#but there’s a massive difference between

[2neaky]

🎤 Thank U 4 The Dono! 💿 P.2

12k words! 𝑹𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓𝑶𝒏𝒚! ♡ 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝑶𝑪! | 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 -> 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: size k*nk, or*al (m recieving), p in v s*x (use of a condom), tricking/“paying for p*ssy,” power-imbalance (financial), dr*g use (w*ed), heavy drinking, drunk s*x, morally grey ethics concerning modern-day s*x work and “buying” one’s consent, basically pr*stitution, objectification, egotistical Onyankopon, body mods (n*pple piercings), specific descriptions of body types, use of n-word (characters & writer are Black), roughly edited

Part 1

Finally, the last part! Warning, this fic isn’t the most ethically sound and I, as the writer, can recognize that. I don’t necessarily condone all concepts portrayed in this fic, but it’s just for the plot. Sometimes, I like morally grey shit. If you unable to separate this fictional story from real life, I advise against reading this. Enjoy & reblog! <3

“Right this way! Please follow the signs!”

Standing in a dimly lit corridor, the attendant is dressed in a prim suit as they shout directions to the attendees. 

Echoes of sound check bounce off of the walls of the large stadium. At times, there are minutes of silence before they’re interjected by brief clips of music or even someone speaking into the mic.

This place is massive, built to house thousands of screaming fans at a time.

All of it piques Bliss’s interest as she’s guided along by security. Some part of her wishes she could stay and watch the onstage preparation up close.

However, she forgets about all of that as she travels up a steep flight of stairs, away from the stadium’s general seating. 

Tiny lights, embedded along the sides of each step, light the way through the dark staircase. Kitten heels click softly as she slowly climbs, in line behind another guest. She neglects to hold the railing, preferring instead to latch onto her phone. 

Her other hand grips the wooden baton handles of her newest purchase: a Goyard Saïgon mini bag. 

Truthfully, it was an impulsive purchase made with just a fraction of the money she received from her Halloween Stream—and, speaking of, her bank account has never been healthier. 

That stream has upped the quality of her life, undoubtedly. Not that she wasn’t living comfortably before, but her world has been opened to new experiences. 

For instance, premium seating at a concert of her favorite artist. She’s in a space where she can afford this experience probably three times over. Yet, she didn’t even have to spend a dime to get it.

She can hardly contain a tiny grin with the flash of a memory—a conversation between her and Onyankopon over messages. Just a casual discussion, going in-depth about this entire arrangement.

Anyway, as the little quirk disappears from her face, a burst of light washes over her. She’s finally reached the top of that long staircase. Just a few feet away is the enclosed balcony, cased off behind glass so clean that she’s sure she would’ve walked right into it.

A “Luxury Box” is what they called it—an exclusive lounge, secluded to a balcony room above the stage. There’s a different attendant at its door, greeting each guest as they enter. 

“Good evening, enjoy the show,” the young woman greets with a pleasant smile and gentle nod.

Bliss can’t help but to show teeth, the apples of her cheeks even aching. “Hi, thank you.”

As she spills into the room with the other guests, her eyes are everywhere. The Luxury Box is spacious, considering that there are about thirty people here.

Her first observation is that this place is comfortable. Cushioned chairs positioned before a large glass—it’s the perfect seating arrangement with an excellent view of the stage from its left. 

The floor below the seats is glass, too. The sight gives way to a sea of empty chairs, hundreds of feet below. Soon, they’ll be filled with excited fans.

To the right of the viewing area is the bar, decked out in expensive, unopened bottles. There’s already a bartender behind the counter, wiping down the dark marble. 

And by the looks of it, they’re fully stocked: wine, champagne, beer, juice, water—anything a patron could desire. 

That’ll be the first spot she hits up.

On the room’s opposite side is an array of food spread out amongst a long, cloth-covered table. From hors d'oeuvres to dessert, they have everything. Behind the table, caterers attend to the food, ensuring its presentation is on point.

She needs no more convincing. Whipping out her phone, Bliss is quick to record the sights surrounding her. She slowly pans the camera, trying to catch everything in the video.

She hadn’t known what to expect before coming, however, Bliss had to give herself props. She managed to dress perfectly for the occasion, blending seamlessly with the lounge’s modern chic decor.

Jean Paul Gaultier hugs her body tonight as a black maxi dress with small grey dots that outline the feminine shape. The dramatic curves and slopes of her body stretch it out in a way that elevates the dress. 

No doubt, it’s a wonderful look. However, it’s also a rather sheer piece, as its material is comprised of a thin, but tiny netting. Several times throughout her journey here, she’s had to pull her bundles to the front, having them fall over her chest.

It’s her fault she hadn’t tried on the dress before packing it, she realizes. If she had, she would’ve known to buy some pasties beforehand.

Peering around the room one more time, Bliss seems to recognize a few faces—well known influencers, and even a couple of celebrities.

Be calm, she reminds herself. She’s blended in so far. 

A nervous tick, she glances at the time on her phone. She exhales with the realization that it’s only about an hour and a half more before the show is scheduled to start.

She’s closer to seeing Onyankopon live. Closer to meeting him in person for the first time. The thought has her queasy and excited all at once. She presses a manicured hand to her stomach.

God, she wishes she knew someone here, just so that they may distract her from the “what-if’s” and “maybe’s” running through her mind.

But, really? Who needs friends when there’s a bar just a few feet away? 

Especially when there’s a cute ass nigga behind it?

She just found her newest distraction to take the edge off of things.

•

The stadium’s lights have lowered to pitch-black, darkness, allowing the stage’s to shine. Shades of purple bleeding into white beam brightly. 

The DJ, propped farther back on the large stage, plays tracks that only hype up the audience.

Below the balcony, through the glass flooring, Bliss watches fans flood the stadium. They almost perfectly resemble waves of the sea. Even their cheers can be heard from up here.

As it gets closer to that time, they grow louder. They almost compete with the music.

Nursing her second drink of the night (if she doesn’t count the shot she has in between this and her first), Bliss sits plum in her seat. There’s a pleasant buzz running throughout her, and obviously it’s the liquor.

Just a little bit tipsy, more and more things seem to catch her attention as her body and mind ease up. So many distractions around her, she almost didn’t realize that someone’s come onstage if it weren’t for the screams of the fans beneath them: the show’s opener—Connie Springer.

She makes a quiet gasp around her straw, eyes wide as she leans forward in her chair. 

Bliss has a couple of his songs in her rap playlist. He’s not nearly played as much as Onyankopon is in her household. Still though, the support is there.

She actually found Connie through him. Seeing as they’re closely affiliated and under the same label, his music was recommended after Ony’s. 

Even in a couple of Ony’s Instagram posts, she can spot the other man in the background. She must admit, the rapper keeps a couple of fine ass niggas around him—hence why she follows Connie, too. 

She only hopes Ony doesn’t look too deeply into that.

But, coming back to reality, Bliss can see why Ony had picked the man to be his opener. 

He’s getting the crowd hype, and they’re rapping the lyrics right along with him. By the time his set ends—an unforgettable forty minutes—the audience is even livelier than before.

It’s astounding, really. She didn’t think they could get any louder. And the energy is coming off of the crowd in waves. She can’t be the only one in the lounge affected by it, her skin covered in goosebumps.

“I appreciate y’all tonight!”

The crowd cheers after Connie. His image is blown up on the Jumbotrons, giving every onlooker a view of his gemmed smile.

“I know y’all loud for me, but I’ma need y’all to be even louder for my brother, Onyankopon!”

Deafening shrieks fill the stadium. And Bliss is sure that if she were on the ground, her eardrums would’ve been ruptured.

Even the other guests in the lounge cheer loudly. And she’s thankful, knowing that she won’t have to hide her excitement when the time comes.

As Connie leaves the stage, the crowd chants: “Ony! Ony! Ony!”

With the stage now empty, its lights dim and the music almost completely fades. For a moment, everything seems to still.

The fans grow quieter—even if it’s just by a fraction. But, it’s safe to say that everyone in the stadium is watching the stage closely with bated breath. Waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Then, music strikes with volume that reignites the crowd. 

Almost everyone around her shows their enthusiasm, tempting her to do the same. So, Bliss cups a hand near her mouth, letting out a resounding “wooh” from her seat. 

“ATL, you ready?”

The voice, deep and amplified by the mic, sends a chill through her. For about ten seconds, the music is completely drowned out by the fans’ screams.

Her eyes scour the stage, not finding a single soul on it. It’s still dark, too.

Then, there’s another sound: a low chuckle. 

Her stomach drops. She never thought she’d be so attracted to the sound of someone’s laughter. She’s sure that there are at least a thousand other fans that are sharing the very same experience. She can’t be the only one.

“Nah, I’on think y’all heard me—“

Purple streaks of light shoot down onto the stage. Flames, rigged at the perimeters of the platform, burst out as the man of the hour runs out onto the stage. 

Any music is drowned out by the fans.

The stage’s backdrop illuminates the entire platform as a spinning graphic of the letter “O,” wrapped in barbed wire, displays on the screen.

“Y’all niggas ready?” 

She finally sees him as his image is blown up on the Jumbotrons. It’s not the clearest resolution, but she can tell just how fine he is.

Mic held to his lips, the lower half of his face is hidden. A baggy, black zip up covers his upper half. He’s even got his hoodie up, sadly, obscuring the rest of his face. 

But, as she stares at his image, she notices the flashes of light catching on the cloth. Squinting just a little, she catches sight of the tiny crystals dotting the dark fabric.

As Onyankopon moves about, he glitters underneath the stage lights. Tiny, rain-bowed streaks of light are caught by the cameras, projecting his image.

But that isn’t the only thing on him that shines. Coming around his neck and resting on his chest, is a tangle of thick, heavy looking chains.

His microphone picks up every clank they make. They don’t even need light to shine, his diamonds still dance in the dark. It’s almost blinding.

Large, baggy black cargoes cover his strong legs. However, it’s only the base for the shiny, silver and purple, jeweled buckles strapped all down the length of the fabric.

“Y’all turnt up in here, tonight!”

There’s a slight breathlessness to his voice, and it makes her body clench. If she could bottle up the sound and keep it to herself, she would.

Or is that the liquor talking?

As Onyankopon pulls the purple mic away from his face, a camera picks up on him. The closeup of his face is blown up all over the Jumbotrons.

As the crowd cries out for him, he shows them a perfect smile. His bottom row of teeth covered in VVS diamond lined, opal grillz. 

It’s almost too much, the sight threatening to turn Bliss into a puddle right in her seat.

He lifts the mic to his mouth again, just as laughter tumbles out past his lips. “Y’all right up there with Chicago! Think you could do better than ‘em tonight?”

Fans are going ballistic, jumping and cheering even louder. They begin to chant again, repeating his name over and over.

All of these people, screaming his name, are here to see him. She can’t fathom how he does it.

But watching him, seeing how his smile stretches wider and the apples of his cheeks swell, she sees that he’s in his element.

“Yeah … y’all niggas some real competition!”

More screams. She almost wishes she was amongst the crowd, free to go as crazy as the other fans.

“Do me a favor: keep this energy the whole night! Nothing less—only up from here!”

Those were his last words as the beat to one of his songs begins, and the stadium dissolves into madness. The heavy base punches through every body filling it. 

Bliss can feel it in her chest. Even the luxury box’s glass has the faintest tremor to it.

Ony runs down the middle of the stage, where it stretches out into the crowd. Mic to mouth, he’s on it, rapping over the track with passion.

A nasty mug contorts his face as he performs, clearly feeling the lyrics. And the fans are rapping right along with him. 

One in particular, a young, scrawny man with big glasses, is caught on camera. His body is pressed to the metal barrier, he’s leaning over, gazing up at the rapper as his mouth moves along to every word.

Stepping closer to the area, Ony points a gloved hand at the young fan, making sure everyone—even the cameras—are paying him close attention.

Bliss’s heart swells at the sight of the endearing moment.

Running back to the main stage’s middle, Ony jumps up and down with the song’s beat. The pyrotechnics go off once again as the song’s hook comes up.

The energy consuming this stadium is too powerful to ignore. Bliss loses herself to it. After the first two songs, she can’t even find it in herself to care how crazy she looks—losing herself to the energy of the performance.

Halfway through the show, Onyankopon loses his hoodie. 

She remembers it so clearly, when he had unzipped it. The dark fabric parted and gave way to shiny, deep brown abs, littered with tattoos of all sizes.

Her fingers itched to run down the rigid surface of abs. 

Free from the heavy material, his head is fully visible. His typical inky black waves are sheathed by an equally black, velvet durag. And she’s almost 100% sure that it’s real velvet—none of that suede shit.

What catches her eyes the most is his nickname, “Ony,” spelled with beaded gems in Old English font on the back of the fabric.

One of the cameras, currently projecting his image onto the Jumbotrons, shows the audience the glistening skin of his back as he walks back to the main stage. His tattoos only continue to bleed into the expanse of the dark skin. Strong muscles ripple beneath the smooth skin.

She pulls out her phone, recording yet another clip of the shirtless man as he performs on the stage below. Without a second thought, she posts it to her Instagram story.

He just looked too fucking good for her not to capture. Without a doubt, Onyankopon is putting on a show. 

Bliss can die happy right now…

Except, she can’t. 

Not when the starting melody of her favorite song, catches her ears. She gasps, freezing in her seat.

At the center of the stage, Ony’s pacing slows to a stop. He stares out at the jumping crowd, a smile slowly climbing onto his face. The crowd is in a frenzy.

“What y’all know ‘bout this one?”

They roar louder as he continues to search the stadium, not looking for anyone in particular. Not yet.

“Wasn’t even gon’ perform this one, I ain’t gon’ hold you,” he chuckles.

He begins to pace again, thinking with amusement of just how much shit he makes his DJ put up with—what with him prolonging this track just to speak to the fans.

Bringing the mic to his lips, Onyankopon finally looks up at the large luxury box to the left of the stage.

“But, I know you like it.” 

A camera catches a closeup of him just as he shoots a quick wink. It’s all over the Jumbotrons, and the crowd goes wild. 

As the song finally begins, Bliss’ body catches a chill. She has no choice but to get up for this one, it is her favorite song after all. 

It’s definitely a turn up song, and she does just that. Rapping along, she earns the attention of others around her. So entranced by the music, she doesn’t even realize how they begin to hype her up. And she doesn’t miss a word.

Without a thought, Bliss kicks off her short heels. Holding onto the back of her chair, she bends over and throws her ass in a circle. 

Hoots and hollers from a few of the women around her goad her on, she sticks her tongue out. One or two of them even give her a couple of taps.

There’s lights shining on her, and she’ll have to remember to ask them for the videos. The dress is doing absolutely nothing to constrict the way her body moves, despite how tight it is.

Standing up straight, she does a full body whine, mouthing her favorite part of the song. Without a doubt, this is a highlight of her concert experience.

Sadly, just as quickly as the song had started, it ends. But, Bliss is only smiling, laughing too hard with the other guests.

Now she can die happy.

•

Three hours of performing—it was a dream to witness. And to think, that after all of that, she’s going to meet the artist.

How this can possibly go, she’s can’t imagine. Well—realistically, it can go one of two ways. 

He flew her out for tonight’s show, put her up in one of the best hotels in the city, and even assigned a personal driver to her for the time being that she was here—a big bodied, black truck, of course.

So, there’s only one thing he wants. Bliss knew that coming into this. And she agreed, didn’t she?

The attendants assigned to this luxury box had made the announcement minutes ago to follow the signage for a swift exit, seeing as the show’s over.

Of course, there were a few stragglers—her included. Head buried in her phone, she swipes through the videos she was able to get from the other guests of her “mini performance.”

She’ll definitely have to post these later.

With a ring-dressed middle finger, she’s trimming one of the videos, far too focused to notice the two men approaching her.

“Ms. Bliss?”

Blinking, her head shoots up as her inky black inches fall over her face. She pushes the strands out of the way.

“Yes?”

“Onyankopon’s ready for you.”

Her face blanks as she looks back and forth between the two. Her tongue fumbles in her mouth. So, she remains wordless as she nods.

Coming to her feet, she pulls down her dress and smooths out any wrinkles. Swiping up her mini Saïgon, she follows after the men as they take her to the performer.

•

“Another city finished,” Connie smirks, dapping him up.

Slumped in a chair of his own, Ony laughs. “Yeah, and I’m ‘bout tired as Hell.”

Connie plops down on the futon pushed against the wall of Ony’s dressing room—just a few feet across from the man himself.

“You definitely gonna crash after this,” he laughs, pulling out one of his phones from his pants pocket.

“Nah,” Ony shakes his head. Licking his bottom lip, he tries to conceal a smile as Connie glances at him. “Actually … I got shit to do after.”

Raising a brow, Connie looks at him fully this time. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They both share a knowing look, which only makes this all the more funnier.

“How you meet her?”

Glancing away, Ony bats him off as he sucks his teeth. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Nah, it better not be ole’ girl—“

“Chill,” Ony quickly looks his way. “Told you I was done with that. This a new vibe. Trust.”

Connie looks him up and down, ultimately deciding to trust his friend. “Alright…”

“Yeah, and speaking of—you gotta get the fuck up outta here.”

Connie makes a face. The question “why” is on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall from his lips, when a knock sounds at the door.

“Shit,” Ony mumbles, slowly getting up on sore feet.

Connie chooses to laugh this time. “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, twisting the doorknob just before pulling it open.

“Ony,” Mitch, one of the security guards on his team greets.

“Wassup, man,” he nods.

Quietly, Mitch shifts to the side to allow him to see the short woman behind him: Bliss.

Ony’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. Like he’s just been served the tastiest looking platter in the world; The finest piece of steak from STK Steakhouse.

“Hey.” The corner of his lips upturn.

“Hi.” Bliss had seemed to breathe the word out.

Without thinking, Ony outstretches an arm to pull her in for a side hug. 

“‘Preciate it, y’all,” he says to the guards. 

The two men turn away, returning to their stations at the end of the hallway. 

Ony opens the door wider, allowing Bliss to slip past him and into the comfortably sized room. As she makes her way past him, he doesn’t stop his eyes from falling below her waist to check out her body.

Her ass moves like water in that dress. And the perfume wafting off of her, mingled with her body’s natural scent, is rich and warm. Luxurious, even. An expensive one for sure.

“Hey,” Bliss waves shyly, meeting Connie’s eyes.

The man with the bleached, shaved head makes a strong effort to keep eye contact. And if Onyankopon weren’t watching him closely from behind her, he would’ve broken it. If only to admire how her body stretches the fabric out—and how terribly it hides her nipples. 

“Wassup, how you doing?” Connie smiles kindly. Standing up, he pockets his phone while outstretching a hand to her.

Politely, Bliss gives him a gentle shake before letting her hand fall back to the wooden handle of her purse.

“Ony,” Connie moves over to the man, dapping him up.

“We talk soon,” he nods.

As soon as the door shuts, with Connie’s departure, it’s like all of the air in the room has been sucked out.

Slowly, Bliss turns to face him. He’s already staring her down.

“It’s good seeing you in person.”

His voice is low, but soft. 

Her body is covered in goosebumps within seconds. She gives a shaky smile, showing off that cute gap between her two front teeth.

“You, too,” she says.

“You nervous?” He smiles as he heads over to the room’s large vanity.

It allows her the space needed to breathe as she watches him retie the loosened strings of his durag.

“I am,” she giggles, wanting to cover her mouth. “The show was really good, though. I had fun.”

“I’m glad.” He turns back around, leaning against the vanity to stare at her. “Hope you appreciated the song.”

Her smile only grows. “I did, thank you. You don’t even know, I was dancing and everything.”

“Oh yeah?” He raises his brows, watching her beam.

“Yes, it’s my favorite!” She remembers telling him in their DMs that it was her favorite song of his.

However, that definitely isn’t how he learned that fact.

Almost bowing her head, Bliss looks up at him through her thick lash set. “Thank you for performing it.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He looks her up and down. 

He might be exhausted, but he can definitely squeeze out one more performance for the night. 

After all, his body is still running off of the adrenaline from the show.

“How was everything? The hotel good?”

She perks up at that. “Hm? Oh—yes!” She nods. 

He thinks it’s cute.

“The hotel is very nice, and thanks for the driver.”

“Anything to make you comfortable.” He licks his lips. His eyes flick down for half of a second, catching a peak of her pierced nipples through the dress.

Of course, she notices.

“I’ma ride with you back to the hotel, take a quick shower, then we out for dinner. That’s cool with you?”

Her matte lips roll into her mouth and she nods. It’s a weak attempt at hiding an excited smile. They discussed this before—spending the night out together. Yet, Bliss still finds herself unable to really believe it.

His well-groomed brows lift just an inch. “That’s not a answer.” 

She breaks into laughter, feeling silly. “Yes, Ony.”

“Aight. Lemme grab my shit and we could leave together.”

She nods, heading over to the vanity on her own accord as Ony moves about to gather his items. 

As he packs his black, Margiela backpack, she tweaks her appearance in the brightly lit mirror. Smoothing down flyaways, fixing her lip combo—she does it all.

Being the great multitasker he is, Onyakopon sneaks glances at her from behind.

This view is everything: The only thing “covering” her ass in that dress is a tiny, black G-string that disappears between the globes of her cheeks anyway. Her honey-brown skin is dimpled but mark-free. And her narrow waist tempts him to grab it from behind.

If tonight goes as planned, backshots are definitely going to be on the agenda. Now, he’ll eventually flip her over on her back, because that face and those titties are too pretty for that position alone. 

The mental imagine is enough to make his dick twitch. If he didn’t have any sense, he’d fuck her raw. Just to make her feel every inch and vein, and for him to feel the wet heat of her walls. 

But before he gets too carried away with his own thoughts, Onyankopon blinks them away. Slipping into his jacket, he throws his backpack over a shoulder. 

“Aight, let’s go.”

Nodding, Bliss returns to his side. Ony is quick to hold out a hand, which she takes.

“When we leave, it might be some fans and paps outside. I can’t control that, I’m sorry. But, I got my people with us, so you should be good.”

Bliss nods, only able to quietly take it all in. She’s never been in the spotlight before. She only hopes that they aren’t too crazy.

“Oh, wait—“ 

Quickly, she drops his hand to search through her purse. A couple of seconds later, she’s pulling out a pair of designer shades. They’re huge with blacked out lenses, perfect for hiding her face.

Ony laughs. “You got it.”

•

As they’re just a few feet from the exit, body guards at all of their sides, Bliss anticipates Ony dropping her hand, just to keep anymore rumors at bay. 

However, as they pass through the threshold of the stadium and the cool, outside air hits them, her hand is still heavy with his.

“Ony!”

“Onyankopon, look this way!”

“Who’s this that you brought out tonight?”

“Is that your girlfriend, Ony?”

Using her purse, Bliss blocks the other side of her face, hoping the cameras don’t catch anything. Her lips tremble as she tries to keep from laughing at the obscene and invasive questions.

Their driver plucks the back door of their car open—a Rolls Royce. Ony lets go of her hand to let her in first. 

Just as he climbs in, the driver shuts the door behind them. The second his security backs away from the car, paparazzi and a few fans close-in on the vehicle, trying to snap pictures through the tinted windows.

“Wow,” Bliss laughs, breathlessly. She pulls the large shades off of her face, allowing him to seeing her beautiful face.

“My bad ‘bout that. Should’ve prepared you more.”

“It was actually tamer than I thought,” she smiles.

“Shit, my bad. Ain’t know you had it like that.” 

She only laughs at his joke, and he can only think about how much he likes the sound.

As the driver pulls off, heading towards Onyankopon’s hotel, Bliss opens up her camera. She records a couple of clips here and there of herself in the car, careful to keep Ony out of it.

It’s cute, he thinks, how she doesn’t try to take advantage of such a moment. Even more, it allows him to worry less about putting a guard up; He pulls out his phone.

On Twitter and TikTok, he catches posts of his concert, liking and reposting his favorite ones. All of the love from his fans makes his chest swell with pride.

ATL definitely showed out tonight. A contender with Chicago, for sure.

Shutting his phone off, Ony drops it into his lap and leans back in his seat. His gaze is attracted to the woman beside him.  

In the low lighting, she’s gorgeous. As the driver narrowly avoids the greater part of a pothole in the street, the car is unstable for a second or two.

In that time, his eyes fall to her chest, seeing how it bounces even under the confines of her dress.

It triggers multiple images in his brain—memories of her past streams.

Finally shutting off her phone, Bliss does a quiet sigh as she pushes her hair over one shoulder, exposing more of her upper half. 

Blinking, she finally takes a look at him, and they make eye contact. Off of instinct, she laughs nervously.

“Hi.”

He smiles, showing off his grills. “Hey.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head lazily. So oblivious to just how impatient he is for her.

A date with Onyankopon.

She, Bliss, is on a date with The Onyankopon. Never did she think that would be her reality.

Before they arrived, he did just as promised—stopping by his hotel to get ready. He had her stay in the car, yet he definitely didn’t make her wait too long.

When he got back into the car, keeping his backpack at his feet, he smelled heavenly. His cologne was arousing—something about a good smelling man really just does it for her.

His outfit seemed to match the vibe she had went for: a brown Miu Miu leather and sheepskin jacket with snakeskin and flowers over the shoulders. His pants are a basic black, baggy fit jean with chains dangling from a pocket. His jewelry, of course, is silver.

And without a durag, his shiny waves were out for all to see.

There’s no doubt, he’d chosen the fanciest restaurant out here. It was a two-level establishment, and they have the entire second floor to themselves.

Just three of Ony’s security personnel guard the entrance and exit to the staircase. It’s quiet up here, yet peaceful. However, Bliss feels quite awkward, as all of the attention is on her.

They had gotten through appetizers before the real conversation began. Well, really Ony had gone through it. After a show like that, it’s no wonder that he’s worked up an appetite. 

Bliss picked at the food here and there, careful not to get full too fast. She also is still nervous.

“What you do earlier today? Before my show.”

Swallowing her sip of the mixed drink she had ordered, Bliss presses a hand to her chest.

“Just some shopping. This is my first time in Atlanta, so I wanted to take advantage of the malls.” She laughs quietly. “I hope your driver didn’t mind.”

Rubbing at his chin hairs, he glances at her purse set off to the side of the table. It’s crisp and the color is well saturated. There’s not an inch of the bag frayed or faded.

“You got this today?”

She follows his gaze. “Yeah,” she says nervously.

He hums. “How much you pay for it?”

She shrugs. “About 6k.”

He smirks to himself, still eyeing the bag. “That’s light … you want it in cash?”

Her eyes almost bulge out of her head. “What? I don’t—“

“If you don’t take the cash, I’ma find a way to get it to you. So quit all’at stuttering, humble shit.”

His voice is calm, quiet too. Which only astounds her, because there’s nothing calm about someone offering her six grand.

But, she’s not slick. Even as her mouth hangs open, he spots the hint of a smile on her stretched lips.

“It’s … I don’t need it, Ony.”

“Shit, I know.” Huffing out a breath of amusement, he smirks down at her. “But you want it, so just take it.”

She looks off to the side, her hair falling in her face before she pushes it over her shoulder for the umpteenth time tonight.

“Y’know, I knew ‘bout you for a minute.”

That stops her in her tracks. 

Her Instagram profile is that of the typical IG model—sponsorships, the occasional risky photo, but overall, pretty moderate.

How long had he known about her page? Was he stalking her profile like she’d done his? Why only now say something?

Her heart races. All of these questions she wants to ask—she opens her mouth to do so.

“Yeah, you cute on ‘em live streams.” He continues rubbing at his chin, still eyeing her.

And as those words left his mouth, her own closes.

Her career as a cam-girl isn’t in the spotlight. It’s no well-kept secret, nor is her page really even hard to find. Still, it’s always jarring when she has to come face-to-face with that in reality.

“W-what?“

Her voice is quiet. The shock on her face is quite apparent, too.

“I catch ‘em when I can.” He sits back in his chair and shrugs.

She knows it’s greedy, but if that’s how she gets her money, then so be it: her streams are only accessible to those subbed to her highest tier on her cam-girl page.

“Oh … my God,” she whispers, putting a hand over her mouth. 

He cracks a smile, a small chuckle falling out past his lips. 

“How long did you—“ She stops herself, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Couple months,” he says, like it’s no big deal. 

Her stomach drops to her ass. And as a new thought emerges in her head, her stomach threatens to fall out of her body.

“What’s your username?”

She almost didn’t even want to ask. Onyankopon can only laugh.

“C’mon, now. Y’know who I am.”

She fears she does. He doesn’t need to say it:

onLyONE1

Falling back in her chair, Bliss covers her face as she groans into her hands.

“Shit was obvious, too—“

“Stop, please!” She laughs, shyly. Pulling her hands away from her face, she reveals a soft pout on her lips. “I can’t believe you saw that,” she whines.

Is it crazy that his eyes seem to sparkle as he smiles? “What? Your body?”

“No! Well—kinda. I mean me crushing over you!”

Now, he’s practically cackling. And Bliss’ face burns with embarrassment.

Calming himself down, Ony sighs. “Relax, I thought it was cute.”

She gives him a weak glance, immediately looking away. 

“I can’t believe this.” She groans. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shakes his head. “That’s federal. I wasn’t even gon’ say nothing, ‘til I found out you was a fan—“

“Ugh,” she looks away, a scowl on her lips. “Don’t do that.”

“You right, my fault,” he chuckles. “A supporter,” he corrects.

“Thank you.”

He hums. “But, that shit was sexy, though.” He shrugs. “So, I had to fly you out here, see you in person.”

When she regains the courage to look him in the eyes, she feels small in her seat. His eye contact is unwavering.

“And get you all to myself.” He scoffs as he runs his eyes over her upper body. “Couldn’t stand you paying attention to all them broke ass niggas.”

His lips frown with thinly veiled disgust. It almost makes her laugh. On the other hand, the statement as a whole makes her tummy flutter.

She hates to admit it, but a possessive man will always be her weakness.

“I’ll double what I gave you, just to get you for tonight.”

“I … Ony…“ 

The offer is tempting, real tempting. But, can she really do this? The whole 'pay-for-pussy' thing?

He senses her apprehension. Wordlessly, he reaches down by his foot.

The low whine of a zipper catches her ears. Before she can question it, three, fat stacks of rubber-banded hundreds are dropped onto the table. Right before her widened eyes.

He pockets his hands, leaning back in his chair once more. “I matched you for the bag, too.” He nods to the stack.

She’s breathless. All of this money, it’s making her head spin. “O-Ony—“

Her resolve is cracking, he can tell. And this has got to be his favorite part about having money—the power it gives him. He widens his legs underneath the table, feeling himself grow stiff already.

“I’ma selfish ass nigga. I know that. And if I see something I want, I’ma get it. All I really need is one night … but, if you fucking with me, I’ll keep you put up.”

Her brain attempts to formulate a coherent thought, yet nothing comes up. This sounds too good to be true.

But, her mind can’t deny what’s in front of her. And, the idea of him spending so much just to have her—even for a night—only gets her wetter by the second.

He stares at her, patiently awaiting an answer he already knows he’ll get.

But, just to get it out of her faster, he turns up the heat: reaching back into his bag, Onyankopon pulls out another fat stack, placing it on top of the others.

Like magic, Bliss finds her mouth moving before she can even really think twice about it.

She’s giggly off the drinks, but she isn’t the only one. As Onyankopon continues ordering more and more alcohol to the table, she can see that he, too, is loosening up.

He’s talking more, a tad bit more touchy, and even bolder in his flirtatiousness.

She likes it.

Another thing about her and alcohol; She gets talkative. Part of her brain is screaming at her to put a sock in it, judging by Ony’s demeanor:

He’s sat back with an arm thrown over the back of the chair, slowly chewing as he stares at her with low eyes. In his hand, his fingers slowly twist a balled up napkin.

But, she just can’t stop talking. Her mouth is running a mile a minute—she doesn’t even remember what she’s talking about. 

However, all of her spouting comes to a stop when Ony finally sits up. Looking elsewhere, he throws the napkin down on the table.

Her eyes dart around. “What happened?”

Pulling out a crisp, black card from his wallet, he snaps it down on the cloth-table. “Ready to go.”

“Oh…”

Oh shit.

It takes almost no time at all for the waiter to take Ony’s card. In the blink of an eye, they’re standing on their feet, ready to leave.

“Don’t forget your cash.”

For a split second, Bliss is confused. But, when she follows the direction of where he points to, she’s quickly reminded.

Those large stacks of cash he’d pulled out for her earlier were sitting so casually to the side of the table, next to her purse. Like it wasn’t money itself. And a lot of it.

She slips her purse over her wrist before scooping them up in her arms.

“Yeah, there you go,” Ony nods, smiling at her.

They follow his security team to the elevator. All the while, he’s got an arm thrown over her slender shoulders.

Only two of his staff follow them into the moderately sized shaft. As the two, burly men stand in front of them, hands clasped before them in similar fashion, Ony’s arm remains around her neck, keeping her back pressed against his front.

And, boy, does it make her dizzy. Not only that, but her body buzzes with a renewed sense of energy. 

Everything about him, physically, is all encompassing. His cologne is so strong that it’s all she smells. The weight of his body isn’t stifling, but grounding. Even keeping her warm. 

And as her body practically melts into his, the fat of her ass is smushed against his front. 

The press of his print, which happens to lie perfectly between both cheeks, is impossible to ignore. She won’t even bother shifting around to get comfortable. Instead, she succumbs to his hold—too easily—and releases a shaky sigh.

Turns out her guess was right, he is big.

When they step out of the restaurant, yet again do they have to shield their faces from the barrage of cameras and flashes surrounding them.

This time, they run to the car, hopping in as silly laughter pours from them. God, they’re so drunk.

“C’mere … so fuckin’ far.” Ony seems to breathe out the words.

Even in the darkness, the look of lust is written all over him. It’s even swimming around in the air. Her eyes do a full sweep of his body, noting how wide his thick legs are spread. 

Like a minx, she slinks over from her seat and right onto the one he presents to her. 

“Mmh,” he hums, immediately snaking his arms around her small waist and dragging her up higher into his lap. 

She giggles, feeling all of him beneath her.

“You smell good.” He mumbles the words into the warm skin of her neck.

Bliss bends her head down and even sweeps all of her hair over the other shoulder to give him more access to her.

The kisses he lays there are hot and wet, pressed into her warm and soft skin. She shivers. One of his hands press into her lower stomach, keeping her from moving too much.

The pulse between her legs has grown into an ache. Every clench her pussy does is almost painful with how strong it is, even worse now that he’s hard beneath her.

God, why did she pick such a long dress? 

Without thinking, she grounds down onto him, weakly. Onyankopon’s other hand travels upwards the middle of her abdomen. 

She doesn’t focus on his lingering touch. She can’t. Not when he’s sucking a pretty bruise into the side of her neck. Her breathing quickens, and slow, tiny pants leave through her parted lips.

His traveling hand slides up between the valley of her boobs and anchors around her neck just as he lifts his mouth off of her. She bites down on her bottom lip, yet another giggle slips through her teeth.

“Thin-ass dress.” He tightens his grip around her neck. “Might as well have not worn anything.”

His deep voice and his rough hand has her pussy leaking into her panties. He lifts his hips by a fraction, and it pushes a small moan from her.

“Freaky ass lil’ bitch. Got ya titties all out—who’s it for?”

Her eyes flutter shut and she swallows thickly. 

He squeezes another moan out of her. “Hm?”

“Y-you.”

He chuckles. “Got my dick all hard, starin’ at ‘em.”

His hand finally moves, and the skin on her neck is cold. She misses it. But, that’s forgotten when both of his hands cup her heavy breasts.

Bliss arches her back, pushing them further into his warm hands. And, never one to refuse a gift, Ony squeezes them. 

Her body is weak as he plays with them, damn-near juggling them in his hands. And as he laughs, clearly amused by her body’s reaction, she can only try to keep her moans at bay.

“So pretty,” he mumbles before pressing a a kiss to the side of her face. “Pretty ass titties.”

His hands still, only cupping them. Then, his thumbs begin slow circles her pierced nipples through the dress’s thin fabric. Its tiny netting does nothing to shield her body against the gentle caress.

She turns her head to the side, her mouth open and desperate for something to plug it before an embarrassingly loud moan leaves it.

And like her knight in shining armor, Onyankopon indulges her in an open-mouth kiss. He wastes no time, sucking on her tongue.

Around her piercings, his fingers pinch and pull at her nipples. Bliss can’t help it, moaning into his mouth. Her hips rock against his, desperate to finally get on his dick.

When he finally pulls back, they can both breathe. And it’s the first time that they notice music playing through the car’s speakers. 

“Mmh, fuck,” he sighs. Ony sits back in his seat. 

Breathlessly, Bliss fixes her hair, trying to distract herself from the way her body was lit on fire from just kisses and fondling.

Ony looks around the back cavern of the car, quickly finding just what he was looking for: his bottle of Don. It’s stuffed in the side pocket of the car door, calling out for him.

Securing an arm around her waist, Ony leans forward to pick it up out of the car door’s side pocket. When he’s sits back, he pulls the top off the bottle and wastes no time taking a sip.

Busying herself, Bliss grabs her phone from its spot in the cupholder. She opens up Instagram and holds her phone up to snap a couple of clips of herself.

The near darkness of the vehicle is perfect, showing not too much nor too little for the camera to see. And every last clip stays in her drafts.

Still, she’s careful not to get Ony’s face in it, only doing close ups of her face as the music plays.

When Onyankopon finally pulls the bottle away from his face, he sees what she’s doing.

As she records another clip, she zooms in on her body, caressing herself and even showing off her pierced nipples through the dress.

A quick thought puts a smirk on his face. He interrupts, bringing his hand into frame as he squeezes one of her boobs. The ring on his pinky finger glistens under the cameras low flash.

With a surprised gasp, she cuts the clip short.

“Keep recordin’,” he says in her ear, gruffly.

“Why?” She chuckles. “You wanna be seen?”

He scoffs quietly. “That’s cute.” Shifting his hips, he pushes his dick harder against her, just for a bit of spite. “This just for you, though. Don’t post nothing.”

His nose and lips to her neck, his voice in her ear, his hands on her body—she shivers.

Pressing record again. She zooms in on his hand as it gropes her yet again. Very soon after, it slides up and wraps around her neck. She stops the video.

With a giggle, she saves it to her drafts. “Should I send it to you?” She questions, tapping away on her phone.

“Nah, keep that,” he mumbles. Turning his head, Onyankopon peers out of the window, watching the city zoom past them. “Got some other shit planned.”

Thankfully, there’s no paps around. No need for them to rush into the hotel or hide their faces.

As they take their time to get out of the vehicle, Ony’s security surrounds the car.

“Wait—the money,” Bliss worries. 

She’s halfway out of the car, a hand in Ony’s clutch as he’s the one helping her out.

“Don’t trip, I’ma have my people get it for you.” 

As her feet land on the concrete ground, Onyankopon laces an arm laces around her waist, pulling her in close.

“Okay,” she hums, bringing a hand to his chest.

As she looks up into Onyankopon’s low eyes, the lust in them is undeniable. She practically shivers with excitement.

“You cold?” He chuckles, cracking a grill-decorated smile. His perfectly groomed brows even pull together.

God, she’s never noticed how perfect his face looks up close.

Dumbly, she nods, her lips stretching into a wide smile. She watches his eyes flick downward to glimpse at her lips.

“I’ma get you warm soon, right?”

“Mmh, okay.”

Shaking his head, he allows himself to smile wider as he follows his security team into the hotel. 

As he said, two men stay behind to clean up the money at the back of the Rolls Royce. Just for Bliss.

Onyankopon’s room is on the eleventh floor. Normally, one would think that the commute from the hotel lobby to his room—by way of elevator, of course—wouldn’t take much time.

Five minutes, max.

But to Bliss, those five minutes are feeling a lot like thirty, at the very least.

While they waited for the elevator, Onyankopon was all over her. Large hands pulling her in and keeping her close—gripping her ass, too.

She’d whine his name, pushing her face into his chest. Because with the little bit of stragglers lingering in the lobby, there were still wandering eyes.

And he’d tell her, “Let ‘em watch,” because that’s the type of nigga he is. 

‘Rapper’ seems like a fitting title for him.

Oh, but when they finally get in the elevator? Not even his security being there was enough to keep him off of her.

He traps her against the back wall of the elevator. His large hand grasps the junction of her neck and jaw.

There’s tongue involved, far sooner than she thought there would be. But, she’s not complaining. Their heads twist as they suck on each other.

She finds herself moaning into his mouth as he applies pressure around her neck.

Bliss is barely able to pull away with the inch of breath that she was able to escape with. Both their lips are glossed over with spit—slimy and sticky. Their rushed pants quickly dry it, however. 

Before either of them can say anything, the elevator dings with the announcement of their arrival to the eleventh floor.

Only once the door to Ony’s suite shuts, is when they finally lose his security for the night. 

Bliss remains near the door, her first thought to take off her shoes. She keeps a hand on the nearby wall as she unhooks the back of her kitten heel from her foot.

It should take only ten seconds to get both shoes off. Yet, she lingers in that spot well after the time is up. Why?

Well, she’s watching him. 

Watching Onyankopon shrug that heavy jacket off of his wide shoulders and throw it down on the mini bar table. Watching him kick off his shoes. Watching him take a seat on a short leather couch, positioned in the middle of the circular shaped living room.

She isn’t quick enough; He catches her staring.

Her second heel finally drops to the ground. It makes a muted thud against the tiled floor—which is cold against her perfectly manicured feet.

With a tired sigh, Ony leans back against the couch, refusing to break eye contact. “Come.”

A faint smile makes the corner of her lips rise, and an amused scoff leaves her.

This time, Onyankopon watches her.

Watches the way her hips seem to perfectly sway—if even unintentional—with each step. Watches how her boobs bounce softly beneath the tight dress. Watches her land softly on his open lap, throwing an arm around his neck, too.

She throws her purse and phone down onto the cushion next to them, completely disregarding the objects.

Softly, he kisses his teeth, his eyes running over her body. 

“When you gon’ take this fucking dress off?”

She laughs. “When are you gonna take it off me?”

He licks his lips as he reaches behind her to slide a hand up her back, searching blindly for—he found it. 

At the top of her back, at the base of her neck, his fingers collect the small zipper and pulls. He drags it all the way down her spine, until the track stops, right above her ass.

“Now you want me to pull it off or you got that?”

Rolling her eyes, Bliss tugs at the tight sleeves of her dress, pulling her arms out. As she drags the constricting fabric down her body, her boobs spill out. 

The piercings immediately catch his attention. He resists the urge to reach out for them and touch.

Pulling back her hair, she tosses the bundles over a shoulder, allowing him to see everything. For a moment, she stands, only to pull the rest of the dress down.  

When she finally steps out of the pool of her own clothes, the only thing that covers her is that tiny ass G-string.

“Wish I could’a seen you at the show,” he tells her as she comes to sit back down on his lap.

Bliss licks her lips, looking down into his eyes. She hums, gazing at him. “I was dancing and everything.” 

“Oh, yeah?” His voice is soft and hushed, like hers. “Show me how you was dancing.”

She bites down on her lip, trying to stop her smile from growing.

He shifts beneath her, if only to pull out his phone. It’s a seamless process, how he was able to connect his phone to speakers that seem to be connected throughout the entire suite.

She almost laughs, if it weren’t for how serious he is; It’s one of Ony’s songs from his recently released EP. 

“Be my dancer,” he says in her ear, smiling wide.

She almost shivers. 

Wordlessly, she turns her back to him and puts hands on his spread knees. Leaning forward, she starts a slow whine. And Ony is all too happy to watch her ass move in circles right on his lap.

Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulls out a rubber-banded stack, just a bit thinner than those he had at the restaurant. He pops the elastic binding all of the bills together.

The beat changes, and Bliss shakes her ass side-to-side. Ony stretches an arm over her. The quick flick of his thumb pushes fifties and hundreds fluttering over her.

Entranced by the way the fat of her ass moves, he palms one cheek with the other hand.

As he begins to rub, Bliss returns to a slow whine before dropping it in his lap, earning a grunt from him. When she lifts her ass to do it again, Ony smacks it, gripping her immediately after.

Every time, she bounces her ass harder against him. She fights the urge to stop dancing and just solely grind against him, because at this point it’s getting hard to ignore the way he’s poking through his jeans. 

Her bounces grow shorter. The pressure and friction threaten to make her eyes roll back. She’s close to moaning out.

“Shit…” He bites down on his lower lip as he grips the fat of her hip. “Sexy ass lil’ bitch,” he groans.

In all this excitement, he almost forgot what they were doing. Picking the stack back up, he resumes the money shower, allowing the rest of his bills to rain down on her.

She looks back at him over her shoulder, noting the hand in his lap, holding his belt.

Biting down on her lip, Bliss fluidly turns around to get on her knees between his legs. The fallen bills keep her skin from touching the cold tiles.

One hand is positioned on his knee. The other snakes up his other legs, heading towards the buckle of his belt.

“Oh, you wanna get nasty?” His smile is full of mischief.

She nods as she focuses on opening his pants.

“Shiiit, go ‘head.”

And he didn’t need to tell her again. 

Manicured hands pull him out of his boxers. Bliss has to take a minute to cement this moment in her brain. Her heart is pounding in his chest.

He’s heavy in her hand. The very tips of her acrylics just barely touch as she’s wrapped around him. His thickness makes her tummy stir. She can’t wait to take him.

All of those nights she’s spent in bed, imagining him buried deep in her guts—now, it won’t be a toy doing the work. It’ll be the real thing.

Leaning forward, Bliss presses a kiss to the underside of his head. Quickly, she stretches out her tongue and laves it. 

“Don’t try to be cute,” he says through gritted teeth. Immediately, a hand swabs around the back of her head to gather her bundles in a messy, yet tight ponytail. “Suck me up like you do with them toys.”

She opens her mouth wide. Carefully tucking her teeth, Bliss engulfs his entire tip. She keeps him between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, sucking.

Her pace isn’t necessarily slow, that wasn’t even her intention. But, she’s not fast enough, either.

The hand in her hair guides her, encouraging a smooth push-and-pull of her head.

He sucks in air through his teeth. “Oou, just like that. Yeah—relax that throat.”

Her hands stretch across his denim-dressed knee caps, squeezing tighter as she struggles to keep up.

There’s a soft clinch in her face, eyes watering, as she gently gags.

“M-make sure you get that shit wet—mmh. Get it messy … just like that, get my dick messy.”

His voice softly coaxes her on. The firm grip on her hair paired with his commands has her doing everything he wants, and probably more.

His pace picks up, his force getting rougher. And even beneath the thick fans of her lash extensions, he can see her eyes rolling back.

Her gags are heavier, louder. His dick stabs her throat, causing wet clicks every time he touches the back of it. 

He groans out, his stomach clinching, as he feels her tighten around him.

“Sshit!” He laughs, her choking music to his ears. With a hiccup, a large rivulets of spit leak from her puckered lips and drips down his dick. “Yeaaah, just like that!”

As he chuckles over her, her pussy bares down on nothing. Her body is obsessed with the way he sounds.

It’s messy—so messy. Frothy bubbles of spit and cum gather at the rounded corners of her mouth. Thick globs hang from her lips, some of it even rolls down her neck. But all of it drips onto her bare chest, sticking to smooth skin.

And she doesn’t intend to do anything about it. The only goal she aims to accomplish at the moment is taking this dick without throwing up all over it.

Ony hooks a hand on the underside of her jaw as the other only tightens around her hair. All movement of her head is halted and the brief moment of stillness allows her to breathe properly—through her nose, of course.

“You gon’ swallow?”

“Mhm,” she nods eagerly. The fragile hum crackled as it left her.

Ony gazes down into her tear-filled eyes. He notes the mess clouding the bottom of her pretty face

“Sure?”

Her muffled ‘yes’ almost makes him laugh. She can hardly speak around his dick.

“Aight then.”

This time, he’s driving his hips forward, face-fucking her. Bliss lurches forward, hacking as he drills her throat. Yet she doesn’t tell him to stop. Nor does she pull away or even tap his thigh.

“C’mon,” he grunts, the deepest scowl on his face. “Take this dick, take this … f-fucking dick.”

Her body goes pliant as she allows him to use her face like a toy. However, her lips remain tight around him. She doesn’t even try to keep the spit from falling out of her mouth.

The longer he continues, his dick glides in and out of her lips. It’s all so slippery, she gags less and less with every thrust.

There is no announcement of his arrival. Only one more brutal thrust before he presses his hips to her face. They occasionally twitch as he shoots thick ropes of cum down her throat.

She almost chokes. Almost. It’s difficult to swallow his load around his dick, she lets out a gag or two.

When he finally drags himself out of her mouth, webs of spit and cum stretch between his tip and her swollen lips. She heaves, his hanging dick still in her face.

Too focused on gathering her breath, Bliss doesn’t see as he pulls his shirt off.

“Lift ya head,” he says, a soft hand cradling the back of hers.

Bliss looks up, staring into his eyes as he uses his Coogi shirt to wipe the muck off of her face.

His brows are furrowed as he concentrates on cleaning her off. “Yeah … can’t have all this shit drying on ya skin.” He even goes as far as to get her neck and chest. “Aight … there. You good now.” 

He pats her cheek with a smile, earning a giggle from the woman on her knees.

“Thank you.”

He outstretches a hand, helping her up on her two feet.

“It’s nothing,” he says softly. Using his soiled shirt, he wipes down his dick and inner thighs. And when he’s done, he tosses it aside.

As Ony is pulling up his pants, his dark eyes roaming her bare body, he gets an idea—eager to have her participate in it.

“You tryna smoke?”

•

The blunt shakes between her unsteady fingers. She doesn’t get a good inhale in—can hardly even pass it back to him.

Onyankopon does her a favor, taking the blunt back as he pushes his dick back in.

“Oou—shit.” Her shaky groan is music to his ears.

Holding the thick blunt between his lips, he takes his time bottoming out, both hands on her hips.

Her pussy flutters around him, her stomach stirring. This is the deepest he’s gotten, feeling his tip smushed against her cervix. Her head’s dizzy.

“Fuuuck, Onyy—“ A weak hand, hesitant in nature, cradles her lower tummy,

“I’m deep?”

“Mh—yes.” Her breath hitches.

He lifts a hand from her skin to pluck the blunt from between his lips. A thin cloud of smoke puffs from his nose.

“You could handle it,” he rasps. 

The slowly burning blunt dries his throat out, almost makes it scratchy. And yet the wetness between Bliss’ thighs makes it easy to forget the minor discomfort.

A shaky gasp slips from her mouth as he begins a slow stroke. It’s no surprise to her when—even as he’s the one fucking her—he pulls her back by the hips. The quiet clap of her ass against his pelvis and thighs cheers him on. It encourages him.

He wants her to be louder. He wants to hear more.

One minute he’s delivering slow, deep strokes, letting her body sing. Her pussy’s got a vice-like grip around him as it creams around him. Before long, she’s gripping the sheets tight and her legs tremble. 

Blunt be damned; Onyankopon drops it onto the floor in favor of focusing on the woman below him.

Her moans are loud and guttural as his dick punches her stomach from the inside. Even as they’re loud, the bed’s pristine, white sheets weaken the sounds.

And that just isn’t doing it for him.

“Nah, c’mere—“

Fingers grip her hair to yank her face out of the sheets. Her neck strains as her head is angled so far back, that she catches sight of something she’d been too horny to even see before: the mirror above the bed.

She’s got a clear eye-view of herself getting fucked as roughly as she’s always dreamed. It makes her clench down on him harder, she even whimpers seeing it. In such a fucked out state, it’s a drug seeing the way her body ricochets against his.

A small part of her is embarrassed seeing the faces she makes, she’s out of it. Yet, she loves it all the same. With Onyankopon as another set of eyes, she loves it even more—being watched while he turns her out.

Moan after moan pours from her lips until her throat is sore, and even then she still continues to yell at the top of her lungs about how good his dick is.

“Yes—yes! So … fuckin’ big—oh fuck!”

It’s impossible  to keep her grip on reality. Her knees can barely hold her up. The sweet pain in her lower stomach has her eyes rolling back. Ony tugs at her roots harder.

“Know you see yourself,” he grunts. “Know you see how I’m fuckin’ you.”

His smirk and breathless voice is just the cherry on top—she trembles as she squirts on him. But her release doesn’t make him slow down. In fact, Onyankopon goes harder.

“Mhm … cream on my shit. Squirt on my shit—drown me.”

Every time she tries to look at their reflection her eyes either crossed or she just can’t keep them open. All of her strength is reduced to nothing.

Onyankopon’s strokes, which hold an ungodly amount of force behind them, shakes the woman to her core. It knocks the air from her chest. 

A choked noise followed by heavy breathing is all that her body can muster. Seeing his response, Ony does it again, loving how it leaves her breathless and with no sound. 

He does it again. And again. And again. The clapping of skin is deafening to Bliss’s ears. Her vision blurs and all her body can do is focus on one thing at a time. All sounds begin to fade out. She can only spotlight the repeating jabs to her insides.

Every time she tightens around him, he finds it harder to hold back. But he keeps up. The faster he goes, the more sloppy and less accurate he becomes. 

As they continue on it doesn’t matter, Bliss is so close to another release, that it would only take a couple of these blind thrusts for her to cum again. 

“Shiiit!”

“What? It’s not enough?” He pulls out, and quickly thrusts back in, feeling triumphant when she yelps out.

“T-too mu—much,” she hisses.

He pulls out and she gasps, her body clenching around nothing. He takes himself in his hand, rubbing the head against her lips. He smears her cream around with his latex-covered tip.

She’s been stretched open, making it all too easy for him to see the creamy pinkness typically hidden behind brown lips. It’s a sight for sure, one that he can’t look away from as she pushes out some of her previous release.

However, he hadn’t realized that he was pressed for time; Bliss whines out, pushing back on him. Even her cunt clenches down, like it missed the fullness.

“C’mon,” she mumbles into the sheets.

He laughs. “You was just crying it was ’too much.’”

A brief moment of strength strikes her as she pulls her head out of the pillows to look back at him. “Put it in, Ony!”

With little to no effort, on account of how wet she was, he slips right back in, granting her that satisfying feeling of being stuffed. 

She moans sweetly and drops her head into the sheets, a long groan moving past her lips and he rolled his hips. The feeling of him stroking her insides, so good, better than good. 

It was great, and her eyes rolling back were evidence of that. He pulls out and pushes back in, repeating that movement at a fast pace. She sank her teeth into her lip, trying to stop herself from being too loud.

Bringing her hips up higher, Onyankopon achieves a better angle. She was getting drunk off his strokes, as well as the sound of him blowing her back out.

“Oh—oh… God,” she drawls.

The pleasure is overwhelming and she scoots up, trying to lessen the hits to her guts.

“Oh, so you runnin’? I thought you wanted me to beat it up?”

He pulls her back and holds onto her shoulders. Applying pressure, he uses that leverage to repeatedly bring her back on him, his thrusts hitting harder and deeper..

“Oh fuuuck,” she groaned and gasps, shutting her eyes to stop them from rolling back.

“You confusin’ me, mama.”

He’s reveling in the tight, warm and wet hug her body offers. He looks down, noting how her her body coats his dick in her cum.

“Shit, shit, oh fuck,” she whines.

He smacks her ass and keeps going.

“Oh shit…” he groans. “So… fuckin’ good,” he says under his breath, closing his eyes and getting lost in the feeling.

Bliss’s whimpers bring him back. Her thighs shake and her arch comes undone. 

In a flash, the desire to see her face again hits him like a freight train. And what other choice does he have but to do something about it?

It’s hard, but Onyankopon pulls out. Using what’s left of his strength, he flips her over on her back and drags her body to the edge of the bed. He’s wordless in his actions, she’ll see his point very soon. 

But, for now, Bliss sits up on her elbows to watch with tired confusion as he moves her.

Strong hands grabs her thighs and pull her flush against his front, eliciting a yelp from her. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around his waist, giving him the perfect opportunity to lift her hips completely off the bed.

“What the fuck?” She laughs, her fatigue so apparent in her hoarse voice. 

She has to make a great effort to hold herself up. Of course, Ony holds her, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t doing some type of work. 

“Trying something different. You good with this?”

She doesn’t think she’s ever been in such a position. It excites her, makes her giddy. It even brings a renewed sense of excitement and energy to her body. Her hair falls in her face as she gives a loose nod.

The muscles in his bicep flex as he transfers all of her weight to one hand, busying the other as he grabs himself. Just like this, she’s like a five-star meal placed before him, ready for him to demolish. 

He gives himself two quick tugs before aligning with her weeping center and slowly pushing back in.

The stretch is wonderful every time, evidenced by the way Bliss throws her head back.

He fucks into her, holding onto her hips so tight that his thumbs press against her hip bones. She writhes, and her legs damn near squeeze the life out of him as he hits spots in her that she didn’t even think to be possible.

“Keep squeezin’ me like that—yeah,” he groans out, throwing his head back as well.

Her moans seem to have run out despite her mouth hanging wide open. She’s completely silent, unable to scream as he digs her out.

“Uh—fuck, I’m ‘bout to c-cum—” Ony’s resolve seems to be cracking as his voice waivers with his moans.

Her legs tremble and her pretty toes curl so tight that her feet almost cramp up.

A burning heat flashes throughout his body as his orgasm catches him by surprise. His mouth drops open and his muscles tense before he leans down, dropping them back onto the mattress as he pushes his face into her neck. 

Senselessly, Onyankopon ruts into her, riding out his nut until he stops filling the condom. The overstimulation pushes Bliss over the edge as well. 

Her orgasm comes crashing down around them as her pussy clenches down on him, only wetting his dick further. She hugs him close, keeping him from pulling out too soon.

“Awe fuck,” he mumbles. As his lips had moved against the skin of her neck, it tickles her.

She giggles.

“Fuck you laughing for?” 

She can hear the smile in his voice.

“Tickles,” she breathes out. Shifting beneath him, she can still feel him inside of her, softening by the minute.

His chest rumbles with a deep sigh. “This shit got me … wantin’ to pass out.”

She hums in agreement, slowly dragging a hand up and down his back. His body is hot, a bit sweaty, too. She doesn’t doubt that hers feels the same way to him.

Movements filled with fatigue, Onyankopon pushes himself up to look down at her. Her makeup is definitely fucked up, courtesy of tonight’s events. And yet, he can’t stop himself from smiling when he stares at her.

“What?” She laughs, growing just a little bit shy.

“You better than a fuckin’ blunt after a show.”

She breaks into a full on laugh, giving him a much clearer view of her cute gap. “Thanks?”

“Nah,”  he says, shaking his head. “I definitely gotta keep you around.”

And even if he didn’t want to, Bliss doesn’t think she’d let him go.

…

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[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 2 - Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomfiore]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi?

AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length. Trying to get everyone done today. It's my last day off for a few.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

Azul is no stranger to visiting different shops to stay on top of trends. Valentine's Day wasn't something they had in the Coral Sea so this trip was more for the experience than anything. He's taking in the overwhelming but impressive amount of red, pink, and white decorations while trying to look at the other shoppers out of the corner of his eye.

What are they buying? What's most popular?

The holiday seems too brief to plan a full menu, or even to-go specials. Maybe he can do something next year.

There's an emphasis on chocolates and sweets. He's not even eating any of it and his teeth hurt! The small chocolate assortments make more sense than the huge brick of chocolate--dark chocolate?--several Pomfiore students are planning to split between themselves. His stomach hurts at the thought of trying to eat even a third of what they're holding.

In his opinion it's an unimpressive holiday. A marketable one for sure, but unimpressive. Clearly it's meant for the nice, sentimental, mushy people out there.

Not to say there's no one he'd spoil. No one he cares about. Matter of fact, he's got something crunchy in his basket for Floyd! And if it weren't for his mother living underwater, she might like some of these cutesy knickknacks! A set of cookie cutters catch his eye and Azul throws them in his basket without thinking.

Damn hand-brain.

He stares into his own basket, wondering what the justification is. There's a part of his brain saying he doesn't need a reason but he's not an impulsive person. He's a practical person and the practical reason he needs those cookie cutters is to make cookies for the lounge in case any poor soul misses their chance to get something from Sam's!

Yes. Yes, that's it.

He may or may not be trying to tell you he likes you by collecting heart-shaped things. You'll check him out at the register and he'll just keep handing you heart things. Offering his heart over and over.

Not that you'd know. Azul doesn't have the guts to tell you yet. He's got three hearts but no guts.

It's just not the right time, he tells himself. Not the right way.

He puts sprinkles and chocolate stirring spoons into his basket. There's a little mushroom figurine that has white hearts instead of the usual spots. That's for Jade.

Azul weaves between the shelves to get to the refrigerated section, buying a couple of cartons of milk and ice cream. He's not fast but he's stronger than he looks. Aside from the work in his mother's restaurant in the Coral Sea, cooking on land has cultured a lot of muscle in unexpected ways--straining full stockpots, blending quarts of sauces, roasting whole chickens, and hefting huge fish onto the cutting board for portioning. It'll be nothing to carry it all back.

He just doesn't like to do it. And he doesn't like to lose his voice or go completely pink in front of you, but he does. Azul tries to look without looking, charmed by the glittery dangle in your hair and how it brings out the color of your eyes.

Then, he hears it. "How much do you cost?"

It is not enough to beg his pardon. The Seven must also be begged.

A fury whips up inside of him. He's furious that it's just so easy for that lander to chat you up. He's furious that he's not confident enough to do it when he's been drowning in these feelings for weeks. The manager part of his brain kicks in and he becomes furious that you're being accosted on the clock.

SAM WOULD NEVER, BUT WHERE IS HE?! STAFF SHOULD NOT BE MADE TO ENDURE SUCH CONDITIONS!

"Hardly appropriate for the occasion, don't you think?" Azul has stepped in with his signature smooth smile and calm demeanor. He has no cane, hat, or coat at the moment but he knows he makes people uncomfortable without them. There's something about him that makes people nervous. The pecking dread of 'he's human but not totally human' makes them jumpy and very prey-like.

"I-I was just messing around," the guy deflects.

"There's a time and a place. Unfortunately, it's not here and not now. You're interrupting the flow of business and I don't think the other patrons are happy," Azul hums a little as he and the abysmal Casonova look back at all the people in line. They are, in fact, not happy.

"I'll just go." he grabs the change bashfully and doesn't look back.

Azul thanks the person who let him cut in line, half wondering if said person will come back and try to coax a favor out of him. "Thanks, Azul." you smile at him.

"You're most welcome." Azul adjusts his glasses before layering the bags on his arms. You help him with the door. "I'd be happy to treat you to a milkshake. You know, something sweet to make up for whatever THAT was." he gestures to the guy in the distance.

WHY IS HE TALKING? WHY DID HE KEEP TALKING? THE LEGS NEED TO MOVE BUT THEY'RE NOT!

"Sounds great! I'll stop by after my shift."

"Okay," his voice cracks a bit but you don't hear it because the door's already closed. He breaths a sigh of relief.

----

Floyd was sent to pick through the pink and red chaos at Sam's while Jade and Azul redecorated for a Valentine's special at the lounge. It was a last-minute idea inspired by the deluge of advertising. They'd gotten bigger things in town like tablecloths and fancy napkins but smaller treats were lacking. He was tasked with getting melting chocolates and pre-made stuff to balance out the strawberries and fresh groceries they bought.

A big, aggravated sigh passed through his sharp teeth. The line is long and he doesn't really want to do this. Floyd feels his brain shutting off as his looks at heart streamers and silver-and-pink tinsel. At least I won't have to slave over a hot burner all night, Floyd sighs again as he looks at the goods and wonders what would make Azul happy.

The menu will be limited. Each item is heart-shaped, sweet, or both. It honestly just sounds like an excuse to sell people overpriced sugar.

Floyd buys a couple packs of melting chocolates in different colors and some crunchy sour candies for the trouble. Jade sends him a text asking him to grab a couple of cans of whipped cream for the pancakes and crepes. He steps out of line, grabs the cans, and pauses when he hears the guy shoot his shot.

"How much do you cost?"

Really?

Landers are so weird. They don't seem to have any conditions for mating. Why would you entertain this dude when he hasn't shown you he could provide or protect you? Spending money to buy things so he could talk to you isn't the way to provide. Buying your time is no different than those underwater pricks trying to curry his dad's favor with gifts.

It's disingenuous and disgusting.

"I don't see a 'for sale' sign. Can't buy it if it's not advertised." Floyd frowns at the little worm in front of him, sharp teeth poking out beneath his upper lip. "That's how shops work if you didn't know." Floyd laughs.

He was stupid enough to ask you out so he might be too stupid to realize why that pickup line didn't work.

"R-Right." the guy nods, swallowing thickly. Floyd was absently rolling his shoulder, annoyed with how long he'd held the basket. The guy noticed his working muscle and booked it, grabbing most of his change. A coin skipped off the counter, twinkling under the lights. Giggling to himself, Floyd stooped to pocket the change.

"Heya Shrimpy,"

"Hey Floyd," you started scanning the basket of items.

"Ya hungry? It's pretty busy in here."

"A little." you admitted. "But I'll be off soon. I can go back to Ramshackle and make something."

"Nah, come to the Lounge! We're doing specials for groups and couples."

"Does Grim count?" you give a little laugh. Azul lets him in sometimes depending on his attitude. At the very least, he'll let Grim get something to go.

"You get the best deal if you go with me. I'll buy your whole meal." Floyd wiggles his eyebrows at you playfully. His gold eye shines.

"Oh! I like that! I'll bite!"

"A bit early for that but I'll see you there." Floyd knows what he said has confused you. You landers aren't really keen on stuff from the Coral Sea but that's okay. He had a date with you and that's what matters.

----

Jade isn't quite sure what Sam's inventory will hold but he's been tasked with finding interesting things for the Lounge. Pink things, shiny things, profitable things--anything. Azul is convinced it will give him an edge over other places to eat. Never mind the fact that convenience is key and the students don't want to pay for the bus fare or compete with crowds in town.

He peruses the chocolate molds and candy necklaces, amused by the fact you can wear it and eat it. What a novel idea! Sam put a few types of tea on reserve for him and Jade knew they were pretty shades of pink and blue when brewed so that was something. The mer picks up a box of crunchy straw-like things and puts them in the basket. If they don't work as real straws, they can be milkshake accents.

Loaf cakes catch his eye. You could get at least ten slices out of each; top them with a bit of ice cream and you have a cheap but elegant-looking dessert. He puts a few in the basket. Teas considered, Jade is confident in his choices and ready to check out.

"Oya oya? What's this?" Jade's golden eye pierces the spineless lander in front of him. Did his ears deceive him or were you being accosted by unworthiness? "Do repeat yourself. I'm interested."

It sounds like an ask but it's not. It's a demand. A demand for this man to prostrate himself as an apology for his inferiority. For the gall to so much as breathe in your presence.

A punishment for conceiving the notion to approach you, he supposes. A light punishment, all things considered. Jade was capable of far more than some casual embarrassment, after all. His smile was polite but his words were anything but. "Go on. You may not have their full attention but you have mine."

"J-Just forget I said anything, okay?" the guy completely ignores him to whimper to you. He snatches whatever he bought so quick Jade doesn't know what it was.

No matter.

"Hello there," Jade smiles down at you. You definitely fit the holiday theme. Oh! Does that mean he should take you back to the lounge? You're interesting and that fits Azul's criteria.

Yes, he thinks you'd be perfect in the lounge.

"Hi Jade." you pack his items away dutifully. You bag the teas carefully.

Pink and shiny--yes, you must come to the lounge.

"Seeing as you're working for Sam today, I'd love for you to stop by and try these teas. I'm sure he'll appreciate feedback from more than just myself."

"I can make time for tea."

"Perfection."

----

Kalim is admiring the myriad of pinks and reds, bracelets and bangles jingling as he skips into Sam's. Valentine's Day is an interesting holiday. It's practically bursting at the seams with color and he's delighted to know red features heavily. The holiday is practically made to host in Scarabia!

Maybe they could make a red-inspired menu? A red and pink menu? He can't really think of foods that would fit the theme and he'd rather not give Jamil a stomach ache trying all of the chocolate things in here. Kalim trots off to look at the flowers and trinkets, just narrowly avoiding Jamil's stern grab. "Don't run off without me!" Jamil chastises, Kalim giving a half-hearted hum as he analyzed a pair of gold and red earrings.

They weren't cheap but they weren't expensive, either. The price point was fair, Kalim thought. Being who he was, he'd learned to tell the quality of gems and gold from a young age.

Would you like jewelry? He's never seen you wear jewelry. Kalim has bugged Jamil about you a million times, bouncing ideas off of him until he was so frustrated he left the room.

"I think they'd appreciate food more, given their circumstances." Jamil puts the earrings back on the shelf.

"But I always give them food, Jamil! Don't you think they want something different?"

"You're overthinking, Kalim," Jamil taps him in the forehead with a finger. "People are simple. Give them food and attention."

"I would've taken them out on a carpet ride but someone hid my carpet." even when Kalim was trying to cut his red eyes and look peeved, it didn't work. His face was too round and cherubic for it.

"I don't trust that thing," Jamil huffs, guiding him back to the line.

Kalim listens to people talk about plans to split chocolates and call relatives to see what they'd like and a sad pang cuts through him.

Why isn't it that easy for him? He's got more money than people could ever dream of and yet he feels like he's not doing enough for you.

Not that you'd know what he's done for you. He hasn't exactly said he likes you yet. Surely he'd made it obvious with all the invites to Scarabia, right? You hadn't quite caught on to the grocery drops yet but he understands the confusion; Crowley took credit for at least one of those and Kalim was not happy.

"I see an empty-handed Imp!" Sam makes him and Jamil jump. "Are my wares not enough for you, Little One?" he tuts at Kalim's empty hands.

"Oh there's lots of cool stuff!" Kalim promises, smiling brightly. "I just have to be careful about what I eat!"

"What about some roses? Those are popular! They're up there by the register. And we have small fruit arrangements in the refrigerated section, of course."

"Actually, we're just here to deliver an invitation." Jamil redirects Kalim when he seems to be thinking about going to the refrigerated section.

"We could get some festive napkins!" Kalim is leafing through packs of heart designs and colors. Sam seems satisfied. Jamil heaves an irritated sigh as the store owner moves on to his next mark.

Kalim almost drops the napkins when he hears what the guy said to you. It takes Jamil by surprise, too. Jamil starts to panic when Kalim doesn't move; Kalim's outbursts were rare but even rarer were the moments he just froze.

A frozen Kalim means he's contemplating. Dipping his toes into the side of himself he doesn't ever show because it disgusts and disappoints him. The young boy squares his shoulders and raises his head in a way that proves he was raised with etiquette and presence. It's the walk of someone unconcerned because he has so much money that nothing is a problem.

Quick as a flash that cunning, stewing heaviness disappears. Kalim hooks his arm around the guys neck, taking him by surprise. Disarmed by his sunny grin and stunned by his boldness, he stumbles over to a wall of cards. Jamil slithers through the aisles and positions himself just so to listen.

In these rare moments, when Kalim puts on that face, they think alike. Kalim hates these moments because it shows him that people just want money. That they'll trip over themselves for enrichment, compromising morals and anything else as long as the price is right.

But this time it works in his favor.

"Instead of asking how much they cost," the sunniness slowly drains from Kalim's voice, "ask yourself how much it would cost for you to leave them alone. Like, not ask them out again. At all. Ever."

It's the first time someone at NRC realizes Kalim's not all sunshine and rainbows. And that his pampered life hasn't left him completely soft. Kalim had to go through the same training Jamil did, being the heir to a massive fortune and all. He needs to be able to hold his own even though he shouldn't expect to.

Only he and Jamil know some of his rings are hollow and hold poisons. The guy doesn't know how close he is to said poisons.

"Y'know, it's, uh..it's on me. Free." the guy squeaks out, dipping out from under Kalim's arm.

Content, Kalim skips up to you and hands you the decorated envelope with gold calligraphy. "Please come to my party!" he looks at you hopefully, eyes shining.

"I would love to! You know I love your parties!"

"Perfect! I'll pick you up when you're done, okay?" Kalim waves to you.

"KALIM DON'T LEAVE! WE HAVE TO PAY FOR THE NAPKINS! COME BACK!" Jamil has no idea how many sets of napkins he just left with. "Keep the change," he breaths, darting after him.

----

Jamil was taking a rare moment to himself. Lilia and Cater promised they'd keep Kalim occupied for a little while so he could take a breather. They both understood what it was like to look after people, even if it wasn't as serious or to the same degree. The Pop Music Club sessions were normally two hours long, so he had time. Kalim had been yammering nonstop about the Sam's Valentine's setup so Jamil promised to take a look on his behalf.

He grew up around unfathomable finery, almost indulgent to the point of foolishness. Gold forks, gold plates, a knife handle carved from a tree in the Sunset Savanna and inlaid with diamonds--you name it. Perhaps that was why nothing caught his eye, Jamil thought.

So many people were excited about it, though. He had to put himself in their shoes. Their average shoes, just like he was forced to be average lest Kalim feel inadequate.

Poor thing, Jamil rolled his eyes. He was a pro at filtering out noise thanks to Kalim and his ridiculous number of siblings. It was easy to let his brain go and really look at the trinkets and seasonal food. Loathe as he was to admit, some of this stuff was cute.

Jamil let himself bask in the happiness. The freedom.

This is what he wanted for himself one day--traveling, seeing the sights, sampling unusual foods at special times of the year.

Maybe this wasn't so silly after all.

He picked up a few packets of instant curry, only what he felt he could eat and dispose of before fetching Kalim. Curry was a huge weakness of his and he hated that Kalim practically banned it. The amount of caffeine and tea he drank probably bordered on unhealthy (or at least deserved research) but it didn't stop him from throwing a canned coffee into his basket. Because he liked his curry savory and hot, he threw in a strawberry-rose milk drink. It seemed interesting.

Jamil felt the crick in his neck when he snapped his head up in disbelief. Who was this nobody asking you out?!

HOW MUCH DO YOU COST?!

With no Kalim here to temper him, to distract him or force him into the mediocrity, Jamil thought of letting go and lighting the guy up just because.

It really was appalling, his approach. Nothing to offer? What talents or skills did he have? What made him so special, more special than anyone else at NRC?

Nothing, that's what. He probably didn't even know HALF of what Jamil did!

"More than you will ever earn," Jamil answered him. "I'm sure your capacity to make money is on the same pitiful level as your self-awareness. Or do you need glasses to see they're not interested?"

He was known for his biting wit so this was nothing out of character. The way he stared into the boy as if to set him on fire might have been, had no one ever seen him try to get Floyd to cooperate in Basketball Club.

He'd earned his Viper namesake, the boy's ego clearly bitten and bruised as he dragged himself away. His words were deadly, much like Viper venom. Jamil didn't bother watching him leave, setting his basket quietly on the counter and taking out the items.

"Thank you."

All of that venom suddenly dried up. Jamil was feeling quite shy and toothless, not that he'd ever admit it. If he looked up at you, he knew he'd be done for. He could feel his neck heating up.

Unable to resist poking a little fun at him--when did you ever see him blush?--you handed him the change and slapped a smiley face sticker on the back of his hand.

IT HAD HEART EYES!

"I have to go." Jamil took off.

----

Vil was disciplined ninety-five percent of the time so he could indulge the other five percent. Rook all but dragged him to Sam's, waxing poetic about the holiday in all it's pink, sugary glory. He even made Vil promise not to look at any labels while he shopped. Or he could just compromise and let Rook buy him one sweet that he would have to eat no matter what.

That didn't seem too bad, so Vil conceded. Live a little, right?

Several companies had reached out to him in the beginning of February but their products were gluttonous and made him feel sick just looking at them. He felt like he'd be doing his followers a disservice to promote them because they just looked like death in a package. The only one he'd considered so far was a juice from an organic company called 'Beautiful Blends'.

No, not because they had beautiful in the name. The ingredients were organic--he researched the farms--and they had a nutritionist and dietician developing the blends. They had a blend for energy, immune support, digestion, and even one for headache relief. He was interested in the actual beauty blend; it had strawberry, coconut milk, collagen, and several other things he was interested in. It was a milky pink and perfect for Sam to sell during Valentine's Day.

NRC wasn't exactly health-minded outside of Pomfiore so he wasn't worried about missing out. He broke off from Rook, moving with grace and purpose to the refrigerated section. Vil took a split second to admire his reflection in the glass door, satisfied with his skin and the loose hair that escaped his half-bun but had the courtesy to frame his face despite its disobedience. His ring and nails clinked against the glass bottle but he paid it no mind.

"Would you like a basket?" Rook offered his. Vil peered curiously into said basket, unsurprised to see other flavors of Beautiful Blends in there. Rook knew him eerily well. Maybe he knew which ones he'd like to try. He also knew Vil was against overconsumption and wouldn't buy them all at once nor of his own volition.

"I'm fine, thanks." Vil smiled at him, appreciating his constant presence. His discipline and tenacity tended to chase a lot of people away but not Rook. There were people who appreciated him for his routines and followed him loyally, but not like Rook.

Rook wasn't just a 'yes' man. He was Vil's balance in every aspect. As if to prove that, he took the Beautiful Blend from Vil and put it in the basket. Vil didn't like his hands getting wet because that messed with the lotion he applied and it left a weird film on his hands the rest of the day.

"I just said--I BEG YOUR PARDON?" Vil was caught off guard by the flirtation and couldn't believe his ears. It was rare for anyone to surprise him but some NOBODY is trying to make nice with HIS POTATO?!

AS IF!

All he can manage is, "HOW GAUCHE!" as he breezes to the front of the line and stares at the man, absolutely floored. This moment would be a permanent reference for any scene where he needed to look surprised. And lost for words.

And disgusted. And furious.

"You don't think we'd make a cute couple?" the guy teases.

"You want to know what I think?" Vil proceeds to systematically point out the guy's flaws--posture, hair, that one zit coming up in the middle of his forehead--before pointing out that his greatest offense is his sheer selfishness. He's selfish for putting you in a situation where you might cave under peer pressure!

"That's enough, Roi du Poison," Rook shushed him, patting his arm and forcing it down so Vil quit pointing at the little gremlin. If he didn't stop him, he'd keep going. Rook was secretly glad he'd grabbed the Beauty Blend out of his hand earlier; if he was any more worked up it might've gone across the guy's head.

The guy was stunned by the takedown. Vil pointed out things he hadn't thought about. Things he was already insecure about (Vil could tell). "Apologize!" Vil barked in that Housewarden voice.

"I'm sorry." the guy left with whatever trash he bought.

Vil took a moment to compose himself, hands on his hips as he watched the gremlin leave. Fully relaxed, Vil walked to the counter and motioned for Rook to hand him the basket. He set everything out like nothing happened.

"Thank you, Vil."

"It was nothing." he clicked his tongue, waving his hand dismissively.

"Not to me."

Oh, you're clever. And honest. And cute. Maybe he'll drop a hint about his crush in his next interview. Rook forgets he knows French, too, and Vil smashes his hat down on his head on the off chance you know what 'he wants to love you and hug you and kiss you' is in French.

----

It's only natural that Rook would show up for the Valentine's Day sale. He is, after all, a lover of love. Sam never fails to disappoint with his wares and Rook is having a grand time perusing the aisles. There's copious amounts of candy, thoughtful cards, card games for couples, and fill-in-the-blank books with cute phrases and poems!

"You're mine," he smiles at said book, putting it in his basket. There's condensed versions of romantic classics and, had he not read them a million times before, that would be in his basket too. He picks up a pair of heart-shaped glasses for Vil. The desire for liver pate rises in him and he doubles back to check the canned meats. Midway through his careful search, he hears the...attempt...at woo.

A sad, beautiful, nervous attempt.

Rook rises to his full height, feather on his hat dancing almost indignantly as he moves to the front of the aisle. He has half a mind to huck that can of pate hard enough to scare the boy but that would not be very beaute of him.

"Mon amie," Rook drapes his arm around the boy's neck with a disappointed sigh, "There is much to teach you in when it comes to romance."

"Like what? I--" Rook knows that's rhetorical and the guy could care less what he's going to say but he uses his uniqueness to his advantage. He launches into a small monologue about how romance is considerate and kind, not brash and unrefined like that heartfelt confession. Love is delicate like morning dew and tender like the tempting embrace of your bed seconds before you have to get up for the day. Above all, love is knowing your partner in all aspects, which includes when things have gone too far and are not welcome.

Sure, a handful of people left the store entirely but mission accomplished. The guy left shortly after Rook subtly dragged his confession. Satisfied, Rook flashed you a kind smile and unpacked his basket.

"And sometimes love wears a purple hat with a little feather." you smirk at him.

"Oh, Trickster! My heart!" Rook places his hands on his cheeks, face a pretty pink that compliments his green eyes.

---

In the spirit of Valentine's Day, Vil loosened the reigns of Pomfiore's diet for the day. Epel wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth and immediately set off for Sam's. With luck, he'd still have some meats on sale. The holiday was all about fluff and pink and sweets so he wasn't worried about missing out on macarons.

To his delight, there was a selection of macarons. He was in hog heaven! If anyone heard the noise he made, it was probably the deepest and most demented thing they'd heard since Vil got his paws on him and 'refined' him. Epel was going to eat himself sick and regret it in the morning but not right now.

He picked up a second basket just for meats, afraid to crush his beloved macarons. The hamburger buns could share a basket with them, but not the meats. Knowing he had a calorie pass for the day unleashed something primal in Epel. All of a sudden he had SO MANY IDEAS.

Bacon burger? Bacon burger.

Hell, he could even make himself a little less homesick and have a traditional Harvestinian breakfast! He put a small thing of breakfast sausages in the basket. The instant grits were a bit of an insult, as was the 'heat and eat' pulled pork but the portion was reasonable and it wouldn't be money down the drain if Vil confiscated it tomorrow.

His patience begins to thin as he waits in line. The baskets are heavy but they're nothing he can't handle, growing up on a farm and all. The line doesn't seem to be moving at all! What in tarnation?, Epel squints menacingly, leaning out of line to see what the hold up was.

DID THAT NOBODY JUST ASK HOW MUCH YOU COST?!

It's clear you're uncomfortable and even MORE clear that this dude is NOT GETTING THE HINT.

As someone who's been hit on more than he cared for, this makes him mad on a whole 'nother level. You're doing all the right things--redirecting, professional body language--but this guy thinks he's going to get his way.

He's not. Everyone knows it but no one's saying anything.

Well he's gonna. What would his grandma say if he just stood by in a situation like this? He puts his hair up in a ponytail and glares at the guy.

"Were you raised in a barn? Couldn't be because EVEN ANIMALS KNOW WHEN TO LEAVE ALONE AN' GIT!" he gets louder with each word, rolling ups his sleeves. He spares his meat basket a quick glance and picks up the still-cold bacon. It's firmer than the hamburger patties and could give a decent wallop. "GO ON NOW, GIT!" Epel brandishes the bacon.

The guy is understandably confused and concerned. Probably the first time he'd been threatened with cold food. If he wasn't going for beef and bacon, he would've snagged a bag of frozen chicken wings and really wailed on the guy.

"I SAID GIT!" Epel chases him out like the dog he is, the guy narrowly dodging a bacon smack.

Word was going to get back to Vil for sure but he didn't care.

"Looks like you're going to have a good time!" you ring up the meats.

"I'm a free man today! Of course I'm gonna have a good time!"

"Have a good day, Epel. Thanks for stopping by!"

"I...I'd have a better time if you wanted to come eat some of this with me. I-I was plannin' on inviting Jack and Deuce, too. And Ace. Ace likes hamburgers. Vil lets me grill outside of Pomfiore sometimes." he starts to ramble, voice getting smaller and smaller as he goes.

"Sure! I'll grab some drinks and stuff when I get off." you smile, double-bagging the meats.

He's red as an apple when he leaves and that'll get back to Vil, too, but he doesn't care.

[mythblossoms]

nebula

pairing: caleb x gn!reader content: first! kiss!, yearning & down bad caleb and reader, light teasing, nicknames (pip-squeak), two dummies (affectionate) in love, loose EPIC/Odyssey reference because it's me a/n: double posting today to BECAUSE IT IS LOVE DAY and this is dedicated to beloved @spiderlilypetals - happy valentine's day, i think you deserve the world and sweet nights cuddled up and looking at the stars ;u; wc: 1.6k

Solar systems begin with the collapse of a nebula, swirling clouds of dust and gas expanding, swelling, building until caving in on itself. Waves of energy rippling across space and time, clinging to the remnants and tugging them in and forming a new home.

Funny, Caleb thinks, that this is what loving you feels like. 

Years spent memorizing the way your lips quirk up into a smile when he teases, the way you bit your lip when you were upset, how your eyes sparkled  when sharing some new interest — moments building something in his heart until it caved in on itself and you became the center of his universe, the brightest star with the strongest pull, keeping him stable but spinning.

“Any one home?” your voice broke through the churning cloud of thoughts encasing his mind like a bright light, the slight nudge of his knee with your foot grounding him — as you sat curled up on your couch. “Is someone getting too sleepy?” 

He grinned at you, lightly grabbing your ankle and squeezing. These light touches were familiar, safe. Contact that came easily after years of knowing each other. “Me? I wasn’t the one who stayed up late last night looking up best claw machine tactics.” 

“Well, at least one of us is trying,” you scoffed, tucking cold toes under his thighs and crossing your arms. “Your skills are getting rusty. Might have to revoke your arcade membership.”

“Don’t pout, pip-squeak —” his hand grazed your knee before settling on the back of the couch, another barely there touch that sent a ripple of energy towards his heart. “Pretty sure those new plushies on your bed came from your very dedicated co-pilot.”

“You can’t always use your evol, you know.” You poked your tongue out at him. “It’s cheating.”

It was easy like this, hidden under the familiarity of teasing and the safety of nostalgia. You would laugh, poke him in the cheek, make some silly joke at his expense. And he would collect this moment, another star in the galaxy of you. 

“And I’ll do it again,” he grinned. “Anything for you.” Only for you. 

You yawned then, the late hour truly not lost on either of you. Your hands stretching above your head, the collar of his old sweatshirt loose on your shoulder. 

“Remember the time we hung all those glow in the dark stars in my room?” You leaned in, head resting on your knees. Wistfulness lingered in your eyes, and Caleb’s heart stuttered - the gravitational pull of your gaze that strong. 

And how could he forget. All day spent arranging those stars in different paths across your ceiling, every pillow, blanket, and plushie to be found pulled into a massive pile on the floor. The night spent creating stories about constellations found in the patterns crisscrossing the ceiling. The pale green glow of the stars reflected in your eyes, the atoms hovering in the smallest space between the two of you humming with the energy of a combusting star. A night sky for just the two of you. A memory so ingrained that he could feel that weighted charge clinging to his skin. 

“What, you think I’d forget that?” He pinched your chin gently. “Someone wasn’t tall enough to put them on the ceiling so I had to do all the hard work”. He waited for the eye roll, the huff that would surely follow or the pillow that would be tossed his way. Safe he thought, easy.

The energy in the room had shifted, perhaps in the way you had looked at him or in some memory that had reawakened. The comfortable silence now thrumming in time with his beating heart. He wondered, briefly, could hear it? You sighed, wrapping your hand delicately around his, offering a gentle squeeze. “I miss it.”

Did you know the effect you had on him? Eyes closing as you relived the memory, fingers threading delicately with his. “I miss it being just me, and you, pretending like the stars were meant for us.” Caleb would pull every star out of the sky and hang it in your room, if it meant you were happy, if it meant your hand entwined perfectly with his.

“We don’t have to pretend anymore,” he said gently, his eyes speaking every word that drowned on his tongue. Simultaneously hoping you felt the weight of his words, wishing you would stay in your reverie. He moved imperceptibly closer, hovering on the boundary of what was familiar. “We could grab some blankets and look at the stars now.” His voice just above a whisper, the softness masking the slight quiver in his words. 

You hummed, a soft content sound, squeezing his hand - a slight glimmer in your barely open eyes. “Don’t forget our plushies.”

Your balcony had become your very own cozy fort. Big pillows carefully arranged against the windows of your apartment, every blanket you owned layered up, plushies propped up in the optimal stargazing seat — and Caleb sat next to you. The warmth of his leg pressed against yours, the chilly night a distant memory. He was safety, a constant comfort entangled in your life - never just you, or just Caleb, but you and Caleb. 

From here, the bright city lights hid most of the stars from view, only the brightest peeking out from their inky blanket. “I never thought it would be so hard to see the stars in the city,” you sighed curling into the blanket, pulling it up to your chin. “No stars means no stories.” 

Caleb grinned then. “Are you sure? Look-” he pointed to two stars that shone brightly - directly across from each other in the night sky. “You don’t know the story of the man who couldn’t return home?”

He was always better at this, the lightheartedness, the ease in offering something to you. Even back then, pulling stories from nothing just to make you smile. And of course you did. Earnest hands pointing to each plastic star, words energetically tumbling out, his own warm smile. Could he see warmth dusting your cheeks then? The way your eyes widened with each knock of his knee? 

His voice brought you back, the simplicity of a story much like before, but this time his voice was softer, the words more delicate. “Every time he tried to get home, some new obstacle blocked his path. Monsters and mayhem — but each time he would use his strength in strategies and calculations to pass them.” 

You leaned in, enraptured, eyes focused on him as he gazed up at the night sky. “And each time he felt like it was too much, like giving up - he only had to think of her. His guiding light. His constant - always together, always tethered. No matter what happens, he would stop at nothing to be by her side. “

Truths always lie hidden in stories - offering a semblance of reality. You could feel that here too, tonight. Time had stopped, or was it moving too quickly? Outside your balcony everything was a blur, here it was just you and Caleb. 

“Did he ever get home?” you barely heard your own voice. 

He finally looked at you, brows knit together in some unreadable expression. “He did, but things weren’t the same. All those things he did to get home had changed him.”

Your fingers found his, easily - simply. Fitting together as they always had. “But she loved him all the same.”

You felt it now, the restraint. The way Caleb held his breath, how his body stilled. His eyes the only thing betraying him — flicking from yours, to your lips, down to your clasped hands. The soft sound of surprise that escaped him. A bundle of energy bound so tightly it threatened to implode. 

“He was always hers too, right? Time can’t change that.” You moved closer, angling your head closer to his - warm breath against his cool cheek. “It’s always going to them.” It was always going to be Caleb and you.

The space between you felt too large, too charged with an energy that bound you and Caleb together. Closing the distance, you placed a tentative kiss on his jaw. His hand squeezed yours tighter, eyes fluttering shut — a slow shaky exhale released, as he leaned just slightly into your touch. 

“Is this okay-” you hummed into the tender part of his neck. The flutter of his heartbeat strumming against the soft of your lips. 

“More than okay,” he said hoarsely, fingers still laced tightly with yours — grounded in familiarity in the face of this gravitational shift.

“Okay,” you smiled, pinching his chin with your other hand - flitting small kisses against the length of his jaw and angling his lips towards yours. The space between so small but electric, sparking against the sensitive skin. He murmured your name, soft and pleading, before your lips met his. 

Kissing Caleb felt like the universe had exploded - stars and cosmic dust swirling between as gravity rearranged, realigning into a place that was you and him and this moment only. Something new yet familiar. His hands once hesitant now desperate pulling you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you, kisses becoming rushed, tongue tentatively brushing against yours.

Letting go was harder, Caleb chasing after your mouth - planting small kisses to your chin, the corners of your mouth.

“Just wait,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “Don’t move.” 

You ran your fingers through his hair, drawing lazy circles at the nape of his neck. “Why?”

“If you move, I’m worried I’ll wake up and this will all be some dream.” He whispered into your skin, hands playing with the ends of your hair. 

Cradling his jaw, you moved him towards you again - kissing the worried space between his brows, the outer corners of his eyes, then lightly on lips. “I’m here.” Then, with a soft pinch of his chin again, “This is real.”

[sunseed-fandump]

What are your witch headcanons?(Thinking of making a story about young kids witches/wizards that shrink down the size of cookies)

Congratulations! You have opened Pandora's Box of shit I brainrot about! BEHOLD!!!

The Many Cookie Run Human Headcanon/Theories I Spin Around in my Brain

Based on what bits and pieces we've seen of the Witch of Light and her Coven (and some bits of concept info from the Witch's Castle Artbook). the human world seemed to be spiraling out of control. War, famine, greed, and more was leading the planet to death. The world was practically self-imploding. It seems like this specific Coven - which I call the Coven of Light - wanted to change things and make the world abundant once again via Dessert Magic.

Whether they discovered this kind of magic or it was already a thing before this is unclear.

They must have been experimenting with Life Powder, and I wouldn't be surprised if why they focused on desserts would be because Life Powder might just be easier to bake into things than use it for anything else. It seems like a very unruly substance that even Dark Enchantress has a difficult time handling.

However, even tho the Witch of Light and her Coven had good intentions that doesn't mean whatever magical breakthroughs they discovered were going to be treated with respect by OTHER Witches. The other Witches we've seen so far (like the ones at the Banquet) seem to be in the magical-baking game for entirely different reasons. What those reasons are have been left pretty vague, but I wouldn't be surprised if it had something to do with extending their lifespans or increasing their own magical abilities. After all, consuming Life Powder might have an effect on humans we aren't privy to.

Basically: WoL goes to an island/continent/whatever to do her Life Powder research and make the world a better place, winds up creating an entire sugary ecosystem and becoming a goddess WHOOPSIE!!!

Other spellcasters see this and go "oh shit that's some powerful stuff over there and also the land isn't dogshit and can sustain life" hence City of Wizards, other Witches arriving, etc.

From a conversation we see between the Shadow Witch and Sheriff Whiskerton, along with some interviews leading up to the release of Witch's Castle, it seems humanity has survived whatever near-extinction was going to claim them. However, as a result, magic is being abandoned and those who practice it (Witches and Wizard) are being persecuted.

Before arriving at the Castle, the Shadow Witch lived with her Grandmother who owned a bakery. It was massively successful! Until rumors started being spread about them practicing witchcraft. Suddenly, the whole town turned against them. (Witch's Castle Special Story - Lab in Chaos)

“…magical baking has become a forbidden craft. Attempts at the Ultimate Recipe shook up the world, you see. Now, Magic is almost forgotten. Witches and Wizards hide their true identities and seemingly, magic had all but disappeared from the world.” - Witch’s Castle Launching Showcase

Magic is a dying art in the human parts of the world, and is seemingly a shunned practice. This might have had something to do with why the Wizards abandoned their City. Maybe they were trying to escape persecution? Perhaps they were under threat of attack?

The City of Wizards seemed to be an independent city-state, and a powerful one at that, so I can imagine nations with strong bias against magic-users would probably feel threatened.

Regardless, the general human populace seems ignorant of Cookies and other living Desserts, just as cookies seem ignorant about humans. It looks like Earthbread as a whole is difficult to get to and difficult to leave. Perhaps this was put in place by the WoL to protect it from the wider world?

Or maybe what few Witches are left cast such a spell at one point in order to hide away from a world that wants them dead? After all, there's evidence of Witches still living across Earthbread, hidden away and isolated in huts and castles.

Regardless, Witches and Wizards are far and few, but what human spellcasters remain practice in secret. I can imagine them viewing Earthbread as a safe haven since such a place gives them freedom to practice their craft without having to be afraid of getting burnt at the fucking stake like in the Salem Witch Trials.

[froegis]

but it’s not funny. why would wishing rape on anyone ever be okay? no matter who they are or what you think they believe? in what circumstance is that ever a valid wish? because you think pro-life people are actively forcing women to give birth, and each one of us is a malicious man who hates women and is okay with rape? have you ever talked in depth to someone who is pro-life, asked them what they think and believe, without getting your information from a biased source catered to your viewpoint, without immediately deciding they are evil because they have a different point of view, without deciding what you think they believe?

to clear things up, talk about abortions that occur because of inconvenience, which is the majority of abortions (which is what we try to talk about most of the time, but pro-choice people often choose to clump all types of abortions into one big category, equating abortions of rape with abortions of convenience.) so abortions not of rape, not of incest, not to save the mother, all of which you conveniently focus on in this conversation without addressing the reason 90% of abortions occur.

abortion is used massively as birth control when people have sex, get pregnant, and decide they don’t want to face the consequence of that action. deciding to “prevent a clump of cells from becoming a baby”, as you so delicately put it, is killing a baby for your own convenience, after choosing to have sex and choosing to face the risk of getting pregnant. that’s what that is. preventing a clump of cells designed to BE a baby is killing a baby. “preventing something from living” is the same thing as killing.

i am a woman, so you cannot possibly throw out that prolifers have no empathy for women when there are prolife people who are women. how does that not click?? you are literally just saying words to say words and incite negative emotions in the reader. there are so many women who have been through hell yet still believe that clump of cells you think is nothing is actually a growing human being with a future. i have met a girl who went through the craziest shit imaginable done to her by her immediate family, and she had a kid. it’s absolutely tragic, and yet she still told me how much she loves her little girl, and that she doesn’t understand how someone could think of ending the life an innocent human before they even get the chance to breathe. i know that’s just a case of one person and i don’t intend to use that as a catch-all argument by any means. i only want to call attention to the women like her, and i want to make it clear that they exist and you erase their survival and insult their dignity when you throw such accusations around.

still don’t understand how wishing rape on someone could be excused, yet here you are, excusing it with a premise that is entirely false and not at all the reality of prolife people or our beliefs.

and im pretty sure wishing rape on anyone is evil. no matter what. that should be pretty clear, out of anything. there is nothing that could ever excuse that. the hatred you speak of, which you claim we push onto women having abortions, is coming suspiciously from your own mouth.

i’m truly curious about how you would treat a woman who had sex and got an abortion as birth control versus a woman who was raped and decided to keep the baby because she believed it would be wrong for her to get an abortion. if she decided to speak up about it, would you support her as a survivor? would you hear her out or listen to a word she says? or in your eyes, is she a woman-killer and a forced-birther because she identifies as prolife and advocates for something she believes (which by the way, is no different from what you do)?

what is the difference between these two hypothetical women? i am genuinely curious what you think, because i have seen people who are pro choice praise the woman who got an abortion for exercising her right to bodily autonomy, then turn right around and wish the other woman more rape and death for keeping the child and for advocating for something she believes to be true with her whole heart (which, again, is no different from the other woman). and i truly cannot understand the logic behind that.

there is no excuse. wishing rape on anyone, regardless of their beliefs, is no less evil than the prolife person in your brain who is actively “forcing” women to give birth.

I think all pro-lifers should be raped, forced to have the baby (no exceptions), and become forced to raise it for 18-20 years just to see how it feels

[theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming]

Alright don't look at me. This post is going to be very large because I am 3 weeks behind oops. So here we go with Week 4/5/6 of

Nicole Reads A Lot of Fanfiction (and she's gonna share it with you)

And also don't look at me about saying there would be an influx of older Sterek, okay? The Buddie brainrot is hard to beat.

Sterek: 6 Buddie: 33 (Buddie is all below the Read More :) )

BONE APPLE TEETH

"good boy" by quackquackcey | @quackquackcey (2025•E•10.8K)

Stiles doesn’t think his senior year can get any worse with his best friend turning rabid every full moon, until he finds himself stuck with a massive black wolf overnight that doesn’t even like jerky. But on the bright side, the hot guy with the half-dying sister he met at the gas station seems to be in town for a bit, so there’s still a chance that his senior year, his supposed best year of high school, isn’t a complete lost cause…right? That is, if he can manage to juggle the sassy wolf that he takes care of at night and the hot guy that asked him out on a date for some reason.~ 🐺🍕

You're My Sanctuary by lilmissdaydreamer (2022•E•33.4K)

The Argent Wolf Sanctuary. It’s been Stiles’ dream since he was five years old to work with the wolves, ever since his mother took him up there to see the magnificent creatures on one of their ‘full moon runs’ that the Sanctuary does once a month. The wolves are beautiful and much larger than Stiles would’ve thought, or at least, the newest wolf is. The owner had said he’s a special breed. Stiles just didn’t realize quite how special he is.

The Accidental Stilinski by DaisyBeats | @jos-corner-of-the-world (2025•GA•4.2K)

Eli starts his first day at lacrosse practice being mistaken for Stiles. Eli just rolls with it We all love a good unhinged Coach Finstock moment

Badlands by write_light | @write-light (2024•E•33.4K)

Sterek AU as camp counselors / ranch hands from different worlds, meeting in the mountains over three summers, and falling in love but living separate lives. They're only truly free in the endless high altitude summers that never last long enough and can never return the same way twice. Will they find a way to do this forever and just be together? Beacon Hills holds no monsters, but terrible creatures fill the lands around Hale Ranch, high in the Colorado Rockies. Nature walks and howling wolves, bucking bulls and stars overhead, and two boys who need each other more than they’ll ever admit.

begging you to stay (if it isn't too late) by MonsterRae1 | @monsterrae1 (2025•E•15.6K)

“Why?” He asked in between broken sobs “Why did he leave us, dad?” Derek hadn’t know what to answer, he hadn’t known how to explain to their perfect and sweet boy that they had struggled with their marriage for a long time, that they loved each other very very much, that Derek would always love Stiles, but he wasn’t going to force him to stay somewhere he didn’t feel loved anymore. Stiles had wanted more, and Derek couldn’t give him that. * Or, after getting injured on a mission, Stiles is forced to recover under the watch of his ex husband, feelings occur.

Stay the night, stay forever by Helloloveyes (2025•E•9.7K)

Stiles met Erica, Boyd and Isaac on three different occasions, their friendship saved him from the loneliness he carried. Then they introduced him to Derek Hale, a man that changed Stiles' life forever. After failing in love and still suffering the consequences, Derek wasn't expecting to find someone like Stiles, so perfect for him it hurt.

Firelight by Daisies_and_Briars | @cal-daisies-and-briars (2025•E•61.2K)

When, in the worst of missing Christopher, Eddie suddenly finds himself having literally turned into a monster, Buck - who is also dealing with a newfound hearing loss diagnosis - is willing to do anything to protect him. Even from himself. OR: Eddie is a creature from Swedish folklore, feat. HOH!Buck

i can read between your lines (dizzy from the spinning) by buckleydiazy | @buckleydiaz (2025•E•4.3K)

“So, theoretically,” Eddie sounds absolutely delighted, “if we didn’t know each other, you’d hook up with me in a public bathroom?” “Theoretically—I mean, do you want a serious answer?” Eddie hesitates for a moment. “Yeah,” he says quietly, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Tell me.” “Probably,” Buck says. Then a little firmer—“Definitely.” aka: Buck and Eddie have phone sex.

save all your questions for the end by lady_ragnell | @theladyragnell (2025•T•9.3K)

She’s got that pitying expression that always puts Eddie’s hackles up, the widows-and-orphans face, and she’s looking at Buck and Chris as Chris whoops his way down the slide and Buck watches carefully as he catches himself at the bottom. “He must miss his sister very much,” she says. “They look so much alike.” In which someone makes a totally logical, if heteronormative, assumption and Eddie loses his damn mind about it.

making me crazy (really driving me mad) by sunshinelester (2025•E•4.9K)

“Fuck, Buck,” Eddie muttered against his skin, his voice rough and strained. “You smell… good.” Buck’s mind was spinning, conflicting emotions rising in his chest until he felt like he would explode. The alpha in him wanted to growl and nip at the older man’s audacity. To treat him like a potential mate? To look at him like he wanted to swallow the younger man whole? This wasn’t normal. Alphas didn’t act like this with each other, especially not during a rut where the instinct to mate was at the forefront of their minds. And yet. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Eddie was in a rut. As a fellow alpha, Buck didn’t think much of it; not until he had the older man pressed against his back with sharp canines scraping on his mating gland.

a buck caught in headlights by smilingbuckley | @smilingbuckley (2025•M•6.1K)

After going to a queer club together, a drunk Buck and May call Eddie to bring them home. Completely forgetting who is driving, Buck ends up confessing his love for Eddie to May... with Eddie in the front seat. -- Okay,” Buck says to himself as he fishes out his phone from his pocket. The bright light hurts his eyes and he has to put it far away from him, not unlike Bobby trying to read a meme without his reading glasses. The thought makes him giggle. “Who do we call?” “Ghostbusters,” May says, snickering. It takes Buck three tries to unlock his phone. “Hmm… Hen, Karen, Maddie – nope, she needs her beauty sleep. Uh… Eddie, Chim-“ “Eddie!” May says excitedly. She smiles at him, “I love Eddie! Eddie is awesome.” Buck nods, “He really is. I will call Eddie.”

Canine Teeth In The Side Of My Neck by RighteousPunk (2025•E•5.9K)

Eddie’s skin is pale, cold under his touch, yet, something feels different. It’s not pale, cold, is about to die skin he’s used to touch on the worst of emergencies. Their gloves usually don’t manage to hide the feeling that comes with someone who’s on death’s door. And then, it hits him. There’s a hue in Eddie’s eyes, something he’s sure was never there before. In the dim lights of the loft, Eddie’s eyes are shining red. And through Eddie’s slightly opened lips, two white canines are perking out.

Or, Eddie arrives wounded at Buck's loft, and Buck learns a new truth about his best friend.

Ace of Hearts by glorious_spoon | @glorious-spoon (2024•T•9.6K)

"Though—and I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but since you and Natalia are over with now, I've been wondering…" Maddie pauses, watches Buck make a face like he's bracing to be smacked. "What happened with Eddie?" Buck stops wincing and just blinks at her for a second. Then he says, "What?" "You two were dancing around it for so long, and then… what, it just didn't work out? Was the date really that bad?" She's expecting another wince, or even for him to duck out of the conversation entirely, but instead Buck is staring at her like she's grown a second head. "Maddie. I've never been on a date with Eddie." - Or: the poker game was a date. It takes Buck a while to catch on, though.

shoulder the sky (let the rain come) by literalmetaphor | @absolutelybifurious (2024•M•44.5K)

There’s too much heat. The flames crackle and curl in the busted windows. The house is only two stories high. If Buck would listen, if he’d turn around and get out – he could be at the door, he could be out of the fucking blast radius. But Buck’s still standing in it. Eddie is cursed. Like he has been for years. Eddie is the blast radius. OR Eddie Diaz is cursed.

Parabola by semperama | @semperama (2025•T•4.6K)

“Hey, uh. By the way.” Buck’s been thinking about this, and he has to say it now, or it’ll explode out of him at a much worse time, in a much worse way. “Make sure you don’t forget to change your will again.” Eddie turns toward him, mouth quirked, brow furrowed, like Buck has just said something sort of silly. Like he’s talking about curses again. “What?” “I mean. Like.” Buck twists his fingers together in his lap and looks down at them. “You need to change it so your parents will be his guardians, right? If something happens to you.” “What?” Eddie says again, and he doesn’t sound amused this time.

you'll find you again by rangerdanger (mxgicxltrxgedy) | @call-me-medusa (2025•E•4.6K)

“Eddie,” Buck asks again, punctuating each word as he repeats his question, “What did you want to do?” Eddie can barely remember how they got here in the first place. “Give myself joy.” “Give yourself joy.” Buck repeats. “Now, how are you going to give yourself joy if I come and get you off myself?” - Or, Eddie's learning how to want joy for himself.

A Million Stabs Is All It Took by hearmyplea (2025•T•18.2K)

Eddie wants a tattoo after returning from deployment. The fact that his tattoo artist, this Evan guy, is affecting him this much shouldn't be examined.

from your point of view by MacksDramaticShenanigans | @stevethehairington (2025•T•4.3K)

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie not-quite-slurs. It’s a close thing, though. The glass in his hand is his fourth— no, fifth, and wine always hits him so much harder. He’s bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked and loose-limbed on the couch, pressed so close to Buck he’s half in his lap. Buck’s got a steadying arm around his waist— couldn’t avoid the draw to touch even if he wanted to. “Hm?” Buck asks, feeling a little buzzy himself. “Buck,” Eddie repeats. “You’re bicyc—bisect— bisexual.” Buck laughs at Eddie’s stumble. Smiles bright, proud, and nods. “I am,” he agrees. “Have you ever—” Eddie’s winestained mouth purses; his brow furrows thoughtfully, “— have you ever thought about me?” He sways forward, widens his eyes purposefully, whispers, “Like, y’know.”

white house AU by buddiebuddie | @buddie-buddie [Part 1 & 2]

buck is the president of the united states and eddie is the secret service agent in charge of his security detail. shenanigans ensue.

Ink Flowers Into My Skin by hoveringcat9 | @hoveringcat9 (2025•T•4.7K)

Buck feels adrift, he’s fed up of dating and his search for the right tattoo artist has been fruitless. Luckily Karen has a new friend up to the job and more. For Week 7 of Winter of Buddie - Prompt Floral

kiss me on the mouth and set me free by keiro (2025•E•3.6K)

“It’s alright , it’s alright… I got you,” Eddie whispers on his skin, punctuating the end of the phrase with a kiss. When he speaks again, his voice is a tone lower, words rasping out of his lips. “Eyes on me, Buck.” Buck forces himself to open his eyes, and he’s just in time to see Eddie staring right at him, opening his mouth just a little while he holds his arm. Buck sees the way Eddie’s fangs expand, a gasp stuck on his throat right as they sink into his skin. - Eddie bites Buck, what comes next is a consequence.

He touched me, so I live to know by KejfeBlintz (2025•T•4.1K)

Eddie was jostled as Buck crashed down beside him, drinks in hand. The bar was packed so six of them were jammed in a booth designed for four. Eddie shot a quick apologetic look at Ravi, who had been squashed against the wall with Buck’s ungainly arrival. Buck handed out everyone’s drinks then pushed himself close to Eddie to fit on the bench, elbowing him in the ribs. “Watch it, Buckley,” Eddie groused, elbowing him back. “You watch it, Diaz,” Buck replied, kicking his ankle. “How about you both watch it,” Ravi grumbled as he was shoved against the wall again. “Be easier if there wasn’t a literal giant taking up all this space,” Eddie complained, “dude, when did you get this broad?” “These are lifesaving muscles, Eddie, don’t be a hater.” Or, 5 times Buck and Eddie touched, and one time they really touched.

An Angry Blade by Daisies_and_Briars | @cal-daisies-and-briars (2025•M•43.8K)

Buck finds out that the curse of Billy Boils is VERY real, and far more complicated and dangerous than he could have expected.

H-E-A-T-A/B/O: A Buddie Anthology by Bucksbelly (drarryweasley) | @bucksbelly [WIP] (2025•E•20.9K)

An anthology of Buddie one-shots based in omegaverse settings. These stories are NOT connected; they each have slightly different lore and can be read in any order! Brought to you by I wanted to write my favorite trope but couldn't decide how to do it so I wrote a bunch of them

Pain's like cold water by shadowkatninjawarrior (2024•M•75.2K)

Evan Buckley had lived a lie for sixteen years and it was going just fine. Until the truth started spilling through his fingers. Or, Omega!Buck has been pretending to be an alpha for more than half his life and everything changes when Eddie finds out.

faded from the winter by Daisies_and_Briars | @cal-daisies-and-briars (2025•T•9.9K)

Eddie struggles to bounce back after the shooting. Buck starts leaving him with his service dog, Cranberry.

gravity in between us by charmingqueenie | @alexisrosemullens (2025•T•16.7K)

Eddie’s not used to explaining his relationship with Buck. Everyone in LA just knows what they are. They’re Buck and Eddie. There isn’t one without the other. He knows that he’s been vague about what Buck is to him with his new coworkers. He knows this and yet he can’t stop himself. The first few times were an accident. He doesn’t mean to be vague and what he said could imply platonic. This time though. or Eddie accidentally implies that he's dating Buck to his new team in El Paso.

We're Overdue for a Revival by BespectacledBunny | @bespectacledbunnys (2024•M•60.8K)

“If I had,” Chris lingers on the words, watching Eddie intently through the screen, “If I had conditions?” Eddie feels his stomach knot up. It’s the first time Chris has ever alluded to a willingness to come home. Usually he just shoots Eddie down with a flat “I know” before hurrying off the call. Eddie Diaz will be damned before he lets this chance slip through his hands. “Anything,” his voice rings with desperation in his own ears, “Whatever you need to feel ready to come home. If I can make it happen, I will.” Chris eyes him, young face serious as a judge presiding over trial. An apt comparison because only Chris could condemn or parole Eddie. His fate is in his son’s hands so completely that if he was going to therapy, Frank would probably be concerned. Finally, Chris opens his mouth and says something so earth shattering as to crack the foundations of his father’s mind. “Marry Buck,” Chris says firmly.

cat-astrophic by smilingbuckley | @smilingbuckley (2025•T•5.5K)

Buck falls in love with a kitten. The kitten falls in love with Eddie. (Buck doesn't blame her.) -- It doesn’t take long before a familiar truck approaches. Eddie looks unimpressed as Buck gets into the car, holding the kitten tightly to his chest. “I’m surprised it took you this long to pick up a stray.” Buck snorts, “Well, you picked me first, so.” Eddie shakes his head, starting to drive again. “I didn’t pick you. You just appeared.” “Well, this one just appeared as well,” Buck tells him. “I couldn’t leave it, Eddie. What if a predator eats it?”

What if All I Need is You by serenelystrange | @serenelystrange (2025•GA•2.9K)

“Does Ravi actually think me and Eddie are dating?” “Maybe,” Chim says after a moment of consideration. “Or he’s just really good at fucking with you.” “50/50,” Hen agrees. “Eddie doesn’t even like men,” Buck says with a frown. “I asked.” “Of course you did,” Chim says, dropping his head into his hand with a murmured whisper of Jesus Christ.

oh brother, I see (you burn like me) by canadadry (2024•M•47.9K)

Adriana doesn’t tell their parents that she’s going to LA. She doesn’t tell Eddie, either—or ask, for that matter. She does ask Chris, and he thinks it’s a good idea—says as much, on the phone, and doesn’t say much else. “Buck will probably be hovering,” is what Chris does volunteer. It still surprises her when the man who opens the door is not Eddie. It’s—Captain America, is the thing that actually comes to mind—a man close to a foot taller than she is, if not more than that, with blond curls and broad shoulders, and he’s got a question in his very blue eyes that’s probably less friendly than the one he actually asks her. “Uh,” he says. “Can I help you?” — Or: Adriana arrives in LA. Maddie has been here the whole time.

Don’t hang up on me, cause I’m hung up on you by creatures_that_dont_die | @creatures-that-dont-die (2025•E•5.8K)

“What are you making for dinner?” “I was just going to reheat some leftovers,” Buck says. Eddie makes a noncommittal noise on the other end, sounding almost disappointed. “What, were you hoping I’d make you something?” “No, I—” Eddie hesitates, then sighs. “I sort of wanted to listen to you cook.” The softness in his voice shifts to teasing. “You talk so much while you do it, I figure it’ll fill all the silence here. But I can just watch TV instead, once I figure out how to—” “No, no, I’ll cook something. Only because you asked so nicely. I’ll put you on speaker, okay?” As Buck sorts through Eddie’s fridge, deciding what he can throw together, he and Eddie fall into their usual chatter. When he’s at the stove, facing away from his phone resting on the table, he can almost imagine that Eddie is here with him and not 800 miles away. (Buck and Eddie talk on the phone almost constantly, and one thing leads to another.)

one way out and we're gonna find it by atlasblue85 | @atlasblue85 (2025•T•6.9K)

He just needed a little more time, is what he kept telling himself. A little more time to work through it and he’d be okay, wouldn’t feel like there’s a vice grip over his heart and lungs and the voices of his childhood priests in the back of his head at the thought of being seen in public with a man. There’s tears rolling silently down his cheeks now as Buck cradles him, and he finally manages to whisper, “How’d you do it? Go on a date with a guy, in public?” “Eddie?” Buck’s hands still from where they’ve been rubbing soothing patterns across Eddie’s back. “I don’t– I can’t–” Eddie tries, but he can’t make the words come, and he grips Buck’s shirt tighter instead.

younger than clouds by seachanged | @spacesongs (2025•T•1.1K)

When Buck drifts back awake the sun is about to drop over the horizon, its last light bathing the cabin in buttery pinks and corals. Eddie is leaning against the kitchen island dressed in a pair of boxer briefs that appear to be Buck’s, at least judging by how low they hang on his hips.

check me out and take me home by prioritizelove (2025•GA•1.4K)

“Chris really likes you, you know. One time–” Eddie laughs, “One time I brought him here during the evening, so you weren’t here, and he was literally pouting when we left. Said the librarian at the desk wasn’t as good as his friend Buck and ended up just checking out one of those, uh,” he waves a hand, “wimpy diary books.” Or Buck's a children's librarian and Christopher is his favorite patron. He'd be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to seeing Christopher’s dad as well.

Meet Me in the Middle (Underneath a Little Bit of Mistletoe) by Princessfbi | @princessfbi (2022•E•40.2K)

“I’m sorry…” Eddie said, holding his hand out to stop the tumble of words falling from Buck’s lips. “You want to what?” Of all the things he thought Buck wanted to talk about at breakfast, the breakfast Buck had asked Eddie if he wanted to grab at the end of their long shift, this was nowhere near it. “Fake date.” Buck repeated with all the confidence in the world that Eddie didn’t believe for a second because what Buck was proposing was insane. “For the holidays.” aka Buck and Eddie agree to fake date each other to get through dinner with their parents during the holidays!

Face to my face by EtoileGarden | @etoilegarden (2023•T•46.5K)

“Is your birthmark genetic?” Bobby asked, raising his eyebrow at Buck over the salami he was slicing. “Does it match one of your parents?” Buck spoke through the slice of salami he’d snuck into his mouth. “Nah,” he said. “I’m the first.” “Maybe your kids will have it,” Hen suggested. “If you end up having kids.” “Poor kids,” Chim said, patted Buck on the back. “I can not imagine that was a kind birthmark to wear during school. Kids are mean.” Buck tried to laugh it off. Was filled with the cold memory of his classmates teasing him. He’d managed to bluster his way into popularity as a teenager - once he’d shot up and became broad in all the right places. But before that? “Maddie - my sister - she always said I looked cool,” he said in an attempt at bravado. “I think - I think - I was fine.” Or - another dad!Buck fic because I always love writing baby fics. Eventual Buck/Eddie.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Twenty Seven - Comms System Errors

Part Twenty Six

———

Mecha were designed to resemble humans, not initially, as the original designs were much more utilitarian such as suit eleven, but as they evolved the people behind the designs were alerted to an opportunity. Merchandising.  

It was meant to make them less threatening to the public, to be seen as the protectors of the planet rather than the destroyers fighting the aliens from above. There was also the obvious benefit to the companies who marketed the mech suits in various merchandise. Not around the human pilots, but the suits themselves.

Everything from children’s toys to clothing and everything in between. These massive heroes were easy enough to market and helped the children of the world feel less frightened, at least for a time.

Now that they have to watch some of the longest running suits fall apart from their tv’s while they hide under their school desks, they may start to think otherwise. 

—

All the mecha around him were trying to recover the pieces of what had been their campsite, while he was stuck being looked over by Flatline, who wasn’t terrifying or anything, not at all. 

The flashlight inbedded in the mech’s wrist flashed straight into one of his cameras, making Sunstreaker wince and try to shield his eyes, “God,” “Apologizes.” He was so screwed, whether it was Hound shouting at him, Sideswipe worrying over him, or Breakdown talking about frightening the locals it wasn’t going to be fun to deal with this.

Bluestreak was still worrying next to him staring very intently at his broken face, or well, the shattered glass of his mech’s visor. Most of the helm of his suit was full of the sensory equipment that provided the needed output to control the mech, a shattered visor wouldn’t cause any harm unless it hit one of his cameras. 

But Sunny couldn’t really explain that given the current circumstances, everytime he tried to shut off his external microphone to comm Blue privately Flatline would ask him a question or re-direct him somehow, “Alright, look this way.” Sighing deeply, Sunny followed the direction, turning a bit, grumbling.

It was bad enough that everyone was looking at him, now he was having to go through this circus, “Honestly, I am fine. It doesn’t hurt and I can see, it’s just something I’ll have to get repaired.” Flatline tutted and Bluestreak made a strangled noise, so Sunstreaker stayed put.

Most of everyone was picking up the remains of heaters and the burst supply crates in the distance, Bluestreak was on Sunstreaker duty while Ironhide was speaking with command in the distance. 

—

“To be fair, he handled the Quintessons beautifully. It’s just that he moved into Bluestreak’s second shot.” Ironhide was rubbing his neck, frowning a bit at the screen as Optimus frowned and Megatron’s line whistled lightly from the sand storm, “Are you positive that is what he said though?” Optimus’s voice sounded worried and Ironhide sighed deeply, “Yes, I’m sure.” He glanced over his shoulder to the strange mech.

With a vent, Optimus shakes his head sadly, “We continue to find disturbing things of their kind.” Megatron grunts, “Their plating being stamped with property labels and now lack of pain receptors in key areas, no wonder all Breakdown needed was the limb reattached and some rest.” Ironhide nodded and rocked back on his peds, “Their good mecha that are taking the worst from their kind to save it, were we any different?” Optimus offered a small smile even with Megatron’s angered grunt.

Glancing back to Sunstreaker, Ironhide shakes his head a bit, “It must have been part of that testing they did to become those so called pilots.” Then Megatron broke in, “Testing? They speak of it as if it were torture that they endured for the betterment of their kind. I would not call it testing.” His tone had a bite that almost made ironhide roll his eyes, “We are not waging war for equality on their planet Megatron.” Optimus sounded stern though not entirely convincing.

”If you two are going to flirt by talking about a class war I’m ending this conversation.” Ironhide crossed his arms, scowling at the screen and listening to the long moment of silence, nodding for a moment, “Thank you. So, how’s Hound?” With a hum, Megatron rubs his comm lightly, disrupting the light whistling, “He seems fine enough, Knockout is deeply concerned but Hound claims to be able to handle the issue.” Optimus nodded slowly, before frowning, “What issue?”

Megatron winced, “Ah, right. The rust smell, it’s how we found his stamped plating.” Both Optimus and Ironhide shivered, “Wonderful, now they are smelling of rust.” Rubbing a hand down his faceplate, Ironhide shakes his head, “They reek of rust, can swim in salt water without issue, take damage from our weapons which are not supposed to harm living metal, what else?” Megatron sighs deeply, “They are also seducing our best soldiers.” Ironhide grunted.

Even with burning face plates, Optimus clears his vocalizer, “I would not call what they are doing a seduction.” Megatron chuckles, “Maybe you wouldn’t, but the results speak for themselves.” Optimus makes a weak noise and Ironhide laughs, “Yeah, Bluestreak has yet to leave Sunstreaker’s side. Though I feel those two are significantly closer to the outcome like Jazz and Prowl then Mirage and Hound are or even Knockout and Breakdown are.” Megatron scoffs, “I severely doubt that.” Ironhide smirks.

”You’re just mad that you’re losing. Smokescreen told you it was a long shot, then again you always seem to go for those.” Optimus vented deeply, “Ironhide, now is not the time.” He nodded, “Apologies Prime, I should get back to clear up and comm Skyfire again.” He stands back for a moment before disconnecting his side of the comm. 

Megatron and Optimus were left on the line, staying quiet for a moment, “I take it now could be an appropriate to flirt over a class war?” Optimus’s face burned, “Megatron, you are caught in a sand storm.” He could feel the mechs smirk, “With nothing to do but wait it out.” Shaking his helm, Optimus clears his throat, “I am 82% sure Red Alert is listening and 98% sure Soundwave is.” At which point both mechs got pings, reading the simple line of ‘Switch to personal comm line if this is to be the topic of conversation.’ And Megatron howled with laughter as Optimus’ tried to melt into the floor. 

A moment later they both switched to their personal comms. 

—

Once Flatline left him alone, though on the order to rest, Sunstreaker had disconnected from the chair and gotten on comm with Bluestreak, “I really am okay Blue. See? Not a scratch on me.” Sunny turns lightly, still wearing most of his assistance suit even as he moves over towards his cot.

Bluestreak worries his derma, watching Sunny through his internal comms, “Sunny, I could have killed you if that shot had been lower.” Sunstreaker rolls his eyes, sitting down and removing his assistance suit in pieces, “Oh please, you are the best shot I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen some pretty great soldiers. Your first shot hit the Quintesson and I moved into the second one. It happens.” He stretches, back popping painfully.

He couldn’t help but shake his head, “No, not to me and not to us. I, I didn’t know it would hurt you.” Sunstreaker sighed deeply, “It shattered the tempered glass of my mechs face shield, it’s a common broken part back home. It knocked out a camera or two, these things just happen. Glass breaks.” Reaching under his cot, he pulls out a water pouch along with some of the dried greens Jazz was trying to make, it supposedly tasted like beef jerky though Sunny was not convinced.

Still watching. Bluestreak moves over and sits next to Sunstreaker’s prone suit, taking the mech suits hand carefully, “I don’t know how you can stand it, knowing your death is so imminent.” Sunstreaker stopped, sticky greens stuck to his teeth and nearly caused him to gag.

Pulling the so-called food away from his teeth, Sunny grabbed his case from Earth to dig out a protein bar instead, “The life of a pilot is dangerous, but the integration of our gear decreases our life span by a lot. Even if I stopped being a pilot tomorrow, I’d have at most another twenty years.” He shrugged and tried to wash out his mouth, cursing, “God that’s awful.” He cleared his throat painfully.

Sighing, he looked towards his camera, trying to offer a smile, “I’d rather go out fighting tomorrow then struggling to breath twenty years from now, in some bed rotting. Believe me Blue, I’m content with how things are and everything we’re doing right now is saving lives. Knowing that is enough.” Bluestreak was on the verge of tears, optics dark to hide it.

”I wish you’d never have let your kind do these things to you, you deserve far better than this.” Sunstreaker grinned, “Nah, I don’t, but it’s nice that you think so.” He shrugs a bit and starts eating the protein bar, “So tell me about these special weapons that can’t kill your kind.” Nodding a bit, Bluestreak wipes his optics and leans back, “Well, we just found peace before this war started. We didn’t want to kill each other anymore.” Sunny smiles and listens while he eats. 

—

The sun was finally starting to rise and Hound was asleep, but so was Mirage. Features soft and protected by Hound overtop of him. To be fair, had the storm cleared up yet there would be a significant amount of visual captures for blackmail but no one could see more than a few inches in front of their optics yet.

Hound woke up in a lot of pain, body stiff and uncomfortable, lying long ways across the seat with his knees bent over the arm and back against the other arm, “God that was a mistake,” he stretched painfully before scooping up his helmet and pulling it on. Reactivating his visual feed and frowning as the sand was still blowing across his cameras. 

“Well shit.” He was stuck, holding Mirage’s head out of the sand and knew that once the sand cleared people would be looking for them. In the moment it had seemed like a good idea and now he knew that it was a compromising position no matter what species you were. Sighing slowly, his face burns, adjusting his helmet and getting plugged back into the suit. 

His visor shines bright for a moment and Mirage’s optics online, “Oh Primus,” Hound winces, “Sorry.” He adjusts his microphone and fixes his helmet before taking the controls again, shifting his weight to be on his knees instead of his elbows, the suit sinking in the sand. 

Mirage’s optics cycle a few times, staring through the blowing sand, “Ah, I didn’t mean to fall into recharge.” Hound smiles a bit, face still warm with blush, “Yeah, neither did I, but I think the storm is starting to let up.” With a hum, he knew Mirage was checking his comms, “Yes, Megatron thinks so too. Once it’s clear he wants to speak with us in command.” Nodding a bit, Hound tries to glance up and around, sand blowing everywhere.

They laid there in silence, listening to the wind howl and sand blow every which direction. As the sun rose it was finally starting to clear and the howling started to die down.

Though that’s when the sirens reached their ears and audials, Hound was looking up and around, pulled away from Mirage though keeping a hand on the mech's shoulder. It wasn’t clear enough for his cameras but clearly it was clear enough for optics around them, mecha jumping up or diving for their weapons. Mirage and Hound shared a glance before getting up, running for command.

A large ship overhead and actively scanning the landscape, moving closer and closer to New Kaon. 

—

The damn comm was still pinging on the wall but Sideswipe had gotten his suit repaired enough to climb into it and go over to answer it. 

He bite his tongue for a moment, then answered, “This is Sideswipe,” He bit the inside of his cheek, holding back the sarcastic shit he would say back home, “Sideswipe, just the mech I had been trying to comm for most of the day. Why have you not reported to my mandatory training?” 

He scratched at his face lightly, “Sorry, who is this?” The sigh was deep on the other end of the line, “Elita-One, now, unless I get word from Prowl or Optimus Prime that you are unable to show up, I expect you here five klicks ago. Am I clear?” Sideswipe stared at the comm, glanced around the apartment before smiling a bit, “Be right there.” Before he hung up. 

It took him a bit to get back out of the suit and leave a note for Breakdown, but he was back out the door soon enough. Smiling as he went, not even remotely prepared for training but desperate to leave the metal box. 

—

Command was in chaos, Megatron on comms with his commanders in the city and ordering those who could go underground to go down and those who couldn’t out of the city at the very least.

It was loud, painfully loud but Hound couldn’t turn down his audio receptors any further without seeming deaf to those around him. When the pair of them got into command, Megatron whipped around fast, “Mirage, I need you to take up defensive position six, Hound you’re with me.” Hound glanced at Mirage and watched the mech disappear in front of his eyes before looking back to Megatron, “How did they get here so fast?” Megatron shook his head, “I don’t know.”

Moving across the room, Hound goes up to the projection table and the live projection they got, their current position compared to the enemy. He stared for a long moment, “We need to get them lower if we want to stand a chance without all the seekers.” Megatron hummed, going back to his comm.

Hound worried his lip, tilting his head, watching the ship grow closer, “Fuck.” He watched for a moment longer, looking at Megatron and then outside to the rushing soldiers, “Sir, my orders?” Waving a hand lightly, “You are to remain here, they are to far and high up for you to be much help Hound,” Megatron turned back around and stopped. 

Humans would always be humans, he might have asked for his orders but it was painfully obvious what they were. It wasn’t what he was willing to accept, not after the compromises he’d made. So by the time Megatron had turned back around, he was out the door and half way across what would be the battlefield, assembling his gun with a new practiced ease. 

There wasn’t time to wait around for the right moment and Hound had faced worse odds before. Slamming into a rock formation, he crouches and adjusted his rifle, fixating the scope on it before turning.

He nearly jumped out of his skin, staring at a wide eyed Mirage. Cracking a smile, Hound chuckles, “Come here often?” Mirage smiled a bit, “Can’t say I have.” Turning back, Hound leans forward and adjusts his visual feed to look down the scope, scanning the ship, “Megatron might start yelling for me, ignore it.” Chuckling, Mirage shakes his head.

It wasn’t a ship he’d seen before, not on Earth or Cybertron, not even on any of their neighboring planets. This was something different, something larger, but he could guess why. New Kaon was a very practical jumping point to reach Cybertron just this part of space.

As well as if they took the city, it could give them needed information on how the planet’s buildings or security worked. It’s the same reason why so many costal towns on Earth had been flattened. Rather them be flat and gone then the enemy potentially learn how to reach everything else.

Hound watched, waiting with baited breath before seeing it. A puff of heated air from the ship, then fired on it. A spray of energy blasts struck that part of the ship and a loud explosion rocked it in the air. He couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, “That’s their engine. Quints will bail before they crash.” Mirage swore loudly as they started doing just that. 

They had seen battlefields of Quintessons, it was the new normal while dealing with the Cybertronian attacks, it had become clear they were still fighting mostly scouts on Earth. Here they were fighting ones ready for combat, they honestly wasn't that different. Still simple enough to eviscerate and destroy, but there were a lot more of them to deal with. 

Dozens of them bailed from their battle bay, falling towards the surface where even if they made an impact they’d just get back up.

Taking slow deep breaths, Hound grabbed some water and what little food was close to hand, disabling part of his suit to get these down. His comm was silent for the moment, muted so that he wouldn’t have to listen to Megatron yelling at him to retreat. 

Mirage was starting to fire on the enemy, rifle booming with each trigger pull, ion rifle painfully loud. Hound leaned back against the rocks, nearly choking on the chunks of space planet and water. Not having the time to deal with them, tossing them both across his cockpit before reactivating his equipment. 

It was one breath, to disable the rifle in his arms back into a handheld blaster before he was up and over the rock formation. A few mechs were already fighting in the distance and it was time to join them. For a moment, he contemplated turning on his comm. Flicking the switch to activate it all it did was screech in his ear.

Hound couldn’t be sure if that was interference or someone’s voice, but now was not the time for distractions. Turning it back off, he connected with a single private come to Mirage, “Watch my six.” He was pushing his mech hard, body painful and skin burning, “I’ve got you Hound, handle business.” He smiled a bit, wanting to glance back for only a second before his gun was up and firing. 

Blowing off a Quintesson tentacle that tried to wrap around a mechs door wind, gun up and firing a constant stream of shots, Mirage’s own rifle booming through the comm line. 

It was really going to be a long deployment. 

———

A/N:

Happy Valentines Day everyone! Also happy birthday to my best friend, you’re fantastic.

So this chapter sorta just happened, I only started it today and just was trying to reach 3k words. Probably not my best work but it’s been a day.

Hope that you all still enjoy it non-the-less.

Tags:

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @osqindaxend @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscarpheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @pour1tin @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU!

[st4rgiirll]

valentine’s party

s1!rafe cameron x gf!reader

creds: roseraris for dividers!

the house was alive with the hum of chatter as you entered. you stood at the entrance, heart fluttering with excitement. the valentine’s party was in full swing, and you were so hyped.

rafe cameron, your boyfriend, was beside you, his casual confidence radiating as he lifted his cap and brushed a hand through his tousled hair. he wore a fitted navy shirt that accentuated the broadness of his shoulders, and you couldn't help but admire him.

"ready for this?" he asked, a teasing smile dancing on his lips.

you chuckled nervously, glancing at the couples entwined in each other’s arms, exchanging sweet nothings and playful kisses.

"not sure if i’ll ever be ready for a party like this. it’s not exactly your typical frat gathering." rafe’s laughter rumbled low in his chest.

"yeah, i’m used to beer pong and loud music, not heart-shaped balloons and—" he gestured dramatically to the glittering decor, "whatever this is."

you nudged him playfully. "it’s called romance, rafe. something you might want to get used to."

he feigned shock, eyes widening. "romance? i thought i was just here for the free food."

you rolled your eyes, and as you stepped into the living room, the atmosphere enveloped you like a warm blanket. the dim fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting a soft glow on the couples swaying to the gentle music.

a makeshift dance floor had formed in the center, where a few brave souls twirled to the rhythm.

"let’s get something to drink," rafe suggested, nudging you toward the kitchen.

the sound of clinking glasses and cheerful banter filled the air, and you could see a spread of snacks on the countertop, from heart-shaped cookies to a massive punch bowl that seemed to sparkle with a hint of something fruity and dangerous. as you poured a cup, rafe leaned against the counter, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes.

"you know, i never took you for the type to enjoy valentine’s day," he mused.

you shrugged, sipping your punch. "it’s not about the day itself. it’s about spending time with someone you care about."

you flashed him a smile, and he rolled his eyes, smirking playfully. "right, right. that’s what they all say until they realize they’re stuck at a party with a bunch of lovebirds."

"hey!" you nudged him again, laughter bubbling up. "we’re not stuck. we’re just… soaking in the ambiance."

rafe chuckled, shaking his head. "ambiance, huh? i guess we’ll have to make the most of it then."

as the night wore on, the games shifted to a more intimate atmosphere. couples began to find corners to whisper sweet nothings, and the laughter took on a softer tone.

rafe pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, and you leaned against him, feeling the warmth radiate from his body.

"are you having fun?" he asked, his voice low, almost drowned out by the soft music.

you nodded, glancing up at him. "yeah, actually. i didn’t think i would, but this is nice."

he smiled, his gaze softening. "you know, i never thought i’d enjoy this kind of thing either. but being here with you makes it different."

your heart fluttered at his words. "really?"

"yeah." he looked down, his expression turning serious for a brief moment. "it’s just… you make everything better."

you felt a rush of warmth and affection, the connection between you both deepening in that moment.

“what do you say we head on outta here and i show you how much i love you, huh?” he grins, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“seriously?” you giggle. “we were having a moment and you decide to bring up sex!”

“well- y’know, just wanna show my love to my girl… you’re my girl after all…”

“ah, fuck it, this party’s beginning to suck anyway.”

you both begin to scurry away, barely making it to the car before your hands wandered. but neither of you minded, this was your love.

[its-luna-noel]

in my restless dreams, i see you | various!jjk x reader

05. blood on her lips looking extra tasty

Vampire lord Ryomen Sukuna gives you the gift of eternal life. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. vampire lord!sukuna x reader vampire!geto x reader vampire hunter!gojo x reader

warnings: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, vampire!au, smut, drinking, partying, non-con elements, blood drinking, vampire turning, violence & blood, definite dark themes so DD:DNE

word count: 3.6k

chapter 5/? (probably 15ish) previous chapter | next chapter

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hello! sorry it's been a while, but i've finally finished this chapter, so i hope you enjoy! xx

Sukuna doesn’t knock before walking into your new apartment.

You’re in the middle of research – which is really just you scrolling through urban legends and vampire stories on your new phone, trying to match everything you’ve experienced so far with what you’re reading. Trying to anticipate what you’ll experience next.

Then Sukuna walks in like he owns the place – though you guess he actually does.

You toss your phone aside, embarrassed to be reading about fictional monsters like a teenage girl. You raise your head and watch him walk in, hands in his pockets as he approaches the couch and looks down his nose at you.

“Comfortable?” he asks.

You just stare up at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Then, so you don’t seem ungrateful for him providing housing for you – when your family literally thinks you’re dead and would probably drive a stake through your heart themselves if you walked up to their front door – you nod silently.

He grins that wicked smile of his, and then he steps forward and towers over you, sinking to his knees on the couch and straddling you, his massive muscular body dwarfing you against the back of the couch. Your breath stills, and you gaze up into those daunting red eyes, and he looks so goddamn menacing your eyes shift away.

He chuckles. “Scared, little girl?” 

You just your chin out. “No.”

He just chuckles again and leans in, his mouth brushing against your throat. Your eyes flutter closed, and you suck in a soft gasp through your teeth at the feeling of his cool breath on your neck. His lips are feather-light on your skin, tracing where your pulse had once throbbed in anticipation of this same mouth that’s brushing against you now.

You wonder if things would be different if you didn’t let him touch you. If you didn’t let him come home with you that first night.

Maybe that heart would still be beating.

His lips part, and his tongue licks a slow, aching line of heat up the side of your neck. You wish you could be disgusted by it, horrified, but instead you can’t help but remember how good it felt with his mouth, his hands, his body on you.

You just want more.

His fingers dive into your hair, tilting your head back so he can get better access to your throat, and his nose brushes over your skin, smelling you… He hums, “I can smell him on you… That groundskeeper… can smell his blood in your veins….” And then he drops open his jaw, his fangs glinting in the light of your apartment before they slice open your throat, bleeding you out all over again.

You gasp, eyes flashing open, but he just holds you a little tighter, letting his tongue poke out from between perfect lips to brush along the twin rivulets of crimson now dripping from your neck. The blood you stole from another man, ripped from his body and drank in your fledgling frenzy.

Your instincts are to push him off of you, to snarl and fight to keep that blood you worked for, but something inside you can’t. Something in you knows that he’s your sire, that he gave you the gift of this second life, and that you can’t fight against him. Not when he’s sucking the foreign blood from your veins, claiming your life as his own.

“S-Sukuna,” you whimper, not understanding why your body is held immobile in his hands.

He hums, a low rumble in his chest, as he tightens his hold in your hair. “Such a familiar tone,” he says, and blood drips from his teeth when he pulls back enough to look you in the eyes when he speaks. “It would do you well to remember who is the master and who is the servant here, little thing. I won’t remind you again.” Then he puts his mouth back on your bleeding wound and drinks.

This time, as he takes a long pull from your throat, you notice that though you’re unable to move against him, unable to fight this robbery of blood you so rightfully earned when ripping it from that man’s throat, you’re not enthralled. You’re not empty-minded, not entirely blank except for the need to serve him, to belong to him, to give him everything.

He pulls back, licking his teeth at the delicious expression on your face, that painful haze of confusion when you realize that he doesn’t have the sort of control over you he once had when you were human. He smirks at you, sucking his fangs clean before he explains, “S’not your blood, pretty girl; can’t be a thrall when there’s no use for you. But you’re full of that human’s blood – that old groundskeeper you ripped apart and murdered – so I can still drink from you.” Then he dives back in, his tongue brushing the arch of your throat once more.

He slowly readjusts himself, putting one leg between yours. He presses his knee against your cunt, and your back arches off the couch with a soft gasp, lashes fluttering at the unexpected stimulation. You can feel him grinning against your neck as he sucks again, his mouth filling with blood, now slowly tinged with the taste of hormones and endorphins released as he starts rocking his knee against your core.

He feels you growing wet against his leg.

He groans quietly against your neck at the taste, at the sweetness of your arousal straight through the blood in your veins. His hips grind against your stomach, canting forward against your soft tummy through your shirt. He presses somehow closer, pinning you against the back of the couch as he leans over you, dwarfing your frame with his massive body. His fingers tighten again in your hair, leaning your head even further back so he can move his tongue over the bite mark at your throat with fervor, lapping at the draining blood in rhythm with each shallow thrust of his hips.

And all you can do is sit there and take it, while your mind screams at you to fight back.

When he finally pulls back, mouth painted red, his tongue licks that up, too, leaving only a soft crimson stain to his perfect lips. His eyes are lidded as he looks down at you, his hips still pressed against your torso, his aching erection so close… You fight to swallow.

He stands, having had his fill of you, and straightens his shirt, looking as casual as when he walked in. You’re the only one who’s left wrecked by the interaction. “I’m sure the others will ask to drink from you sometime, too – pretty thing like you.”

He steps away from the couch, moving towards your front door. “You can do whatever you want with the others,” he tells you, not even glancing over his shoulder at you. “Can go anywhere to hunt, as long as you don’t act like an idiot and get yourself found by humans. Or, god forbid, hunters.” He shrugs nonchalantly, like the idea of you being hunted doesn’t even bother him. “That is, if you want to survive. If you want a stake to the heart, go right ahead.” Then he exits your apartment without an ounce of fanfare, and you sink into your couch, grimacing as you press a hand to your still-bleeding throat.

Being a monster hasn’t really lived up to your expectations.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Once night falls, you follow Choso and Suguru through the vibrant streets of Shibuya.

You’re dressed in a black leather skirt and a violet crop top; it turns out when your vampire lord sire has been around for centuries, that usually means he has enough money to order you clothes to fill the closet in your new apartment. All of it is slutty and dark, unlike the flowy little sundress you died in and the dress you were buried in.

It feels like Sukuna was trying to remake you in every way possible.

Once you walk into the club, bass thumping so loud it rattles your dormant heart like a new heartbeat, Choso immediately darts off into the shadows to search for his own prey. Suguru, however, stays by your side as you both make your way to the bar.

He leans against the bartop, looking down at you curiously. “I’m guessing you haven’t hunted before?”

The vision of ripping apart that old man, the groundskeeper in the cemetery, once again flashes in your mind. You blink away the images of crimson blood spurting all over you as you ripped out his throat. “Um, not really.”

He nods, turning to order you both drinks. “Well, it should be easy for you; pretty things make the best venom, eh?”

You’re not sure if that’s a compliment or not. You bring your hand up to your lips, touching one of your long, sharp canines with the tip of your finger. “Are we venomous?”

He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand away from your mouth. “No, that’s a myth. Vampires don’t have venom.”

“Then how did Sukuna– er, Lord Sukuna – change me?”

He taps the side of his throat with his finger. “He gave you his blood, didn’t he?”

You think back; the memories of that night are so fuzzy, drowning in the haze of your thrall state and your bloodloss, but you think you do remember him lancing his own throat and forcing you to swallow a mouthful of his blood. After a moment, all you say is, “Gross.”

Suguru just huffs another small laugh.

You examine him as his violet eyes trail over the bar, searching for his own prey in the low lights. His eyes didn’t glow in the same way that Sukuna’s did, so you wonder if that’s just a vampire lord thing; either way, he’s simply pretty, his long sleek hair and his slim build attractive in a way that Sukuna’s hulking, overpowering form could never be. He’s dressed in a black band t-shirt and dark jeans with silver chains clipped to his belt loop, and silver jewelry hangs from his neck and his gauged ears. He looks beautiful, tempting, in the low light.

But there are shadows under his eyes, dark bruises like his body misses his heartbeat in a way yours doesn’t. You wonder if his soul just wasn’t made for the afterlife.

He stands up straight from his casual lean, chains and jewelry all clinking and settling as he stares off into the distance. You turn and look and find a shy-looking boy glancing at him before averting his gaze, blushing.

You can practically feel the rush of blood to his face from across the room.

Suguru doesn’t take his eyes off the young man. “You’ll be alright?” he asks.

You nod, signaling for him to go. “I’ll be fine. Any rules I should know about?”

He takes one step away, then another. “Just be back before sunrise. You don’t want to be caught outside when the sun comes up.” Then he disappears into the crowd, leaving you to your own devices.

So, you wait. And now that you’re without your alternative-looking guard dog, it doesn’t take long for someone to approach you.

The young man who comes up to you is plain, unassuming. You flash a hesitant smile, and you can see him trying to decide if your canines are a little too big, a little too sharp.

He decides to stay, and that is his downfall.

You flirt, and he buys you drinks, and you dance, and it’s like any normal night when you used to be human.

Then he takes you outside, laughing as he stumbles drunkenly out the front door of the bar, and he pins you against the brick siding, crushing his lips against yours.

You try not to grimace as he makes out with you; he’s not a good kisser, his tongue far too firm and unyielding in your mouth, so you take his cheeks and tilt back your head to guide his mouth to your neck.

His mouth is no less sloppy on your throat.

Your eyes are closed as his tongue swirls your pulse, right over the ruined scars that mark you as undead. If he notices them and finds them odd, he doesn’t speak on it; instead he keeps kissing his way lower towards the neckline of your shirt.

You tug on the hem of his. “Not here,” you say.

He looks up at you through lashes, grinning up at you as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you, right there in that dingy alley. “C’mon, baby,” he says, though he has no right to call you that, “lighten up a little.”

You grit your teeth, and you open your eyes to snap at him; you’re so tired of people thinking they have a right to you– But before you can, his hands reach to your thighs, sliding up and under your skirt, aiming for the lace of your panties–

You snarl, eyes flashing with rage, because you’re not letting someone else get a hold of you, not like Sukuna did. No one will ever take from you what he did. So you grab this guy’s hair and tug harshly, yanking his head back, and he lets out a gasp that turns to a groan, a filthy sound for a filthy man in the filthy street.

So instead of indulging him, you lean down, towering over his kneeling form, and then your sharp fangs sink into flesh for the first time.

And then everything seems to slow.

As you retract your jaws from his throat, fangs leaving two puncture wounds in his vein, blood blooms and hits your tongue, and your eyes roll back at the hot, heady taste. It’s even better than your first time, drinking from the cemetery groundskeeper, because it’s a warm, breathing body beneath your mouth this time.

You understand why Sukuna hunts the way he does.

Your hand leaves the man’s hair, and instead you grab behind his head with one hand and his shoulder with the other, holding him in place as you suck down a mouthful of salty blood, swallowing eagerly. Then you draw another mouthful. Your hands are unyielding on him as you drink him down.

He just moans softly under your mouth, panting quietly. In his own little thrall state.

It’s almost thrilling to be the one in the powerful position for once.

His heartbeat starts to grow sluggish beneath your lips, his blood now a slow trickle into your mouth that you’re lapping up like an eager puppy. He’s nearly boneless in your arms, but you’re still holding him just as tightly, like you’re afraid of letting go and feeling that ever-gnawing hunger deep in the pits of your undead belly.

You’re still in the middle of feeding when the side door opens into the alley you’re ducked into.

You raise your head, eyes flashing with feral light at having been interrupted. You hear two sets of footsteps and only one heartbeat, so you’re unsurprised to see one of your companions accompanied by his hunt for the night.

Suguru blinks at you. Then he looks at your unconscious prey at your feet, and he sighs. “Should’ve known,” he says. He turns to his own thrall, whose pupils are blown wide, and a bruise is already starting to darken around red indents in his throat. “Go home,” Suguru tells him, “and forget about this night. You drank too much and blacked out, and I walked you home.”

The thrall seems hesitant to leave his new master, but after a moment he nods and turns away, walking out of the alley.

You and Suguru both watch him turn a corner and disappear. Then violet eyes slide to look down at you, their colorful depths a little brighter now having been fed a mouthful or two of blood. He gestures to the man on the concrete. “What’s your plan with him?”

You stand there for a moment, racking your brain. In your young frenzy, you’re not sure. You tell him so. “I dunno.”

He just sighs again and steps forward, lowering himself to haul the unconscious man to his feet. “Grab his other arm,” he tells you, though both of you could carry this body alone due to your supernatural strength. You suppose that would look more conspicuous, though, than two people propping up a “friend” between them as they leave the bars.

You follow his directions, throwing the man’s other arm over your shoulders. You look over at Suguru as you start walking. “What’s the plan?”

“Jogo and the other nosferatu are in charge of keeping the thralls,” he says, keeping his eyes forward. “Though he will no longer be yours; Sukuna will decide if he’s worth keeping.”

Your expression sours a little; you’re the one who was nearly assaulted, you’re the one who did the hard work, and Sukuna is the one who gets to keep him?

You hate vampire hierarchy.

Suguru turns to examine you, his dreary eyes taking in your frustration. “I know it seems unfair,” he says softly, “but he’s the one who gifted us our second life. He’s owed certain things.”

You hiss under your breath, “I didn’t ask for this life! I loved my first one.”

Suguru, it seems, does not have a response for that.

The two of you walk back to the apartment complex with the unconscious body between you. Once you arrive, a tall nosferatu named Hanami takes him off of your shoulders and leads him down the first floor corridor.

Leaving you and Suguru in the dimly lit lobby.

Suguru’s eyes slide to meet yours. “You should learn to be more careful. If it were Lord Sukuna who found you like that, he would’ve killed you.”

A second time.

You sigh and look away. “I know,” you say, voice hushed. “I’m sorry for putting you through the trouble.”

Suguru is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Well, I should go. I didn’t get much blood, and I need to find something before sunrise.”

You both glance out the glass doors, examining the sky from above the skyline. Suguru tuts quietly; there looks to be only short hours until the sun is up; does he have enough time to complete a hunt and get safely back?

You’re not sure.

You look at him, examining the bruises beneath his eyes, the hunger in their depths. And so, because he did you a solid by helping you get the body back to the apartment and not let him die in the street for everyone to see – very likely getting yourself killed in the process – you give him an offer.

“You can feed from me, if you like.”

He turns his gaze from the sky in surprise. “You’ve only just fed,” he says, almost like he’s trying to convince you to change your mind, to withdraw your offer.

You don’t. “Yes, but you need blood. I owe you for the help.”

He stares at you for a long moment, thinking. Then he just nods and steps forward. “Yours or mine?” he asks.

And because you yearn for just a little more control tonight, you say, “Mine.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Suguru’s mouth is much more gentle on your throat than Sukuna’s has ever been.

He’s sitting beside you on your couch, his hands gently cradling the back of your head, as he slowly sinks his long fangs into your neck. Your head is tipped back against the back of the couch, eyes closed, fighting through the flash of pain before he extracts his teeth from your throat and starts softly sucking.

One of his hands slides down to grope your chest, and you yelp in surprise, pushing him off. “What the hell!” you practically shriek, scrambling towards the other end of the couch and putting space between the two of you.

He blinks at you, frozen in place by surprise. Blood stains his lips, and his violet eyes watch more blood drip down the delicate curve of your neck, pooling in the hollow between your collarbones. He fights to swallow before he breathes, “I’m– I’m sorry. I thought– I mean, we all just do it–”

“That’s not an excuse!” you snap, eyes alight with indignant fury.

“I-I know,” he stammers, “I know it’s not. It’s just… Hasn’t Lord Sukuna done the same?”

You grit your teeth. “I can’t say no to him. But you didn’t even ask. I’m not a thing to be taken advantage of.”

He raises his hands, looking taken aback. It seems like he’s starting to panic. “It’s not like that! It’s just… We feed like that because it tastes better for the drinker, but it also feels good for you. But I understand why you don’t want that. I apologize.”

You stare over at him, examining the expression in his eyes. Once you deem him genuinely contrite, you relax a little against the couch and grumble, “Get over here. No more funny business without my permission.”

“I promise.” He moves towards you across the couch and keeps his hands respectful once more, cradling the back of your head as he licks up the already-scabbing wounds on your neck. His saliva dissolves the platelet plug, and then he’s drinking again, his mouth just as gentle as it was before your outburst. He swallows the first mouthful of blood, and you slowly sink back against the couch again, letting him continue to drink. And the entire time, he doesn’t touch you without your permission again.

And over the following weeks, as other men touch you and beg you and kiss you, Suguru is the one who stays respectful. The one who treats you like a person instead of an object.

Or instead of the monster you’ve become.

thanks for reading! -luna xx previous chapter | next chapter

additional notes: hi there! i'm sorry to stop by when i usually don't, but i have a fun question for everyone regarding how this fic will end and what you all would prefer! please check out the poll below and let me know your preference!! much appreciated. xx

[ooooo-mcyt]

I know Joel being mostly alone in Third Life is largely attributed to him being a loner and not having solid loyalties that season, and yeah, he did spend a lot of time alone willingly, and he was uncertain about his loyalties for most of the season. But I think it's really fascinating to look at the other side of why Joel was so isolated in Third Life;

That being that all the alliances he did form were fundamentally either coercive or conditional, either mutually or from the other end of things.

Joel and Scar were "friends", but their "friendship" was formed with Scar doing what he did best in Third Life- throwing his weight around and asking for something from Joel as a Scary Red Name. It was an alliance based on Joel not wanting to get on the bad side of a red name who was implicitly threatening him (as scar did with most players).

Joel joined Dogwarts briefly, but at the point where Joel joined, Dogwarts had started majorly employing intimidation tactics on the rest of the server, which left Joel in a position where he, again, didn't really have any choice but to just hang the banner and hope for the best.

People talk about his "flighty loyalties" with how he switched between sides, but I'd argue this had less to do with Joel's sense of loyalty and more to do with the coercive tactics that both Scar and Dogwarts liked to use at different points.

Joel had other allies at points. He bonded with Etho a bit. I think Scott and Jimmy both liked him. Cleo and Bdubs were friendly with him after he left Dogwarts. But these were largely very loose bonds, and many of them were conditional on the fact that they happened to be on the "same side".

Yes, Joel's decision to play relatively solo and not commit harder to a side was a lot of the reason he was a "lone wolf" in Third Life, but there was also a massive aspect of isolation from the other end where Joel was used as an easy intimidation target or convenient temporary ally by other players who (intentionally or not), would capitalize on the fact that he was alone to get something out of him, and that would just drive him further into isolation.

Which is something I always thought was fascinating regarding Third Life. Especially considering that, while Joel didn't seem too upset by the isolation in Third Life specifically, I think the fact that it wasn't entirely self imposed is good context for his continued isolation in Last Life, which he took significantly harder.

[nameless-jamie]

You And Me As Always

Valentine's Day Special - Day 5 - FINALE

Jamie Tartt x PA reader

Masterlist Valentine' Special

TW: cursing, jealousy

A/N: Hi guys I wanted to end this Valentine'S Special strong, so here's a ff with yall's fav pining pair Jamie and his assistant. Thank you for all the love this series received. I deem this series officially finished now! Maybe I will do something like this more often! I love you all. Happy Valentine's Day!

Valentine’s Day at AFC Richmond was always a bit of a spectacle.

Between the lads showing off their grand romantic gestures, the inevitable teasing in the locker room, and the ridiculous amounts of chocolate that somehow ended up in Jamie’s locker (half from fans, half from the team just to wind him up), it was always a thing.

And for the past few years, Jamie and Y/N had their own little thing too.

Every Valentine’s, without fail, they’d surprise each other with something small—nothing fancy, just a little reminder that they thought about each other. A coffee waiting on her desk with a heart drawn in the foam, a sticky note in his locker that said Try not to be a dick today—Happy Valentine’s. It was never a big deal.

At least, that’s what Y/N kept telling herself.

Because it wasn’t a big deal.

Except, maybe, it sort of was.

Because she was hopelessly, stupidly in love with Jamie Tartt. And he, being Jamie, had no clue.

Which was why she had tried so hard this year to actually do something different. Both of them actually didn't do a thing for each other this year...

She had a blind date tonight. To get her mind of their thing.

Rebecca had set it up, going on and on about how Y/N needed to “get out there” and “stop wasting time waiting for things that might never happen.” Which was fair. It was probably about time she tried dating again.

So why did she feel like bailing?

Maybe it was because she knew how tonight would go. She’d go on the date, make polite conversation, and the whole time, she’d just be thinking about how much she’d rather be spending the evening bantering with Jamie.

But whatever. It was fine.

It wasn’t like Jamie actually wanted to spend Valentine’s with her.

Right?

The locker room was full of buzzing energy that afternoon.

The lads were in rare form, all hyped up and comparing their plans for the night.

“Gonna be massive, lads,” Isaac declared, clapping his hands together. “Got a whole weekend planned—spa day, private dinner, the works.”

“Mate,” Bumbercatch shook his head. “You just won Valentine’s Day.”

“Oi, I always win Valentine’s Day.”

The guys laughed, each chiming in about their own plans. Sam had something elegant planned—dinner and dancing. Dani, of course, was “taking Valentine’s Day as an opportunity to celebrate love with the whole world!” Which, for him, probably meant a party with half of Richmond.

And then, predictably, someone turned to Jamie.

“What about you, Tartt?” Colin smirked. “Surely the great Jamie Tartt’s got a big night planned.”

Jamie, lacing up his boots, just smirked.

“Oh, yeah. Got a hot date.”

The guys whistled.

“Ooohhh, Tartt’s got a mystery girl,” Jan teased.

“She’s well fit, right?” Isaac asked.

Jamie leaned back, completely unbothered. “Fittest girl I know. A model.”

And then, without meaning to, his eyes immediately flicked toward Y/N, who was busy folding Jamie's dirty football kits... That was certainly not her job.

She hadn’t looked up. Hadn’t reacted at all.

Was she even listening?

He frowned slightly. Not that he wanted her to react.

Except, maybe, he did.

“You’re being weird about it, boyo” Colin teased. “That means it’s someone we know, yeah?”

“Maybe.” Jamie smirked. “Maybe not.”

The guys groaned.

“Such a prick,” Isaac muttered.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “What about Y/N? You got plans tonight?”

Y/N, overhearing her name, turned around just in time to see all the lads looking at her expectantly.

“Oh. Uh… yeah, actually,” she said, clearing her throat. “I have a date.”

Jamie’s smirk immediately dropped.

The fuck?

Since when did Y/N have a date? Since when did Y/N go on dates in general?

“Wait, wait, wait.” Dani waved his hands. “You? A date? But it’s always you and Jamie on Valentine’s Day!”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, you two always do your little… thing.” Sam smiled. “The coffee and the notes, the little looks you give each other. It’s like a tradition.”

“That’s—” Y/N faltered. “That’s not… I mean, yeah, but it’s not like a thing.”

“Sounds like a thing,” Colin grinned.

“Shut up.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “And yes, I have a date. Rebecca set it up.”

Jamie frowned, arms crossing.

“A blind date?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Yeah.”

Jamie scoffed. “That’s fuckin’ stupid, love.”

Y/N frowned. “Excuse me?”

���I mean, c’mon,” Jamie said, leaning back against his locker. “You don’t even know the bloke. Could be a proper weirdo.”

“Or he could be great,” she shot back. “Not everyone’s a weirdo, Jamie.”

Jamie shrugged, hating the way his chest felt tight. “Still think it’s stupid.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

He wanted to say Don’t go.

Instead, he just huffed, looking away.

And for the first time, Y/N really thought about canceling.

She lasted exactly seven minutes at the restaurant.

She had shown up, sat at the table, and listened to her date talk about his favorite wine pairings for way too long before realizing she wasn’t even really there. Physically, sure. But her mind? It was somewhere else entirely—somewhere that smelled like expensive cologne and fabric softener, somewhere that had an annoying yet undeniably attractive accent teasing her about how stupid blind dates were.

She had barely muttered an excuse before she was out the door, coat wrapped tightly around her as she stepped into the cold night air. But now what? Going home felt wrong. Like she was admitting defeat. And if she was being honest, there was only one place she really wanted to be.

So she found herself in front of Jamie’s door, hands shoved deep into her coat pockets as she bit her lip, debating whether this was a really bad idea or just a regular bad idea. She hadn’t even texted him. Had no clue if he was home. But for some reason, her feet had taken her here anyway. Maybe because, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, this is where she belonged.

When the door finally swung open, Jamie leaned against the frame, raising an eyebrow as a slow smirk played on his lips. “Well, well. Thought you had a hot date.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thought you did.”

Jamie shrugged, stepping aside to let her in. “Yeah, well. She bailed. Some last-minute modeling thing.”

She snorted, kicking off her shoes as she walked past him into the warmth of his flat. “You’re full of shit.”

“Am not.”

“Jamie.” She turned to him, arms crossed. “You never had a date, did you?”

He hesitated for only a second before giving her a lopsided grin. “Maybe. Maybe not. Guess we'll never know.”

A laugh bubbled out of her, and Jamie took that as a win.

“So what happened?” he asked, flopping onto the couch, patting the empty space beside him. “Blind date bloke turn out to be a twat?”

She sighed, sitting down next to him. “No. He was… nice.”

Jamie made a face. “Nice?”

“Yes, nice.” She pulled a throw blanket over her lap. “But I didn’t want nice.”

Jamie’s smirk faltered slightly. “No?”

She shook her head. “No. I wanted this. Our Valentine's thing.”

Jamie’s throat went dry.

“Not normal Valentine’s Day, or big grand gestures, or some random guy Rebecca thinks I’d like,” she continued, voice softer now. “Just… this.”

Jamie swallowed hard.

They sat on her couch, watching dumb movies, sharing cheap chocolates, and teasing each other relentlessly.

And when she dozed off halfway through the film, leaning against Jamie’s shoulder, he barely breathed.

Because it was always them.

And no matter how much they tried to pretend otherwise, it always would be.

[starsreminisce]

SJM Romance Week Day Seven Free Day

Across the Universe

wordcount: 5100 for @sjmromanceweek

Summary: Elain is finally forced to make a choice, and the Mother intervenes by revealing every possible outcome that awaits her.

Read on AO3 or continue below

Elain glared at the wall. She couldn’t seem to fathom how it had come to this—being preached about her own choices by not only her youngest sister but also her mate—yet here she was, suffocating under the weight of their opinions. Hurt and fury tangled together, bound by the familiar sting of having her life dictated.

The same story, playing out in yet another endless cycle.

It wasn’t until the silence had finally settled into Rhysand’s office that she realized she’d been dismissed, dismissed from her own life. The tightening of her jaw extended into her standing, mumbling out a perfunctory goodbye before slipping out the door.

Escape. That was all she could think about as she rushed down the stairs. Maybe she’d get an apartment in Velaris. Or another court. Or maybe—her mind reeled, wild with desperation—maybe an entirely different continent.

Her garden. If she could just make it there, she could breathe again. But she stopped short at the base of the stairs.

Lucien stood by the entrance.

Their eyes met, and their mating bond buzzed faintly in her mind. His head dipped but the longing in his gaze was unmistakable. She didn’t need to see it etched across his face. She felt it humming along the bond, slipping into her heart without permission.

Elain could feel her chest tightened. He knew. Of course he knew. He’d known why she was called into Rhysand’s office, known what was discussed. And yet, knowing didn’t make her feel any less trapped.

She didn’t want this. Didn’t want him. Didn’t want the invisible chains of this bond dictating the rest of her immortal life. She’d had so little freedom in her human years, and now, even that was gone.

Lucien’s expression softened as though he’d heard the thought through the bond. Still, he said nothing. Instead, he inclined his head—a small, empty gesture—and walked out the door. No second glance. No words.

Elain exhaled shakily and turned toward the garden, the only place where her thoughts didn’t feel like they were spiraling out of control. She laid down in her nook, tilting her face to the sky. She enjoyed the quiet. It was comforting, and she fell asleep without noticing.

She had left her garden when her eyes opened again.

Rather, she was standing in a huge city with a smoky, chaotic atmosphere. Overhead, a massive glass palace with jagged spires that gleamed like knives.

A quiet but anxious voice called her name. She turned abruptly.

Lucien put out his hand and stood a few steps away. His face was tense with anxiety, and the wind was ruffling his ruby red hair. “The boat to Doranelle leaves soon,” he said, his golden eye glinting in the pale light.

She stared at him. “What…?”

He stepped closer, closing the space between them. His hand brushed hers, warm and steady, as though he could anchor her.

“My heart,” he said softly. “We don’t have much time.”

Her fingers trembled as she slipped her hand into his. He pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms as a chill wind swept through the cobblestoned streets. His warmth pressed against her shivering frame, but it did little to quiet the fear she felt.

“Are you sure?” her voice barely more than a whisper.

His jaw clenched. “They’ll sack Terrasen. We need to go now.”

“Lucien, I’m—” Her voice cracked.

“Do not be afraid, my love,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers. “No matter what happens, I will always be by your side.”

She sniffled, and Lucien tugged her closer to wrap his arms around her as though to shield her from the world. The noise of the city seemed to dim, melting into a distant hum until it was just the two of them—just the bond and the steady, grounding weight of him. His breath brushed her ear as he whispered softly, “I’ll keep you safe.”

It was such a soft, intimate statement that her breathing hitched. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his voice settle over her. And when she opened them again, the world had shifted.

It was still Lucien. But not. His hair was woven into intricate braids, the ends tipped in beads of copper. Tattoos curled along the sides of his neck, trailing down to vanish beneath his shirt, and a small silver hoop glinted in his nose. He seemed both entirely foreign and completely familiar, the bond between them thrumming as if to remind her that no matter the form, this was him.

Elain blinked down at herself. Her dress was gone, replaced by a strange garment that clung to her body like a second skin: a pair of pants—stiff yet soft, hugging her legs down to her ankles. They were a stormy blue, faded in places, and patched with tiny frayed holes. Above them, a top bared her midsection, her skin catching the light of some unseen source. And there, nestled in the hollow of her navel, was a tiny jewel.

She touched it absently, still reeling, her voice taking on a coquettish edge to mask her confusion. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said, her eyes meeting Lucien’s. “The drop is just … scary. It’s some Asteri bullshit to keep us in line.”

But Lucien just smiled—sharper, hungrier than she was used to—and closed the space between them, and his lips crashed on hers with a fervor that stole her breath. It wasn’t the soft, tentative affection she was used to. This was raw, consuming. And she met him with equal intensity, her hands tangling in his braids as though this version of him was a male she’d known forever.

When they broke apart, she was breathless, her head spinning. A laugh bubbled out of her, giddy and reckless, and she said, “Okay.” Her heart raced as if it were leaping ahead of her, knowing something she didn’t. “Okay. Whatever happens, as long as I’m with you forever.”

Lucien’s hands framed her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. His voice dropped to a low, steady vow. “I am your anchor,” he said. “No matter what happens, I will always be by your side.”

Her laugh burst into a delighted squeal as if she’d shrugged off every burden that had ever weighed her down. But then—then the ground disappeared beneath her feet. Her stomach plummeted, her breath caught in her throat, and the world began to unspool around her, spinning apart into fragments of color and light.

She was falling.

Falling.

Falling…

Until she landed with a soft thud. The fall ended not on hard ground, but on something worn and familiar. A couch. She blinked, disoriented, her breath catching as she realized she was curled up against Lucien. The room was dim, the only illumination coming from some sort of strange box directly in front of them, flickering with moving images. His hand had been laid lightly on her waist, and somehow she was draped over him, her body nestled comfortably against his.

“Did you fall asleep again?” His voice was a soft murmur, teasing but warm.

“No,” she replied defensively, even as her face heated. “You’re just really warm.”

A pause. Pregnant and heavy, though she couldn’t quite say why. She shifted to look up at him, catching the faintest curve of a smile on his now-human face. He reached for a small, smooth rectangle beside him, pressing a button that made the flickering images vanish into black.

He turned to her, his expression softer now, quieter. “You know that I’ll support you,” he said, the weight of his words pulling her from the haze of sleep.

“I know,” she replied unsurely. “It’s just... restaurants fail all the time. Even the good ones. What if it doesn’t work out?”

Lucien shook his head, brushing her hair back from her face with such tenderness that she stilled. “And what if it does work out? You’ve landed the job of your dreams, Elle. We’ve been saving for this. For you. You can take this chance.”

Her throat tightened as tears welled in her eyes. “Loosh...” The gratitude, the fear, the love—it all swirled together.

“No matter what happens,” he said as though it were a vow, “I will always be by your side.”

Even as the dream threatened to fall apart once more, she was grounded by his familiar words. She leaned forward and kissed him, closing her eyes. For an instant, his warmth tethered her, steadied her.

Because when her eyes opened again, the world had shifted once more.

They were no longer on the couch. No longer in the quiet glow of that strange, cozy room. Now they stood on the deck of a massive ship, the scent of salt and sea spray in the air. Her hair wildly whipped around her face in the wind, and when she looked down, she realized she was in a swashbuckling corset, her belt adorned with a gleaming cutlass.

Lucien stood beside her, his ruby red hair tied back in a loose queue, a few strands escaping to frame the sharp angles of his jaw. His left eye was covered by a worn leather eyepatch, lending a rakish edge to the cocky grin curving his lips. His open collar let a glimpse of his chest show beneath the sun bleached skin. That sight alone was enough to curl her toes.

Her body reacted instinctively, the heat pooling low in her belly as a surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. She had no idea what was feeding the hum of energy within her except that it needed to find release.

“Ah, well, love,” he drawled, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Ready for our next adventure?”

“Not quite,” she said in a coy invitation.

With a newfound sense of confidence, she leaned back against the ship’s railing. She liked this aspect of herself even though she didn’t recognize it. Intentionally and purposefully, she reached out and let her fingers slide over the front of his trousers, her lips curling into a slow, playful smile.

His single visible eye darkened with interest, his grin sharpening into something wicked. “Oh?” he asked, his tone a mix of challenge and promise.

Her fingers gave him a firm squeeze, and the next moment his lips were on hers, hot and demanding. Her hands slid to the curve of his ass, pulling him closer as he pressed her back against the railing. His lips moved to her neck, suckling and grazing the sensitive skin there until he elicited a moan from her lips.

“Lucien,” she gasped. “I need you.”

“Not yet, love,” he murmured.

She barely had time to process his words before she heard his knees hit the wooden planks beneath them.

Her breath hitched as his hands slid up her thighs, steady and reverent. And then his tongue swept against her, deliberate and skilled, sending waves of pleasure through her that made her body tighten. Her fingers curled around the railing behind her, the rough wood grounding her as her head fell back.

“Lucien,” she gasped, her breaths coming fast and shallow, her body trembling as the pressure inside her coiled tighter and tighter—until it wasn’t.

Her gaze dropped to him, and he looked up at her, his russet eye burning with unwavering intensity—like she was the only thing in his universe.

“Show me what comes next,” she breathed, caught between the moment and the possibilities beyond it.

Lucien rose to his feet, and when his lips met hers, she tasted herself on him. Heat coiled low in her stomach at the intimacy of it, at the way his hands tightened at her waist, tracing slow, deliberate patterns only she could decipher.

When he pulled away, she didn’t understand the flicker of disappointment that followed. Didn’t understand why she had expected—anticipated—more. Why the absence of him inside her felt like something withheld rather than something simply not given.

She needed him.

Impatience flared, sharp and insistent.

“Wherever you want,” he murmured against her lips.

She hummed, her thoughts spinning between destinations and adventures, the endless possibilities stretching before them. Lucien grinned, as though he could read her indecision, as though it delighted him.

His hand brushed a stray strand of hair from her face before he whispered, “No matter what happens, I will always be by your side.”

Before she could reply, the ground beneath her shifted. It gave way like sand pulled out by the tide, and she was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling…

Until she found herself cradled in his arms. He carried her effortlessly, dressed in a sleek tuxedo, while she looked down at herself in a flowing white dress. She blinked as they walked through a crowd of laughing people tossing rice into the air. The grains danced like tiny stars, glittering in the golden light.

“You’re my husband?” she asked with disbelief as an unexpected thrill raced through her.

He smiled down at her, that familiar smile doing its work with her heart skipping a beat. “That way, no matter what happens, I will always be by your side.”

She shut her eyes and leaned in for a chaste kiss, tears of happiness blinding her eyes. And in that moment, the world seemed complete and at peace.

But when she opened her eyes again, everything was different.

And now they faced a peaceful farm shrouded in mist. Beyond their small house, rolling hills stretched on and on, covered in fog that blurred the edges of the world

She glanced down at herself, taking in the simple woolen dress that clung gently to her pregnant belly. Her hands instinctively cradled the bump. She looked up again and nearly burst into laughter.

Lucien was standing by the door of the cottage, his arms crossed, his red hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. He was wearing a skirt—a plaid pattern of deep red and green that swayed lightly in the breeze. Somehow, it suited him perfectly, as though he belonged here more than anywhere else.

He turned to her and grinned, a flash of white teeth and easy confidence. “Ye shouldn’t be on ye feet,” he said, his tone playfully chiding.

She answered with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “You don’t tell me what to do.”

“Aye,” Lucien said, stepping toward her. His gaze softened with concern. “Ye ken I worry about you. And the bairn.”

She didn’t really comprehend the weight of the words that hung between them. Or perhaps she didn’t want to understand. She felt a quiet, irrational fear stirring in her chest, like if she looked too closely at the moment, it might break apart.

Lucien knelt slightly, his large hand brushing over her rounded stomach with the lightest of touches. The tenderness in the gesture was enough to make her throat tighten.

“I told you,” he murmured as she closed her eyes. “No matter what happens, I will always be by your side, ken.”

When she opened them, he was light itself.

His red hair glinted like sun rays, his skin aglow with an otherworldly brilliance. The golden threads in his robe seemed to shimmer around him like beams of buttery sunshine. She looked down at herself and found she too was transformed. Her body felt timeless, eternal. Her dress was a gown of rich greens and browns, vines and flowers blossoming along its seams. The ground beneath her bare feet pulsed with life.

“Solas,” she whispered as she opened her arms to him. The taste of the name was as ancient as it felt like home, something that always resided in her mouth. “It has been a year, my love. I have missed you immensely.”

His mismatched eyes eased as he drew closer, softly entwined his fingers into her locks. “Cthona,” he murmured, his voice like sunlight warming her skin. “A year too long.”

Their kiss was the same as it had always been—an unbroken promise, a memory of all they had been and all they could be. It consumed her, grounding her and unmooring her all at once.

As they parted, his hands cradled her face, wiping away the tears that trickled down her cheeks with his thumbs. He added in a low voice, “No matter how many years pass. No matter how many lives we endure, I will always be by your side. You are the beginning and the end of me, Cthona. You always have been.”

His words were both heavy and light as they buried deeply into her chest. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his, relishing the instant, the assurance, and the eternity in his arms.

She opened them again, and the world flickered as her eyes met his. The golden glow fractured into shards of color and light, spinning faster and faster as though the universe itself were turning pages too quickly for her to keep up.

She watched as the flickering slowed, revealing hundreds—no, thousands—of versions of him. Lucien, over and over, in lives she hadn’t lived but somehow knew by heart. 

Lucien the knight in shining armor, with a billowing red cape as he knelt before her, sword in hand and devotion etched on every plane of his face.

Lucien the scholar: ink-stained fingers trailing across the pages of a worn leather-bound book, looking up at her in quiet wonder.

Lucien the musician, sat cross-legged with a lute balanced on his knee; deft hands coaxed a melody that seemed meant only for her.

Lucien, waiting for her at a café, his hand around a steaming cup, his eyes locking to hers with a tentative, heart-stopping smile.

Lucien, his calloused hands wiping the sweat from his brow, his golden eye glinting as he shared a small, secret grin just for her.

Lucien in finery fit for a king, his crown tilted slightly askew as though he’d just removed it for her.

Each version of him looked at her the same way—with devotion that burned through time itself. With longing that reached across lifetimes.

Her heart beat furiously at the kaleidoscope of him. She could feel it in every thread of her being: no matter where, no matter when, he was hers.

The images blurred together, their faces melting into one until there was only him. Only Lucien.

And in every life, every version, his voice rang out a promise she could never forget.

“I am glad that I am in a life where I am yours.”

Her breath hitched, and just as she reached for him, the world went pitch black.

Then, slowly, the light returned.

She was standing in a bustling market, surrounded by the scents of autumn—crisp leaves, spiced cider, and freshly baked bread. Fae farmers called out their wares, laughter and conversation filling the air in this market. The colors of the Autumn Court blazed around her, vivid and warm, but her heart froze as her gaze landed on him.

Lucien.

He stood by a stall, leaning close to a female with delicate butterfly wings that shimmered in the sunlight. Perched on his shoulders was a little girl with the same ruby red hair, her chubby hands gripping his hair for balance. A boy stood on the other side of the female, holding her hand as she pointed at something on the stall.

Lucien’s expression softened as he listened to her. His voice was low and full of care, full of love. Elain couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She wanted to blink, to squeeze her eyes shut and will herself into the next dream—but nothing happened.

This wasn’t a dream.

Her feet carried her toward him before she could decide whether it was the right thing to do. Every step felt like threading molasses. She stopped beside him, and time seemed to stretch unbearably as Lucien turned toward her.

His hands slackened at his sides, his face draining of color. “You’re my mate,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What did you say?” the female beside him asked, her delicate face wrinkling in confusion.

Elain blinked rapidly, trying to keep her tears at bay, but the words rang in her head like a bell she couldn’t unhear. She hadn’t thought—hadn’t considered—that there might be lives where he wasn’t… hers.

She turned to run, unable to face it. The market faded, turning into a forest and she collided with him. His arms closed around her, and her lips found his with desperate eagerness, as though she’d been starving for him.

“Elain,” his voice was strained, raw with anguish. “You and I can’t be—”

“But we are mates,” she sobbed, clawing at him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though holding on could stop the world from tearing them apart.

“In another life, Elain,” he said, his voice breaking under the weight of the words. His russet eye shimmered with unshed tears, his hands trembling where they cupped her face. “You are my mate. You are everything. But they’ll kill her if I leave… if I leave them.”

The words slammed into her, hollowing her out.

This was cruelty. This was torture. If Elain was shown worlds where she and Lucien lived and loved, then now, she was forced to endure those where Jesminda lived—and Lucien wasn’t… couldn’t… was forced not to be hers

Not if he didn’t want Jesminda to be killed. Not if he didn’t want them to be killed. Not if he didn’t want to break apart the family he had made, the home he had built—the home that shattered the moment his face paled and his voice, broken and haunted, whispered that he had been wrong about his mate.

Stolen moments that rarely saw the light of day.

And it always ended the same way before she was dragged into the next scene.

She shook her head violently, the word slipping from her lips like a plea. “No… no…”

As though anchoring himself to her one final time, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers. His breath trembled as he whispered, barely more than a rasp, “No matter what, I will always be by your side, even when I cannot.”

Tears spilled freely down her cheeks. She gripped his arms, her fingers digging in, desperate to keep him close. Desperate to change the ending.

But before she could reply—

The world yanked her away.

Escape. That was all she could think about as she rushed down the stairs. Maybe she’d get an apartment in Velaris. Or another court. Or maybe—her mind reeled, wild with desperation—maybe an entirely different continent.

Her garden. If she could just make it there, she could breathe again. But she stopped short at the base of the stairs.

Lucien stood by the entrance.

Their eyes met, and their mating bond buzzed faintly in her mind. His head dipped but the longing in his gaze was unmistakable. She didn’t need to see it etched across his face. She felt it humming along the bond, slipping into her heart without permission.

Elain could feel her chest tightened. He knew. Of course he knew. He’d known why she was called into Rhysand’s office, known what was discussed. And yet, knowing didn’t make her feel any less trapped.

She didn’t want this. Didn’t want him. Didn’t want the invisible chains of this bond dictating the rest of her immortal life. She’d had so little freedom in her human years, and now, even that was gone.

No.

“So you made a decision,” Lucien said quietly.

This didn’t happen.

“I did,” Elain said, her voice tight as she avoided his gaze.

This didn’t happen.

This didn’t happen.

This didn’t happen.

Lucien looked down at the floor and nodded slowly.

THIS DIDN’T HAPPEN.

Time stretched unbearably, each second sinking heavier into her chest. Her stomach churned with dread, her body frozen as though trapped in amber. She wanted to stop it, to speak, to reach for him—but the words stuck in her throat, strangled by fear.

Lucien looked up at her one last time, his russet eye filled with something she couldn’t name—something that both softened and broke her. A bittersweet smile curved his lips, fragile and fleeting, like a memory already slipping away.

“Perhaps in another life, lady,” he murmured, his voice low and aching, “I would have loved to be yours.”

He turned and walked away.

The door closed behind him with an unbearable finality, the soft click echoing in her mind like a thunderclap. It shattered something deep inside her, something fragile and vital, leaving her hollow.

He didn’t… he didn’t say it.

The thought spiraled, tearing through her. He didn’t say the words. The words she needed. The words that had anchored her through lifetimes and dreams.

Her breath hitched, sharp and ragged, as if the very air had turned heavy and toxic, pressing down on her chest. The ache swelled, unbearable, until it broke free.

The scream tore from her throat—raw, feral, endless.

She screamed.

She screamed.

She screamed until her lungs gave out, until the sound tore through her and left her shaking. Then, as if pulled from deep water, she jolted upright in bed, gasping for air.

Her breaths came wild and jagged, her chest heaving.

The room was dark, the edges blurred, her mind still clinging to the shattered fragments of unfinished dreams. The sheets beneath her were damp with sweat, tangled around her legs as if they, too, had tried to hold her in the nightmare.

“Lady?”

His voice cut through the haze, soft and hesitant, a lifeline pulling her back into the present.

Her head snapped toward him. Lucien was seated in a chair beside her bed, his posture rigid as his knuckles turned white from gripping his knees. His red hair was untied, a few unruly strands framing his face as lines of the worry etched into his features.

“Lucien,” she croaked. “What happened?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” he said soothingly, his russet scarred gaze steady on hers. But there was something beneath the calm surface of his voice—something taut, uneasy, as if he were afraid of the answer.

She pressed her palm against her forehead, trying to focus, trying to make sense of the images that still swirled in her mind. The pirate ship. The chapel. The endless lives. His words. Perhaps in another life...

A sob broke free before she could stop it, raw and wrenching. The ache of the last dream lingered like a phantom, overshadowing the fleeting joy of the happier ones.

The idea he wasn’t hers. The idea he couldn’t be. The idea he … didn’t want to be.

Lucien moved quickly, pouring her a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. She accepted it with shaking hands, chugging it down until her parched throat eased. When the glass was empty, she set it aside and sank back into the pillows, her chest still tight with grief she couldn’t fully name.

She could feel his gaze on her, the quiet weight of it. She turned her head toward him and saw it—etched in every line of his face, in the tension of his shoulders, in the shadows that darkened his expression. Worry.

“What happened?” she asked again, her voice stronger now but still unsteady.

Lucien shook his head slowly, exhaling through his nose. “I couldn’t feel you,” he admitted, his voice low, as though saying it aloud might make it worse. “It was like you were taken from me. I went to your alcove to check on you, and you were dreaming—restlessly, violently. There was something about it…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as he struggled for words. “It didn’t feel right. So I carried you up here.”

Her throat tightened at the image of him finding her, of his concern pulling her from whatever darkness had held her captive. “Did Rhys…”

Lucien shook his head before she could finish. “I thought he’d be the last person you wanted to see.”

They sat in silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken truths. Elain turned her gaze to the ceiling, her tears slipping down her temples as she reoriented herself. But the one constant, the only constant, was him. Lucien. His love had followed her through every version of existence.

“You came for me,” she said quietly. “Even when you knew…”

She didn’t know how to finish her sentence. Didn’t know how to properly express the enormity of what she felt, the gratitude tangled with sorrow. But Lucien didn’t hesitate.

“I would have,” he said softly, his voice steady, unwavering. “Because no matter what happens, I will always be by your side.”

This quiet conviction in his voice was the final pull of threads, and she came utterly undone. A sob tore from her chest as she sagged, burying her face in her shaking hands, her grief and the relief of being found when still so lost, breaking her completely raw and open.

And then… warmth. From their bond.

She turned toward him, and a shared understanding passed between them—silent, familiar. Like then. Like in a thousand lives before. Like now.

Wordlessly, he stood from the chair. It was the first time in this world, but hundreds of times before, that he kicked off his shoes and slipped beneath the covers. She shifted without thinking, making space for him. Always on the same side. Always with the same arm tucked beneath her.

But for the first time in this universe, she turned into him. Pressed her forehead to his chest as his hand found her back, tracing slow, steady circles.

She exhaled, feeling the tension leave her body, but when she looked up at him, she caught it—the flicker of confusion in his gaze. As if he had never done this before, yet somehow knew exactly how to.

“Was it a bad dream?” he asked softly.

“It could have been.”

His fingers stilled for just a breath. “Is there something I can do to make it better?”

She couldn’t help but smile, just a little. “Maybe if you were to get a tricorne hat.”

Silence. Then a chuckle—low, warm. She looked up at him again, finding the amusement lingering in his mismatched eyes.

“Promise?” she whispered.

His smile softened. “Promise.”

A promise.

A promise that even in the darkest dreams, even when the world tried to tear them apart, he would always find her.

[stellamarielu]

Hear me out babes (may I call you babes?)

Declan x reader who is Taggie's friend and has a secret daddy kink..it almost slips out while teasing so Declan makes sure it fully comes out later ;) and maybe some more of that "be the sweet thing we both know you are and take it like a good girl" type shit if ya feel like it? Love you and your writing so much!

daddy

declan o’hara x female reader

summary: you're mocking the way declan's daughter is always calling him daddy, but the teasing only has the two of you discovering something new about your preferences in the bedroom

content: nsfw, 18+, literally just porn with a sprinkle of plot, cursing, daddy kink, risky quickie, teasing, penetration, praise kink, him calling the reader good girl [duh], him calling reader babygirl [idk i blacked out], hair pulling, slightly degrading, kinda rough sex, pull out game strong on this one!

author’s note: you can call me whatever you want when you’re dropping requests like this in my inbox, god damn! i’ve had tons of taggie’s best friend x declan requests lately so i hope this can feed you all– i’m looking directly at the anon who said “what if reader was taggie’s best friend and declan bent her over the closest platform and fucked her brains out.” [fucked her brains out had me on the floor]

—

You were having dinner at the O’hara’s for the second time this week. You'd like to say you helped taggie cook, but really you just watched her stride around the kitchen and handed her different ingredients as you talked her ear off. Now, after all her hard work and little boasts of encouragement from you, you were both sat at the kitchen table finishing dinner and laughing. Her father was sat across from you shaking his head at the cackling going on between you and Taggie. You were having a hard time keeping your composure with him only being a few feet away. It was hard to focus- hard to act normal when you knew you’d be sneaking into his room later.

It wasn’t your fault Taggie’s dad was so hot, and it also wasn’t your fault that you'd been hooking up with him.

You weren’t proud of it- in fact you felt guilty for doing something as blatantly wrong as having sex with your best friends dad. But it was Declan. You'd had a massive crush on him since the first time you walked through Taggie's front door. Not to mention his wife recently left and he was walking around all sad and lonely, practically begging you to fuck him out of his sorrowful daze. It wasn't like you were some home wrecker, Declan was the one who had initiated it weeks ago. Pulling you aside after taggie had fallen asleep one night and practically ambushing you with dirty whispers and not so innocent touches. In retrospect you had been doing everything within your power to break him down; so it didn't come as a surprise when he finally gave in to temptation and took you against his bedroom door.

Regardless of who tempted who first, you were now in some kind of relationship. You weren't really sure what it was exactly, all you knew was that you couldn't keep your hands off each other which made things complicated seeing as though his daughter- your best friend- was always right there next to you.

Like right now, she was sitting next to you and chatting with her dad about something that happened earlier and you couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Instead, you were fixated on the man in front of you. Declan was leaned back in his chair, the top two buttons of his shirt undone and all you could do was stare at the exposed skin beneath it.

"You done?" His voice was breaking you out of your trance.

He was leaning forward and reaching for the empty plate in front of you. The grin on his lips told you he knew exactly what had you so zoned-out. In fact, he had probably unbuttoned his shirt on purpose just to tease you.

“It’s alright daddy, i’ve got it” Taggie was chiming in as she stood to her feet, stacking your plates on top of one another and carrying them across the room to the sink.

Daddy, a term of endearment for her father. The word sounded so sweet and innocent coming from her mouth. It was a name she called him frequently and each time she did, you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to say it yourself. To use it as so many people often did, in the bedroom.

Now that Taggie was away from the table, you and declan were left sitting across from each other, just staring. An amused smile had taken over your face at Taggie's recently spoken words.

He raised an eyebrow mouthing “what?” in curiosity to the look on your face.

“Nothing… daddy” You were sing-songing almost silently underneath your breath, careful not to let taggie hear.

Declan's brows furrowed and his mouth fell open slightly as if he were about to respond when you abruptly stood from your seat and grabbed the remaining dishes off the table, striding over to join your best friend across the room.

Then, Declan was sitting alone, his mind reeling from hearing you call him that. A name exclusively reserved for his children. He never even thought about what it would sound like to hear it from your lips. But now, it took on an entirely different meaning, the way you said it with your eyes all wide and challenging. It was as if you needed him to put you in your place. declan was accustomed to being in control in the bedroom but that word, “daddy” had him craving the authority that hid beneath its meaning and your submission that came along with it. He needed to hear you say it again. Wanted to hear it as he railed into you from behind with your hair wrapped around his fist.

You were standing with Taggie at the sink and stealing the sponge out of her hand, demanding to do the dishes since she cooked. Then Declan was behind you muttering something about “You’re our guest you’re not doing the dishes” and ushering you both out of the way. This was followed by you retorting, “Guest? I’m here practically every night.” determined to do the chore at hand.

After you and declan argued a bit more over who would do the washing up, taggie gave in, leaving you both to take care of the mess.

She was grabbing a tinfoil covered plate off the counter and waltzing out the front door before either of you could protest. She had promised Lizzie left over bread pudding and told the two of you she would be right back as she walked out the door to their neighbors house.

In taggie’s mind she just left her best friend and her dad to clean up the kitchen while she ran a quick errand– harmless. But the reality of it was much less innocent. In fact, the second taggie was down the driveway declan was pawing at your waist.

“You think it’s funny teasin’ me in front of Tag like that? you’re gonna get us both in trouble.”

You turned slightly so that you were facing each other.

“I’m not the one with my entire chest out.” you were accusing him, finding the third button from his collar and popping it open to match the two preceding it.

“Wish you were” He was chiding playfully as he molded to your touch.

You let your hands explore his exposed chest, gliding over the smooth curls hiding underneath the undone material of his shirt.

“Say it again.” His eyes were burning into you as you traced his collarbones.

His voice was deep and gruff, skipping over the playful tone you had introduced moments before.

“Say wha-“ Your brows were furrowed at his command, confused as to what he wanted you to repeat, and then it hit you.

“Daddy?”

You looked up at him with a devious sparkle in your eye. You were completely joking earlier, just mocking his daughter when you had said it the first time at the dinner table. Never in a million years did you think he would be into that sort of thing. You’d had a lot of sex over the past few weeks, all of it hot and dirty and at times a bit kinky, but the word daddy had never once come up.

“Oh you like that? You filthy old man.” You were giggling, every word fell from your lips in a joking tone, but the look in declan's eyes was far from playful.

You'd seen him wearing that expression before. In fact, the last time he had that unchecked feral look in his eyes, he had three fingers in you, telling you to "take it like a good girl." while your eyes were watering from pleasure.

"Bend over." His words were simply spoken and his eyes were blown wide as he peered down at you.

"Declan-" you were ready to tell him no, that you couldn't, that the risk of getting caught was far grater than the reward of a quick fuck against his kitchen sink.

"I wasn't askin'."

His rough hands slid to your hips, his strong hold on you forcing you to pivot until the front of your body was pushed against the kitchen counter.

"Declan, Taggie-" you were beginning to express your worry of getting caught when he interrupted you, his breath hot on your neck.

"She’ll be gone for at least twenty minutes." He was roaming the expanse of your torso with his big hands, not leaving a single inch of your body untouched.

"We've got plenty of time." His whispers were in your ear as he stood behind you and the invitation of his warm embrace had you falling back into his touch.

"You gonna take it while I bend you over the counter sweetheart?"

This time his voice was taunting as he spoke against your neck. One of his hands was coming down to the hem of your dress, hiking it up to your waist in one quick movement.

"Yes"

You were giving in. You had to. Everything about his hands on your body and his words swimming in your brain made you willing to do anything he wanted– a slave to his touch.

"Yes, what?" The teasing tone was back in his words as he coerced you into saying the one word he desperately needed to hear. His fingertips were pushing between your legs running over the embarrassingly damp material of your underwear.

"Yes daddy."

As soon as you said it, the gentle touch of his fingertips against your clothed core turned into a firm grip. His palm was flat on your cunt as he cupped your heat, and the friction of it had you biting back a squeal.

"There you go."

He was so satisfied by the feeling of having your body in his grasp- all bent over for him, that he let you have a little taste of your own satisfaction. He was hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulling them down, replacing the lace material with the pads of his fingertips as they played in the mess of arousal gathering there.

"This all for me sweet girl?"

He was cooing in your ear, with his fingers painstakingly gliding over your opening.

You were whispering out a hushed, "yes" in hopes that he would finally fill you with something. You were desperate for relief and knew Taggie would be back soon.

"What’s that? Couldn’t here ya."

He was enjoying himself, teasing as you were submitting to his every whim.

"Declan, we have to hurry." You were mumbling through a moan as your back arched, reminding the man behind you that you were meant to be racing against the clock of his daughter's inevitable return.

“What happened to my pretty little obedient girl huh? Not very nice to rush me.” As he spoke you felt his touch vanish from between your bodies.

A pitiful noise erupted from your mouth at the loss of his touch on you.

"Declan..." You meant for this name to come out as a stern warning but instead it was just another deplorable whine, and he still wasn't touching you. It was as if he were waiting for something. Waiting for you to be compliant with his need for dominance.

"Please daddy, I'll be good for you." You were mustering up the sweetest little voice you could manage and pushing your ass into his crotch.

"I promise." you were purring out a vow of compliance as you looked over your shoulder at Declan.

The second your eyes found his all filled with innocence, it was a wrap.

He was working at his pants in a frenzy, quick to get them off so he could line himself up with your center that was exposed and ready– all for him.

Your gaze was once again fixed forward but you could feel Declan's length at your backside threatening to finally push into you.

You were getting ready to say something– anything– when a surprised yelp escaped your lips.

He had plunged his cock all the way into you in one swift movement. The wetness already drowning your core was enough to let his member slip right in and slide deep inside, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Yeah? Gonna be good?" He was huffing out as his hands gripped onto your hips, hard.

"My good fuckin' girl." His voice was a groan as he pulled your hips back to meet his over and over again, his cock diving into you with each movement.

One of his hands was letting go of your hips and sliding up your body until you felt him intertwining his fingers in your hair and gently pulling at it as he buried himself deeper with each thrust. The slight yank of your hair causing a perverse moan to seep from your mouth.

Your lewd noise made Declan's pace quicken as he bottomed out with every thrust.

"You like it when daddy pulls your hair like that huh baby?"

He was relishing in the pleasure of your walls wrapped tightly around his cock and the power he had over you in this position. The surge of control was bringing out the most unholy parts of him, causing filthy words to fall from his tongue.

And with each word off his lips you could feel your walls clenching harder around him and your body tensing in anticipation.

"Fuck- are you gonna come already?" Declan could feel the way you were squeezing and squirming against him, he knew exactly how your body reacted to him when you were on the verge of release.

"That's pathetic baby."

His voice was jeering as he reached around your body and placed the smallest amount of pressure over your clit with the pad of his index finger. The careful touch was especially surprising to you given the way he was currently pounding into you from behind. Everything about the contrasting sensations had your abdomen burning with pleasure.

"Gonna give it to me sweetheart? Gonna be a good girl for me?" His voice was spilling out of him in the most sinful groan.

you were whining out a "yes daddy" as he continued driving into you, simultaneously pushing your hips back to meet each of his relentless thrusts.

it was all too much; his attentive strokes to your clit, his tight grip in your hair, his unyielding pace as he filled you with every inch of him. You could feel the tension building in your body ready to snap, and your legs threatened to give out underneath you.

Bracing yourself against the kitchen counter, you pressed your forearms against the cool surface.

"That's it babygirl." Declan's sinful chants were filling your ears as you allowed your release to wash over you. White hot pleasure shot through your entire body as you folded even further over the kitchen sink.

"There's my good girl."

His praise was a low murmur as he took in the way you were melting into him with relief. Your body gave into him completely as your grip around his cock tightened.

"Fuck look at you."

The astonishment in his voice made yet another pitiful whine slip past your lips. You were still trembling as he continued thrusting into you, his movements much slower than before.

"Came so fast. Ya needed me that bad babygirl?"

You couldn't bring yourself to speak, instead you just nodded your head pathetically as you remained slumped against the countertop.

"So fuckin' tight sweetheart." He was marveling at the feeling of your walls squeezing around him like a warm perverted hug.

He was picking the pace of his thrusts back up, unable to keep himself from giving in to how good it felt to have you bent over for him with your mind all dazed and your cunt pulsing.

With one hand pulling at your hair and the other grabbing at your waist, Declan was practically slamming himself into you, the breathy groans leaving his throat made your head spin.

"Feels so good daddy." You were mewling out a statement of flattery for the man currently ruining you, hoping your words held the same power of his.

Judging by the way his thrusts ceased and the fact that he was pulling out of you in mere seconds, your use of his new favorite nickname must've pushed him right over the edge.

He was using the hand at your waist to gather your dress higher on your body, ensuring that his eventual mess wouldn't ruin the material.

Thick, hot strands of come came pulsing out of him, covering his own fist and the exposed skin of your lower back. He fought to keep his eyes open as his orgasm pushed through him, watching the way his load spilled over your body.

You were both regulating your nervous systems and sharing a few smitten chuckles as Declan grabbed a nearby dishtowel to wipe away the evidence of your shared debauchery.

After a few minutes of normality and washing dishes, you watched through the kitchen window as Taggie made her way back up the driveway.

You and Declan shared one last brazen smile before going back to being nothing more than acquaintances.

"I'm back!" Taggie's voice filled the Priory like a song as she came bounding in the front door.

She entered the kitchen with a smile on her face as she took in the cleanliness of her surroundings, somehow you and Declan had managed to finish washing up after he fucked you over the kitchen counter.

"Look at that! My heroes." Taggie was exclaiming as she pulled you both into a loose embrace, you on her left and Declan on her right.

She proceeded to grab you by the forearm pulling you away from her father and toward the doorway of the kitchen; taking you back for herself so the two of you could go gossip and listen to music in her room.

"Oh daddy, Lizzie says hi by the way!" She was speaking to her father right as you were about to exit the room, and you couldn't help the smirk that found its way to your lips.

Declan's eyes found yours at the sound of the word and both of you were fighting back a laugh as Taggie hauled you to the stairs.

my masterlist

[glykerniaz]

The Ashamed Corner

ᅠᅠ 𓄹⠀𓈒⠀ㅤׄ pre-angban!maedhros x top!reader ⋆.˚ ⠀𓄼

ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ✎ᝰ. ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ 

( synopsis. ) You have been Maedhros' lover for a long time. You and him often have different experiences together, including sex, and this time you want to make it a little more exciting to relieve some of the pressure on him..

( tags. ) top!reader , bottom!maedhros , lick , climax , male reader , semi-public , smut , lick-nipples , blowjob , oral sex , semi-public sex , multiple ejaculation.

( a/n. ) I'm sorry I'm late, but sir, I've already submitted your work. @sh1-n0bu

Maedhros, the red-haired elf, let out a sweet moan as he squirmed uncontrollably.

His trembling legs were wrapped tightly around your waist, as if desperately clinging to you in this embarrassing situation.

His sweet voice broke in spurts as your invasive tongue toyed with his lips.

His soft opening clenched your massive shaft like a starving beggar savoring his last meal. He was too shy to even look you in the eye.

Maedhros never expected to be pinned against a secluded street corner like your little whore, like he was your plaything.

And it was even more shameful when anyone passing by might see them.

"D-don't tease me!"

His flushed ears twitched adorably, just like his massive cock in your hand as you roughly violated his beautiful rear and battered his prostate.

Your impossibly huge cock made the red-haired elf prince feel like he was in heaven.

The more sounds of passing elves there were, the tighter Maedhros gripped your shaft.

His moans were melodic and cute, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes like works of art.

His muscular frame trembled and pressed against the brick wall of the street corner.

His hands clawed at the wall, leaving marks.

Our lips tried to stifle the moans but often failed, as you kept kneading and tugging at his pink nipples, fucking him until he saw the stars of the Varda behind his eyelids.

Maedhros would bet that if you kept this up, and if he were a woman, he might have gotten you pregnant by now, dozens of times over.

Shameful, but delightful.

Your relentless assault had reduced his stress to nothing but carnal bliss.

"Harder!! Hnng-ahhh, d-do it again!"

"Harder! Ah, ah, ah-I'm going to come!!"

He cried out shamelessly, drool dripping from the corners of his mouth, hair disheveled.

Not even in a bedroom, and you'd fucked him to completion twice already.

"Good boy, come for me."

"Let everyone know who you belong to."

You growled in your throat, gritting your teeth at him as he clung to you so tightly your cock could barely move inside him, his beautiful ass clenching and fluttering like a wanton harlot.

"Ahhh, aaaaahhh!"

And with indescribable bliss, your beautiful prince came, splattering his thighs.

His ass gripped your cock tightly, just as it had hoarded your previous release inside him.

His pants on the ground were stained with his own seed.

His back arched off the wall in the street, pulling your hair down to kiss you hungrily.

His eyes were hazy and dreamy, like he was in a trance.

"My prince," you murmured in his ear, peppering his cheek with kisses, still rolling your hips to tease his pliant, fluttering hole.

He panted, boneless, but his legs remained wrapped tightly around your waist, as if it were instinctual and natural.

When you brutally assaulted his prostate, making him moan like a deflowered princess, his hand weakly came up to lightly bat at your chest.

"Ahhh~ Satisfy me, you wicked demon!"

Maedhros gently pushed at your chest, as you kept kissing and nuzzling his skin, insatiable. "Hngg—l..let me catch my breath..."

You ignored him, continuing to lavish attention on his curves, like a woman's.

Your mouth latched onto his nipple, as if trying to suckle from it.

"You're insatiable! Ahhh!"

His hand tangled in your hair, pressing your head harder against his chest.

His softened cock was rising again between his legs as his freshly relaxed hole began clenching and fluttering around your massive shaft once more.

You set to work again, and he could only bury his face shyly in the crook of your neck.

He pleaded to Eru that this wouldn't be the last time you fucked him in this secluded street corner, in public.

And that no one would ever know what was being done to him.

He was so ashamed.

But when he got home, he'd ride you until you were spent!

dividers ➵ @.chachachannah @.anitalenia @.cafekitsune

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Reassigned

Prompted by @clonexocweek's day one: First Meeting for the rather massive series of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

We'll return shortly to your irregularly scheduled programming after this short, angsty break!

Warnings: Not a ton of warning: some bullying, some angst; written via phone, so probably could have used some more editing

WC: 1,480

There was a way these things were done; an unspoken social contract dictating some illusion of pleasantries in spite of whatever prejudice or disdain seethed beneath the surface, but I'd been warned long before forcing myself down the nauseatingly pristine halls of Kamino: the squad I’d been reassigned to flaunted their independence in every way they could absent thought of maintaining even a glimmer of such abstract notions of decorum.

I wasn’t deterred by those warnings. The thought of clones not only celebrating what self-autonomy they could but boasting that sense of individuality with unapologetic acts of rebellion offered a comfort both in ridding me of my own nervousness for adhering to the strict code of conduct dictated by rank in those first introductions as well as in the simple relief that they were allotted some glimpse of such freedoms at all. The variation in how closely these soldiers followed that code was staggering, fluctuating not just from legion to legion, but even between squads in the same platoon. Seeing some of the more reserved groups left me with a sense of gratitude for the men I’d initially found myself working with. Wolffe presented himself as some uncompromising, heartless tyrant, but the reverie and warmth that I'd so come to love amidst him and his men was evidence of just how deeply he cared.

But Wolffe wasn’t here. He hadn't offered to escort me like Boost had, a gesture I’d forced myself to turn down lest my first impression with my new squad present me as the weak, needy civi they surely expected. Still… I couldn't deny the deep disappointment, the confusion in how… clean our farewell had been… I hadn't expected tears… not from him, though I’d shed more than my share since learning of my reassignment, but he'd been so indifferent… cold… and that wasn't something I was used to from him… not anymore…

I tried not to focus on the shock that had stolen through me as he’d offered his hand when I'd moved in for a hug, tried to dismiss the ease with which he offered some rote semblance of gratitude for the work I’d done and platitudes toward my continued service with the GAR. I couldn't let myself focus on it, on him. He wasn't my commander anymore. I was no longer the medic of the 104th… For some unknown reason, a captain of the 501st had requisitioned me for a different squad altogether. None of it made sense, but I was in no position to voice objection to those orders. So, I walked through those sterile halls alone, cursing the way my heart pounded harder with each step toward the single room they'd been allocated in the stead of a proper barracks.

I'd read their files; studied reports of their unique abilities in addition to character evaluations that, even from the hands of a Kaminoan were… colorful, and I didn't doubt that they’d been granted ample warning about me, as well. I hadn't decided yet if the incredible strengths they were preported to possess were reassuring or frightening, and tried not to let myself form any conclusions until after at least meeting them.

The door to their room opened without preamble or warning, the software controlling it apparently already recognizing me as a squad member with full access. I stared into the jumble of gear and cables and miscellaneous supplies strewn between beds and tables and couches that certainly weren't regulation for several seconds too long, frozen in both surprise and confusion long before finally realizing that, as cluttered as the room was, it lay utterly empty before me.

Frowning, I slipped my helmet back on, eyes flicking to the chrono. I wasn’t late, nor was I inappropriately early… Glancing once more around the room, I also noticed a striking lack of footlockers at the base of each bunk…

Frown growing even harsher, I stepped back and started quickly toward the hanger. There was a mission already assigned to us, but we weren't slated to depart for several hours… My jaw tensed at the obvious conclusion I tried not to let myself draw, strides just short of rushed. I’d been so focused on what first impression I’d wanted to present that it never dawned on me how readily they'd use the opportunity to fully illustrate their apparent disinterest. Part of me wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, to grant excuse for an unintentional mistake, but inventing such excuses would only lead to the creation of an endless cycle of similar events, and I had no intention of falling into that role, nor did I intend to make it easy for them to dismiss me so effortlessly, pace growing faster as I finally neared the hanger.

Their ship stood out among the far more popular LAATs, sharp fins boasting an elegance abandoned by the more utilitarian transports around it. I could just make out a pair of figures carrying crates up the ramp. The first quickly vanished within the cabin upon seeing me, but that quick glance was enough for me to note the shear mass of him, thick legs moving with surprising quiet as those final steps quickened to hide him from sight. The man behind him made no such effort to escape as I approached, dark helm tilting with an air of disdain I didn't need to see his eyes to feel.

“Think you've got the wrong ship.” His voice sounded almost hoarse, words drawn out with a slight drawl from lips clearly twisted into a scowl behind the cover of his bucket.

“Afraid not.” There was no apology in my retort, nor did I try to hide my own annoyance as I looked up at him. “I'm-"

“Don't care.” He interrupted, already turning back toward the cargo hold. “This isn't a cruise ship. Go play nurse somewhere else.” I felt the snarl pull at my face, shoulders pulling sharply back as I drew in a short breath to fuel my reply, but another man stepped out from the ship, strides deceptively laxed beneath a haughty stance, arms loose, torso leaned back just enough to give the impression that he was looking down on me despite his slightly shorter statute compared to the others, and I forced myself to release that breath in silence as I turned my attention to him.

“Thought we were supposed to meet at your barracks half an hour ago.” It wasn't a question.

“Must've missed that briefing.” My jaw clenched at the subtle, mocking lilt in his smoky voice.

“You certainly didn't miss the one about Scipio…” I muttered too quietly for the mic to pick up, but the barely perceptible tension that stole through him assured me he'd heard every word, proving the report of his enhanced hearing shockingly accurate. The home planet of the banking clan was, by all political standings, far removed from the war, thus any form of military presence could be grounds for far reaching repercussions. My knowing the location of their next mission was evidence enough of my place here, and he knew it.

I let that silence linger a moment, head tilting down just enough to indicate my impatience toward whatever hazing they’d planned, and to let him know that I knew he'd heard me.

“Seems like you intended on an early start. If your medbay is fully stocked, then I'm ready to go as soon as you are.” I let out a slow breath before I said it, tone reluctantly gentling into an unspoken olive branch I had to convince myself he deserved as I reached up to remove my helmet. He watched me for several seconds, and I loathed the way my skin crawled at that nauseating sensation of being studied, judged; of the unsettling certainty that I would never measure up to the impossible standards granted through a lifetime of training and meticulous genetic design, but I didn’t shy from the emotionless black crescent of his visor.

“It's stocked.” He finally replied, voice stiff, begrudgingly removing his helm as well. He looked so nearly identical to Wolffe and the others… but… not exactly. Beyond the startling half mask of faded ink, I could spot some differences. His nose was bigger, if only just, the already pronounced ridge even more prominent. The arch of his brows was softer, and his jaw slightly narrower. It was his eyes, however, that threatened to paralyze me.

I’d been to feral planets before; found myself the prey of frightfully dangerous beasts. Staring at him carried that same sense of dread, of danger. Here was a predator. He was stronger than me, faster than me, and I’d come to invade his home.

Without another word, he turned and tread back into the sanctum of his ship, and I knew it was the closest to a welcome I was going to get.

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[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

hey friend I just massively failed and I gotta redo my student teaching can I get some just confort from our fav slytherin boys this is the first time I've failed this hard so it stings

A Lesson in Mistakes | Sebastian x Reader x Ominis

Hello friend, I’m so sorry to hear you’re going through a hard time with your student teaching :( I worked through this as quickly as I could to get it up for you. I hope it helps 💚

Words: ~1,600

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Friendship, Fluff

You don’t realize something is wrong until the spell has already landed.

The flipendo was supposed to be countered. That was the whole point of the lesson.

You were training your students on reading intent, on recognizing the difference between a controlled spell and one that’s fueled by unchecked magic. A proper duel demands control, discipline—something you should have been watching more closely.

The fourth-year had been eager, a promising student with sharp reflexes but poor restraint. He had asked to push himself, to try something a little stronger, and you—caught between encouraging his ambition and remembering your own hunger for skill around at that age—had said yes.

You should have seen it. You should have noticed the way his grip tightened on his wand, the way his breath hitched before he cast the spell. You should have realized the instant he overcharged the charm that it was going to go wrong.

But by the time the red streak of light slammed into his opponent’s chest, sending them crashing into the stone wall with a sickening thud, it was too late.

The student didn’t get back up.

A chorus of gasping classmates, the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears—all of it blurred together as you rushed to them, panic gripping your throat like a vice.

“Someone get Nurse Blainey. Now!” Your voice came out sharper than intended, but the urgency in it had the students scrambling.

The duel had not been meant to go this far. A simple exercise, that’s all it was supposed to be. The worst they should have gotten was a bruised ego or a temporary jinx—

Not this.

By the time Nurse Blainey arrived, the injured student was stirring, thank Merlin, but badly concussed, with broken ribs and a wand arm that would need of healing overnight.

Professor Hecat said nothing when she arrived, but the look in her eyes said enough.

Disappointment.

You had failed.

You don’t remember much of the meeting that followed in her office.

Only her voice, cool and measured, as she laid out the reality of the situation.

“The student will recover, but this should not have happened,” she said, her piercing eyes fixed on you. “You were meant to be supervising, not enabling. We are lucky the consequences weren’t worse.”

Each word landed like a blow, but you only nodded, fingers curling into your robes as you forced yourself to take it.

It wasn’t unfair. It was true.

“I’ll take responsibility,” you murmured, throat dry. “If the parents—if the headmaster wants me removed—”

Hecat’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No one is suggesting that,” she continued, “but you must learn from this. Errors in judgement so severe cannot be tolerated, and if you cannot handle that reality, then you must decide whether this apprenticeship is truly for you.”

She dismissed you after that.

You left the office feeling more lost than ever.

You don’t do any grading in the living room that evening.

You don’t attend dinner with the boys.

Or breakfast the following morning.

Instead, you retreat into solitude, telling yourself you need time to think, to process—to figure out if you even deserve to continue this apprenticeship.

But Sebastian and Ominis know you too well.

It starts with a knock on your bedroom door.

You ignore it, but Sebastian is insistent.

“Open the door, or I’ll use Alohomora,” he calls from the other side.

“Go away.”

The knock comes again, louder this time.

Sebastian isn’t the type to be deterred, and you know it. You bury your face in your hands, willing him to just give up, but of course, he doesn’t.

“Come on,” he presses. “Either you let us in, or Ominis gets creative. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

You hear a sigh, softer than Sebastian’s voice but no less insistent. “You could at least tell us you’re alive.” Ominis’ voice is level, but there’s something edged beneath it—concern, maybe even frustration.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m fine,” you say, though the words feel like ash in your mouth.

Sebastian scoffs. “Yeah? Tell that to the fact you haven’t left this bloody room in two days.”

You don’t respond.

Another moment passes before you hear Ominis shift, his voice quieter now. “Please.”

And it’s that—the way he says it—that changes your mind.

You push yourself up from the bed, dragging yourself toward the door and unlocking it before stepping back. You don’t have the energy to do more than that.

Sebastian wastes no time. The moment the door is open, he steps inside, followed by Ominis, who moves carefully, wand in hand. Sebastian closes the door behind them and crosses his arms, looking you up and down.

And whatever he sees makes his expression falter.

Ominis, though he can’t see you, seems to sense it too.

Sebastian exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “All right,” he says, “out with it.”

“There’s nothing to say,” you mutter, moving back toward the bed, sitting down at the edge.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “So you just woke up yesterday morning and decided, ‘Hmm, I think I’ll shut myself away from my two best friends, just for fun’?”

You exhale sharply, but there’s no real anger behind it.

"Sebastian, please, it's nothing."

Sebastian makes a noise in his throat, something between a scoff and a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, it’s nothing, is it?” He gestures vaguely at you, at the way you’re slumped forward, at the dark circles under your eyes, the unmistakable tension in your posture. “You look like hell.”

You roll your eyes, rubbing your temple. “I’m just tired.”

“Bollocks,” Sebastian fires back.

Ominis, who has been standing silently at your desk, lets out a slow breath. “We’re not here to badger you,” he says, pointedly angling his his head toward Sebastian. “We just want to know what’s going on.”

You sigh and your voice comes out quieter than you intend. “Fine. I messed up at work, alright?”

Sebastian’s brows knit together, his sharp edges softening. “Messed up how?”

You press your lips together, hesitating, then finally, you force yourself to say it.

“At a duel,” you murmur. “I let a student cast something they couldn’t control.”

The words are bitter on your tongue, heavy and awful, but they keep spilling out. “I should have stopped them—I should have seen it coming—but I didn’t, and now a student is lying in the hospital wing because of me.”

A long silence follows. You don’t look at them. You can’t.

Sebastian is the first to break the silence. “That’s it?”

You blink. “What?”

“That’s why you’ve locked yourself in here for two days?”

Your fingers curl into your palm. “Sebastian, I made a massive mistake, I should have—”

“What?” Sebastian interrupts. His tone is sharper now, more serious. “Had perfect foresight?”

Your jaw tightens.

Ominis sighs, resting his hands on his lap. “Sebastian’s delivery is questionable, but he has a point,” he says. “You aren’t a Seer, and you’re not omnipotent. You’re an apprentice, and you’re still learning.”

Your stomach twists. “That’s not an excuse.”

Ominis shakes his head. “It’s reality. Nobody is perfect.”

Sebastian leans forward. “Look,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You think you’re the first professor—or near-professor—to misjudge something in a classroom? Hecat’s probably seen a hundred mistakes worse than yours. I’m willing to bet some of our professors have made worse ones too.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling in your chest. “I’m still the one who let it happen. I should have been watching more carefully. I should have stopped it, I should have been better."

Sebastian exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Just because you messed up doesn't mean you're suddenly the worst person alive.”

Your chest tightens. You know exactly what he’s talking about.

Sebastian knows guilt better than anyone. He’s worn it, lived in it, let it consume him whole—and now, he’s watching you do the same thing.

He shakes his head. “Look, I’m not saying you shouldn’t take responsibility. But don’t sit here and act like one mistake is enough to wipe away everything else.”

You let out a breath. “Hecat said—”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Hecat says a lot of things.” His eyes flick up toward the ceiling before he huffs out a bitter laugh. “And look, if we got exiled from Hogwarts every time we fucked up, Ominis and I would have been gone by second year.”

Ominis tilts his head toward Sebastian. “More like you would have been gone by second year. I would have made it to fifth, at least.”

Sebastian waves a hand dismissively and despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitches.

They both catch it.

Ominis exhales. “Do you still want this apprenticeship?”

The question startles you.

“What?”

Ominis crosses his arms. “You haven’t failed until you quit at something you still want. So, do you still want this?”

Yes. Yes, you do. You still want this.

You nod.

Sebastian claps his hands together. “Brilliant. Now, let’s get you out of here before you start fusing with the bedsheets.”

You groan. “Sebastian—”

“Nope. Up.” He stands, reaching for your arm, and tugs.

You stumble forward. “I hate you.”

Sebastian grins. “A common sentiment.”

Ominis snorts. “I’m inclined to agree.”

You roll your eyes, finally—finally—feeling something other than shame pressing down on your chest.

Because they’re right.

You made a mistake. But it doesn’t define you.

And as Sebastian drags you toward the door, loudly insisting that you owe him a drink for all this emotional labor, you think that maybe, you’re going to be okay.