off from that know-it-all bitch.

"I-I don't..." You stumble upon your words, the crease between your brows growing deeper as you try to recollect your thoughts.

"Yeah, you're coming," he declares. And when you go to protest, he sits back up, sending you a wink.

"AND so..." Snape glares in your direction, "by the end of this class, I will be testing the quality of your potions by using a simple leaf. If it melts you've brewed successfully, and if not... you'll be in here on the weekend till you get it right."

To your surprise, Fred doesn't make a fuss, instead he beams at you with a clap of his hands. "Let's get started then, shall we Professor?"

The said man only grunts in response, so you all begin.

Forty minutes passes by in an instant, and no matter how well you follow the recipe, the liquid in your cauldron doesn't look like a liquid anymore and it smells differently to Fred's.

Wait. Fred's?

You frown down into his cauldron. His potion's immaculate.

You pull at the sleeve of his robe till his head comes down and his long hair tickles the tip of your nose. "How are you doing this?"

"I'm smart when I want to be," he chuckles.

"That's not an answer. I demand you give me an answer, or... I will take off points from Gryffindor."

He feigns an expression of shock which immediately gives way to a smirk, face just a few inches away from yours. "And what if I do tell you? You promise not to snitch?"

"Me? Snitch?"

That mischievousness is back into your dolomitic eyes, and Fred swears that the potion isn't required to melt the leaf.

"How about a compromise?" you whisper.

He shoots a glance toward the Professor and then hums when he feels it's all clear to keep talking. "I'm listening."

"I come with you to Hogsmeade, and I promise to do whatever you want to do. Deal?"

He doesn't need a moment, or even a second to reply. He's already nodding, slipping a hand into yours. "Deal."

You share a knowing look and shake your intwined hands. Compromise confirmed. "Now—"

Before you get to finish, he pulls out a very familiar cork-screwed flask, and in perfect fashion you keep from gasping or reacting at all, but Fred can see it in your eyes. He scans over the classroom, Snape's busy writing something on the board, and so he's clear to lower his head to you.

Your fingers graze as he passes you the concoction he had made with his brother. Electricity runs through the veins of your fingers till it hits your heart, skipping a beat.

"Someone might've tipped us off about this assignment," Fred murmurs. "So, naturally, we just wanted to be prepared. There was no way we were going to miss out on a Hogsmeade visit."

Not with George in the Hospital Wing, you think to yourself with guilt, pulling your robe sleeve down to hide the flask should your Professor stop by.

"Well... my beloved brother sadly will. I'll never forget his bravery." Fred makes a show out of a simple sigh and you feel like slapping his arm. He places his hand over his chest and sighs again, only it's a little louder this time and longer. "A girl we know threatened us to rig the Quidditch game so that Slytherin would win, if we didn't do as she asked she would've gotten us into trouble—"

"Fred." Images of the poor Weasley twin with a whole half of his body covered in the sickening colour of a bruise flood your brain.

"—and being the good man that he is, Georgie sacrificed himself, in order to satisfy the needs of this girl."

"Oi! I already feel horrible, okay?" You finally give his arm that well-earned smack, and when all he does is laugh, you huff with a pout.

He recollects himself, and makes sure Snape's still preoccupied. He bends down to your level again, and his breath fans over the strands of hair by your ear. "I would do the same for this girl."

There's that heat in your neck again and yet another electric feeling runs up your spine at his worlds. You don't meet his gaze and instead stare forward. To save yourself from embarrassment, you lift your chin and with one swift movement, the liquid from the flask falls into your cauldron.

Fred watches in delight as you stir until your previously horrible creation morphs and dissolves into that flawless fluid that you had just seen in the Weasley's cauldron. From such a result, you're unable to stop yourself as your lips curl into a smile, parting slowly to reveal your teeth.

You are the embodiment of this potion. Any person or creature of the magical world would completely disarm at the sight of your expression. And Fred's lucky enough to be your first victim.

"You seem very pleased, Miss L/N."

The black figure of Snape shadows yours and Fred's vision as he glides in front of your desk. He peers into your cauldron, nothing shows on his face and then he's examining Fred's, the same reaction of nothing.

The man then clicks his tongue and floats back to the front of the classroom, picking two leaves off of the plant on his desk. He returns swiftly, gesturing the rest of the class to join him by your table.

"Look closely." Snape says as his hand hovers over your creation, and then his fingers let go of the green object.

Hushed breaths watch as it hits the surface of the liquid with a ripple. There's no reaction at first and it fills you with dread. You even see Fred stiffen in the corner of your sight.

Then the leaf twitches with a change in colour, and soon it's no where to be seen, dissolved. Successful.

Someone mutters a 'wow', others share glances of contempt or roll their eyes. You on the other hand feel relieved and lean onto your hip, arm brushing against the tall boy beside you. He relaxes at your gentle touch.

"It seems you will have the fortune of freedom this weekend." Professor Snape mutters, and then with no time to waste, moves on to Fred. You barely have a chance to thank the man. His hand hovers, fingers open and a new leaf falls.

In a blink, the leaf has melted and you feel the Weasley straighten up in pride.

Snape however, isn't convinced and folds his arms. "How convenient that you should produce a successful potion - out of many failures - when seated beside Miss L/N."

Innocent until proven guilty, you think and look up at Fred, who's only smiling like a fool, his focused trained on Snape's. Your classmates murmur, and it isn't hard to place who they're talking about with their not-so subtle glares pointed in your direction.

"So I did a good job?" The boy's happy expression grows with innocence.

"Somehow. Five points... to each of you." The raven-haired man admits, his gaze lingers on the Weasley before he turns away, addressing you both and the rest of the class. "L/N and Weasley, seeing as you have completed the task, you may be dismissed. However, by next class I expect a 2,000 word written report of your method and findings. That'll be all. The rest of you... you have fifteen minutes."

Groans and curses hidden under breaths echo through the room, you and Fred, however, turn to each other with eyebrows raised and stupid grins plastered over your faces.

Adrenaline kicks in, and you both scramble to clear up the desk and snatch up your belongings. You sprint out the door not after sending the Professor a 'thank you', and then you're out the door and sprinting into the courtyard, crisp winter air nipping at your extremities.

You pause by the fountain, leaning against the tall structure and Fred follows suit, situating himself in front of you. "I can't believe I did that," you say in a breathless tone still grinning, books hugging into your chest.

He chuckles in between his own pants of breath. "Feels good doesn't it, your highness?"

"I hate to admit but... yes."

You watch as his gaze on you softens, as well as his grin subduing into contentment. "You make a good partner-in-crime. I think I might just replace George."

"Then he will surely kill me once he's recovered! That is... if he doesn't already."

Fred winks, "I'll make sure that won't happen. A princess such as yourself deserves a knight-in-shining armour."

"Oh yes." You give a curtsy and wave of your hand, your voice forming a posh accent. Well, no more posh than you already sound. "Then will you do the honour of escorting me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

With a fist to his chest, Fred bows. "For you, my dear, anything."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

It's irregular of you to be so fashionably late. Last night you'd found yourself restless, thoughts of sleep hidden behind scenes of you and Fred eating candy together, laughing, using magic outside of class to throw snowballs at your Quidditch Captain. Despite the chill of a winter night, being covered by your duvet and blankets was suffocatingly warm, especially when you kept seeing Fred pull you behind a tree, gloved hands drawing you into him by your hips, noses barely touching and lips parted with warm butterbeered breaths.

Your chocolate-brown screech owl whinnies by the foot of your bed and you flinch, adjusting your beanie for the hundredth time. "What do you think, Prim? Do I look tired? I look tired, don't I?"

The owl blinks and gives another whinny, a sound similar to that of a miniature pony. You check the clock on the wall of your dormitory and bite your lip, jostling through your belongings and retrieving a small purse of galleons to shove into your coat pocket.

One more look in the mirror, just one more. Your hair looks surprising lovely, strands of it squished against your thick scarf, and fortunately covering areas of your blemished face that couldn't be covered enough by your concealer. "It'll have to do!"

Prim purrs when you stroke her head and then you're off. You almost trip at the bottom of the stairs and as a result you pause, taking in a breath, calming the pounding in your chest. This Hogsmeade visit is just like any other. Just like any other. You’re just… not alone this time. That’s enough to get you smiling, as you saunter through the halls and finally out the gates, where you see a few groups of students still hanging around Hogwarts.

At the top of the steps you crane your neck in an attempts to find Fred amongst the small groups.

“I was beginning to think you stood me up.”

You spin on your heels at the sound of his voice, and are greeted with a growing grin. Teeth sparkling and everything. It takes a toll on you not to tackle him in a hug right then and there. The thick hoody he’s adorning, as well as the adorable beanie all look extra cuddly. Those gloved hands that you’ve been thinking about slide out of the pockets of his jeans and reach for your scarf, gently tightening the fabric around your face and neck.

On the outside you seem unbothered by his action, but he already sees what you’re really feeling through those dolomitic eyes of yours. “A deal’s a deal,” you finally say. “But it was rude of me to keep you waiting so long, so I’ll buy you a butterbeer.”

He shakes his head, fiddling with the hem of the scarf. “You turning up is enough for me.”

You shake your head back, dipping your chin into the material to hide your smile. “I’m buying you one. Argument over.”

“Alright then.” He chuckles and gives your scarf a gentle tug. “No more time to waste, your highness, let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Sir Weasley.”

You’re perfectly giddy as you trudge your way to the little village. Fred tells you about his plans for Christmas and you tell him yours, not very big and not very exciting, but he adores listening to you speak. He tells you about George and his recovery, and teases you when he sees guilt written over your face. Then despite your many differences, you both bond over your love for Quidditch, especially the Irish team. Occasionally, your shoulders and arms graze, and other times your fingers, as you stomp through the snow covered grounds. With every touch your chest grows warm, and your belly flips. You almost forget that you should be looking out for any bad behaviour. You almost forget that you still have a duty to uphold to the school.

Hogsmeade is bustling with life when you finally arrive. More so now that you could share it with someone.

“Come on, let’s warm up first.” Fred tugs your scarf again and successfully gains your full attention. He pulls you into the Three Broomsticks, greeted immediately by a wave of warmth. He’s still pulling on your scarf so you swiftly ask for two hot butterbeers and allow him to lead you to a table at the far end of the room.

“Am I your pet? Leading me around like that.” You sit down opposite him, motioning to his hand still holding onto the end of the long material.

He hums for a moment, and doesn't look to have any intention of letting go. “More like restraining you from going into ‘prefect’ mode.”

"Hey! Some people need disciplining," you pout.

"You sound like a Professor..." he narrows his eyes at you, lacking the skills to stop smiling so big. "You're not Professor Snape using Polyjuice potion, are you? Trying to figure out my secrets for passing your class, huh?"

Slowly, meticulously you straighten your back and fold your hands over the table, and void any emotion on your face. Your voice is low and slow and articulating every syllable as you speak. "What a ri-di-cu-lous suggestion. However... while we are on the topic, you didn't... copy off me, did you?"

Fred is so bad at suppressing his smirk. "Bloody Norah, you found me out! You're so smart, Profess— I mean... your highness."

The clink of glass hitting your table interrupts yours and Fred's thoughts. Madam Rosmerta's standing over you and when you meet her gaze she winks. "Good to see you with company this time around, Y/N."

Your face squishes into the fabric that Fred's still holding onto as you feel heat rise in your cheeks. Desperate to eliminate the fact that she basically just called you a loner in front of him, you fish into your pocket and pull out some coins, placing them onto the woman's open palm. "Thank you, Madam Rosmerta."

"Pleasure, dears. Enjoy.” Another wink is sent your way and she’s off to tend the rest of her pub.

As you bring the hot beverage to your mouth, you peek through your eyelashes. Fred has removed one glove and is now using that bare hand hold onto his drink, allowing the warmth to transfer into his already warm skin.

"Thank you," he says.

Your brows press together, "what for?"

"For paying."

"Well... thank you too."

He raises an eyebrow as he takes a good sip of the butterbeer, waiting for you to elaborate.

"For inviting me," you say shyly, fingers sliding across the surface of the mug.

"Awh, that's nothing," he chuckles, gently swaying your scarf.

"It's not 'nothing'. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because I was so excited to come with you."

The ginger-haired boy presses his lips together tightly and then leans his face closer to you. "Wait, really?!"

How many times has it been now that you've felt your face heat up around Fred? You could play so coy and confident before, but now you felt like any other girl-with-a-crush in your year. "As a matter of fact, yes." You raise your chin and attempt to sit up straighter. "I know it may seem that I only agreed to come because of a compromise, but... I really did — do — appreciate you considering me."

"I don't think we'll need to stop by Honeydukes, your highness. You're so sweet, that my teeth already ache."

"You're so...!" You smack his arm.

But he's grinning like a fool, pulling at your scarf. "I'm so what?"

"I'm gonna take points off Gryffindor, just because you asked."

He guffaws, "what is this abuse of power?"

You take a swig of butterbeer and shrug, head high and smirk on display. "I like to call them perks."

"See?" You feel on your neck as he gives a tug-tug. "This is why you need to be kept on a lead."

Before you can retort, you notice he's pointing at his upper-lip and quietly chuckling. It sets off your heart.

"Brilliant moustache you got there," he says.

"Oh... thank you." How embarrassing. You really thought he was suggesting something else for a moment there. You glance around the room to make sure no one's watching before you slide a tongue over the sweet foam above your lip. "Is it gone?"

"Just..." at first there's a second of hesitation, but then he pulls you in over the table and meets you half-way, un-gloved hand coming up to cup your face. Why is he always so warm? Why is it that one of the most notorious rule-breakers of the school is taking your fancy? And so easily at that.

It feels like an hour passes when his thumb smooths over the left corner of your mouth and you hold in a breath, fingers clenched around your mug. You simply cannot help the urge to look at his own lips; pretty, pink and gently parted, calm breaths passing through.

His movements pause all of a sudden, so you glance at his eyes, but he's already looking at you. Completely under your spell, completely forgetting how to move, and completely forgetting that you're in public. You seem to have forgotten the same, still not pulling away from his touch. He catches your eyes dip to his lips again and he swallows thickly.

Then he's moving away and sitting back down, clearing his throat. "There, now you're good."

"Thanks," you wipe a finger over for extra measure and then look out the window, clearing your throat and straightening your back.

"You know how you mentioned that part of the deal was that we'd do anything I want to do?" He inquires, finishing his drink with a last swig.

"Yeah. A deal is a deal," you answer, finally turning back to him, surprised to see a confident smile carved into his features.

"Perfect. There's something I want to show you, but first I have a really good idea to help you unwind and forget about your prefect-ness."

"That doesn't sound good," you tease, chugging the last bit of your own butterbeer.

He's smirking now, "you won't be saying that when you see what we'll be doing."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

You're both crouched behind a boulder that oversees the Shrieking Shack in the distance. The perfect spot to spy on anyone who visits the lookout point. The perfect spot to snog outside of school walls. And it also happens to be the perfect spot to stock up on snowballs and wait for one particular person to fall into your trap.

"I hate to admit, but you were right, Sir Weasley. Again," you mutter, rubbing your gloved hands together.

"The more you hang out with me, the more you'll find out just how right I always am." He peeks over the boulder for a moment and then his hand shoots up in alarm, speaking in barely a whisper, "he's here."

He is. You can hear your Quidditch captain now and a few of his buddies, chatting and laughing. Someone puts on a voice, and it makes the group howl, but makes your stomach churn. The closer they get to the lookout, the clearer their words sound and the more you're looking forward to breaking the rules.

"—thinks she's all that, just 'cause she's a prefect. Like, bitch, I'm older than you!"

Their laughter is equal to that of nails on a chalkboard. Pelting them with some snowballs might not be fulfilling enough.

"Nah, it's 'cause she's got Snape behind her, hah. Thinks she can say and do whatever she wants."

Fred is hearing all of this. You feel like screaming, and perhaps hexing the hell out of all of them. They need a proper disciplining.

"Yeah, that's probably what's happening!" The group laugh again, and the next thing they say is the last straw. "She only got prefect because she's fucking him."

The bottom of your vision is blurry, but you tell Fred you're ready and he only nods. You both raise your wands, and he counts to three.

One snowball hits the back of the captain's head and to your satisfaction he lands on his face. You and Fred are enjoying the scene a little too much that it isn't until one of the idiots shout your name, do you realise you've blown your cover.

"Shoot!"

"Quick! We need to unleash all we've got!" Fred takes your free hand and guides you up to stand beside him. "One, two, THREE!"

Adrenaline shoots through your veins, as together you swish your wands and the rest of your snow pile is sent into the air. One more flick of the wands, and the balls fly with the speed of a snitch. Straight toward their faces. Exclamations, grunts, yells echo through the woods and open winter air. They swipe at their faces and eyes, blinded by your attack. The captain's still trying to recover from the first hit, from head to toe the entire front half of him is covered in white.

You let out a laugh, and suddenly Fred takes your hand again and you're sprinting away from the crime scene.

"HEY!" The Quidditch captain shouts after you, pure rage in his tone.

But you couldn't care less, because that grin on the Weasley's face is too contagious as you run by him, gloved hand in gloved hand.

He peeks over his shoulder to meet your gaze, only resulting in a skip of his heart and a flip of his stomach. Losing that Quidditch match was absolutely worth it, and Fred had to remind himself to thank George later for taking the blow.

You share breathless laughter as the shouts increase in amount, but decrease in volume. You're both much too fast for them and manage to get back to the village where you could hide within the crowds.

Your feet slow to a walk, and you both check if any of the idiots followed. Fred spots two pass by a tree and squeezes your hand to gain your attention.

"In here," he jerks his head, and pulls you into a small alley between two buildings.

Finally having a moment to catch your breath, you realise that it isn't really an alley, and more like a small gap. The space is so narrow in fact that your body is essentially pressed up against his. Back against wall. Heaving chest against heaving chest. Feet and legs side-by-side each other as though woven.

You don't care to look to your left where those jerks could be looking for you. You simply can't. You can't because all you can see are Fred's parted lips again, and he's looking down at yours. After which, your gazes meet and you don't think you've ever felt so hot in the middle of winter before.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes. No grin, no smirk, no teasing, just facts.

"And you're..." Your eyes dip again.

His hand slides out of yours, and then you feel weight by your hips and he's squeezing against the material of your pants and sweater.

You crane your neck, and he dips his head, as those gloved hands of his pull you into him.

Your own hunger has your fingers smooth over his chest and grip the collar of his hoody, desperately tugging for him to come closer and closer, tension in the air building with each breath.

"And I'm... what?" He purrs.

Something stirs in the bottom of your abdomen as the scent of butterbeer fills your senses, just millimetres away now. And then he captures your lips. And it's like heaven, because his hands can't help but slide up under your sweater and hold you by the skin of your waist.

At first the kiss is gentle, hesitant, but then you open your mouth a little wider and Fred takes this as a clear invitation. He smooths a tongue over yours, the taste of the sweet foamy drink still lingering on your lips.

His bold action elicits a hum from you, and his grip only tightens, craving more and more of you and your pretty sounds. You go until you can't breathe, mouths parting reluctantly but eyes still closed.

Fred presses his forehead against yours, your noses brushing in a feather-like touch. His thumbs caress your sides as he whispers, "you never answered my question."

"You wanna know what you are, right?” You murmur, hands sliding down over his collarbone and resting on his chest.

“Yeah. You’ve said it twice now and never finished your sentence.”

“Okay,” you lean in, lips feathering over his. “You’re…”

Good Godric you’re addicting. He pushes his head forward to meet you, but you pull back with the most attractive breathy laugh he's ever heard. Your lips stay brushing against his, but you won't give him any more than that and he loves it.

"You're..." you say again on his mouth, and he hangs on every single one of your words. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me at Hogwarts."

He watches your eyes for a moment, and leans into you once more, hands climbing up to lay flat against your back, your sweater pooling by his wrists. And you share the softest kiss ever, full of adoration, full of care, full of absolute affection.

"You saying that, you being here right now... feels like I've just won the Quidditch cup," he says when you part.

"I really mean it, Fred." You wrap your arms around his middle and squeeze him there, cheek squishing into his chest. "You've heard how people talk about me, but you don't seem to care about any of that stuff."

He returns your gesture, his own cheek landing on the top of your head. "You're right. I don't care about it, because I've seen how much you care for the school and care for keeping things in order. A little too much, but to each their own."

"Oi."

"I have to tease, I have to. Still, joking aside, if anyone says that kind of shit about you and you hear about it, find me and tell me. Me and Georgie have your back."

"Just don't get caught," you smirk.

"You won't take points away if you catch us, will you?"

You pull away from the cuddle and send him that beautifully, intimidating smile of yours. "Not if you promise to keep losing your Quidditch games."

"Low blow, your highness!" He laughs and then you're running away, giggling like a fool.

You manage to slip through the crowds and head toward the woods by the Shrieking Shack lookout, your giggles only getting louder and more frequent when you see Fred bounding closer and closer to you. Your cadence slows when the ground starts to feel icy under your boots, and sooner than you think, you feel arms wrap around your stomach and you squeal.

Fred's laugh vibrates against your back, and after a few pants of breath he speaks into your ear. "There's still something I wanted to show you."

"Oh?" You spin around in his hold. "That's right. What is it then?"

"Surprise. Follow me." He's hasty in his movements, as he takes your hand, running further into the woods. Then he rounds the corner of a large tree trunk, his fingers slip out of yours as he twists around to face you and then he's pulling you by your hips, grin on display.

Your heart flips when your back meets with the rough surface of the tree, bodies pressing into one another and then his mouth is hovering over yours. There's hunger in his eyes, yet he's waiting for your next move.

"Wow. 'I have something to show you'. That was so corny," you tease in a whisper.

He chuckles, feeling your lips just barely touch his, "but you loved it."

"I did. You're right again, Sir Weasley."

"Always am, your highness."

He squeezes your hips. You lift your chin and you kiss for a third time that day.

[viperbunnies]

"Nothing good ever comes out when I start hoping... but maybe just a little bit."

[Thank you to @.unfinished-projects-galore , @.ai-kan1 and @.stestylius-arts for the assets! Thank you as well to @jovieinramshackle for giving me the inspo to finally start on this, and to @crystallizsch , @angelwishess and @twstgo whose oc intros I took inspo for the layout 🫶]

An outlier from the school, due to his situation he was home-schooled for the majority of his first year. They have decided to accompany the Ramshackle prefect in their daily endeavors, serving as a guide and as a companion in the worn-down dorm.

BASIC INFO.

NAME: Oswald "Oz" Damarys BIRTHNAME: ???? ??????? ALIAS: Oz, Ozzie, Flashlight Fish (Floyd), Monsieur Porcelaine (Rook) Shortie-senpai (Yuudai) AGE: 17 BIRTHDATE: August 26 HEIGHT: 154 cm SPECIES: Half-human half beastmen GENDER: Demi-boy (Uses they/he and masc titles) ORIENTATION: Demisexual ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral MBTI: ISFP Voice claim: Here! (Stc)

LIKES: Stargazy pie, Seafood in general, Acrobatics, Crochet, Art in general, Reading, Fairytales, Music boxes, Classical Music, Card games, Mystery books, Sightseeing, DISLIKES:Wishmaking, Shooting stars, Crowded places, Performing, Being observed, People touching his birthmark, His "Luck", Basketballs

Unique Magic Your Next Line is! [ Flash Forward ] — "An indisputable future is what I see... Your Next Line is!" Oswald is able to take a peek into someone's future as long as they keep contact with his pearly white eye. It can be anything from 5 seconds from now or a day later - This visions manifests like rolls of film - Lately It appears his unique magic is going haywire, showing him visions without the need of eye contact. (They aren't pleasant visions)

TRAITS +  Easy-going; Flexible; Warm; Appreciative =  Tolerant; Perceptive; Witty; Impartial -  Overworker; Indecisive; Reliant; Worrisome

BRIEF OVERVIEW (STC)

Oz is a man of many tricks; he was raised to entertain the audience, which is why he is great at lightening up the mood of the room. The many tricks he can do reminds others of a puppy trained on how to play dead, or shake hands. Despite that, Oz actually struggles in actually expressing the his true feelings— used to being the brunt of many jokes growing up, he believes that he is simply a puppet used for the entertainment of others. He sees himself as a hollow doll with no real personality, only meant for display. He is confused about who his truly is, used to what others want to see and not what he wants to show. Slowly, he is realizing that he is merely human, and that he should live for his own sake. (Old info from my notes)

TIDBITS

Random Facts - Part-beastmen, specifically a rabbit beastmen but he lacks actual features aside for his tail that was cauterized off when he was younger - He doesn't look the part but he also likes getting into shenanigans, sometimes instigating Yuu and Adeuce with the pranks they do (No one really believes the trio when they say it was Oz's idea) - He's double jointed which is helpful with his Acrobatic hobby. - Love language is gift giving, and has a tendency to make crochets for other people. They're typically things that remind them of the other. - Has a lot of birthmarks on his face, but he started to cover them with foundation after Floyd made fun of it. - Has a terrible sense of direction so he gets lost easily, but he'd like to travel around the world someday. - He has terrible luck, and while he doesn't believe in superstitions he began to be wary about them. Doesn't want to get knocked out unconscious by a basketball whenever he passes by the gym. - Doesn't really mind being called Oswald, but he associated that to whenever he'd get scolded... so Oz is his more go to nickname.

TYPING QUIRK: - His friend got him into using Kaomojis, he likes the ones with bunny ears. - Likes sending voice messages to get his point across. - Usually types in sentence cases, (although when he isn't feeling well he types in lower cases) SPEAKING QUIRK: - Uses a lot of onomatopoeia to describe unknown things. - Speaks firmly when he feels strong emotions. - Sometimes bites his tongue when he rambles, or not focused. BEHAVIOURAL QUIRKS: - Nose has a tendency to twitch when he’s interested, or irritated. - He also unconsciously thumps his foot when he’s annoyed.

RELATIONSHIPS (WIP)

(Might put a brief overview on their more notable relationships in the future!) Note: - Main Oc x Canon is with Jamil (ignore that pink on silver and jade) - Divus is his foster parent

PNGS BELOW:

p∀ƎH ⅄W NI פNIH┴ƎWOS SI ƎɹƎH┴

[60s-heartshaped-chevrolet]

SPECIFIC MOVIE RECOMMENDATIONS #1

🌙✨ Gothic Fairy-Tale Films with Strong Female Leads ✨🌙

🍒❤️‍🔥Hey lovelies,

If you're like me find endless inspiration in the aesthetics of gothic fairy-tales, then you're in for a treat! I've created a list of enchanting atmospheric films, perfect for a cozy evening with your favorite tea.

To start with, of course, an absolute classic: a folk horror, menstrual tale with possibly the most aesthetically beautiful frames I've ever experienced in cinema. I constantly post something from this film on my blogs.

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (1970): This surreal Czechoslovakian film follows young Valerie as she discovers a dreamlike world filled with vampires and magic. It's a visually stunning exploration of adolescence and awakening womanhood.

2. Daughters of Darkness (1971): This cult classic Belgian horror film features a mysterious, seductive countess who preys on young lovers in a deserted hotel. it’s a hypnotic blend of gothic allure and vampiric intrigue.

3. Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979): Werner Herzog's remake of the classic silent version. The film captures the gothic essence with stunning visuals and a chilling, melancholic tone. It's a mesmerizing exploration of fear and beauty.

4. The Vampire Lovers (1970): This Hammer Horror classic stars Ingrid Pitt as the alluring vampire Carmilla, who preys on young women in a secluded 19th-century village. it’s a captivating blend of horror and sensuality.

5. Beauty and the Beast (1978): This dark fantasy film, directed by Juraj Herz, offers a unique and eerie retelling of the classic fairy tale.Ideal for those who love a blend of dark romance and fairy-tale magic.

6. Viy (1967): This Soviet horror film, based on Nikolai Gogol's novella, follows a young priest who must spend three nights watching over the body of a witch in a haunted church. With its eerie atmosphere, stunning special effects, and deep roots in Slavic folklore, it's a captivating blend of supernatural horror and gothic fantasy.

That's all for today. I have many more films like these saved on my watchlist, so once I find some gems, I'll make another list. You can also look forward to a list of my favorite old fairy tales adaptations.

Kisses 💌💌

[justwantswafflefries]

TW: Blood, Ommetaphobia, & Trypophobia

Slasher AU Episode 3: The Mystery at the Evil Dead Cabin

Episode 3 Slasher Designs! Featuring Martha and The Angel

So proud with how these two turned out! There wont be any character cards for episode 4, but there will be cards for some of the abstracted characters, so look forward to seeing those! These will also be added to the Masterpost

[playboysaleen]

Through Ash and Iron (6)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU.(She/her)

Word Count: 6.7k

A/n: I slacked last night to post this chap, ya girl was tired lol. f this 9-5 ON A SUNDAY- anyways yall enjoy lol

_________________________

The hum of the Undercity stretched below you as you sat perched on the edge of an old rooftop, the air thick with the scent of metal, oil, and faint traces of decay. The flickering neon signs in the distance cast an eerie glow across your features as you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. The city buzzed with life, chaotic and unyielding, but up here, it felt strangely quiet.

“Brooding already?” Jinx’s familiar voice broke the silence.

You turned your head slightly to see her slinking toward you, her wild hair catching the light like a chaotic halo. She plopped down next to you with her signature reckless ease, her legs swinging freely over the edge as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“I don’t brood,” you shot back with a smirk. “You’re confusing me with Vi.”

Jinx snorted. “Vi’s brooding is all fists and scowls. You? You’re more of a ‘mysterious loner with a tragic backstory’ kind of brooding. Very cinematic.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Yeah? And what’s your deal? Crazed powder monkey with a flair for dramatics?”

She gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. “Excuse me, but I prefer the term artistic mastermind.”

“Sure,” you said, leaning back on your hands. “That’s definitely what people call you.”

The banter continued, sharp and fast, each quip met with equal intensity. But then, amidst the teasing, Jinx’s voice softened just slightly. “I missed this.”

You glanced at her, your smirk fading into something gentler. “Missed what? My dazzling wit?”

“Maybe,” she said with a sly grin, but her eyes betrayed her vulnerability. “Missed you.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, the weight of everything you both had been through pressed down like a storm cloud. Without thinking, you reached out and took her hand, your thumb brushing over her scarred knuckles.

Jinx’s gaze dropped to your arm, her sharp eyes catching the faint lines of ink peeking from under your sleeve. “What’s with all these tattoos, anyway?” she asked, tilting her head. “You never told me.”

You hesitated for a moment, the question digging up memories you preferred to keep buried. But Jinx’s curious stare was relentless. “They’re�� a map,” you admitted finally. “A map my so-called family gave me. They told me it would lead me to something important—something I needed to find to figure out who I was. But it’s from my past, and I haven’t looked at it in years.”

Her interest piqued, Jinx leaned closer. “A map, huh? Lemme see more of it.”

Before you could protest, she tugged at the hem of your shirt, lifting it enough to reveal the intricate network of lines and symbols inked across your chest and stomach. The tattoos were stark against your skin, a labyrinth of pathways and cryptic markings.

Jinx’s fingers hovered above the lines before tracing them lightly, her touch featherlight. “This… this is insane,” she murmured, her usual chaotic energy replaced by quiet fascination. Her fingers stopped at a particular symbol etched near your ribs.

“Wait a second.” Her voice grew sharper, her finger tapping the symbol. “This. I’ve seen this before.”

You glanced down. “What about it?”

“It’s Silco’s symbol,” she said, her voice laced with a mix of curiosity and unease. “How the hell do you have this?”

You frowned, shaking your head. “I don’t know. It’s just part of the map. I never understood half of what these marks mean.”

Jinx stared at the symbol for a moment longer before her fingers resumed their path, tracing the lines of ink as if trying to decode you. Her touch lingered, and her voice softened again. “You know, when I was a kid… I used to dream about someone like you.”

Her confession caught you off guard. “Someone like me?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice distant, almost wistful. “Someone who could pull me out of the mess I was in. Someone strong, who’d see me for who I am and not some broken thing. Someone who could…” She trailed off, her eyes meeting yours. “Give me the life I always wanted but could never have.”

Her words struck a chord deep within you, and without thinking, you leaned closer. “And now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Her lips curled into a faint smile. “Now I’ve got you. So, I guess… dream fulfilled.”

The warmth in her eyes pulled you in, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance, your lips pressing against hers. The kiss was slow, tender, and filled with all the unspoken things you’d been too afraid to say.

Jinx melted into you, her hands gripping your shoulders as if anchoring herself to reality. And for a moment, everything—the chaos, the pain, the uncertainty—faded away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet glow of the Undercity.

Caitlyn sat at her desk, a chaotic array of maps, reports, and scattered photographs spread across the once-pristine surface. Her office, once a model of order and discipline, now reflected the turmoil in her heart. The faint hum of Piltover’s cityscape filtered through the window as she poured over the last known locations associated with you. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, but she refused to stop. Not until she had something solid to go on.

“Commander Kiramman, there’s… not much to go on here,” the enforcer standing before her said hesitantly, his voice grating against her frayed nerves. “The reports from the Undercity are unreliable. And the last sighting was weeks ago.”

“That’s unacceptable!” Caitlyn snapped, slamming her hand down on the desk. The officer flinched at her sudden outburst. “I don’t care if the information is unreliable. You are reliable, aren’t you? Then do your job. You find her.”

The enforcer opened his mouth as if to protest, but the icy fire in Caitlyn’s eyes silenced him. “This isn’t just another case,” she continued, her voice low but seething with urgency. “I don’t want excuses—I want results. She’s alive, and I need to find her before someone else does.”

The officer nodded nervously and backed out of the room, leaving Caitlyn alone with her thoughts. She leaned back in her chair, running a hand over her face as a wave of emotion washed over her. She couldn’t shake the guilt, the memories of what she had done to you.

For weeks, Caitlyn had been consumed by a singular need to find you—not to capture you, not to punish you, but to make things right. Now that she knew the truth, that Ambessa had fed her lies and manipulated her into believing you were responsible for her mother’s death, the weight of her actions was unbearable. She had hurt you in ways she couldn’t take back, and yet, she couldn’t let go of the feelings she still carried for you.

She cared for you. Loved you, even. That much she couldn’t deny anymore.

You had always been a mystery, but there was something about you that drew her in—your strength, your resolve, the quiet way you carried the scars of your past. And now, knowing you had been innocent all along, those feelings burned even brighter, mixed with an aching need to atone.

She stood abruptly, her decision made. Grabbing her coat, she strode out of the office and made her way to the grand steps of Piltover Tower. By the time she reached the top, a crowd of enforcers had gathered below, their curious murmurs filling the air. Caitlyn stood tall, her sharp gaze scanning the assembled troops as she prepared to address them.

“This city,” she began, her voice steady but firm, “has been through hell. We’ve lost good people—our families, our friends. And in the midst of that pain, we’ve made mistakes. I’ve made mistakes.”

The enforcers exchanged uneasy glances as Caitlyn’s words hung in the air.

“I’ve come to realize that some of the choices we’ve made, some of the people we’ve blamed, were wrong. There’s someone out there—a person who was wronged by this city, by me. And now, they are in danger.”

She took a deep breath, her voice softening as her eyes drifted to the horizon. “Y/n isn’t a threat to us. She never was. And I won’t let Piltover’s mistakes take her away from me again.”

The crowd murmured, confused but attentive.

“I’m ordering a citywide search,” Caitlyn continued, her voice hardening with resolve. “Every corner of Piltover and the Undercity will be searched. I don’t care how long it takes—we will find her. And she is to be brought back alive.”

Her last word rang out like a commandment, silencing any doubts among the ranks.

“There’s another threat,” she added, her expression darkening. “Someone is targeting her—someone who wants to use her for their own gain. We cannot allow that to happen. I won’t allow it.”

Her gaze swept over the crowd, and for the first time in weeks, Caitlyn felt a sliver of clarity amid the chaos. She turned sharply, walking back into the tower, her mind already racing with plans.

This wasn’t just about making amends or clearing your name. It was about protecting you, saving you from the same forces that had taken so much from her. Because deep down, Caitlyn knew the truth: she still loved you, and she wasn’t ready to lose you again.

The streets of the Undercity buzzed with the usual mix of life and chaos as you walked alongside Sevika. She lit a cigar as the two of you moved through the crowd, your hood pulled low to avoid unnecessary attention. It was a routine now—your almost daily rounds to reinforce your presence. Let the people see you, remind them that you weren’t a ghost, that the streets still had a protector, even if it wasn’t the one they expected.

“I don’t get why you bother with all this,” Sevika muttered, exhaling a thick plume of smoke. “Your face is plastered on every corner. Pretty sure they know you’re alive.”

You shrugged, adjusting the bag slung over your shoulder. “Gotta stay ahead of the rumors, Sev. Besides, it’s not all for appearances.”

“Right.” Her smirk was as dry as the tone in her voice. “Totally not about that dish Jinx keeps whining about or those goggles you were ogling for the kid.”

You shot her a look, but it was playful. “She’s been craving it for days. And Isha… she’s been working so hard on her little machines. She deserves something nice.”

Sevika raised an eyebrow, taking another puff. “You’re soft, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you admitted with a small smile. “But they make it easy.”

Her expression softened briefly, but then she leaned in, her tone turning teasing. “So, you and Jinx, huh? Gonna make it official or keep tiptoeing around each other?”

You scoffed, the tips of your ears burning. “I don’t even know what we are. But… it’s something. She’s something.” You hesitated, your voice dropping as the words spilled out before you could stop them. “They both are. Isha and Jinx, they make me feel… like I belong. Like I finally have something worth holding onto.”

Sevika’s teasing grin faltered, her usual tough exterior replaced with something quieter, almost understanding. “Yeah, well… don’t screw it up.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Her mood shifted abruptly, her eyes narrowing. “Speaking of screwing things up… you know Caitlyn’s been sniffing around, right?”

That caught your attention. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen her,” Sevika said, her tone casual but her gaze sharp. “Gathering troops, barking orders. She’s definitely on a mission, and I’m guessing it’s to find you. Word’s out, Spark. She knows you’re alive.”

You frowned, your mind flickering to Caitlyn and the weight of your history with her. But before you could dwell too much, you changed the subject, unwilling to let the conversation linger there. “What about you, Sev? When are you gonna stop babysitting me and get yourself a love life?”

She barked a laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah, because brooding loners with bionic arms are a hot commodity these days.”

“Hey, I’m proof it works.”

Sevika rolled her eyes, shoving your shoulder lightly. “Shut up and go get those goggles, sap.”

The teasing put a smile on your face as you ducked into a dimly lit shop tucked into the corner of the street. The air was thick with grease and the metallic tang of machinery. Rows of mismatched tools, gadgets, and gear lined the shelves, but it was the sleek pair of goggles hanging near the back that caught your eye. You reached out for them, turning them over in your hands, when a voice from the shadows made you freeze.

“Well, well… if it isn’t the lost one.”

The voice was low, measured, and carried an unsettling familiarity. You turned slowly, your eyes locking onto a tall, gaunt man stepping out from the shadows. His face was pale, his sharp features shadowed by a hood, and his eyes gleamed with a cold intelligence.

“Singed,” you said cautiously, your grip tightening on the goggles.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he said, his tone almost amused. His gaze flicked over you, lingering like he was studying a specimen under glass. “But it’s me who knows you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, keeping your voice steady.

“Don’t you?” His lips curved into a thin, cruel smile. “Oh, you’ve forgotten. But that’s to be expected, isn’t it? The past buried so deep, you don’t even recognize the name you were given.”

You narrowed your eyes, but before you could speak, he said it—a name you hadn’t heard with that voice since you were a child. The sound of his tone–it sent a jolt through you, like a trigger and for a brief moment, your vision blurred.

The purple flash. It came unbidden, your body reacting to the name like a spark to a fuse. Your heart raced as you blinked, forcing yourself back to clarity, but Singed had already noticed.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his smile widening. “It’s still in you. Buried, yes, but not gone. I was right to be patient.”

“What are you talking about?” you demanded, but your voice wavered.

“Oh, you’ll understand soon enough,” he said cryptically, his words slipping into a language you couldn’t place. The sound of it was almost hypnotic, a strange rhythm that made your head swim and your body feel weightless.

You stumbled back a step, gripping the counter for support, your eyes unfocused. The world around you felt hollow, distant, as his voice echoed in your mind.

“Don’t worry,” Singed said, his tone almost mocking. “I’ll find you again. When the time is right.”

And just like that, he was gone, slipping back into the shadows as if he had never been there at all. You stood there for a moment, your breath shallow, your mind racing with questions you couldn’t answer.

The lair was dimly lit, the hum of machinery in the background blending with the occasional clink of metal tools on the workbench. You sat on a battered old chair in the corner, your hands clasped tightly, your elbows resting on your knees. It had been hours since you’d spoken. Since you’d even moved.

Your reflection in a nearby cracked mirror caught your eye. You barely recognized yourself. The sharp confidence you once carried felt dulled, replaced by something hollow, something unfamiliar.

His voice. That name.

“Spark.”

The word echoed in your mind like a haunting melody. It wasn’t just the name—it was the way he said it, the power it held over you. Your fingers twitched as you recalled how your body had responded against your will. A primal reaction you couldn’t control, one that made your stomach churn with disgust.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” you muttered under your breath, your voice hoarse.

Jinx’s light steps barely registered until she plopped down on the floor beside you, cross-legged and watching you closely. Her usual manic energy was subdued, replaced by something softer, more curious.

“Alright, what’s eating you, Big Shot?” she asked, tilting her head. “You’ve been sitting there looking like someone stole your favorite gun.”

You glanced at her, your jaw tightening. You wanted to brush it off, but the weight of the encounter was too much to carry alone.

“Do you know someone named Singed?” you asked, your voice low and strained.

Her expression shifted immediately, her playful smirk vanishing. “Yeah… I know him. He worked with Silco back in the day. Creepy guy. Always muttering, always experimenting. Why?”

You took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly. “I ran into him earlier. He… he called me by that name, Jinx. A voice I haven’t heard since I was a kid.”

“What name?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Spark,” you whispered, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. “And when he said it… it was like… like I wasn’t in control anymore. Like I had to listen.”

Jinx’s expression darkened. “What do you mean ‘had to listen’?”

You shook your head, struggling to find the words. “It was like I wasn’t myself. My body just… responded. I felt feral, like there was something buried in me that he was pulling out. I wanted to fight it, but I couldn’t. I felt… hopeless. Submissive.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Jinx’s fingers tapped against her knee, her gaze fixed on you but distant, as if she were piecing things together.

“I don’t like this,” she finally said. “I don’t like any of this.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted, your voice cracking. “I need help, Jinx. I need to figure out what’s happening to me, why I reacted like that. And I don’t think I can do it on my own.”

Jinx hesitated, biting her lip. You could see the conflict in her eyes. She hated the idea of you being vulnerable, hated the thought of you needing anyone but her. But she wasn’t blind to the truth.

“You’re saying this is bigger than the Undercity,” she said quietly.

You nodded. “I think it is.”

She ran a hand through her hair, groaning in frustration. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but… you’re right. If Singed is messing with you, and he’s tied to whatever happened to you as a kid, we need someone who knows how to deal with him. Someone with resources.”

Your heart sank as you caught on to where she was going. “Jinx—”

“It has to be Caitlyn,” she interrupted, her tone firm despite the reluctance in her eyes. “She’s the only one who can help you figure this out. I hate it, but if it’s between that and losing you to whatever freaky science Singed is pulling, then I’ll deal with it.”

You looked at her, surprised by the resolve in her voice. Her loyalty was fierce, but this level of sacrifice was new, even for her.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked, searching her face.

“No,” she admitted with a wry smile, “but I’m sure about you. If Caitlyn’s what it takes to keep you safe, then fine. But I’m not gonna let her take you without a fight. Got it?”

You couldn’t help but smile, the weight on your chest lifting slightly. “Got it.”

She reached over, taking your hand in hers. “We’ll figure this out. I don’t care how many towers we have to burn down. You’re not going through this alone.”

Her words settled deep in your heart, and for the first time since the encounter with Singed, you felt a flicker of hope.

Caitlyn’s quarters were dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the room. It was eerily quiet, save for the occasional sound of her shuffling papers or the creak of her chair. You stood in the shadows, watching her as she slumped at her desk, her head resting in her hands.

Her once pristine space was unrecognizable. Papers were scattered everywhere, drawers left half-open, and an empty teacup sat forgotten on the edge of the desk. She exhaled deeply, her body trembling as she fought back tears. But eventually, the dam broke.

“I hate this,” she whispered to the empty room, her voice shaky. “I hate how much I care. How much I miss you. And you’re probably out there hating me after everything I did to you.”

You shifted in the shadows, her words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

“I trusted you. I loved you. Still love you, even though I shouldn’t.” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her hands to her face. “Even if you don’t love me back… I can’t stop. I can’t let go of you.”

You clenched your fists, emotions swirling inside you. You felt deeply for Caitlyn, more than you were ready to admit, but now wasn’t the time to explore those feelings. There was too much at stake, too many questions that needed answers.

Still, seeing her like this broke something in you.

Leaning against the doorframe, you spoke lightly, trying to mask the weight in your chest. “You know, your security’s terrible. Anyone could just waltz in here.”

Caitlyn froze, her tear-streaked face snapping toward the sound of your voice. Her wide, disbelieving eyes found you as you stepped forward, your lips quirking in a teasing smile.

“Hello, Commander,” you said softly, the playfulness in your tone betraying the tension in your heart.

She didn’t hesitate. Caitlyn launched herself out of her chair, her boots thudding against the floor as she closed the distance between you. You barely managed to catch her as she threw her arms around your neck, pulling you into a desperate embrace.

“You’re here,” she whispered, her voice muffled against your shoulder. Then, louder, as if saying it would make it real: “You’re here!”

Her hands found your face, her thumbs brushing against your jaw as she held you at arm’s length to look at you. Her fingers were trembling, her breath hitching. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought I… I’m so sorry. For everything. For hurting you. For not trusting you. I’ve missed you so much.”

You let her hold your face, her warmth grounding you in the moment. “I’m here now,” you said softly, your hands resting on her waist. “But I need your help, Cait. I really need your help.”

She blinked, her tears slowing as she searched your face. “Anything,” she said quickly. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it. Just tell me.”

You stepped back, reluctantly breaking her hold, and removed your coat. Then, with a steadying breath, you lifted your shirt over your head, exposing the tattoos that snaked across your torso.

Her eyes widened, her gaze tracing the intricate lines and symbols etched into your skin. She reached out instinctively, her fingers hovering over one of the symbols near your ribs.

“These…” she whispered. “You’ve never explained them to me before.”

“They’re a map,” you said, your voice low. “My so-called family gave them to me when I was a child. I didn’t understand what they meant back then, but… Singed does. He called me by a name, Caitlyn. ‘Spark.’ And when he said it, I wasn’t… myself anymore.”

Her fingers brushed against one of the symbols, and you shivered at the contact. “He did something to you?” she asked, her voice tinged with anger.

You nodded. “I don’t know how or why, but it’s like… he has some kind of control over me. I need to understand what these tattoos mean, what he’s after. And I need you to help me find out.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened as she looked up at you, her hands still tracing the lines of your tattoos. “We’ll figure it out,” she said firmly. “I’ll do everything I can to get you through this. You’re not alone.”

She pulled you into a hug, her arms wrapping tightly around you. For a moment, you let yourself sink into her embrace, her warmth chasing away the lingering cold left by Singed’s voice.

You held her close, your cheek resting against her hair. “Thank you, Cait.”

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at you, her blue eyes filled with determination. “Whatever it takes,” she promised.

You nodded, a small flicker of hope igniting in your chest. For the first time in days, you felt like you had a chance to take control of your fate.

The dim glow of the desk lamp illuminated the worn records of Silco’s operations scattered before you. You sat hunched over, elbows propped on the table, flipping through the faded pages. Caitlyn had been quiet for some time now, seated across the room with her own stack of documents, but you felt her gaze lingering.

You glanced up, catching her staring. She didn’t look away.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, leaning back in your chair, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at your lips.

Caitlyn blinked as if pulled from a trance. “No, I just…” She trailed off, setting her papers down and folding her hands in her lap. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “You’ve changed me.”

Her words caught you off guard. You tilted your head, waiting for her to elaborate.

“I mean, the way I see the world,” she continued, her voice soft but steady. “I used to think everything was so black and white. Good and bad. Piltover and the Undercity. But you… you made me see the shades of gray. The hope. The humanity I ignored in the people I was supposed to protect.”

Her blue eyes softened as they met yours, and something in her expression made your chest tighten. You tried to brush it off, turning your attention back to the records in front of you, but her voice drew you in again.

“You gave me hope,” she admitted. “You made me believe things could be better, even when I was at my lowest.”

You were about to respond when you realized she wasn’t across from you anymore. Somehow, she was beside you, her presence warm and steady. Her fingers brushed against your arm, and your breath hitched.

You cleared your throat, trying to break the moment. “Cait, I…” you hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I’m seeing Jinx. And… I have feelings for her.”

Caitlyn froze for a second, then nodded, her expression unreadable. “I know,” she said quietly. “And I understand. I’m not trying to come between you two.” She looked down at her hands, her fingers fidgeting slightly. “But I need you to know how I feel. How much you mean to me.”

Her voice wavered, and before you could react, her hands were on your face, her touch gentle but firm. You froze, your heart pounding as her gaze locked with yours.

“Cait…” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Stay on task,” you added quickly, trying to redirect the moment. “We need to focus on what Singed is planning.”

Caitlyn sighed, her hands falling away as she pulled back slightly. “You’re right,” she said, though her eyes lingered on you a moment longer. Then, as if something clicked, her gaze sharpened, and she leaned closer again, her eyes catching on the faint symbol etched onto the side of your neck.

“What’s this?” she asked, her fingers brushing lightly over the mark.

You frowned. “It’s part of the map. Why?”

Caitlyn stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as she crossed the room. She rifled through a stack of papers, muttering to herself until she pulled out a crumpled sheet. Her eyes darted between the paper and your neck, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“This symbol,” she said, holding the paper up for you to see. “It’s tied to Hextech. There’s someone who might be able to help us. They’ve worked on experimental tech, mapping neural pathways, and… well, they might know how to decipher this.”

You stared at the paper, the symbol on it eerily similar to the one on your skin. Your fingers brushed over the mark on your neck as unease and curiosity warred within you.

“Who are we talking about?” you asked, your voice steady despite the knot forming in your stomach.

Caitlyn looked at you, her resolve clear. “Heimerdinger,” she said. “If anyone can help us, it’s him.”

The faint, persistent hum of that voice had been tormenting you all evening, like a needle threading through the fabric of your thoughts. You tried to ignore it, to push it back where it belonged, but its grip only tightened.

The teacup slipped from your trembling hands and shattered against the floor, porcelain shards scattering like stars across the wooden boards. Your knees buckled, your hands flying to your head as a scream tore loose from your throat—a sound that was raw, primal, and animalistic.

Your vision spun, flashes of fragmented memories—or perhaps illusions—assaulting you. Faces you didn’t recognize, voices layered over each other in chaos, the faint glow of a strange symbol seared into your mind. And the voice. That commanding, icy voice calling you by a name you hadn’t heard in decades.

“Spark,” it whispered. It echoed, again and again, rattling inside your skull.

“Y/n!” Caitlyn’s voice cut through the haze. Her footsteps were quick as she rushed to your side, dropping to her knees beside you. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

You couldn’t answer her. You couldn’t see her. Your eyes were wide, flickering between their natural gray and an unnatural, glowing purple. Caitlyn froze, her hands hesitating in midair as your gaze snapped toward her.

Her breath caught. “Your eyes…” she whispered, fear lacing her voice.

Your breath was ragged, shallow, as if something deep and primal was clawing to the surface. The world blurred, your senses heightening in unnatural ways—every sound sharp, every scent piercing. You were becoming something unrecognizable, something feral.

Through sheer will, you found a sliver of control. With trembling hands, you fumbled into your pocket and pulled out the emergency flare Jinx had given you. Your hands shook as you thrust it toward Caitlyn, your voice a low, broken rasp.

“Go,” you managed.

She stared at you, stunned for a moment, before the severity of the situation sank in. Without hesitation, Caitlyn grabbed the flare and sprinted to the nearest rooftop. The night swallowed her footsteps, and moments later, a sharp hiss filled the air as the flare ignited.

The smoke rose thick and red, a stark beacon against the starless sky.

->

Jinx sat at her workbench, goggles perched on her forehead as she tinkered with a delicate trinket. She worked with an uncharacteristic focus, her tools clicking against the small device. A faint smirk played on her lips as she muttered to herself, occasionally shooting Isha a glance.

Isha sat nearby, her small frame rigid and tense, her wide eyes darting between Jinx and the object in her hands. The girl’s expression said everything: curiosity, apprehension, and admiration, all swirling together.

Jinx noticed the look and wagged her finger, a teasing grin curling her lips. “This little beauty? It’s not gonna bite, kid. Unless I screw up. Then…well…” She mimicked an explosion with her hands, laughing as Isha’s eyes widened further.

Isha’s head snapped up, though, her gaze fixed on the window. Her lips parted slightly, her brows knitting together in concern.

“What is it, gremlin?” Jinx asked, not bothering to look up. “I swear if it’s another—”

Her voice died as her eyes followed Isha’s line of sight. The flare burned bright in the sky, its red smoke twisting like a serpent against the black.

Jinx froze. The world seemed to stop around her. Her breathing quickened, her pulse pounding in her ears. Without a word, she sprang to her feet, her stool clattering to the ground.

Her workbench became a blur of movement as she scrambled to grab her weapons, tools, and anything she might need. Every motion was frantic, precise, desperate.

Sevika was making her way to Jinx’s lair when the chaos hit. The red smoke was unmistakable, its ominous glow visible even through the smog of the Undercity. She turned the corner just as Jinx barreled into her, nearly knocking them both over.

“What the hell—” Sevika began, but Jinx’s hand gripped her collar before she could finish.

“It’s Spark,” Jinx blurted, her voice unsteady, her eyes wide and wild. She didn’t need to explain further; the desperation in her tone said it all.

Sevika hesitated for only a heartbeat before she nodded. Her hand moved instinctively to her weapon, her expression hardening.

“Let’s go,” she said, and the two of them took off toward the flare, their footsteps echoing through the labyrinth of the Undercity. Neither of them spoke, their shared urgency driving them forward into the unknown.

<-

The room felt impossibly small as you clawed at your mind for control. Your breaths were shallow and ragged, each inhale jagged like broken glass scraping your lungs. The voices—taunting, commanding, relentless—coiled around your thoughts like venomous snakes.

The table in front of you cracked under your tightening grip. Your strength betrayed you as it splintered and gave way, collapsing in two with a deafening crash. Your hoarse scream tore through the room, raw and primal, echoing against the walls.

You stumbled to your feet, your body swaying like a marionette with severed strings, and found your way to Caitlyn’s bathroom. The tile felt icy under your bare feet, but you didn’t notice. Your trembling fingers twisted the faucet handle, and steaming hot water roared from the showerhead. Without hesitation, you stepped under the cascade, letting the searing heat soak into your skin.

The world blurred as the water streamed over you. Memories began to rise, vivid and haunting, like waves crashing against the walls of your mind.

You were small again, no more than a child. The bridge stretched before you, cracked and broken, its foundation trembling with each explosion that rocked the air. Smoke choked the sky, and screams pierced your ears.

A man knelt in front of you, his face obscured by the haze, his voice calm despite the chaos around you.

“Sparky,” he said, his hands cupping your tear-streaked cheeks. His tone was warm, protective, but tinged with desperation. “Listen to me. You’re strong. Stronger than you think. But you have to go. Run.”

“I don’t want to leave you!” you cried, clutching at his arms.

He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll find you. I promise. I love you, kid. Never forget that.”

Another explosion roared behind him, the shockwave forcing him to let you go. His body shielded you from the debris, but the force sent you stumbling backward.

“Go!” he shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the chaos.

You turned and ran, your legs heavy with fear. The bridge groaned beneath your feet as more explosions rattled its structure. Then, the sound of splintering metal tore through the air, and the ground vanished beneath you.

You screamed as you fell, the world spinning into a blur of smoke and sky. The man’s distant cry of anguish echoed after you.

The memory collided with the present as your scream ripped from your throat once again. You stumbled back against the shower wall, the water now unbearably hot, but you didn’t care. Your hands gripped your head, nails digging into your scalp as you slid down to the floor of the shower.

Jinx burst into Caitlyn’s residence, her face flushed with urgency. Her mismatched eyes darted around until they locked onto Caitlyn, who had already armed herself and was braced for confrontation.

For a moment, the air between them was thick with tension. Caitlyn’s sharp gaze met Jinx’s defiant one, both women silently acknowledging what neither wanted to say aloud: they both loved you, and they both knew it.

Jinx clenched her fists but broke the silence first. “She’s in trouble. You know it, and so do I.” Her voice was steady, but there was a crack in her tone, a vulnerability she rarely allowed.

Caitlyn nodded reluctantly, her grip on her weapon loosening. “I know.”

Sevika, leaning against the wall, smirked. “Well, isn’t this cozy? Two sides of a war teaming up over a girl. Feels like I’m stuck in a bad romance novel.”

Neither Jinx nor Caitlyn acknowledged her quip, but they both shot her sharp looks before heading down the hallway.

As they approached the bathroom, Caitlyn noticed the steam curling out from under the door. Her chest tightened.

“Stay behind me,” she said firmly, motioning for Jinx to wait.

But Jinx ignored her, shoving past and throwing the door open.

The sight that met them was chilling. You lay slumped in the shower, the hot water pouring relentlessly over your face and body. Your skin was pale, your lips parted as shallow breaths escaped you.

Jinx was the first to move, skidding to her knees beside you. “Hey! Come on, don’t do this to me now!” Her voice cracked as she shook your shoulders gently.

Caitlyn followed, her heart pounding in her chest. She crouched next to you, her hands trembling as she reached for your face. The heat of your skin against her palm was alarming.

Your eyes fluttered open, but they weren’t the gray she knew. They glowed an unnatural purple, their intensity sending a shiver down her spine.

“Y/n?” Caitlyn whispered, her voice barely audible.

You stared at her blankly, as if you didn’t recognize her. Then your lips parted, and a guttural growl escaped, low and feral.

Caitlyn turned to Jinx, her expression grave. “I need to detain her. For everyone’s safety.”

Jinx bristled, her hand already reaching for her pistol. “The hell you will!”

“She’s not herself!” Caitlyn snapped.

“Like I care!” Jinx yelled back, her voice breaking.

Sevika lingered in the doorway, her expression unreadable. “Oh, this is gonna end well,” she muttered under her breath.

The tension in the bathroom was suffocating, Jinx and Caitlyn standing inches apart, their heated argument escalating.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jinx hissed, her voice sharp. “She’s not some wild animal to be locked up in your tower like a damn trophy!”

“She’s a danger to everyone, Jinx!” Caitlyn fired back, her tone equally biting. “If we don’t control this, people will die. You can’t just ignore that because you—”

“Because I what?” Jinx interrupted, stepping closer, her mismatched eyes blazing. “Because I love her? Like you don’t?”

Sevika, leaning against the doorframe, let out a frustrated growl. She’d been watching you the entire time, noting the way your body tensed and twitched, your breath ragged, your purple eyes flickering faintly as if battling something unseen.

They didn’t notice the moment you stirred, your body beginning to rise from where you lay. Sevika did.

“Enough!” she barked, stepping forward just as you fully began to sit up, your glowing purple eyes locking onto the nearest target. With a single motion, Sevika’s mechanical fist slammed into your temple.

The metallic sound of the impact echoed in the room as you slumped forward, unconscious.

“What the hell, Sevika?!” Jinx shouted, rushing toward you.

Caitlyn froze, her face pale as she watched Sevika lower her arm, her expression dark.

Sevika turned on them, her voice sharp and unwavering. “You two were so busy fighting over who loves her more that you didn’t even notice she was about to tear both your throats out.” Her voice cracked slightly as she muttered, “And then Isha would be alone.”

Jinx’s mouth opened to argue, but nothing came out. Caitlyn lowered her gaze, guilt washing over her.

“You think this is a game?” Sevika snapped, her glare shifting between them. “You think any of this is about your feelings? It’s not. If she goes feral again, it won’t matter who she loves or who loves her back—none of us will make it out alive.”

Caitlyn stepped forward, composing herself. “We need to detain her. Somewhere safe.”

“Not the tower,” Jinx said immediately, her tone defensive.

Caitlyn frowned. “Jinx—”

“She’s not going there,” Jinx growled. “Ambessa’s there. You think I trust her anywhere near Spark?”

Caitlyn hesitated but relented with a nod. “Fine. Somewhere secluded.”

Sevika sighed heavily, bending down to lift your unconscious body over her shoulder like a sack of flour. “Let’s move. We’ll figure this out on the way.”

_________________

Well...

[wosoloml]

red string theory || lotte wubben-moy x reader

summary: the first time you see lotte wubben moy, you didnt actually see her.

your life was always connected because you are meant to be.

warnings: none, just fluffy fluff with my lotte girl

from this request

a/n: i hope its okay what i wrote it about lotte because i thought this request is so lotte coded

wc: 1,739 words

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" my work colleague, who is also my best friend, Jules, looks at me with a focused expression.

A few years ago, I attended college in the USA, where I ran my own sports blog for the university newspaper. I especially enjoyed writing about the women’s football team because I witnessed the sport gaining more popularity there.

It felt so empowering to see how all the girls were following their dreams, and I always wanted to share their stories so everyone could see their passion.

I was packing all my work stuff into my bag when Jules called out my name.

"Y/N, can you please help me real quick?"

I sighed but stopped what I was doing and walked into the salesroom.

"Can you make a latte macchiato real quick? Table 7 has a big order, and I’m swamped. Sorry for interrupting you," she said.

I smiled softly at her before glancing at the girl who had ordered the latte. I barely registered her, only noticing how graceful her movements were.

It felt kind of ironic that my last customer of the day would be such a mysterious woman.

But life moved on, as it always does, and that moment faded into the countless fleeting, insignificant encounters you never expect to think about again. Until much later.

----

"Oh my girl, Jules, you made it!" I pulled her into a tight hug.

"Of course! It's your graduation today! I'm so proud of you, my little nerd."

After three years of hard work, endless studying, and way too much crying, I’m finally done. I’m now a certified sports journalist with a focus on women’s football. I couldn’t be happier.

"Now it’s time for you to introduce me to your girlfriend! I can’t wait to meet the mysterious Alessia in person."

Her smile grew even wider as I mentioned her girlfriend. "Come on, she’s right over there, chatting with an old friend from university she randomly ran into here."

----

I’ve checked my phone. 8:00. I arrived at the training ground of THE Arsenal Women’s Football Club.

When I sent my application to a few football clubs as a media coordinator, I never thought my childhood club would hire me. I spent the last few days looking for an outfit and stayed awake the whole night out of nervousness.

It’s already my second week, and I’m still not used to being around all these inspiring and energizing women. You weren’t exactly starstruck, but there was something about being around people you’d admired from afar that left you feeling slightly unsteady.

But it’s different with Lotte. From day one, she helped me with everything. Lotte, however, had a way of disarming you with her easy demeanor. When she introduced herself, it was as if you hadn’t spent the last three days binge-watching match highlights featuring her perfect tackles and precise passes.

Over the weeks, you got used to seeing her around the training ground. She always made an effort to say hi, even if it was just a quick wave or a casual “How’s it going?” Each interaction was brief, professional, and—you told yourself—entirely inconsequential. Except that, somehow, you found yourself looking forward to them.

She had this smile and the way she cared about everyone around her that sticks in my mind, and I can’t stop thinking about her even after work. It’s like we’ve known each other for years.

---

Today was Media Day, and even though I love the girls, I was relieved to have a moment for myself in the cafeteria. Suddenly, someone asked, 'May I join?' At first, I didn’t realize they were talking to me, but when my eyes met my favorite defender's, I knew Lotte was the one addressing me.

'Not at all,' I replied, gesturing to the empty seat.

I don’t want to admit it, but knowing I wasn’t paired up with Lotte for today’s interviews made me a bit sad. That’s why I’m even happier to spot her here during my little break.

She set down her tray, which held a steaming bowl of soup and a sandwich that looked far too healthy for my taste. 'So, how’s life in the media world? Still surviving?'

I chuckled at her words. 'It’s going well. After today, I have a lot of videos to edit, and I still write a blog for a college newspaper, with the deadline coming up, so I’m a bit stressed. The time difference with the USA makes it even harder. But who am I complaining to? I’m sure your schedule is even more packed.' I babbled, feeling a bit embarrassed that I hadn’t stopped talking. It was just a simple question—no need to turn it into a whole essay.

She listened closely the entire time, trying to keep up with me. "Really? You’re very ambitious about your job. I like that. You mentioned the USA. Are you writing for an American college?"

I felt seen, and it made me feel special. I adore her so much. I gathered my thoughts again to answer her.

"Yes! I went to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and have always had a passion for writing. They had a women’s football team that was still in its early stages. They inspired me so much that I decided to write about them in the weekly college newspaper. Sorry for beating around the bush, yes, I write for an American college." My cheeks turned red because, once again, I rambled on.

I noticed the sudden change in her behavior. "Wait, really?" She looked at me, kind of stunned and questioning. "I’ve been to UNC too, before signing professionally for Arsenal. Do you mean the North Carolina Tar Heels? I played for them while you were writing for them."

I widened my eyes in disbelief. "That caught me off guard—wow. We’ve been so close and never talked to each other."

“It’s like we were orbiting each other,” she said one day, her voice thoughtful. “Like we were always meant to meet, but the timing just wasn’t right.”

Her words stuck with me, replaying in my mind long after she’d said them.

---------

Over the next few weeks, sometimes Lotte would bring me a coffee. A few days later, I noticed something as she handed me the cup. "Since when do you get your coffee from that shop near Covent Garden? The one with the green awning?" She looked confused and stuttered, "Since forever. It's my favorite coffee shop. Do you know it?"

"Are you joking? I worked there a few years ago."

“I can’t believe this. It’s like we’ve been circling each other our whole lives.”

This connection with Lotte feels so magical, I can’t even process how life always seemed to bring us together.

“Maybe it’s fate,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Maybe it is.”

-------

As the weeks turned into months, your relationship with Lotte continued to grow stronger. The bond you shared deepened, built on a foundation of shared history and the undeniable pull you felt toward each other.

One evening, as you sat on her couch with a cup of tea in hand, she reached over and intertwined her fingers with yours.

“You know,” she said softly, her voice quiet, “I’ve always believed in timing. That everything happens when it’s meant to.”

You looked at her, your heart full. “And what about us? What does this timing mean?”

She smiled, her eyes warm and steady. “It means we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

And for the first time, you believed her.

[angelofthenight01]

A first step to believe

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Hey, guys! So, I'm new here and I've decided to start posting some short stories I wrote of characters I like. I hope you enjoy!

genre: fluff || warnings: none

You had always been a quiet observer in the background, preferring to stay out of the limelight, especially with someone as powerful and captivating as Wanda Maximoff around. You worked with her on several occasions in the Avengers compound—whether it was helping with strategy or assisting in the tech department—but you never quite felt like you belonged in her world.

She was magic and mystery incarnate. Her powers, her strength, her vulnerability... all tangled up in that red aura that surrounded her. You, on the other hand, were just... you. A normal human with a special skill set, not even close to the god-like powers Wanda wielded.

But something had changed over the last few weeks. You’d caught her eyes a few times—just for a brief moment—and there was something there. Something soft. Something that hinted at a longing you couldn’t quite interpret.

It started on one particularly quiet evening in the compound. The rest of the team had scattered for some downtime, and you found yourself in the kitchen, making tea to unwind. Your hands trembled slightly from the long day of troubleshooting tech issues, and you were looking forward to a peaceful moment alone.

But as you poured the hot water into your mug, the door creaked open.

“Mind if I join you?” Wanda’s voice was soft, a lilting accent tinged with something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Of course,” you said, offering a small smile. “I was just about to make some tea.”

She stepped into the room, a flicker of hesitation passing over her features. Her eyes—those impossibly deep, captivating eyes—met yours. You could see the exhaustion in her posture, the weight of the past few missions still lingering on her.

“You look like you could use a moment,” you added, hoping she wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

She hesitated, and for a second, you thought she might decline and retreat to the solitude she so often sought. Instead, she gave you a small smile and nodded. “I could use the company.”

You poured her a cup and passed it over, your fingers brushing for a brief moment. Wanda’s gaze lingered on your hand, and then she met your eyes again, her smile softening just a bit. There was an unspoken connection between you, something that had only grown stronger with time.

The silence between you two was comfortable, not awkward. You both sipped your tea, and you found yourself slowly relaxing in her presence.

“I’ve been thinking,” Wanda said suddenly, her voice low. “About... about everything. All the things I’ve done. The things I can do.”

You swallowed, trying to keep the nervous flutter in your chest from taking over. You knew exactly what she meant. Her powers, her trauma, her inner turmoil. It had been a lot for her to bear, especially after everything she had gone through with the Mind Stone, and the aftermath of everything that happened with Vision.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you said gently, meeting her gaze. “But that doesn’t define you, Wanda. You’re so much more than the pain and the power.”

Wanda’s lips parted as though she were about to say something, but she stopped herself. Her gaze drifted away for a moment before returning to you, this time with a look that was almost unreadable.

“I’m not sure I can believe that,” she whispered.

You set your cup down and took a step closer. “You don’t have to believe it all at once. But I do.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The air between you was thick with something unspoken, something that both of you seemed afraid to give voice to. It was like a thread, fragile and delicate, waiting to be pulled. You could feel her uncertainty, but you also felt the quiet yearning in her eyes.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand resting lightly on her arm. She tensed at the touch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you gave her a reassuring smile.

“I’m here for you,” you said, voice steady, but soft. “Whatever you need.”

Wanda’s eyes softened as she looked at you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. The world outside the compound, with all its dangers and distractions, faded away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet kitchen, surrounded by the warmth of the tea and the gentle hum of the compound around you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped even closer, your heart hammering now. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. We can figure it out together.”

Wanda looked at you, really looked at you, as though seeing you for the first time. And in that moment, you knew something had shifted between you both.

The tension in the air seemed to crackle with possibility. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she leaned in. Your breath caught in your throat as her lips brushed lightly against yours.

It was soft. Simple. Tentative, even. But it was enough to send a shock of warmth through your entire body.

When she pulled away, her eyes were full of wonder and uncertainty. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped her face gently in your hands, your thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “I’m sure.”

And for the first time in a long while, Wanda allowed herself to believe it, too.

[project-lumen]

Have you ever wondered how the Life Series would look like as a videogame?

Then I bring to you…

Project LUMEN: APPLICATIONS OPEN!!

Ever wanted to relive the stories woven by the Watchers, exceeding the limits of what Minecraft is able to offer? How about venturing in a perilous journey full of twists and turns, and most importantly, loooooooooooore?

Well, why hello there! To kick off the start of 2025, Kori, Arto and Pinkie here, and we are proud to present “Project LUMEN”! Our newest scheme to conceptualize and develop a video game based off the traffic-colored hearts we are all so familiar with. An ambitious project, that’s for sure, and that is why we are opening applications to join our little team, right on time to welcome the new year! :]

(way more info under the cut, get ready)

Once a pile of jumbled, senseless ideas, Project LUMEN has evolved into a more fleshed-out collection of story beats and mechanics. An RPG-like game revolving around the tales within the Life Series, a collection of death games ran by the mysterious deities that call themselves Watchers. The player takes on the role of the Watcher Child (affectionately referred to as WC), following and guiding the Champions chosen by the Watchers themselves through challenges and enemies. Featuring unique leveling systems, DnD inspired classes, and, most importantly, the ability to impact the story with the choices you make… because, after experiencing all the Life Series seasons from both the Watcher and the Player side, maybe you’ll have a change of mind. After all is said and done and seen, the world is yours to shape, Watcher Child.

Right, so that’s a basic summary of the concept we have, now here’s a little preview of what we have written for the prologue :3

Chapter 0: ‘The Watcher’s Apprentice’

The player takes the form of a Watcher in training, an ageless child, the Watcher Child. The most powerful and ancient Watchers, unexplained cryptic creatures that live up to their name by watching all, talk about a new series of experiments they have been running, called “The Life Series”.

The only rundown that the WC was given was that a carefully selected group of talented players were asked to test their little Life game for them, where they each have only three lives. Whoever survives last, wins. There were no rules as to how they could play the games. The Watchers then add that they, along other WCs, will be observing from the viewpoint and thoughts of one of the players. This is so the WC can get an idea of the Watchers' work. Of course, our little WC was ecstatic and ever so curious about this new idea.

Fast-forward (and after a couple of tutorials showing off the bare basics of the battle mechanics in the actual game), now our WC was standing in a circle with other apprentices just like them. The Watchers then hold a deck of mystic cards in front of each of them, and everyone picks one. When the cards are revealed, our WC sees a glowing, red card with a person on it. The card simply said, "THE SUN".

Huh, I wonder who could that be…

Now, we get into the thick of it: who are we searching for to join our team? Well, there are some requirements that the potential members should fulfill, here’s a comprehensive list of key points:

We are mainly looking for artists to help us with designs, sprites, backgrounds and UI. Although, we also welcome any writers willing to help us with developing concepts and adding more ideas!

Every person who applies should be involved with the Life Series fandom, we want to build a team with people as passionate about this Minecraft series as we are!

When answering the Application Form, please type in your favorite type of flower (in case you do not have one, just write 'sunflower') in the "Anything else to add?" part, this is only to ensure you've read the announcement :]

Welp, glad you asked. The current plan is, while the applications go on for a week or two, constantly post pieces of concept art and just story bits on this blog, then all the people selected to join the team will be added to the blog as members. We plan to post updates, concept art, sprites and small lore drops periodically on that blog to hopefully garner an audience, and it will also be open for asks and suggestions so that, even if some users aren’t part of the team, they can still help bring this absolute beast of a game to life. Ideally we will work on a small demo experience first with placeholders and stuff to just get the mechanics right and get some testers, and after that, use all feedback, polish the art, deliver a beta version for playtesting, then fix the last details and then release the full version on itch.io, that’s our roadmap. :D (there's the possibility to also publish a browser version to Newgrounds with mobile compatibility tho, so mobile users do not fear!)

Well, Project LUMEN is a very, very hefty task, a big plan to undertake, and, in all honesty, too much work for only three people. Also, talking from experience, having other person involved in development has helped LUMEN to give gigantic steps, helping to ground ideas and give inspiration, now, imagine how far we could go if we had more people in this squad. We are not only looking for artists, we are looking for people whom we can brainstorm with and throw concepts around to polish them and grow the game even more. However, we also wish to keep the team directly working on the game fairly reduced, we are thinking 3–5 people more, but depending on the amount of responses we have, we might consider expanding that number.

The spirit of the game is to be made by the community for the community, we want to offer a quality game, and, by working together, we will be able to make Project LUMEN the best it can be. Though, you need to be aware that this project is solely fueled by the passion we have for the Life Series, and we will not profit off it at all. Please, take into account that this is likely going to be a months-long project, and only apply if you are willing to put in the effort in the long-run, that’s all we ask for.

On the bright side though, by joining in the developing of the game, you’ll be able to contribute to it as much as you’d like, change anything, add anything! You’ll have your rightful spot in the credits and probably a cameo in-game, the team may be small, but we know that, with the right people, we will be able to get it done (cleo is in the storyline too dw).

Application Form!

[preyingmaneater]

Feast.

summary: Steve had been charming you into his trap, instead, you matched his freak.

warnings: Smut 18+ MDNI | Cannibalism | Dub con | Alcohol use | Dynamic play | Attempted drugging | Rough sex | Dirty talk | Degrading | Forced submission | Injuries | Blood play | PiV unprotected sex | Blowjob & face fucking

a/n: This is my first time writing this character. I had a lot of fun, even if I'm late to the party. I didn't mean for this to get SO LONG. I swear. But I wanted to try to really write this in an interesting way, exploring his character and describing every little thing to set the moods and whatnot. Unedited, I wrote this in three days and didn't want to edit. ;; wc: 8.9k 😭

You met Steve during a late-night grocery run. The fluorescent lights of the store cast a harsh glow on the aisles, emphasizing the lateness of the hour.

Your appearance was casual, befitting the time - just past nine in the evening. You hadn't made any effort to dress up, as impressing anyone was far from your mind at this hour. Your focus was solely on completing your shopping and returning home. As you navigated the produce section, your eyes scanned the shelves of herbs. Your hand reached out, grabbing a handful of fragrant rosemary, then delicate parsley, and finally aromatic bay leaves. You had a specific dish in mind and you looked forward to getting home and making it. Your gaze settled on the sage, and you moved to grasp it.

In that moment another hand appeared, reaching for the same bunch of sage. Your fingers inadvertently touched, and you instinctively jerked your hand back, the contact catching you off guard. "Sorry," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper in the quiet store. Feeling a wave of discomfort wash over you, you took a step back from the herb section. Without making eye contact with the stranger, you turned on your heel, ready to retreat to another aisle.

"Hey, it's okay," the voice called back in response, causing you to pause mid-step, turning back to face the source of the reassurance. Your gaze fell upon the stranger, a man whose handsome features were framed by dark, tousled hair. As you scanned his appearance, taking in every detail from his welcoming expression to his casual attire, your eyes were inevitably drawn to his outstretched hand. In his grasp was the coveted sage, "You can take it," he offered with a gentle smile, his voice carrying a hint of warmth that seemed to ease the tension in the air. "I still have some at home, so this one's yours if you want it."

You hesitated.

Despite your initial uncertainty, you accepted the sage from his hand. It was, after all, the last one on the shelf, and his unexpected kindness had caught you off guard. Your heart was set on the recipe that called for the sage and you didn’t want to abandon it for something else. "Thanks..." you murmured, your voice trailing off as you lifted your gaze to meet his. You allowed yourself to truly observe him, your eyes meticulously cataloging every feature of his face.

He was well groomed, exuding an aura of refined handsomeness that immediately caught your attention, despite feeling some sort of wariness at talking to a complete stranger. His jawline was chiseled to perfection, giving him strong features, while his eyes were a captivating steel blue that seemed to pierce right through you. Those eyes held a depth that hinted at both intelligence and mystery, drawing you in despite yourself.

Your eyes trailed down to his lips, a soft and inviting shade of pink, formed the most enchanting shapes when he smiled, both warm and slightly mischievous. His chocolate-colored hair was expertly styled, swept upwards in a way that not only complemented his face shape but also suggested he had a habit of paying a careful attention to detail.

It was clear that he knew exactly how to present himself to make the best impression, every aspect of his appearance thoughtfully curated. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret about your own casual attire. You found yourself wishing you had put a bit more effort into your appearance before going on what you had assumed would be an uneventful and quick late-night grocery run.

"I'm Steve," he introduced himself, his voice as smooth and appealing as his appearance. He offered you another smile, this one somehow even more charming than the last. "And I have a weird habit of speaking to very...good looking strangers in the middle of aisle two." He delivered the line with a playful tone, his eyes twinkling with humor, clearly aiming to put you at ease while also subtly complimenting you.

You returned his smile with one of your own, your natural wariness slowly dissipating. His effort to put you at ease worked, he was charming enough, and he looked harmless. There was something disarmingly genuine about his demeanor that made you feel unexpectedly comfortable. After a moment's hesitation, you decided to share your name with him, watching as his face lit up with an appreciative smile. He carefully repeated your name, as if savoring each syllable, then looked back at you with a twinkle in his eye. "It's a beautiful name," he said softly, "It suits you perfectly."

A comfortable silence settled between you for a few seconds, during which you both seemed to be contemplating what to say next. Eventually, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a hint of nervousness creeping into his posture. "Well, uh," he began, his voice tinged with a mixture of reluctance and politeness, "I should, uh, let you get back to your shopping. Have a good night." With a slightly awkward nod, he hesitantly turned on his heel and began to walk away, his steps slow and measured as if he was fighting an internal battle.

You watched him go for a moment before turning your attention back to the produce display, your mind still lingering on the interaction. However, just as you were about to resume your shopping, you heard familiar footsteps approaching. Looking up, you saw Steve returning, a determined yet slightly sheepish expression on his face. "You know what?" he said, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his voice, "I've already crashed and burned, so I might as well go all in."

He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say next. Walking back to you with renewed purpose, he met your gaze and exhaled, "I know this might be a long shot, but... can I have your number?"

You and Steve had gone on several delightful dates over the course of the following month.

His charismatic personality shone through in every interaction, as he consistently displayed politeness, a great sense of humor, and gentlemanly behavior. Steve always made sure you were comfortable and having a good time. He demonstrated his respect for your boundaries each and every time, he didn’t ask for anything or appear to pout in any way when you declined inviting him to your home or even giving him a kiss. But, your bond grew deeper and you found yourself increasingly drawn to his charming demeanor.

After your last date, you decided to take a step forward in your relationship. You felt enough of a strong sense of trust and comfort with Steve, so you invited him inside to stay the night.

"We should go away somewhere together," Steve suggested after quite the…passionate display and rawly fucking you into your bed. You were nestled comfortably against him, your head resting on his bare chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. At his words, you stirred slightly, curiosity piqued by the idea of a getaway with him.

Lifting your head a little to meet his gaze, you responded with a mix of intrigue and playful questioning in your voice. "Somewhere?" you echoed, your mind already beginning to conjure up images of potential romantic destinations. "Where?" you asked, eager to hear what kind of escape he had in mind for the two of you.

"I dunno..it might be a surprise," he said, his expression turning serious as he gazed downward. A mischievous smirk spread across his face, and he looked back up at you. "A very special surprise for a very special girl."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his words, a mix of amusement and exasperation coloring your features. His confidence was almost obnoxious, and that cheeky attitude of his was on full display. "Always so mysterious," you remarked, shaking your head slightly. "You and your cryptic responses... I swear, sometimes it's like trying to decipher a complex puzzle just to get a straight answer out of you."

After you let out your playful complaints, you settled back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you allowed yourself to relax into his warmth. The comfortable moment was short-lived as you became acutely aware of the state you were both in. "You know what? I'm feeling rather sticky and gross right now," you announced, wrinkling your nose slightly. "A nice, hot shower sounds absolutely perfect."

Steve felt a swell of pride in his chest, smirking to himself, "Ah, did I do that?" He feigned innocently, his hand roamed down and squeezed your ass lightly. "I guess we should shower then, baby. But...you sitting here with my cum sitting inside you does turn me on a lot..."

"Oh hush," you smacked his chest and got up, "I'm not getting an infection for your satisfaction," You called over your shoulder as you walked to your bathroom.

You indulged in a much needed, long, hot shower. Steve joined you a few minutes later, gladly stepping under the hot streams of water and pulling you close to him. His hands gracefully glided across your skin, applying and distributing soap suds over every inch of your body. The sensation was invigorating and soothing as he skillfully massaged your tender muscles after having intense sex with him, releasing the tension your muscles held.

Steve held you close, providing you a comforting feeling of security and affection and intensifying your attraction to him. He was such a change of pace compared to your past romantic encounters. The disappointing dates and less-than-ideal partners you had encountered before left you feeling hopeless, then Steve popped into your life at the perfect time. A true gem among the rough of shitty men.

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling it soaked under the water, with tiny bubbles and bits of shampoo still clinging to the strands. Gently, you helped rinse out the last remnants of shampoo, your fingers massaging his scalp in slow, circular motions. Steve closed his eyes and surrendered himself to your care, completely relaxed and at ease. There was something incredibly intimate about this moment, different from the hard sex you had moments ago. It felt more affectionate and meaningful, lust gone from the moment and being replaced with care.

The tension melted away from his features, he looked so peaceful as you washed his hair out. Steve’s expression one of utter contentment and trust, his vulnerable state allowed you to see a side of him that intrigued you. Your eyes were drawn to his neck, you eyed his pulse, you could almost see the blood pumping through him.

Not a single concern seemed to cloud his mind, he wasn’t paying much attention to anything but your fingers delicately moving against his scalp.

"You remind me of a statue. So pristine, smooth...it must be your diet." You commented coolly, your voice carrying a hint of playful admiration. The words hung in the air, charged with an underlying tension that neither of you could ignore.

Steve's gaze slowly drifted downward, meeting your eyes with a sudden shift occurred in his demeanor. The cool blue of his irises now seemed to recede, overwhelmed by the expanding darkness of his pupils. It was as if a storm had suddenly brewed within those oceanic depths, transforming them into something more intense, more dangerous.

His body language changed in tandem with his eyes. His relaxed state became rigid, every muscle taut with an energy that seemed barely contained. You observed the change with wariness, your head tilting to one side in a gesture that was both curious and slightly challenging.

For a moment, the man before you bore little resemblance to the Steve you thought you knew. Gone was the familiar warmth and easy-going nature. In its place stood someone darker, more complex. He exuded an aura that was simultaneously alluring and slightly unsettling, reminiscent of those enigmatic figures often portrayed in noir films - the kind of character whose true nature remains shrouded in mystery, the serial criminal eluding the police and performing dark, gritty murders.

"Steve?" you asked, your brow furrowing with concern as your date's demeanor shifted, taking on a more ominous air. His name was spoken with a hint of apprehension, but it pierced through whatever fog had descended upon him. He snapped out of his trance, blinking rapidly, his features softening back into the countenance you recognized.

The unsettling glint that had momentarily clouded his eyes dissipated, replaced by the familiar look you'd grown accustomed.

"Ah, sorry," he apologized, clearing his throat. "I think I'm just a little dazed from the high my orgasm gave me," he muttered softly, his explanation hanging in the air between you. His hands found their way to your hips, fingers gently pressing into your skin.

He always knew how to make you forget those little moments. Where his nature peeked through.

Steve's home was nestled in the forest, a luxurious place you marveled at, far more expansive and opulent than you had initially anticipated. He told you he was a butcher, but his skills were so refined and meticulous that he could become a surgeon. The thought never prompted you to question his claims; after all, Steve had always been honest with you, never once resorting to deception or falsehoods in your interactions.

As you observed him in the kitchen, you found yourself utterly captivated by his culinary prowess. His movements were so fluid and precise that you couldn't help but imagine him as a master chef in a high-end restaurant. Every aspect of his food preparation was pure artistry.

The way he deftly maneuvered the knife through various ingredients, the graceful arc of the blade as it glided through succulent meats and crisp vegetables, and the meticulous attention he paid to the presentation of each element on the plate. It was as if he were composing a gastronomic symphony, with every cut, chop, and arrangement contributing to a masterpiece that was as visually stunning as it was sure to be delicious.

Steve presented you with an exquisite culinary masterpiece. The centerpiece was a succulent cut of red meat, perfectly seared and glistening with moisture. Its exterior was adorned with a generous coating of cracked peppercorns, creating an enticing crust that promised a burst of flavor with every bite. Your eyes traced the contours of the meat, you noticed a tantalizing flow of crimson juice emanating from its center, pooling on the plate and making you drool.

Beside it was an equally delicious looking salad, it was a vibrant cornucopia of fresh vegetables, each meticulously chosen for both its nutritional value and aesthetic appeal. The vegetables were arranged with an artist's touch, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that was as pleasing to the eye as it promised to be to the palate. A light sheen of glazed vinaigrette draped over the greens, adding a subtle luster and hinting at the perfect balance of tangy and sweet flavors that awaited.

"This looks absolutely delicious, Steve," you praised warmly, settling into your seat across from him. As you reached for your fork, your movements were slow and deliberate, as if to savor every moment of anticipation before the first bite.

The meat tasted...familiar, you've savored it countless times before. As you took your first bite, the flavors danced across your tongue, evoking exciting memories of past meals. The red meat possessed a delicate sweetness, akin to the tender flesh of veal, while its consistency bore resemblance to the well-known texture of beef. You chewed slowly, deliberately, allowing your taste buds to fully explore the complex interplay of flavors and textures. The softness of the meat yielded effortlessly beneath your teeth, its juices releasing a burst of rich, savory notes that coated your palate.

You continued to savor the bite, your discerning palate began to recognize the specific cut, as if recalling an old friend. Suddenly, an unexpected sensation stirred in your belly, a curious flip that gave you pause. You raised your eyes to meet Steve's gaze, having just swallowed the bite of meat. "I'm amazed that you haven't pursued a career as a professional chef in a high-end restaurant. This presentation alone is worthy of a Michelin star."

He chuckled softly, a warm smile playing across his lips. "Flatterer," Steve remarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He took a deliberate bite of his food, savoring the flavors while watching you with keen interest as you began to sample the carefully prepared dish he had presented. The anticipation was evident in his gaze, eager to gauge your reaction to his culinary creation.

"Ah, and before I forget," he suddenly exclaimed, his tone brightening with excitement. Steve gracefully rose from his seat and made his way over to an ornate rack along the far wall. He selected a dark, elegant bottle from among the collection and returned to the table, he held it up for you to admire. "This is Imperial Chateau Mouton Rothschild," he announced with a hint of pride in his voice. "It's not just a good wine, it's exceptional. Aged to perfection over many years, and, I have to admit, quite costly. But for an occasion like this, nothing but the best will do."

With the skill of a seasoned sommelier, Steve carefully uncorked the bottle, you could smell the price tag on it. It smelled like riches you'd never be able to achieve.

The soft pop echoed in the room, releasing the wine's complex bouquet. He then reached for a delicate crystal glass, tilting it slightly as he poured a generous measure of the deep ruby liquid. The wine cascaded smoothly, forming a perfect meniscus at the rim of the glass. With a flourish, he presented the glass to you, his eyes meeting yours as he offered this liquid treasure.

You accepted the glass with a nod of appreciation, your fingers curling around the stem. Following proper wine tasting etiquette, you gently swirled the wine, allowing it to breathe and release its full array of aromas. The rich, garnet color caught the light, hinting at the depth of flavors to come. You brought the glass to your lips and you took a small sip, letting the wine linger on your palate.

The initial bitterness gave way to a complex medley of flavors - dark fruits, subtle oak, and a hint of spice. As you swallowed, the wine's warmth spread through your chest, leaving a lingering finish that complemented the rich, savory notes of the red meat perfectly. The pairing was indeed masterful, elevating both the wine and the dish to new heights of culinary pleasure.

"This is absolutely divine," you hummed with delight as you gently placed the crystal wine glass back on the pristine tablecloth. The rich, burgundy liquid swirled gracefully inside, catching the soft candlelight. "It pairs so well with the steak.”

"That's the idea," Steve replied with a satisfied smile, settling back into his chair. He reached for his own glass, filled with an amber liquid - whiskey, or perhaps gin, you weren't entirely certain. The warm glow of the dining room cast a flattering light on his sharp features as he raised the glass to his lips.

He eyed you intently as he took a long, measured sip, savoring the burning sensation of the potent liquor as it slid down his throat. You could see his Adam's apple bob slightly as he swallowed. His gaze never left you as you continued to enjoy your meal, and you found yourself glancing up at him between bites, a mixture of gratitude and playful mischief in your eyes. "I must say, I'm thoroughly impressed," you teased, your voice lilting with amusement.

"Why on earth haven't you been cooking for me like this all along? You've been holding out on me, Steve.” You leaned back in your chair, shooting him a playful smirk, “If I had known you possessed such skills, I would have fucked you much sooner. This meal is nothing short of seduction on a plate."

"Awe, baby...don't tease me like that..." Steve shot you a lustful glare, "But does that mean I'll get to bed you tonight, hm? Is my meal worthy of your pretty, delicate pussy...?"

"Maybe for dessert.." you suggested with a mischievous glint in your eye, your foot deliberately caressing the outer part of his shin. You traced slow, sensuous patterns along his leg, the gentle pressure both tantalizing and promising. The subtle yet unmistakable flirtation sent a shiver of anticipation through him, causing him to stifle a groan of pleasure. Your boldness left little doubt about the direction the evening was taking, and he found himself eagerly anticipating what was to come.

As the tension between you built, his mind began to race, contemplating the myriad possibilities that lay ahead. He knew he'd need to adjust his plans for the night, but the prospect of spontaneity only added to the excitement.

But that was his goal anyway. Get you in the bedroom.

Silly…

Naive…

...stupid girl.

You savored the meal, each bite tantalized your taste buds. As the evening wore on, you found yourselves in the living room, a makeshift dance floor. Your bodies moving in perfect synchronization with the pulsating rhythm of the music. The alcohol coursed through your veins, not enough to make you drunk, but just enough to lower inhibitions and heighten sensations. A pleasant buzz enveloped you, making everything feel slightly dreamlike and intensely vivid at the same time.

Your bodies swayed together, a perfect harmony of movement and touch. His hands rested on your hips, guiding your movements with gentle pressure. He manipulated your arms, raising them high above your head in a graceful arc as you swayed with him. As the music pulsed around you, your bodies pressed closer, rubbing against each other in a sensual rhythm that matched the beat perfectly and grew increasingly sexual.

Steve pulled away, a laugh escaping his lips as he watched you continue to move. Your body kept swaying sensually, as if unwilling to break the spell of the music. "Another drink?" he called out, his voice barely audible over the upbeat tunes filling the air. He turned towards the bar without waiting for a response, you couldn't help but notice how the dancing had affected him too. His dark hair was now charmingly disheveled, giving him a more relaxed and carefree appearance.

Your eyes followed him as he made his way to the counter, his movements still in tune with the music even as he focused on the task at hand. He began pouring another drink for you, as you watched, a troubling detail caught your eye. He reached into his pocket and produced a small packet containing a light white powder. He emptied the contents into your drink, stirring it gently to ensure it dissolved completely.

He returned to your side, drink in hand, offering it to you with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. You noticed a slight cloudiness in the liquid, confirming your suspicions. You declined the drink. Did he truly believe you wouldn't notice?

Deciding to play along, you chose a more subtle approach. Rather than confronting him about the tampered drink, you opted for a different strategy. With a coy smile, you slowly ran your hands up his chest, feeling the firmness beneath his shirt. Leaning in close, you whispered in a sultry tone, your breath hot against his ear, "Come on, baby... why don't we skip all this and get right to the good stuff? I've been thinking about this all night..."

Steve succumbed to your act, captivated by the alluring timbre of your voice and the nature of your words. He bent forward, his lips meeting yours in a passionate embrace as the complex flavors of wine and whiskey intermingled on your tongues. The kiss deepened, your mouths moving in perfect synchronization, mirroring the sensual dance your bodies had engaged in earlier.

Caught up in the moment, you both began to sway, your movements slightly unsteady from the alcohol, as you made your way towards his bedroom in a meandering, intoxicated path. You hit the walls, the paintings twisting into crooked positions as you continued on your driven path.

As you approached the edge of the bed, you felt the firm pressure against the back of your legs, causing you to instinctively lower yourself onto the mattress. The momentum of your movement naturally pulled you backwards, leaving you lying supine on the soft bedding. Steve’s eyes were dark with desire, followed your descent, positioning himself above you.

His lips began a teasing journey along the curve of your jaw, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake. As his mouth explored the sensitive skin of your neck, his hands roamed your body with increasing urgency, fingers fumbling with the fastenings of your clothing in his haste to remove them from you.

He removed your top, revealing your bare skin to the cool air. His eyes roamed appreciatively over your exposed form, lingering on the gentle curves of your breasts. Steve let out a low groan of desire, cupping them in his hands, his fingers expertly kneading the soft flesh. His touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body, your back arched naturally up into his hands.

Steve leaned in and captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss in response to your body’s eagerness for his touch. His tongue sought entrance, and you willingly parted your lips, allowing him to explore every inch of your mouth. The intensity of the kiss left you breathless and yearning for more.

"So beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire. He pulled back slightly, his eyes roaming over your flushed face. "So beautiful..." he repeated, a strange glint appearing in his eyes, "...and so stupid."

His words hit you like a bucket of ice water, abruptly pulling you out of your passion-induced haze. You blinked, confusion replacing the desire in your eyes as you looked up at him. The fog of alcohol that had been clouding your judgment suddenly lifted, leaving you with a startling moment of clarity.

Before you could react, a sudden impact struck your head with a resounding crack. The sharp sting of broken glass and the acrid scent of whiskey filled your senses as an old tumbler shattered against your scalp. Surprisingly, the force of the blow wasn't enough to render you unconscious. Instead, you found yourself plunged into a disorienting haze, your thoughts struggling to coalesce through the fog of alcohol already clouding your system. Even as your mind reeled, a surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, fighting against the encroaching stupor and sharpening your awareness rapidly.

Steve's eyes widened in surprise as he realized his initial attack had failed to incapacitate you. Without hesitation, he changed tactics, his hands darting out to encircle your throat. His fingers dug into your flesh as he attempted to cut off your air supply. "Stop fighting, just give in, make it easy on me, baby..." he growled, his voice a menacing rumble that sent chills down your spine.

You could feel the corded muscles in his arms flexing and straining as he redoubled his efforts to render you unconscious, his grip tightening with each passing second. The room began to spin, your vision blurring at the edges as you struggled against his iron hold, desperately fighting to maintain consciousness.

Rage coursed through your veins, overriding the pain from the choking pressure on your neck. You reached up and ignored trying to stop the pressure, your fingers finding purchase in his thick hair instead. You yanked his head violently to the side, eliciting a loud, pained groan from Steve. His iron grip on your neck faltered, giving you the opening you needed.

Summoning all your strength you had, you planted your feet firmly against his torso and kicked, sending him flying off you and crashing onto the floor with a resounding thud that echoed through the room.

You rolled to your feet and pounced on him, reversing your positions. Now it was your turn to straddle him, your fingers wrapping around his throat in a vice-like grip. The tables had turned, and you could see the anger and fear flickering in his eyes as he realized his predicament. Blood trickled down your face from where the glass had shattered against your head, the warm, sticky substance warming your scalp and staining your skin.

Leaning down, you brought your face close to his, your eyes burning with a mixture of anger. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth as you spoke, your voice a low, menacing growl that sent shivers down Steve's spine. "I know what you are," you snarled.

Steve continued to struggle, he growled back at you, tugging against your surprisingly strong hold. "I recognize human flesh no matter how hard you try to disguise it with fancy seasoning and luxury wine." You spat, your lips curling up into a chuckle as you leaned back down onto his hips. "You thought I'd be easy, did you? An easy bitch to drug and sell to disgusting, perverted men who want to eat my meat?"

"Fuck you!" He shouted, his voice filled with rage as he brought his knee up forcefully into your back. A sharp, searing pain shot up your spine, causing you to falter momentarily. Taking advantage of your looser grip, he swiftly flipped you onto your back again, his eyes scanning the room for a weapon and landing on a jagged piece of broken glass, which he quickly snatched up. He looked at you furiously and thrust the glass shard down, aiming directly for your neck.

You anticipated his move, your survival instincts kicking in the second you saw the glint of the glass. You jerked your head to the side, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow. Even with your evasion, the sharp edge of the glass still caught the delicate skin that joined your neck and shoulder, leaving a gash that pooled blood and felt like fire cutting through you.

You hissed in pain, adrenaline continued coursing through your veins as your senses became narrowed on him. You dug your nails deep into his biceps, clawing at him with all your might. The two of you began to struggle against one another, rolling around on the floor as you both fought desperately to pin the other down. As you grappled and thrashed, you both sustained numerous cuts from the broken glass scattered across the floor.

The furniture in the room became obstacles and weapons, as you knocked into the bed frame , dresser, and mirror. The sound of splintering wood and shattering objects filled the air, punctuated by grunts of exertion and gasps of pain. It was a chaotic, dangerous dance, with neither of you willing to give in to the other.

Eventually, your stamina wore down as his did, and you both grew increasingly sluggish. The intense exertion had taken its toll on both of you, leaving you panting and struggling to maintain your composure. The two of you breathed heavily, your bodies bearing wounds from your scuffle. You had several gashes along your body, varying in depth and severity.

Your lip was busted, swollen and throbbing, and a deep laceration marred your eyebrow, threatening to obscure your vision with trickling blood. Steve, on the other hand, was littered with more cuts, though none were as deep as yours. However the sheer number of impacts he had endured was evident in his battered appearance and labored breathing, he had more bruising and he had taken much heavier hits than you.

As you laid there, limbs entangled in a final deadlock, both of you struggled to catch your breaths. The adrenaline that had fueled your fight was slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a raw, pulsating pain from your various wounds. Steve, from his position above you, fixed you with an intense glare. His eyes, though weary, burned with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "You...know?" He managed to ask between ragged breaths, his chest heaving with each intake of air. “How?”

You met his gaze unflinchingly, your own eyes reflecting a hardened resolve despite your exhaustion. "I know the taste of flesh," you grunted back, the words coming out rough and guttural. The statement hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history and grim experience. Your unwavering glare challenged him, daring him to question further, even as you both remained locked in your physical stalemate.

He knew what you meant. You had consumed human flesh before tonight, and while he thought he was being sneaky for his own satisfaction by feeding you a fresh piece of thigh, you weren't as dumb as he suspected. "I was planning on killing you." Your blunt words cut through the air and stung more than the littered lashes the glass made across his skin.

"You did?" His pupils blew once again, like two black holes consuming the icy color around them.

"Yes." Your own eyes traced his face again, his lips barely parted as he remained above you. The tension between you was obvious, electric, as if the very air around you crackled with anticipation. His breath ghosted across your skin, sending shivers down your spine despite the circumstances. After seconds of drawn out silence, you both suddenly moved in unison, closing the gap between you.

Your lips crashed together in a fierce, passionate kiss that ignited every nerve ending in your body. It was as if a dam had broken, releasing a torrent of raw need and unbridled desire. The taste of him, mingled with the metallic tang of blood from your earlier altercation, only served to heighten the intensity of the moment. Your tongues engaged in a sensual dance, exploring, teasing, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

The kiss deepened and your hands began to roam, desperate to touch, to feel, to claim each other. Fingers tangled in hair, gripping tightly as if afraid the other might disappear if you let go. The heat between your bodies grew, threatening to consume you both. You grasped onto him hard and flipped your positions, now straddling him from above.

Pressed against each other, your bodies moved in perfect synchronicity, every curve and plane aligning as if you were made for each other. Your hands continued their frantic exploration, alternating between gentle caresses and urgent grasps. His hair felt silky between your fingers and became delightfully disheveled under your ministrations. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in this moment of passionate abandon.

"You dirty bitch," He growled against your lips, his teeth grazing your soft flesh before biting down hard. A guttural groan escaped your throat in response, your body instinctively arching closer to his. His rough hands explored your curves, pawing at your sides and breasts with desire. He shoved you off him, forcing you onto your back. The second you hit the glass covered floor he was on top of you, his lips crashed against yours once more, hungry and demanding.

Your leg hooked over his hips, pulling him closer as your bodies pressed together. His fingers traced a path along your skin, finding the sensitive gash on your neck. A shiver ran down your spine as he leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over the wound.

Steve's lips locked onto the spot, his tongue darting out to lap at the tender flesh. He sucked gently at first, then with increasing intensity, eliciting a mix of pleasure and pain that made your toes curl and your fingers dig into his back.

You mewled out and hissed in pain, he pulled back, mouth crimson and blood staining his teeth and gums. Goddamn bastard.

You, in turn, leaned forward and sunk your teeth into the sensitive spot on his neck, easily penetrating his skin and feeling the warm, crimson liquid pool into your mouth. Steve clung to you and let out the most pornographic moan you had ever heard from a man, his large hands grasping the meaty flesh of your ass and making your cunt grind against his throbbing cock, still trapped in his pants.

"You like it rough, don't you? Wan' me to throw you down and take you?" Steve murmured in a low, husky voice, his breath hot against your ear. He wielded the same glass shard he had used to cut you earlier, now using it to slice through the fabric of your pants in a messy haste. The sound of tearing cloth filled the air as he held you down onto the floor, his strong hands gripping the material and ripping it away once he had created a large enough opening.

The cold bite of the glass returned as Steve turned his attention to your panties, the sharp edge grazing your skin as he methodically cut through the delicate fabric. The contrast between the chill of the glass and the warmth of his touch sent waves of excitement through you and to your core. You fought to suppress a moan that threatened to escape your lips, your body betraying your attempts at restraint.

Sensing your barely contained desire, Steve's movements became more urgent. His large hands found purchase on your legs, fingers digging into your flesh as he roughly yanked you closer to him. The sudden motion caused your breath to catch in your throat, looking up at him as he arched himself over you.

"Stay still." He ordered, shuffling over you and unbuttoning his jeans, hastily pulling them down to his knees along with his boxers. His cock sprung free, swollen and weeping with eager arousal. He groaned, rubbing it against your bare folds and slickening himself up with your own juices. "Fuck...such a little slut. Look at how wet you are for me," Steve leaned down and lapped at the cut on your neck again, you swore you could feel his cock throb between your delicate folds when he tasted your blood.

He pulled back, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your face into his crotch, his nearly trimmed pubic hair weren't a bother for you, besides the gentle scratching against your cheek. He rubbed his cock all over your face, letting his precum coat your cheeks and forehead as he basically thrust himself against you. You could feel it getting in your hair, which was irritating.

You pulled your head away from his shameless rutting, but his hand brought your face right back to his cock. This time, he angled his head against your lips, smearing his arousal on you like salty lip gloss, then pushed himself into your waiting mouth swiftly. Your eyes widened a little as he touched the back of your throat without hesitation, the intrusion making you instinctively pull back.

"Oh fuck...yeah baby, suck my cock," He encouraged lucidly, more as a command than a plead, and he moved your head on him with his fist still locked in your hair so the pace he wanted was clear and set. "Come on, my cock is so full, I got a shit ton of cum for you. I'm gonna fill that belly up with it, go with the fuckin' meal I fed you." Steve all but snarled at you as his hips quickly took over your languid bobs.

He snapped his hips forward with little resistance from you, he held your head in place while he basically used your mouth as if it were a pussy. As annoyed as you were before, you couldn't deny that this was turning you on a lot. You relaxed your throat and it became easier for him to slip in and out of you, the once burning sensation of his cockhead hitting the back of your throat and sliding down a bit faded into a blissful tingling.

You made a series of muffled noises, an intricate symphony of gags and chokes echoing in the room and urging Steve's arousal. Your saliva had gathered around him, creating a cacophony of delightful slurps and squelches that filled his ears with auditory pleasure. He groaned loudly and held you tighter, "C'mon baby, choke on it..."

Glistening threads of saliva swung pendulously from your chin like delicate silk strands, Steve thrusted against your mouth with relentless vigor, his actions merciless as he pursued his own gratification with single-minded intensity. He was truly face fucking you, the slightly salty taste of his precum was coating your tongue and familiarizing you with it.

Just as you thought he was about to reach his climax, he unexpectedly withdrew, allowing you to catch your breath. You found yourself coughing slightly as he leaned back, your chest heaving with each deep inhale. "Y-You... you bastard," you managed to say between gasps, your throat feeling raw as you cleared it forcefully. You swallowed hard, trying to rid your mouth of any lingering saliva and precum.

You pushed against his chest suddenly, causing him to fall backwards. He landed with a sudden grunt at the unexpected push and you swung your leg over his body, straddling him and grinding your cunt against the length of his cock. "Your turn to sit still while I fuck you." You growled out through grit teeth and a knit brow, concentrating on rolling your hips.

His hands came to rest gently on your hips, his thumb swiping the clotted blood on the cut he left on your hip. He spread it around and groaned quietly seeing it stain your skin like brilliant crimson paint. Surprisingly, he made no attempt to alter your pace or grip you with such intensity that his fingertips would leave perfect imprints on your skin. Instead, he allowed you the freedom to grind at your own rhythm, savoring the sensations you were creating.

Steve felt an exhilarating excitement begin to coil in the pit of his stomach, a response to your unexpected change in position. The feeling was difficult to pinpoint, but having you straddling him, taking control, felt utterly invigorating. It reminded him of the heart-pounding anticipation one experiences just before the kill - that perfect mixture of adrenaline fueled energy and pure, unadulterated excitement.

The goddamn rush.

He felt and heard his heartbeat thundering in his ears, the rapid pulsations echoing through his body as his blue eyes snapped open from their previously lidded state. The sudden alertness was triggered by the exquisite sensation of you finally beginning to rub his sensitive tip against your warm, inviting folds. You teased your entrance with tantalizing slowness, savoring the anticipation of how you were going to stretch and accommodate him once you finally sunk down onto his length.

"Fuck..." you breathed, your voice husky with need, "I have to have you inside me again. You stupid, arrogant, egotistical man, thinking you were gonna make a meal of me? Gonna make money off of me?" Your words dripped with a mixture of desire and derision, the damn cannibal seemed to enjoy you degrading him. You hissed softly, the sound a mixture of frustration and anticipation, as you finally allowed gravity to help you sink on him.

You could feel every inch of him stretching and filling you, the delicious friction sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and ecstasy that left you breathless and yearning for more. His cock stretched you and filled your inner walls perfectly, every inch and crevice molding to him.

Steve bit his lip as he watched his cock sheathe inside you, those pretty pink lips swallowing him up and cheekily peeking his cock to him. "Greedy cunt," He growled at you, his hands now moving you to bounce on him, his patience having run out. "Bounce on me like a good girl, make me cum in you, make me fill this needy hole."

"Shut up." You snapped down at him, "You're gonna sit here and be quiet," your hips bounced and rolled, giving his desperate, weeping cock everything he could ever want. Your walls squeezing and eliciting more of that precum to kiss and coat your cervix, already feeling bruised from your hard bounces. The arousal he leaked balming your sore womb as you continued to fuck yourself on his cock.

"Fuck...gonna order me around? Think you can do that?" Steve chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief as his hands found their way to your breasts. They bounced tantalizingly in his face, and he couldn't resist kneading and toying with them, his fingers expertly exploring every curve and contour.

The sensation sent shivers down your spine, intensifying the pleasure you were already experiencing. Your hands pressed firmly on his abdomen and chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath your palms as you stabilized yourself further. He may be an arrogant ass, but god, was his dick good.

"Damnit," You hissed, your voice a mix of frustration and ecstasy as you felt your sensitive clit scratch against his pubic hair. The trimmed area provided just the right amount of stimulation and texture, sending jolts of pleasure through that bundle of nerves with every movement. The unexpected sensation was overwhelming, causing your head to fall back as a loud, unrestrained moan escaped your lips. Your body responded instinctively to the extra stimulation, driving you to ride him with increased vigor and abandon. Your hips moved with a newfound urgency, seeking out that perfect angle that would bring you to bliss.

"Oh god, baby, you're gonna make me cum," Steve groaned loudly, his hips thrusting up forcefully to meet your increasingly weakened bounces. Your own orgasm was rapidly approaching, causing your movements to become more erratic and desperate with each passing second. "M'gonna fill you up, get you nice and messy, make that ache go away~"

"Please! Please...Steve...oh my god, I'm close," you warned breathlessly, your voice thick with desire, “D-Don’t stop…” You rode him harder and quicker, rolling your hips and grinding to ensure every part of you was stimulated. The tension built to an almost unbearable level until finally, you reached that blissful peak you so desperately needed. A loud, unrestrained cry of pleasure escaped your lips as you rode through your intense climax, your body shuddering with waves of ecstasy.

Steve's hips stuttered momentarily, overwhelmed by the sensation of your release. Then, with a deep, guttural groan that emanated from the depths of his chest, he reached his own climax. You felt the warmth of his release as he filled you, hot strands of cum filling your womb as his body tensed beneath you before gradually relaxing into a state of blissful satisfaction.

It pooled inside you, filling you to the brim and leaking out over his balls. The tension your rigid muscles held began to ebb away, replaced by a profound sense of relaxation. Your muscles were taut with exertion, but as the wave washed away they softened, allowing you to gently wilt onto his chest. You found yourself melting into his embrace, your breathing deep and synchronized with his own.

The aftermath of your passionate encounter was evident; a sheen of sweat glistened on your skin, mingled with traces of blood - testament to the fervor of your lovemaking and violent brawling. Your mind was consumed by the euphoria coursing through your body, an addicting cocktail of endorphins and oxytocin flooding your system as you lay there, basking in the afterglow.

Several minutes passed in silence, with only the sound of your breathing filling the room. The quiet was broken as the injuries on your body began to make themselves known, a burning sensation spreading across your skin and a throbbing pain pulsing through your muscles. The discomfort forced you to shift away from Steve, your movements stiff and careful. "Ah...damn..." you muttered, your hand instinctively moving to your neck where you felt the sting of a fresh gash.

Steve, noticing your discomfort, sat up alongside you. His eyes first focused on your neck, interest evident in his gaze, before they rose to meet yours. His voice was low and sincere as he spoke, "You're... you're something else, you know that? The best damn lay I've ever had, sure, but more than that. I can tell, I knew you were different baby. Christ, look at me... you've turned me into such a mess. It's like you reached inside and pulled something out of me. All this passion, this energy... I didn't even know it was there. Other women I just...you know, go through the motions."

He paused, his words carrying a weight that hung in the air between you. "You gave yourself to me, and I don't just mean physically. It was more than sex. You gave me your flesh, your blood and body. That... that means something to me. It means we are one together now, you surrendered to me..."

You exhaled deeply and fixed your gaze on him, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief evident in your expression. "You're a goddamn cannibal," you declared, your words tinged with a hint of resignation. Your eyes rolled dramatically when you spoke, which only served to elicit a sudden burst of laughter from Steve, who found your reaction thoroughly amusing.

"Oh, don't be so quick to judge, silly girl," Steve retorted, his voice a blend of amusement and something darker. A dark smile played at the corners of his mouth, but it held an edge of possessiveness. "You're just as guilty as I am in this little dance of ours. Don't pretend you're not." He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, his tone growing more intense. "Can't you see the beautiful symmetry of it all? You're inside me, and I'm inside you. We've become intertwined, inseparable. We are ONE, don't you get it?" His eyes gleamed with a fervent light as he spoke.

"We've consumed each other in the most intimate way possible, tasted each other's essence. And now, my dear," Steve concluded, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper, "You belong to me."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the split lip had other ideas, sending a sharp, stinging sensation through your face that made you wince and grunt in pain. The sudden discomfort caught you off guard, causing you to inhale sharply and blink rapidly. Steve's attentive gaze immediately went to your lip, his eyes narrowing as a mischievous glint appeared. He chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to lighten the mood despite your discomfort. "I can fix you up, babe," he offered, his voice a mix of genuine care and playful banter. "I do have experience in the surgical field, after all..." He trailed off, his words laced with a hint of pride and dark humor.

You exhaled annoyingly, feeling a mix of frustration and amusement bubbling up inside you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but let a small smile creep onto your face, careful not to aggravate your injured lip further. Goddamnit, his man was equally irritating as he was amusing, a combination that you found both infuriating and endearing. "If it weren't for your charming face," you quipped, your voice a blend of sarcasm and affection, "I'd punch you." The words came out softer than you intended, betraying the fondness you felt despite your attempts to maintain a tough exterior.

Steve helped you stand, your movements were a little shaky from riding him. The glass that was scattered across the floor dug into your feet, glinting dangerously in the light and most of the pieces holding a red hue from both your bodies. "We need to sweep this up..." you muttered, more to yourself than to Steve. Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the mess you both made. It had looked like a pair of wild animals fought, or that there was a murder with the amount of blood all over the place.

You paused for a moment, your gaze drawn back to the man standing beside you. As you looked at him, really looked at him, you felt a surge of emotions. This was the man with whom you had formed a strong bond, a connection that had developed seemingly against your will, yet felt undeniably right. The realization hit you again, as it often did in quiet moments like these. You both had a lifestyle that paired with one another just as well as that fancy ass wine and flesh he served you earlier that night.

"Just clean me up, baby." You snapped softly, letting Steve walk you into the bathroom. "Then I want to sleep. The only thing not destroyed in the damn bedroom was the bed."

Steve grinned at your words, his fondness for you evident in the effort he was putting into you. He gently set you down when you reached the bathroom, the soft rug plush against your ass, and planted a tender kiss on your forehead. "I promise you can sleep after this, sweetheart, but first..." he said, his voice a mix of excitement and mischief. He turned away and pulled out a ready kit from seemingly nowhere, as if he had prepared for this exact scenario. The sight of it made you raise an eyebrow in amused surprise. It was clear that Steve had anticipated, or perhaps hoped, for his evening to unfold in this delightful direction. You couldn't help but shake your head and smile at his forethought.

"You cheeky, prepared man," you murmured, a mixture of admiration and affection coloring your tone.

"Now..." Steve held up some wound cleaner and a thick cotton ball soaked in the foul smelling chemical. "Hold still..."

Thank you for reading. - B 🥩

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images from Pinterest

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Foxglove Downs Chapter 3: The Race

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Teen. (Eventual E. MDNI) Summary: Marcus is jealous, Lucius is charming, and Sunny is stuck in the middle. Warnings: Love triangle, horse talk, jealousy, pining, angst, flirting, a kiss, wet Lucius, one slap across the face, age gap (Marcus is in his 40’s, Lucius is in his 20’s). Reader is in her 30's, has hair, and has a nickname: Sunny. Words: 4,000

A/N: Listen, IDK what'd I'd do without @devineconjuring's help and amazing beta work. She's the best and she always imparts wisdom like... ...how I can still take a bath with a toaster... if I just don't plug it in. Also she yells at me and calls me names because I use too many ...'s and I can't stop talking about Lucius's eyes being blue. Soooooooo... ... ... ... I 🩵 her... ... ... Thank you to @artsy-girl-76 for the Lucius pic colorization and everyone who helped me stop overthinking about photo decisions. 😉

Foxglove Downs Masterlist Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

Days have passed since the moment Marcus saw you while you were under the warm comfort of Lucius’s jacket. You busy yourself with your daily tasks, checking on the horses and taking care of your breeding program. But the less you see of Marcus, the more his pull on you consumes your thoughts–especially the intensity of his stare when he saw you that morning Lucius dropped you off.

He’s kept his distance since, choosing instead to communicate through brief messages about a few business matters. You wanted to speak to him, yet he seemed to be in a hurry every time you saw him, always heading in the opposite direction.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was avoiding you, yet you could feel his deep brown eyes on you whenever you were near him.

—-

“Sunny,” he calls out one afternoon, breaking through your peaceful reverie as you lead your horse Harvey out for a ride.

“Yes?” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the nervous fluttering in your chest.

“Can we talk?” His voice is low, making all surrounding noise fade away.

“I was just about to go for a ride. Do you want to join? Maybe take Barley out as a treat?”

“Sure,” he responds, his voice still low.

“Okay,” you smile, trying to calm your heart. “Meet you at the back gate in five?”

He nods before heading to the stables.

—-

You greet Marcus as he arrives atop Barley, cantering towards the back gate.

“Ready?” you ask. His face is a mystery, his shoulders tense as he nods. “I figure we’ll just ride to the other side of the lake?”

Another nod without a verbal response.

“Let’s go,” you say, nudging Harvey forward. The horse responds eagerly, trotting out along the well-trodden path that meanders through the lush greenery surrounding Foxglove Downs. Familiar scenery allows your mind to drift, and you wonder what Marcus is thinking about. The beat of hooves on the ground helps you focus back on the present��you can feel Marcus studying you, an air of tension straining between you.

“I’ll never get sick of this ride,” you say, glancing sideways at Marcus, hoping to catch any sign of the thoughts that are hidden behind his stoic facade. His eyes remain ahead, scanning the horizon as if he’s searching for something just beyond reach.

He doesn’t respond. You feel a pang of disappointment.

“Harvey loves this trail,” you continue. “Or maybe he knows that whenever we get to the lake, he always gets a treat.” You chuckle lightly, trying to lighten Marcus’s mood.

His lips twitch, a quick flick of amusement crossing his features before vanishing just as quickly.

“So, Daisy’s looking a lot better already.”

“She is,” he replies tersely.

You bite your lip, suppressing a sigh, taking the hint that he doesn’t want to talk just yet.

As you reach the edge of the lake, you pull Harvey to a stop and look at Marcus, sitting tall on Barley.

“Beautiful day,” you remark, attempting to break through the silence as you dismount Harvey and tie him to a nearby tree.

“Yeah,” he replies, his gaze still fixed on the shimmering lake. “It really is.”

Uncertainty charges between you as you pull a small apple out from your saddle bag for Harvey. You offer it to him while keeping an eye on Marcus as he dismounts and finally turns to meet your gaze.

“What did you want to talk about?” you ask, your voice steady despite the butterflies flitting around in your stomach.

His shoulders deflate with a deep sigh as he ties Barley to a nearby tree. His usually composed demeanor seems to waver just a bit.

“Sunny,” he begins, but then stops himself.

You lean against a large oak tree, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Come on, Marcus. Can you just tell me what’s on your mind?” you tease, trying to lift the mood.

He gathers himself, his brow furrowing as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his thumb nervously tapping against his forefinger as if trying to find the right words. “I’ve been thinking about…”

“About what?” you ask, trying to coax him and get rid of the confusion surrounding the two of you.

“Lucius.”

Your eyes widen at his name, your breath caught in your throat. Marcus’s eyes flash darker when he notices your response.

“Lucius?” you echo, unable to keep the surprise from your voice. “What about him?”

He takes a step towards you, his voice careful and questioning. "Tell me… how serious is he about you?"

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, a mixture of shock and annoyance brewing inside you. “S-serious? Is that what you think?” Your tone stays light, but there’s a hint of defensiveness underlying your words.

Marcus takes a step closer, his brown eyes fixed on you, his jaw tense.

“Come on, Sunny, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just business for him.”

You avert your eyes, suddenly finding the leaves of the oak tree far more interesting than the intensity of his stare. “He’s… charming. He flirts. It doesn’t mean he’s serious.”

A thick silence fills the space between you.  Tension emanates from Marcus as he closes the distance, trapping you against the tree with his body. Your arms instinctively fall to your sides as he leans in, his chest pressing against yours.

“But you like him,” he states, a note of steel in his voice.

You don’t lie. His closeness pulls at something deep within you. “I… he’s fun,” you manage to say, your breath hitching as your heart races.

His hand tenderly brushes against your cheek, and his touch takes your breath away. “Did it feel good to have fun with him this weekend?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower. A shiver skims along your spine.

“Fun?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His breath mingles with yours as he hovers just a heartbeat away. “You looked really good in that dress, Sunny. Never seen you in something that short before.”

You swallow hard, trying to maintain your composure as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “Marcus, I—”

“It felt good, didn’t it? To have someone like him give you attention?” A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face before he masks it with anger. “Was it as fun for you as I’m sure it was for him?”

You stand wide-eyed and mouth agape, staring into his dark brown eyes. How dare he. The anger rages inside of you.

“Who the hell do you think I am, Marcus?” you ask, anger raising your voice.

His focus stays on you, unwavering, his expression a blend of frustration and longing. “I think you’re someone who deserves more than just a good fuck and a drive home in a designer car.”

You slap him across the face right then and there. “We didn’t fuck, you asshole.” Your voice is sharp and authoritative. “For the record, he was a perfect gentleman. He saved me from a shitty situation and lent me his bed, which I slept alone in.”

You slide under Marcus’s arm, quickly freeing Harvey and climbing on top of him. "And just so you know, I had a dream about you and I having fun at this lake while I was sleeping ALONE in his bed," you nearly shout.

With a swift kick of your heels, Harvey bolts past him, galloping towards the stables. You glance back briefly to see Marcus standing there, his tall frame silhouetted against the lake.

—-

After a restless night filled with thoughts that shift between deep brown and sparkling blue eyes, you dress in your most comfortable jeans and a loose-fitting shirt before heading down to the stables.

Your horses never leave you feeling trapped. They don’t critique your actions. They will always be by your side.

You lose yourself in the simple jobs, caring for them, grateful for their familiarity and companionship. You feel a sense of peace as you finish your morning tasks in the stables.

As you enter your office, you spot a vase brimming with pink foxgloves on your desk. You reach for the card and read the message. "Please forgive me" is written in angular writing above Marcus’s signature. With a sigh, you toss the card back onto the desk and rub your eyes with your palms, trying to relieve some stress.

This is why you try to keep your distance. This is why you never intended to entangle yourself in the rivalry between Marcus and Lucius. This is why you have always tried to resist both men.

It’s been three hours of trying to focus on work. Your vision blurs and your head pounds as you struggle to make sense of the words on your computer screen. Your heart aches just as much, if not more. You can’t seem to concentrate on anything except the urge to occasionally check out the window to see if Marcus or Lucius are practicing on the grounds.

You grumble to yourself as you get up, throw on your jacket, and head to the stables. Today is not an in-the-office day.

—-

The moment you step into the stables, your worries quiet down. Your boots echo across the cobblestones as you approach the stall where the new stallion is housed. As you get closer, you spot Lucius leaning against the wooden railing, softly talking to the stallion, his voice soothing as he moves steadily closer to the horse.

“Hey there, boy,” he says, extending his hand to pet the stallion’s neck. The horse leans into him, its large dark eyes reflecting trust. You’re captivated by Lucius’s gentleness and patience, unable to look away as you approach.

“Lucius,” you call gently. He looks towards you, a smile full of charm breaking across his face when he spots you.

“I was just meeting the new addition.”

You move closer to him, leaning against the railing beside him, offering your hand for the horse to nuzzle. “His name is Maximus.”

“I think he likes me.”

The gentle smile of joy he gives you fills your heart with a certain feeling–but it’s not the same weighty feeling you get when you’re with Marcus. No, this is a lighter, more hopeful sensation that beats within you.

“Want to take him out for a ride? I’ve been breaking him, and he’s responding great. I’ll take him there, you take him back. Maybe you can grab Edgar? He’s about the only horse Maximus can stand. ”

Lucius raises an eyebrow, a playful glint lighting his blue eyes. “I’d love nothing more.”

“Perfect,” you say with a nod, heading towards the tack room.

Lucius follows you in, reaching for his boots and Edgar’s saddle.

“You want to help me with Maximus first?” you ask as you grab the stallion’s saddle.

“Of course.”

Maximus stands in his stall, watching as you both approach with a saddle and bridle.

Lucius gently places the saddle onto his back while he whispers sweetly to him. His hands work skillfully, knowing exactly how to read the stallion and take care of him. It’s like he’s known Maximus for years.

You pick up Edgar’s saddle and head to his stall, allowing Lucius to finish up Maximus.

You struggle with one of the straps on Edgar’s saddle, softly swearing to yourself as you hear Lucius’s boot steps approach. 

“That one is a pain,” Lucius says, leaning in. “Here, let me show you how to do it.”

You try to steady your breathing as he guides your hands through the motions, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he adjusts the straps.

“You know, if you keep this up, I might have to hire you as my official saddle strap consultant,” you tease.

Lucius chuckles softly as he takes a step back, allowing you to secure the last strap on Edgar’s saddle yourself.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he praises, giving you a warm smile that sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Once both horses are saddled and ready, you lead Maximus out of his stall while Lucius brings Edgar up alongside you.

The afternoon sun warms your skin as you guide Maximus along the cobblestone path that leads toward the back gate. You still can’t help but look around the grounds, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of Marcus.

Lucius mounts Edgar, and you swing yourself onto Maximus, the stallion shifting beneath you, eager for a run.

“Race you to the lake?” Lucius challenges as the two of you make your way out onto the trail behind the grounds.

“Yeah?” your eyebrow raises as a smile lights your face. “I don’t think I’ve raced in years.”

“Maximus looks like he’s ready, but Edgar’s fast. Loser has to jump in the lake?”

You laugh, your head tilting back and your head shaking. “Now? Jump in the lake now?”

“You heard me,” his eyes are alight with joy, making your smile stay on your face.

“Are we twelve?”

“Fine, if you win, you can push me in… and If I win, you have to… kiss me,” he offers.

“So, we’re twelve,” you respond, rolling your eyes.

“So… deal?”

“Deal,” you say, your cheeks hurting from smiling.

“Count it down then, Sunny.”

“3… 2… 1!” you shout, kicking Maximus into a gallop. The world you know so well blurs into a streak of greens as Maximus surges forward. The wind whips against your body as the rhythmic thud of hooves against the trail echoes through the air.

You glance back over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of Lucius wearing a smile as he commands Edgar confidently.

You can feel Maximus’s excitement beneath you, feeling his happy spirit as he races ahead.

Edgar gains, matching Maximus’s stride. You look over at Lucius, his expression fierce yet playful. He meets your focus and sends you a wink as he shifts forward, pushing Edgar to go faster.

You also lean forward, urging Maximus to give it his all. “Come on, boy!” you whisper fiercely. Maximus pulls ahead just a little more, the lake glimmering in the distance as it gets closer and closer.

“Come on, Edgar!” Lucius calls out, but his voice is fading as you gain ground ahead of him and the trees thin out the closer you get to the water.

“Almost there!” you shout over your shoulder, laughter spilling from your lips as you sense Lucius straining behind you. “You better catch up!”

Soon, the lake is fully revealed to you, the water’s edge just within reach as Maximus gallops towards it, Lucius and Edgar much farther behind now. You and the young stallion easily win the race as you reach the water’s edge.

You pull Maximus to a halt at the edge of the shimmering lake, the stallion snorting and stamping his hooves in triumph as if he understands the victory you’ve just claimed.

“I win!” you shout, unable to contain your excitement. You slide off Maximus, your heart still racing from the ride and the sight of Lucius approaching. His body is framed against the bright blue sky that matches the color of his eyes. He dismounts Edgar and jogs over, his breath coming in quick bursts, yet a broad grin remains plastered across his face.

“You got me this time,” he concedes.

“Just this time?” you tease.

“I guess next time, I’ll ride harder. But for now…” he pauses, glancing at the lake, then back at you. “A deal’s a deal.”

He strides towards the dock, a small wooden structure stretching out into the lake. Its weathered planks creak softly beneath his weight, the water rippling in the warm breeze as Lucius reaches the edge of it.

“Wait! You don’t have to—” You start to protest, but it’s too late.

Lucius leaps off the dock, and time seems to slow as he jumps into the air. His body gracefully twists before hitting the water with a large splash.

Your laughter echoes across the lake as he emerges from the water, his white shirt now drenched. You can’t stop looking at him and how the now-transparent fabric clings to his muscles.

His blue eyes lock on to yours, a smoldering look sent your way. You feel like you’re in trouble, like he’s almost angry with you. That is, until a broad smile breaks across his face and he runs toward you.

Before you can react, Lucius tackles you to the grass, his wet body crashing down over yours. You gasp as the coolness of his skin meets yours, the weight of him pressing you into the earth beneath. Laughter escapes your lips as he grins down at you, water dripping from tendrils of his brown hair and his strong nose.

“Now who's winning?” he teases, his breath warm against your face.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” you reply as you squirm beneath him, trying to find a comfortable position without pushing him off. The way he looks at you–half-smirking with his bright eyes shining–makes it hard to focus on anything else.

“Oh, definitely,” he replies, leaning in closer.

Your heart pounds, no longer from the race, but from Lucius. He hovers above you, and it’s just you and him. The imposing oak tree that Marcus pushed you up against is only a few feet away, but it disappears from your periphery when Lucius’s gaze drops to your mouth.

“Sunny…” his voice changes, becoming lower and more serious.

You swallow hard, caught in the pull of him. “What are you—”

But before you can finish your thought, he closes the small space between you, pressing his lips against yours in a gentle yet searing kiss. You feel your heart beat faster as you respond instinctively, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. His hands cradle your face as you let out a soft sigh, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

But just as quickly as it begins, reality crashes into you like a splash of cold water.

You pull back abruptly and breathlessly. “Lucius,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper as you grapple with the sudden rush of emotions swirling within you. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.”

He lifts himself off you, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but the playful sparkle in his eyes remains. You sit up carefully, brushing blades of grass from your hair while trying to regain your composure.

“I mean…” you stammer, searching for the right words amidst the haze of what just happened. “This is—it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly in confusion. He leans back on his hands, water still glistening on his skin under the afternoon sun. The way he looks at you—both amused and intrigued—makes it hard to maintain any semblance of seriousness.

“Yes! The whole business of it all,” you say, waving an arm towards the stables in the distance. “We both know how small this world is.”

You don’t mention to him that it’s because the lips you truly desire belong to his biggest rival.

Lucius chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Sunny, I’m fine with calling this whole thing a… business meeting.” He raises an eyebrow. “One kiss isn’t going to ruin your carefully constructed empire.”

You feel your cheeks warm at his teasing. You take a deep breath, searching for the right words. “You know this whole world is riddled with… rivalries. If word gets out… well, it will complicate things.”

“Sunny,” he says, his voice growing more earnest. “I’m not interested in gossip or rivalries. I’m interested in you.”

You glance away, taking a moment to collect yourself. He looks at you like he sees right through you.

“But what about Marcus?” you ask finally.

Lucius lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his damp hair, sending droplets flying in every direction. “What about him? Why does Marcus matter?”

“Lucius, I like you, but I just… I–”

“Sunny, look at me,” he softly commands.

You obey, your eyes meeting his. His face is understanding, a gentle smile lifting his lips that you can still feel against yours.

“I understand,” he says gently. “You don’t have to go on. Just know, I’m here for you, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

Some of the weight sitting atop your shoulders—and your heart—lifts. “I’d like to have you as I’ve had you–as a friend,” you offer. 

“Of course,” he grins, his handsome face and sweet voice reassuring.

You shift closer to him, resting your head against his still-damp shirt as you sit in companionable silence, watching the sun begin to set.

—-

“So, you want to ride Maximus back to the stables?” you ask as you and Lucius walk over to the horses. “I’d love to see how he runs for you.”

“I’d love nothing more,” he replies.

“Just remember,” you say as Lucius moves to mount the stallion, “he can be a bit stubborn. Handle him firmly—but with care.”

Lucius laughs, swinging himself up onto Maximus. “No wonder he and I get along.”

You mount Edgar and give him a gentle nudge with your heels as Lucius maneuvers Maximus to trot ahead of you.

You trail behind, admiring as you observe how Lucius interacts with the horse.

“Keep your heels down!” you call out teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah! Is that your only complaint on my form?” he asks over his shoulder. “I’m a champion, Sunny. I don’t need your opinion. I pay many people to yell at me about my form!”

You shake your head and laugh. There’s something so uncomplicated about this moment—the laughter, the beautiful sunset, the understanding Lucius has shown your heart.

As the back gate comes into view, a bit of sadness settles in you now that your impromptu ride with Lucius is over.

The last time you approached this gate from the lake, Marcus had made you feel so small that you could almost still feel the tears stinging in your eyes.

As you dismount from Edgar and guide him through the gate, Lucius follows with Maximus, the two of you leading the horses to their stalls and bringing their saddles to the tack room.

“Thanks for letting me ride Maximus,” Lucius says, putting the stallion’s saddle away.

“You commanded him perfectly,” you compliment as you pick up a brush to groom Maximus’s coat.

“Perfectly, huh? You know, after one ride, I’m ready to purchase.”

“He’s not cheap–champion bloodline and all,” you say, heading back to Maximus’s stall.

“I’m sure I could afford him. Not every day you find a horse that truly connects with you.”

You nod in agreement—until the memory of how Marcus also commanded Maximus during the stallion’s arrival overtakes your brain. 

Lucius watches as you enter Maximus’s stall and begin to brush the stallion’s glossy black coat.

“I should probably get going,” he says reluctantly, checking his watch. “I have a planning meeting about Rome early tomorrow morning, and then I’m training all day. Thank you for today. I needed it.”

“I needed it too,” you reply softly, walking closer to the stall gate.

“Maybe I’ll see you around tomorrow?” he asks hopefully as he moves to stand in front of the gate and reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“Definitely,” you smile. “Come see me in my office. I have your jacket.”

“Keep it. Like I said,” he says, his eyes looking you up and down. Even in your baggiest pair of jeans and loosest fitting shirt, he still makes you feel like the most attractive woman on earth. “You look much better in it.”

He turns to leave, and you watch him go with a slight pang in your chest before you turn back to the soothing work of caring for your horses.

—-

Thank you for reading! Tagging those who asked and some friends! Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@ohheypedrito, @schnarfer, @magpiepills, @sawymredfox, @devineconjuring

@mothandpidgeon, @hellfire-state-of-mind, @darkheartgatita, @umnitsa, @christinamadsen

@pedrit0-pascalit0, @ace-turned-confused, @itwasntimethatdidit40, @lotusbxtch, @almostfoxglove

@lady--lynn, @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup, @copperhalfcent, @ferns-fics, @thesoftdumbass

[willyoubemycherryy]

Hypervision.

Older!Logan x reader

Warnings: cursing, flirting, s3xual innuendos but they’re tame I SWEAR, age gap, alcohol mention, one petname, cliffhanger :3

𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆42 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖♡´ ◕ ᴗ ◕ ｡ `♡ : @th3mrskory @smutinlove @inthetub @multifandom-random @multifandom-rand0m @fictionalmen-dilflover

part 1 .❄︎.

[2]_car karaoke is just conversation

°

°

°

“Hey driver…”

Logan looks at you through the rear view mirror as your lilting voice reaches his ears. He briefly considers ignoring you for the sake of keeping things professional and because he could already hear the bit of mischief in your tone but decides to humor you, responding with a soft hum.

“I was just making a guess before but I really gotta ask- are you any fun?” When you were told there’d be a change in your team, nothing major just a new driver, he was not what you imagined. You had pictured someone bland and…inconspicuous; the man in front of you was anything but. For starters, he was huge. Standing at least 6’3 with thick dark hair peppered with gray strands and a beard that matched, a strong nose that contrasted such dreamy eyes. Even though he was clearly silverfox/beekeeping age older, you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t gorgeous.

You hear a light scoff after a minute, almost forgetting you ever even asked anything while looking at him.

“I wouldn’t bet on it. M’ too old for fun, kid”, he says and your heart jumps at how deep his voice is. There was definitely a backstory to the rasp, a low timbre that’s mixed parts alluring and mixed part warning but his answer piques your interest and you can’t help asking-

“How old are you?”

Logan can’t say 200 b.c and it feels suspicious to pass your question altogether, deciding to settle for how old he’d pass for in normal human years.

Your eyes widen as you pinch your lips in to hide the growing smile. God bless beekeepers. Logan notices your silence and glances at you through the mirror. He doesn’t really care about your reaction (in denial) but he’s curious enough to look yet you’re not looking at him any differently, still grinning in that way that makes him weary but also like he needs to keep an eye on you. Still, there’s a few things he wants to ask about. Not willing to be the only one put on the hot seat.

“How old are you?” Your eyes pop wider and you’re quiet for a second longer than what’s comfortable making him wonder if you’ll answer. It wouldn’t surprise him if you didn’t, a big part of your image is your mystery-

“I turned 22 a couple of weeks ago”, you say lightly and a bit of trepidation creeps into his system because he knew you were young but christ. You laugh again at the poorly concealed shock on his face as you scoot forward, wrapping your arms around the headrest of the seat next to his as you lean your face against it. It’s quiet for a bit but the silence isn’t uncomfortable, even with the slight shift in the atmosphere at how much closer you are to him, Logan doesn’t exactly mind it. Glancing at the gps, there’s still about 30 minutes left until you reach where he’s taking you but traffic might change that.

There’s a light sigh next to his ear and before he can look, your hand is reaching over to flick on the radio and suddenly he’s listening to a song called “indigo” by a woman named Niki while you grin innocently. “So…since you’ll be with us for a while unless you turn out to be a serial killer or stalker-“ Logan smirks in amusement at that, “what’s your name?” You ask, watching confusion flicker across his features before he snaps his head to face you at the red light, your heart quickening as he looks directly at you.

“What? Kid, nobody told you?” It didn’t make sense to him because if he was to be technically working for you then someone should have already passed the basics of who he was- on paper at least- to you but you shake your head.

“No. All I got from my manager was that he’d get someone to hire a new chauffeur so he wouldn’t have to keep driving me to everything.” Huh. So there were some things that Logan wasn’t the only one in the dark on. You clear your throat to remind him that you’re still waiting. He won’t admit but for some reason, it’s charming, the bit of attitude vaguely familiar.

“Well, I don’t know your name either”, he says but you’re not buying it.

“Of course you do-“

“No. Your real name.” You pout as Logan waits. It’s your move and you hesitate. “Besides, it’s not like you need my name for me to do my job.” Your frown deepens at that as the silence persists and Logan decides he’s humored you enough. Not wanting to get close or involve yourself with him anymore than what was strictly necessary but you want to push for just a little bit more. Your playlist is nothing but distractible noise in the background as it plays while you think, leaning back.

“Nobody knows my real name though. So it’s nothing personal,” You whine.

“I know.”

“Then-” Logan cuts you off, “then it’ll be our secret. Well, mostly yours but I’m no snitch, sweetheart.” Your heart leaps at the petname rolling off his tongue in that smooth drawl and you hum softly at that because you already knew he wasn’t the dishonest type just by the way he carried himself.

“But..” you start and Logan finishes, “but what kid?”

Stormy hazel eyes find your form again and he’s not sure what to make of you, not sure if he he needs to find out. It’s too soon to tell but you’re odd, cheeky, curious but you aren’t rude despite your status…charming too.

“But you can’t keep calling me kid, the same way I just can’t keep calling you driver”, you say sounding like the exact definition of petulance.

“Why not?”, Logan sighs back. Unbothered with his eyes one the road as you get closer to your destination.

“Take a wild guess”, and just to get you off his case…

“Because it sounds like a cheap porno?” The way your jaw drops makes him smirk, especially since you’re quiet then. But not for long.

“Yeah but that’s okay since the backseat is big enough…” Logan’s eyes pop open and he inhales sharply, a quick image of you on him in said backseat as he wills himself not to look at you. Hearing you shift in your seat but silent after, lost in thought.

It’s no big deal, it’s just a name…but nobody else knows except your manager. Taking a long look at him, you see the hardness of his features, the “stay away” cloud around him and make your choice.

“It’s…” your voice comes out in an almost hushed whisper and it’s soft, you heart pounding with anxiety until he repeats it. Low and reverent, it makes you warm and you nod your head at him, indicating it was his turn.

“…Logan.”

“Logan what?” He cuts you a look out the corner of his eye. You were pushing it.

“Logan Howlett. No more questions.” You smile, nodding. Logan Howlett. It suited him, both rugged and pretty. You could see yourself screaming it. You know….in case of emergency.

“Alright Eazy-E, no more questions.” Logan shoots you another glare but says nothing. The rest of the ride is mostly just music and your voice when you’d sing along. “You don’t talk much do you?” His answering hum tells you all you need to know.

Logan looks at the screen, you’ll be there in less than 5 minutes and he hums. The drive was more tolerable than he thought it’d be. “Where am I taking you anyway?”

“A close friend of mine’s birthday party. She picked the club so don’t judge me.” You put your hands up in defense of your innocence, the timing for it perfect when he pulls up to the front of a club named ‘The Naked Strip’.

Putting the car in park, Logan gets out and walks over to your side, opening the door as you get out. Using his arm to steady yourself, you squeeze the firm muscle there and think not for the first time that night- fuck was he big. You’re grateful there are no paparazzi yet because you aren’t subtle with the way you hang onto him. Softly biting your lip as you look up at him.

Meanwhile Logan is reeling not only are you standing close enough for him to feel your silhouette, catching whiffs of your sweet smell but also because he’s seeing clearly again. He wasn’t hallucinating it the last time and nothing hurt, unlike it usually did. Hundreds of thousands raced through his mind as to what the fuck was going on with him, mainly how but you call his name before he has the chance to think down the deep end.

“Thank you for driving me, Logan”, the way you seem to purr his name makes his nape warm as tingles settle over him. Lowering his head, he doesn’t just look at you- no- he sees you. Your eyes almost glow, the glitter around them making you look every bit the siren, pink lips shiny under the light pressure of your teeth and the contrast of your pretty little outfit brushing against his suit…

Clearing his throat, Logan reminds himself that he’s not supposed to be enjoying you. This was a job. Nothing more.

“I was just doing my job. No need to thank me but you’re welcome”. You nod, smiling- “But your job is also me if you ever plan on doing that…” Logan raises a stunned eyebrow and you’re giggling before backing up a few steps as you turn to go inside. Already eager for some drinks so you can tell your best friend all about your hot new driver.

“See you in a few! Don’t wait up!”

Logan watches the clear sway of your hips until you disappear inside, getting back in the car, no limp either as he’s remembering devious doe eyes, charming voice, soft wandering hands while wondering just how fucked he is….

He finds out exactly just how much when he picks you up.

Part 3_come over?….

[wildtooru]

Behind the Mask

Kenji Sato x reader

Summary: Kenji Sato, the star baseball player and the new Ultraman, struggles with the burden of his dual identity. One evening, he decides to share his secret with you, hoping for understanding and support.

The warm lights of the city reflected off the windows of the cozy Tokyo apartment as you prepared dinner. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the clinking of utensils were the only sounds in the room. You glanced at the clock, noting that Kenji was running late again. It wasn’t unusual—between his baseball career and the mysterious "other job" he never spoke much about, his schedule was always unpredictable.

You sighed, stirring the pot of miso soup, when you heard the front door creak open. Kenji stepped in, looking exhausted but smiling warmly at you.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, kicking off his shoes and making his way to the kitchen.

"It's okay," you replied, offering him a reassuring smile. "Dinner’s almost ready. Tough day at practice?"

Kenji chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, something like that."

There was something in his tone that made you pause. It wasn’t just fatigue; it was deeper, a weariness you hadn’t heard before. You turned off the stove and faced him, concern etched on your features.

"Kenji, are you okay? You seem... different tonight."

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of uncertainty, but also determination. "Actually, there's something I need to tell you. Something important."

Your heart skipped a beat. You nodded, gesturing for him to sit at the table. "Of course, you can tell me anything."

Kenji sat down, his hands clasped together on the table. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, struggling to find the right words. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability.

"Do you remember when we first met? You asked me why I never stayed in the spotlight, why I kept my distance from the media and even my teammates."

You nodded, recalling those early days of your relationship. Kenji had always been a bit of an enigma, a star player who shunned the limelight.

"The truth is," he continued, "it wasn't just because I preferred my privacy. It was because I have another responsibility, one that I haven't been able to share with anyone... until now."

You leaned forward, your curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Kenji opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. He took a deep breath, his fingers tapping nervously against the wood. "It's... complicated. And I don't want you to think differently of me."

You reached out, placing your hand over his. "Kenji, whatever it is, we'll face it together."

He looked up, a mixture of fear and resolve in his eyes. "I hope you mean that," he murmured, almost to himself. He took another deep breath, his shoulders tense. "I'm Ultraman."

For a moment, the words hung in the air, almost surreal. You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. "Ultraman? Like, the Ultraman? The one who fights Kaiju?"

He nodded, watching your reaction carefully. "Yes. My father was Ultraman before me, and when he got injured, I had to take over. That's why I moved back to Japan and I’m always disappearing without much explanation."

You stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and awe washing over you. "But... how? When?"

Kenji sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's a long story. My father always wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I resisted. I wanted to make a name for myself in baseball, away from all the danger and responsibility. But when he got hurt, I had no choice but to step up."

You pulled your hand back, struggling to wrap your mind around his revelation. "This is... a lot to take in, Kenji. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He looked down, his expression filled with regret. "I didn't want to burden you with it. I thought... maybe you'd be safer not knowing. But lately, it's been getting harder to keep it from you. I hate lying to you, and I need you to understand what I'm dealing with."

You stood up, pacing the small kitchen. "This is... I mean, I understand why you kept it a secret, but... Ultraman? That's huge, Kenji. It’s not just some little thing you can drop on someone."

Kenji stood as well, a look of desperation in his eyes. "I know. And I'm sorry. I just couldn't keep it from you any longer. I need you to know the real me."

You stopped pacing and turned to face him. "I need some time to process this. It’s not that I don’t support you, but... this changes everything."

He nodded, a pained expression on his face. "I understand. Take all the time you need. Just know that I’m here and I want us to face this together."

You took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "Okay. We’ll figure this out. But it’s going to take some time."

Kenji gave you a small, relieved smile. "Thank you. That’s all I can ask for."

As you both sat back down, the weight of his revelation settled between you. It would be a long journey, but together, you knew you could face the challenges ahead.

[lakecountylibrary]

If you liked Camp Damascus, try Hell Followed With Us

and vice versa!

There's a lot to love in both Camp Damascus by @drchucktingle and Hell Followed With Us by Andrew Joseph White. As horror novels about queer youth with, shall we say, complicated relationships with religion, they have a lot in common - if you liked one you very well may like the other. Let's take a closer look.

Characters:

Both books feature queer, autistic youth fighting back. The characters are trying to survive in a world created for them by abusive adults and religious institutions that hold power over them.

In Camp Damascus we follow Rose (autistic, lesbian). In Hell Followed With Us we follow Benji (neurodivergent, trans) and Nick (autistic, gay).

Genre:

Both books are horror, but with two distinct flavors. Camp Damascus has more of a creepy factor, while Hell Followed With Us leans more toward gore. In Camp there is some mystery to the evil, but in Hell the evil has a name, a face, an address - and a to-do list.

Both books deal with Christian cults and the horrors of indoctrination. They deal with the characters' complicated relationships to Christianity as an institution and God as a concept. They also both quote Christian scripture heavily.

Vibes:

While both books are horror, they do feel very different, largely because the primary emotion that drives each story is different. In Camp Damascus, it's love. In Hell Followed With Us, it's rage. You'll certainly find both emotions in certain quantities in either novel, but what they primarily put forward distinctly changes the vibe of both books.

-

So there you have it! Two fantastic reads in close thematic conversation with each other - but still quite distinct. If either sounds good to you, do yourself a favor and check out both today!

See more of Robin's recs

[msilwrites]

How I met your mother (Simon Ghost Fic)

A/N: This is the same You (Y/N) as "Midnight Snack Mystery". And this is the story of how You and Simon first met ;) Parks and Rec! Reader (LOL, Cause you're a gamekeeper) Gamekeeper! Reader Groundskeeper! Reader Ex-MI5! Reader Shy! Reader Possessive! Simon 'Ghost’ Riley  Fluff! Simon Riley

This idea was also inspired by this work of art from @p1nkmic;

Coz well.... do you see that? Yeah, that’s Simon’s torso. Keep that image in mind . Go ahead, use it as your mental image while you read. Trust me, it makes everything more...better!! Warning: A little charged. Please dehydrate a bit, and have a glass of water. A bit of Simon's Dirty Mind, and his innuendos.

----------

The rain wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to keep most people indoors. The steady drizzle pattered against the leaves, mixing with the rhythmic sound of Simon’s feet pounding the muddy trail. He jogged with the same methodical pace he always kept, the familiarity of the nature reserve surrounding him, the calm he found in the solitude of these early mornings. His running shoes, worn but reliable, gripped the muddy path beneath him as he pushed forward, each step sure despite the wet ground. He ran with the steady pace of someone accustomed to the solitude of early mornings—time to think, time to sweat, time to forget. He always jogged here, not far from his new house, which was still very much a project.

The house had been cheap—too good to pass up, even with the renovations it required. And the area? Quiet. Peaceful. Safe. Just what he needed after weeks, or even months, away on short deployments. A place to come back to, to recharge, and perhaps… put down roots, if only a little. And it was just a less-than-half-an-hour drive to the base, which made it even more ideal.

He passed the familiar bend in the trail where he’d seen her countless times—the gamekeeper. She was crouched on the ground, her petite frame hidden beneath a dark green raincoat, hood pulled up to shield her from the drizzle. Gloves on, boots heavy with mud, and a cart full of foraging supplies beside her. She was always here, quietly gathering mushrooms or tending to the wildlife, and plants, focused, purposeful. Simon would catch glimpses of her when he passed by, but they exchanged little more than a brief nod. She wore a mask, and although he’d caught the hint of her features beneath it, he’d never pressed for more. It was the same for him; he kept to himself, respecting the unspoken distance they had.

Today, though, something was different. As Simon neared the bend, he felt the rain pick up, droplets falling harder against his skin. He slowed his pace, glancing up at the grey sky before wiping his face with the back of his hand. The moisture clung to his forehead, sliding down his chiseled jaw. With a frustrated sigh, he pulled off his mask and yanked up the bottom of his compression shirt to wipe his face. He wasn’t expecting anyone to be around, no one had been in days. He figured it was safe, so he revealed his face, wiping the sweat and rain away, exposing his muscular torso as he tugged the fabric up.

He was just about to lower his shirt when he saw her. She was standing a few feet away, wide-eyed, frozen in place. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the rain falling softly around them. Her gaze moved from his chest to his jaw, lingering for just a beat longer than Simon expected. When her eyes met his, there was a flicker of surprise—and something else. The way her cheeks flushed beneath her hood made something stir inside him. She didn’t look away, her eyes locking with his, and for a brief moment, they both felt the charged tension in the air.

Simon cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Didn’t think anyone would be out here in this weather,” he said, his voice gruff, yet not unkind. He put his mask back on, trying to hide the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

Y/N stood still, staring at him for a long moment, her gaze lingering on his exposed torso and the way the rain traced down his chiseled body. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. The tension between them was palpable, thick with something neither of them had expected. She remained silent, the tiny shovel in her hand still as she seemed lost in the moment.

Simon noticed the lingering silence and waved a hand in front of her face, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Oi, you alright there, love?” Simon called, a teasing edge to his voice as he waved a hand in front of her face. “Bit of a daydream, are we?”

Y/N blinked, shaking herself out of her daze. Simon’s faint smile lingered, not just playful but knowing—he was well aware of the effect his presence had. He wasn’t just the tall, imposing figure who commanded attention; he was also Ghost, and he knew how easy it was to come off as a monster. But right now, that smile held an unspoken challenge, a quiet confidence that didn’t need to be loud to be felt.

Y/N quickly cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Right. Well… good luck with the run,” she said, her voice a little quieter than usual.

He took a step closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over her, but there was still that unspoken space between them, a distance that he respected. His voice was low, with that quiet curiosity, as if he genuinely wanted to know. "What’s your name then?" It wasn’t the usual question, not for him. There was something different about her, something that had him asking more than just the basics.

Y/N paused for a beat, still a little flustered, her cheeks betraying her as she glanced up at him. She was used to being invisible, to hiding behind her mask and keeping to herself. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to drop the act. "Y/N," she replied, her voice softer than she intended. "And you are…?"

"Simon," he answered simply, his lips curling up in a small, quiet smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. His eyes, though, were a different story—sharp, taking in everything as if he was reading her. "Nice to finally meet you properly."

She gave a small nod, trying to ignore the way her pulse was racing. "Likewise." She held his gaze, trying not to feel too out of place under the intensity of it.

Just as the words hung in the air, the rain slowed to a drizzle, and then, as if the weather had been waiting for the right moment, a beam of sunlight broke through the trees. It lit up the clearing, casting a warm glow over them, as if nature itself was nodding along with the newfound connection between them.

Simon had been in countless situations, under countless masks—literally and figuratively. As Ghost, he was an enigma, a terrifying shadow that no one dared to truly look at, let alone scrutinize with anything resembling genuine interest. People were afraid of what he represented, of what he could do. He was the monster lurking in the dark, the face hidden behind a mask, eyes cold, emotionless, distant. It was how he kept things, how he stayed safe.

But with her, it was different.

Y/N had looked at him in a way no one ever had. It wasn’t fear, wasn’t caution. It was something else—something, softer, hungry even, deeper, like she was trying to dig past the layers, beyond the mask, to understand him. Her gaze wasn’t just focused on the man in front of her; it was like she was trying to reach into him, pull something out from the depths he kept hidden. It made him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to.

It unsettled him in the best way. No one had ever looked at him like that. Most people kept their distance from Simon Riley, the ghost, the monster, the soldier. But not her. She looked at him as though she was trying to figure him out, to understand what lay beneath all that.

He didn’t know if he could trust it, but the curiosity she’d sparked in him was undeniable.

"See you around, Y/N," Simon’s deep, raspy voice broke through the air, and he turned, his muscular frame disappearing into the mist as he walked off to cool down.

"Sure…" Y/N managed, though the word barely escaped her lips. She stood there frozen, heart pounding like a drumbeat that echoed in her chest. Her mind was on fire, replaying that moment over and over. The tall, imposing figure she’d seen on her runs for months—that man—had now been standing right in front of her, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that was almost too much to handle.

She’d never felt that hot under the collar just from a simple conversation. It was like her brain short-circuited, and all she could think was, I would very much like to climb that mountain of a man. She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that were running a marathon in her head, but damn, his body was like a walking, breathing fantasy.

“Focus, Y/N,” she muttered to herself, still standing there as if glued to the spot, watching his broad back disappear into the mist.

----------

The sun filtered through the dense canopy of the nature reserve, casting dappled light across the forest floor. The air was crisp, and the morning held a serene quietness, save for the occasional bird call or rustle of leaves. Simon had just finished his usual jog, his body slick with a faint sheen of sweat. He slowed to a stop, his breathing steadying, and tugged off his shirt, wiping his face and neck with the damp fabric.

Unbeknownst to him, Y/N was nearby. She was crouched on a patch of grass just off the trail, wearing her usual dark green jacket, mask, and gloves. A sturdy net was slung over her shoulder, her boots caked with mud from trekking across the reserve. She had been searching for a fox cub that had somehow gotten out of its enclosure. But her focus shifted the moment she caught sight of Simon, his shirt now slung over his shoulder, muscles defined and rippling under the sunlight.

Her reaction was instant. Her eyes widened, betraying her surprise and—despite herself—a hint of intrigue. She froze, one hand clutching the handle of the net, as though caught in a moment she wasn’t supposed to witness. Her face might have been partially hidden beneath her mask, but her eyes said everything.

Simon’s gaze flicked toward her. He noticed the widening of her eyes, the way she stood so still, like a deer caught in headlights. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he took in her figure—small and focused, even when startled.

“See something you like, luv?” His voice was deep, tinged with a playful lilt that betrayed his usual stoic demeanor.

Y/N blinked, pulled out of her reverie, heat rising to her face beneath the mask. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her net as she cleared her throat, utterly flustered and completely at a loss for words. She glanced down, trying to look anywhere but at him, but the image of him standing there, shirtless and confident, was already burned into her mind.

Y/N blinked, feeling the heat rise to her face beneath the mask. Her hands scrambled at the net strap on her shoulder, as if it might anchor her in the moment. “Uh... I—I’m here for the... wild—you’re loose!” she blurted, immediately cringing at her own words. “I mean—the wildlife! Loose wildlife!”

Simon arched a brow, his lips twitching as he fought back a smirk. “Am I now?”

“No!” she squeaked, the pitch of her voice betraying her panic. “Not you—you’re not wild! I mean, not that kind of wild! Just the—the other wild!” She gestured vaguely, her brain clearly abandoning her as she clutched the net tighter.

Simon chuckled then, low and warm, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement only made him look even more effortlessly put together, and Y/N realized she’d just dug herself into a verbal hole she had no hope of escaping.

“You sure about that, luv?” he teased, his voice laced with amusement. “Sounds like you’ve got me pegged as the wildlife.”

Y/N’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Mortified, she turned abruptly, muttering something incoherent about “nets” and “loose things,” before practically speed-walking away, her boots crunching against the dirt trail.

Simon stood there, grinning as he watched her retreat. “Wildlife, huh?” he murmured to himself, the chuckle still rumbling in his chest.

For Y/N, her only saving grace was the mask hiding her face, though her mortification was probably written all over her posture. If only the ground could have swallowed her whole.

----------

It had been weeks since Y/N last saw Simon, and honestly, she had mostly gotten used to the quiet of the park. The wildlife was her focus, not the joggers who happened to come and go. As usual, she was out early in the morning, rifle in hand, ready to deal with the wild boar that had strayed too close to the public.

The tranquilizer rifle was a heavy piece of equipment, but it wasn’t the weight of it that made her nervous—it was the idea of taking down a wild boar with a dart, a calculated decision, one she couldn’t afford to mess up. The last thing she needed was an animal running loose with a bunch of park-goers nearby.

She was adjusting the strap on the rifle when the sound of footsteps caught her attention.

Y/N’s heart gave an involuntary skip. Her gaze shot up—and there, as if he were summoned by the thought of her, was Simon. Out of nowhere. Just jogging along the path. His grey t-shirt clung to his chest, each muscle highlighted as if the universe was conspiring to remind her of exactly why her pulse was already racing.

Great. Just great. Focus, Y/N. Focus.

Y/N didn’t flinch, her grip steady on the rifle in her hands. She was used to this—she’d handled firearms enough times to know exactly what she was doing. But her heart? That was racing, and not because of the job at hand. It had been weeks since she’d seen Simon, and here he was, jogging along the path, looking sweaty, fit, and entirely too distracting.

Simon slowed as he spotted her, his easy stride coming to a stop. “Well, well. If it isn’t the wildlife wrangler,” he teased, his voice laced with that familiar mischief.

Y/N didn’t flinch, but her grip on the rifle tightened, fingers adjusting instinctively to keep it steady. She gave him a quick nod, trying to remain focused on the task.

Then, she fumbled—just a tiny twitch in her finger, and the rifle made a loud click as she set the bolt for the tranquilizer dart. It was a small sound, but it felt too loud in the quiet morning. Her heart skipped a beat, and she shot Simon a quick glance.

Simon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You alright there, love? Don’t tell me I’ve made you nervous?”

“No! I mean—no, it’s not you,” she stammered, shaking her head quickly. “I—uh, I was just… making sure the rifle was… you know... cocked,” she finished, cringing the moment the words left her mouth.

Simon’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He took a casual step closer, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Cocked, huh?” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “Now, that’s an interesting choice of words.”

Y/N’s face went bright red under her mask, and she couldn’t help but shift her weight awkwardly. “I didn’t mean—I mean, cocked the dart, not… not anything else!” She fumbled again, trying to fix the mess she’d made. “The dart’s loaded, not—I’m not talking about…” She trailed off, wishing she could disappear into the ground.

Simon chuckled, his grin widening as he leaned in slightly. “You sure you’re not just cocking something else, love?” he teased, his voice thick with playful innuendo. “You’re looking a little flustered there.”

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to get a hold of herself. “I—I need to take care of the wildlife. A wild boar,” she said quickly, hoping to change the subject. “It’s loose, I need to get it back under control.”

Simon’s grin turned even more playful. “A wild boar, huh? Thought you’d be handling that with a little more finesse.” He motioned toward the rifle. “You sure you know how to handle that thing?”

Y/N’s mind was racing. She was so not prepared for this. “I know what I’m doing!” she blurted out, though she couldn’t help the nervous energy buzzing in her voice. “I’m just trying to keep the park safe. It’s not that big of a deal,” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Simon chuckled again, clearly relishing the moment. “Well, if you’re planning on pulling the trigger, love,” he said with a sly grin, “you should at least buy me dinner first.”

Y/N’s brain froze for a second. She blinked at him, unsure of how to respond, her face flushed a deep shade of red. “I—I don’t... I mean, it’s not payday yet,” she stammered her excuse, desperately grasping at straws. “I don’t even know what you like to eat. Or, you know, where you go for dinner... Not that I’d know.” She quickly added, “I don’t really like crowded places. But, uh, I can cook for you? I can definitely cook... If you’re into, like, home-cooked meals and—"

Simon raised an eyebrow, his grin turning smug as he took a step closer. “Home-cooked, huh? You gonna cook me something wild? Because I’m partial to game. Or maybe you’ve got something else in mind that’s more... well, you know, meaty?”

Y/N blinked, flustered beyond belief. “I—I can hunt for you! What kind of meat do you like?” she asked, her voice trailing off as she realized just how badly she was digging herself into the hole. “Like, if you want wild boar, or duck or pheasant, I can definitely get you some... or something else—uh, more wild?”

Simon’s smirk deepened, leaning in just enough to make her heartbeat quicken. “Oh, you’re offering to hunt for me, love? Now that’s a real treat. I think I could get used to that.”

Her eyes widened as she realized exactly what she was saying. “No! Wait, no! I mean, not like that,” she stammered, backing up a little, trying to save herself. “I’m just... I gotta take care of the wild boar... I’ll just... focus on that.” She pointed at the rifle like it was her only escape.

She could feel the ground shift under her feet as the words tumbled out of her mouth, each one worse than the last. She wanted to dig a hole and crawl right into it. Or at least disappear into the ground. Hell, at this point, she’d settle for vanishing completely.

Simon was clearly enjoying every moment of her discomfort, his grin turning into something downright devilish. “Well, well, love, looks like I’ve got you all worked up,” he teased, his voice low and thick with innuendo. “You sure you’re ready to handle that wild boar? Because it’s not the only thing that needs taming around here.”

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. Her grip tightened on the rifle as she exhaled a deep sigh. “Yeah, I’ll just—” She waved the rifle in a half circle, “—deal with the wild boar, alright? You stay here, keep being your handsome self.”

She immediately wanted to smack herself for saying it, but it was too late now. Without waiting for his reply, she turned sharply and began to walk away, desperate to escape. She could feel Simon’s stare burning into her back, the weight of it lingering long after she was out of earshot

A/N: And we end for this part here. You can consider this finished, until—or unless—I get another idea again. LOL!

[joelalorian]

Masterlist

Series

Tides of Desire

Complete: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Chapter One - A Prelude to the Open Sea

Chapter Two - The Adventure Begins

Chapter Three - The Cut of One's Jib

Chapter Four - Cut and Run

Chapter Five - Red Sky in Morning

Chapter Six - Edging Forward

Chapter Seven - From Stem to Stern

Chapter Eight - As the Crow Flies

Chapter Nine - Close Quarters

Chapter Ten - On Your Beam Ends

Chapter Eleven - All at Sea

Chapter Twelve - Turn the Corner

Epilogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fall Into Me

dbf!Joel x f!reader, ongoing

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Chapter One: The Day That I Met You

Chapter Two: It All Turned Around

Chapter Three: No Mirror for Monsters

Chapter Four: Until I had met you there was no sun in my sky

Chapter Five: My whole world came alive

Chapter Six: And I knew my heart wasn't mine

Chapter Seven: I'll Catch You Darlin'

Chapter Eight: We'll Dance in the Street like Nobody's Watching

Chapter Nine: I'd Fall for You Twice if That's What You Wanted

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Petals of Affection

Complete. A floral mystery in three parts featuring Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Summary: A secret admirer gifts you a different flower and a riddle ten times before you put the clues together and discover that he's been right in front of your face the whole time.

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge. Please check out all the wonderful works created in Jett's honor!

Part I

Part II

Part III

One-shots

Lost Cause

Summary: Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree. Oneshot.

Warnings: Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope.

Inspired by the song Save Me by Jelly Roll. Some of the lyrics have been woven into the story.

~~~~~~~~~

Fevered Flame (Marcus Pike x f!reader)

Summary: When Marcus Pike lost himself in work after that debacle with Theresa, he didn’t expect to take on a sizzling new case in the quirky town of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Nor did he expect to meet you, an up-and-coming agent also looking for a fresh start. An unprecedented heatwave, mind-boggling art thefts, ancient Aztec legends, this case had the works. How would he ever solve the case with the temperature rising between you both?

This fic is my contribution to @iamasaddie's Little Lady Kinky May writing challenge. Prompts were Marcus Pike and Temperature.

WC: 10.4k – I’m sorry, I have no idea where all these words came from