#i got lucky enough to not fail on night walk once when i got my remix 10 perfect

[zennansr]

[humanjarvis]

serenade

synopsis: when top music critic sylus qin gives your new album a scathing review, you plan a performance to make him pay. 

tags: celebrity au, porn with plot, enemies to lovers (reader hates him, sylus is generally a bastard but just doing his job), mirror sex, p in v, light choking, moderate biting, size difference, dramatic reader, reader does some light internet stalking, brief angst only bc sylus’s review was mean, he does something nice at the end to make up for it, inspired by dandelion by ariana grande pairing: music critic!sylus x pop star!fem reader word count: 7.2k

a/n: writing this was a traumatic experience i literally decided i was going to finish and upload today 12 hours ago because i cannot have this in my drafts any longer

I. THE RATING

 “A fucking 4.7?!” you screech, hurling your phone across the bed in horror.

It must be a mistake. A typo, or maybe your eyesight has gotten worse since your last checkup. Paparazzi cameras can do that, your optometrist had told you once. Yes. You’re sure that’s the case.

Taking a moment to breathe—hyperventilate, more like—you snatch the device back up and double-check with wild eyes.

And sure enough, in big bold letters: Four. Point. Seven.

There was no way. No fucking way that that hard-ass snobby bastard Sylus Qin had given your new album—the record you’d poured your heart and soul into—a 4.7/10 rating.

You refresh and refresh, but the numbers stay the same. 4.7, followed by heartless jabs that carve into your chest like daggers. Failed. Uninspired. Noise. 

You must have died last night, somehow. You must be dead right now. And for some reason unbeknownst to you—you’ll have to talk it out with God if you ever get the chance—you had woken up in Hell. 

Life as you knew it was over. The little ghouls who hounded you online were going to throw you to the wolves. Your agent would be lucky to book you at a high school bake sale. The reporters—if you even counted as a celebrity anymore—would never let this go. And there was only one man to blame. 

Sylus Qin. 

The name alone struck fear into the hearts of the entire pop industry. Not even the living legends with decades-long careers were safe. 

The man himself was an enigma, with little known of him other than his unnaturally deep voice and moderately vampiric appearance. But the reputation that preceded him was that of the most renowned music critic alive. 

No one knew how he got his start—maybe he’d just spawned onto Earth one day, slashing dreams and breaking hearts. Or maybe his mother had played him the classics while she carried him, murmuring to her belly about what true music was, and he’d been ranting about artistic integrity and sonic evolution since before he could walk. 

No matter what his story was, the facts were that your peers lived in terror of a bad Sylus Qin review—or any Sylus Qin review, really. He’d ruined so many careers, it was like he had a yearly quota. 

And the prick had just given what you’d thought was your magnum opus the industry equivalent of a public hanging.

As frustrated tears well in your eyes, you take a look around the house you’d only just managed to buy—the cozy Gothic fireplace, the customized in-home studio, and the quaint little garden. It was all still so new to you. And just like that, you’d have to give it up soon. 

You were wholly, utterly, and hopelessly fucked. 

***

Death. You’d imagined it’d be…more peaceful. Less emotional devastation, more belated introspection. 

But as you shift under the weighted blanket you’d rolled yourself up in, the sudden movement disturbing the heap of tear-stained tissues on top of you, you realize how much you hate being wrong. 

Your life had officially been over for almost 22 hours. And in those hours, you’d stared at the wall, ignored 36 text messages, opened and immediately closed your socials countless times, and sobbed into your satin pillowcase. 

As you roll away from the sliver of sunlight slipping through your curtains with a pained hiss, you hear the heavy footsteps climbing up your marble staircase. 

Oh well, you shrug inwardly. Not like it can get any worse. If it’s an intruder, they can have at it. Put me out of my misery. 

But as a familiar pattern of knocks precedes the door swinging open, allowing more light than you’d seen in the last day to flood the room, you realize that this may be a fate worse than brutal murder. 

“You can’t answer your phone anymore or something?” the tenor voice of Devon, your beloved, overbearing manager cuts through the room. 

“Go away,” you mumble, the sound muffled by the heavy blanket covering your mouth. 

You hear an incredulous snort. “Go awa—Girl, get up,” he snaps, walking up to tug the blanket off of you. As he heaves it to the foot of the bed, the army of tissues scatters across the room like huge snowflakes of failure, and your jostled body ends up sprawled in an almost-perfect diagonal from the impact. 

“I’ve been calling you all morning! And not only do you not pick up, but you block my number? You had me rushing over here to do a wellness check like you died or something.” 

“Oh. Well,” you begin nonchalantly. “In case you haven’t heard, I did. Yesterday. And I’m finding it to be quite pleasant, actually,” you lie through your teeth and purse your lips, “so I’d like to continue being dead, please. Alone.” 

“Yeah. Right,” he responds, mouth wedged open in a clearly annoyed grimace. “Okay, we do not have time for this, girl. You got a fan engagement livestream scheduled for this evening. You’ve never canceled a stream, not even when you lost your voice from that virus that one time. You really gonna let that man break your streak?” 

At the mere reference to his existence, your face shrivels and you curl into a defensive ball. “Oh, what’s the point?” you wail, shoving your face into the mattress. “There will probably only be 4.7 viewers. And then the tabloids will be filled with news about how I’m talentless and unpopular.” 

Devon closes his eyes, pinches the mahogany skin of his prominent nose, and releases a slow, controlled exhale. 

“Okay,” he starts, visibly switching tactics. “If your own fans—you know, the people who made you famous—can’t get you out of bed, maybe this will.” He takes a deep breath, as if bracing for impact, before continuing. “I have it on good authority that Sylus Qin is doing a TV interview. Tonight.”

And in the middle of an agonized writhe, you freeze in place. 

“He never does interviews,” you say lowly, voice suddenly hard enough to cut diamond. “He’s never done an interview, D. Stop bullshitting.” 

“Dead serious,” he replies, shoving his too-bright phone in your still sideways face. And sure enough, mysterious critic act be damned, Sylus Qin’s name is in bright bold letters on the hottest talk show in the country’s latest social post. 

Failing to suppress the anxious pang in your chest, you swallow thickly. “It’s…real. You weren’t….he’s actually going to…right after…he…�� The world starts spinning as you trail off, and when the dry heaves start up on their own, you wonder if it’s possible to die twice. 

“Chill! Girl, chill,” Devon yells, firmly sitting you up on the bed. “My contact in production said he’s not talking about his work. He’ll be there to announce something, so he shouldn’t mention you unless they ask.” 

“Unless they ask,” you cry, slapping your palms to your face. 

“Which they won’t,” he adds in unsuccessful reassurance. “I just figured it might wake you up a bit. You’ve never seen him before, right? Maybe some exposure therapy will help.” 

Chewing your bottom lip hard enough to leave marks, you consider your options. You could either kick your manager out and wallow in bed until you get a foreclosure notice, or get up, grit your teeth through the livestream, and rush back to your bedroom afterwards to hate-watch Sylus on national television and pray he doesn’t speak your name. 

Your conscience and the voice in your head confer, and it seems like your anxiety has beaten your depression this time. Second option it is. 

II. THE INTERVIEW

After an excruciating hour of smiling blankly, avoiding talking about your album, and pretending not to see cruel comments, the stream is over. 

It was time to stare Death in the face. 

With 8 minutes to spare, you run up the stairs from the streaming setup in your studio and catapult into your walk-in closet, ripping your intricate work clothes off and diving into the comfiest loungewear you can find. If you were going to do this, you were going to do it comfortably. 

3 minutes. You dim the lights and flip the TV on, having already set it to the right channel in a bout of paranoia hours ago. Your house is empty except for you, but you trot over to shut the door just in case. A potential humiliation ritual was a private affair. 

And with 30 seconds to go, you unmute the TV and slowly climb onto your bed, sitting cross-legged and letting out the kind of breath you’d spent hundreds on mastering in pilates. 

The cheery, inauthentic talk show theme fills your ears, and you lift your eyelids open in resolve. 

A corny host intro. A brief band performance. And then, a tall white-haired man is strolling across your screen. 

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the illustrious Sylus Qin! 

Your heart stops. 

“Thank you, it’s my pleasure to be here,” a baritone purr rings out. Unnaturally deep voice, huh. They’d been right about one thing.

And then he sits on the smooth leather couch, turning his body to face the camera. 

Sylus Qin is…young. Not some wrinkled up curmudgeon out to terrorize the youth in his bitter old age. By the looks of it, he hasn’t even reached his 40s yet. 

Another observation. Sylus Qin is big. To be tall is one thing—not that special in a world of models doubling as singers—but this guy nearly swallows the sofa with his huge, obviously muscled frame. You wonder how he finds the time to work out between ruining lives. 

And as you take in his chiseled appearance—certainly vampiric, you think—you realize with unprecedented dread: Sylus Qin is handsome. 

“Mr. Qin,” the host begins, “we know this opportunity is extremely rare, so let me just say—it is our absolute honor to have you here during such a busy time for you.” 

It’s an ambiguous reference, probably not even to his most recent work, but you flinch backwards anyway. 

“Not a problem at all,” he drawls smoothly. “And just ‘Sylus’ is fine. I heard you all like to…have fun on this show.” He finishes the reply with a conspiratorial smirk, and you can all but see the women in the audience swoon at his despicable charm. “Like you said, this is a rare moment. You’re here to ask, and I’m here to answer. So, ask away.” 

“Perfect,” the host starts. “So, Mr—ahem—Sylus, you’ve built your reputation through exclusive music correspondence for a variety of publications…” 

***

As the minutes tick by and your hatred turns to intrigue, you start to really study the man in front of you. Learn his unique cadence, contemplate the angle of his aristocratic nose. Take in the way his ruby eyes glint when he talks about music, the way he sounds older than the age listed on his Wikipedia. And his IMDb. And his famousbirthdays.com. You’d triple-checked. 

You note the way he smirks at difficult questions, as if welcoming the challenge and begging for something harder. The way he crosses and uncrosses his thick, long legs as he weaves his answers into an impromptu PR masterclass. The way he panders to the audience so subtly you’d think it natural—if not for the way his large palms open when he looks their way, as if luring them into his trap from the stage. 

Fuck, he’s hot. And you can’t even try to pretend otherwise. 

Until a particularly sore subject snaps you out of your ogling and draws you back into the conversation.

“Now, Sylus, you may be a critic, but you’ve received some criticism yourself lately for your ‘harsh and grating’ reviews, especially in the pop sphere. Some go as far as to claim you’re even biased against pop artists. What do you say to that?”

And Sylus Qin chuckles. The bastard chuckles. As if he actually finds it funny. 

“I give albums and their creators the reviews they earn,” he says evenly. “I didn’t get to where I am today by handing out participation trophies.” 

He’s doubling down. You can’t believe he’s doubling down. 

“I’ve heard that some recent articles of mine have…ruffled some feathers. There’s never a shortage of angry fans in my inbox,” he shrugs. “But it’s my job to speak up when projects are…uninspired. You all get better music that way,” he quips, spreading his palms once more. 

Uninspired. Uninspired. The word that’s flashed in your head nonstop for the past 36 hours. A failed ascent to the top of pop stardom reveals itself as little more than uninspired noise. 

That was the exact quote he’d left in his scathing review of your album—you remembered. Because you’d read it—cried to it—over. And over. And over. And he’d just alluded to it with a smirk on his face, the crowd eating straight from his outstretched hands, in front of the entire country. 

Ugly, uncontrollable shame heats your face as the all too familiar tears sting your eyes once more. As you search for the remote through blurry vision, your blood burns hotter than lava, and you curse yourself for letting your guard down. For seeing any redeeming qualities—even if only physical—in a man with his reputation. With his lack of empathy. 

When your fingers close around the controller and you stumble off the bed, more than ready to click the TV off and return to the glorious rot-until-you-get-kicked-out plan, you freeze as Sylus speaks again. 

“That said,” he continues, “I encourage any artists who’ve been offended by my commentary to come chat about it in person. That’s my reason for coming here, after all—to announce that I’ll be attending the annual Spirit Awards this year.” 

Thumb hovering over the “off” button, you blink your tears away in disbelief. The Spirit Awards. You know that show. You know that show well. Because as thanks for your viral performance at last year’s event, you’d been invited to sing in the main performance slot. 

You were going to headline. And Sylus Qin would be your audience. 

As the interview ends and his figure fades to black with the next commercial, a sudden realization talks you down from the ledge. 

This was your chance. To give the best damn show you’d ever put on, to reclaim the work whose meaning had been stolen from you. To sink his reputation, and to save yours. 

Maybe it’s a good thing he looks the way he does, you think, a slow smile spreading across your increasingly mischievous face.

Because for the first time in almost two days, you’re confident. Confident that you’ll not only get him to change his mind, but that you’ll get him. Period. 

Sylus Qin, we’ll see about that fucking 4.7 when I’m done with you.

III. THE PLAN

Bleary eyes. A full night of sleep lost. And three 12-ounce iced coffees delivered straight to your door. 

But after eight and a half hours, Operation: Silence Sylus was a go. 

After the interview, you’d set up a makeshift situation room in your studio. You’d hauled all your devices—phone, laptop, monitor, smart watch, you name it—into the space for backup. Anything that could find information, you needed. You’d have even dragged your smart microwave in here if you could figure out the wires. 

But, all things considered, the setup had been the easy part. Because what came after was an informal case study on the most elusive man in history. 

You’d started simple: his social media. 

There was more to work with than you’d expected, but nothing too crazy. He had 2.6 million followers—a fraction of yours, you’d smirked, but still good for someone whose work is out of the spotlight.

His photos had no discernible aesthetic, as if he posted them straight from his camera roll. And his upload patterns…the lack of marketing was so severe it sent a shiver down your spine. The man posted a few times a year, if that, and the captions he did include were vague and simple. He’s lying about his age, you’d decided, because this guy is old as fuck. 

But Sylus’s dire need for a social media manager was far from the most interesting thing you’d noticed. No, in all your 264 weeks’ worth of research—you’d scrolled until the app wouldn’t let you refresh anymore—not a single other person was featured on his feed. Like, there’d been more motorcycle pictures than humans on there. You’d have chalked it up to the narcissism typical of men like him, but he hardly even posted his own face. 

And as shameful as it was to stalk the man who’d publicly humiliated you’s Instagram to see if he had a girlfriend, it was absolutely necessary. If the answer was yes, it’d put the whole plan in jeopardy! You were simply doing your job as a diligent creative, covering all your bases in advance. How would you seduce him into changing his mind about you if he had a fucking girlfriend? Or worse? 

That would be your next stop, then, you’d nodded resolutely. His dating history. 

But no matter how many articles you read; how many variations of Sylus Qin girlfriend, sylus Qin single, Sylus qin married, sylus qin Boyfriend you’d put in the search bar; how many viruses you’d probably gotten on your laptop from clicking through trashy tabloid sites; there was nothing. No photos, no reported sightings, hardly even a rumor. You’d typed in Sylus Qin asexual as a last resort, but that came back empty, too. 

You’d sat in disbelief for a second, wondering how he could be so…clean. Even with his…glowing personality, his looks and success more than made up for any quirks. In this town, people should have been throwing themselves at him left and right, bogeyman allegations be damned. 

But there was no mistaking it. As far as romance was concerned, the man was a blank slate. 

Good thing you were coming for him with a big feather pen, ready to brand your name into his skin.

***

After analyzing his public image and making sure no…obstacles would block your path, it was time for a personality study. And where better to start than his full catalogue of reviews? His portfolio was practically front and center on his publication’s website—all 114 articles offered to you on a silver platter. 

Almost immediately, you’d taken a nervous breath and hastily clicked past the most recent page. The abject horror of the 4.7 was still too fresh on your mind, and you’d be damned if tonight ended with a traumatic episode. So you’d landed on the second most recent page, starting with reviews from a couple months ago. And you’d read. 

104 irritatingly confident articles. You’d read his praise, his disappointment, his bewilderment, his disgust. His beautifully packaged this-person-should-be-sent-to-prison-for-making-this-es. No matter how much you disagreed with some—most—of his takes, he was an incredible writer. 

He tolerated jazz the most, it seemed. The smooth melodies, the warm embrace of the trumpet, trombone, and sax. It was so incredibly old. But it suited him. 

“The riveting blend of brass and reed solos marks the triumphant rebirth of a fallen genre,” he’d complimented a band earlier this year. Looking at his preferences, it was no wonder why your synth-heavy pop beats seemed to have personally offended him. 

But for all the things Sylus thought he knew about you, he was missing a few key items:

You were desperate. To win back the public, to win his approval, to win him. 

You were planning a deluxe album with six new songs. And one of those songs said please fuck me disguised under a sensual trumpet solo. 

You were desperate enough to release said album and perform said song a month early, solely to prove a point. 

And with one screaming match of a phone call to Devon at 6 a.m., it’d been done. 

You hadn’t coordinated with your dancers yet. Or told your label. Or informed the Spirit Awards producers that you’d be changing your set. But in your sleep-deprived, caffeine-jittered mind, it was all but confirmed. Your next performance would be dedicated to Sylus Qin. 

There was only one more piece to put into place. With newfound conviction, you’d reopened his Instagram and clicked “Direct Message” before you could talk yourself out of it. And while you’d have liked to send him a colorful list of expletives, you maintained your professionalism. 

Hi! I heard you’re going to the Spirits next Sunday. Hope you’re in the crowd for my performance—would love to chat after :) 

The passive aggressive smiley face of doom. Sent and delivered. 

His fate was sealed, but he didn’t know it yet.  

Between excited bounces of your leg, you’d taken a final pass at his portfolio, and your eyes found your name before you could stop them. 

“Deeming the music passable is more of a compliment than any listener should be willing to give. A failed ascent to the top of pop stardom reveals itself as little more than uninspired noise.”

Failed. Uninspired. Noise. There they were again, the insults seared into the back of your mind. 

A reminder of your shame, but a motivator for you to make him eat his words. 

IV. THE PREP

You’d always loved awards shows.

The buzz of energy backstage, the rushed glimpses of peers and legends, the flamboyant accessories and vibrant strips of fabric strewn across the floor. The kind of chaos you’d learned to thrive in. 

After making the rounds of greetings and introductions, you take a break outside your dressing room in the main hall. Your stage outfit was already on and hidden under a frilly robe; you always liked to arrive early in case of any mishaps. (Lesson learned from the time you’d been fashionably late and had to go onstage in an unfashionable loose corset. That had slipped down mid-song.)

Chatting with your head dancer, you laugh at a video she shows you on her phone before spotting something in the corner of your eye: a flash of white hair. 

Your body goes rigid.

But the lightning-quick twitch in your eye is forcing you to turn around, and your breath hitches as soon as you do. 

Sylus Qin is here. 

Just as he said he’d be, you suppose, but it’s no less surreal seeing the object of your warring emotions in the flesh. 

Somehow, he’s taller than he looks on camera. Bigger, too. How someone whose job involved hunching over a laptop writing hate mail every day could be built like a professional athlete, you’d never know. 

Black slacks are snug around his strong legs, and he’s paired them with a silken, wine-red shirt that you’re sure would match the color of his eyes if he’d just turn arou—

It’s like he heard you. Felt you. 

Because before you can even finish your thought, Sylus Qin’s bewitching ruby eyes are on you. 

When your jaw drops slightly, his lips curl. And as that lazy, taunting, I’m-better-than-you smirk spreads across his gorgeous face, it reignites the feelings that got you here. The hatred and humiliation and unyielding spite.

So with flames in your eyes, you pat the dancer on the back and give her a cheerful platitude before storming—no, sauntering, you should saunter—over. 

When he bends his neck to accommodate your comparatively small stature, Sylus Qin watches you like you’re his favorite reality show. 

“Sylus!” you squeal, pulling him into a side hug. One thing you’d learned in the industry: overfamiliarity was the best form of offense. “It’s so nice to see you here! I’m glad you could make it.” 

You expect him to falter. To push away from you in a decidedly rude yet necessarily humanizing show of uncertainty. For that condescending smirk to waver in confusion, only a little. 

But to your surprise, he simply wraps a very muscled arm around you and returns your embrace. He’d been trained well, you lament with an inward groan. 

“It’s great to be here,” he says smoothly, and the way he rumbles your name makes you want to forego the performance entirely and beg him to take you here and now. “Especially since someone was nice enough to invite me to watch their performance. I get the opposite, usually—people typically fake illness when I watch them in person—so I just had to see this for myself,” he drawls. 

At some point, he’d laid his warm hand on your robe-clad shoulder, rubbing up and down in time with his slow words. But like that wasn’t enough, you’d almost been too wrapped up in his heady scent to notice. In his teasing embrace, the smell of spice, leather, and a hint of pomegranate envelop you, and you have to school your expression to look like you aren’t huffing it in. 

As you stare up at him blinking dumbly, you notice his smirk widen, and somewhere in the back of your head you remember that conversations are two-sided. 

“Y-yes,” you try to assert, cursing the way your voice shakes with need. “It’s right up your alley. I think—I know you’ll like it.” 

“You know, hm?” he quirks a brow, circling his thumb against your arm. 

“I know. It’s a new song, much more to your liking. Think of it as…a tribute. To your glowing review of me,” you reply coldly, untangling yourself from his hold despite your body’s protests. If you had any chance tonight, you had to level the playing field. Which meant Sylus Qin could not touch you anymore. 

“Mm,” he hums, eyes lingering on the spot you’d detached yourself from before flicking up to your face. “I reviewed your album, sweetie. Not you. Even so, nothing I said was untrue,” he shrugs as you bristle with rage. “But…if your performance is to my taste, as you claim, then you’ll know my review soon after. Before the end of the night, I’d say.”

His words are intentionally vague, as if he’s goading you into asking what he means. But under the heat of his gaze, you’re too prideful and angry and turned on to ask for clarification. 

“Then I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” you challenge him with a saccharine smile. 

He nods plainly, as if merely entertaining the idea of you ever impressing him. “I guess we will.” 

That twitch in your eye? It’s back with a vengeance. 

Before it can overtake your whole face, you spin on your heel and sashay away from him, pretending not to care if he watches you leave or not. 

Refusing to stop before you’re out of his sight, you disappear into your dressing room and slump into the nearest chair. As the stylists flock over to put the last touches on your hair and makeup, you try not to chew your nails off and ruin your fresh manicure. Damn him, you think for the 300th time in a week. 

***

In the center of the room, a monitor broadcasts the show’s live feed. The early portions go by in a blink—time flies when you have pre-seduction attempt anxiety, you guess—and before you know it, it’s 10 minutes to showtime. 

As soon as you’re clear to set up on stage, you make a beeline for the curtain and pull it back ever so slightly, looking for Sylus in the crowd. And just to your luck, there he is, sitting pretty in the second fucking row. Great if you don’t mess up, catastrophic if you do. 

Just as his all-knowing eyes shift toward the stage, as if he somehow felt your gaze from afar, you inch back into the inky shadows of the curtain. 

Two minutes to go. Clenching your hands into fists, you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe. 

It was time to channel the outrage, embarrassment, and devastatingly irritating lust into the performance of your life. 

V. THE SHOW

The soft swells of a trumpet float through the hushed arena.

The player, first chair in a local jazz ensemble, sways gently to the beat, his dark skin glowing in the warm stage lights. 

In time with the soulful melody, dozens of dancers fan out around the bar set, fiddling with prop bottles of fake booze. Your hours of research had pointed you in one direction: a speakeasy theme. 

Perfect for a jazz intro, and seductive enough to get your point across without getting you banned from live television. 

The outfit under your robe was a modern take on the 1920s: a bejeweled crimson flapper dress, sharp black stilettos, and a thick raven’s feather nestled in your hair. 

Just like you’d practiced, you stumble onto the set, miming drunken confusion as you trip into a male dancer’s arms. You shoot him a flirtatious smile when he steadies you, only for your attention to be captured by the trumpet still crooning in the background.

Enraptured by the player, you glide across the stage to lean against him, standing back-to-back with your hands on your heart. The tassels on your dress flow in time with the sultry swirls of your hips. 

A few more beats, and the intricate solo dwindles into the main riff that marks the true beginning of your set, to the audible gasps of the crowd. Look, you liked jazz as much as anyone—well, maybe not someone—but this was still your song. Your stage. And you were here to wake it up! As good as the player was, you had hypothetical sex to sing about. 

So the trumpet fades out, replaced by a poppy trap beat. Between each drum hit, your female dancers crowd you, tearing off the edges of your dress until you’re left in a shimmering red bodysuit. 

Strutting across the stage, you work through the lyrics of the first verse, eyeing the audience as you sing for someone special to come and take what he wants from you. 

The way you prowl from edge to edge is suggestive, inviting. The screams of the fans drown out the sound in your earpiece, but the winks you give them are only for show. You’d decided a week ago that you’d be a bad idol tonight. You’d make up for it later—a giveaway, follow spree, or something—but tonight, your focus was reserved for one man. 

As you ease into the chorus, your muscles glint under the twinkling lights, flexing in time with fluid spreads of your arms and gentle footwork. A siren song is what you’re singing, rhythmic pleas for a partner to make good on his promise falling from your lips. 

The next verse brings a slowdown in the melody that you meet with sensual rolls of your hips. Twisting your frame, you slide a purposeful hand down to rest just above your pelvis, tangling the other in your hair. 

The beat picks back up as you lead a line of men down the steps and into the audience, playfully evading their touches. It’s a calculated game of cat and mouse—one you’d hoped would pique the interest of the man you’d done this for. And as you parade right behind his row, boldly ghosting a hand over his shoulder in the dim crowd lighting, the tension in his muscles tells you you’d been right.

You can’t see his face, but the thought of him suffering right now is so satisfying, you have to fight to keep the vindictive smile off your face. Revitalized, you flounce back onstage right as the bridge melts into the final chorus—your favorite part of the show. 

Because while you’d been working the crowd, the crew had lined up seven shiny motorcycles at the front of the stage. Six were for your dancers, of course, but the seventh? That one was special. You’d gone through hell to get that bike on time—the same luxury model that was plastered all over Sylus Qin’s Instagram. The seventh bike was yours.

Taking your place in the center, you swing a leg over the seat and lower your hips gracefully, snapping back into the final moves of the choreography. 

With a daring raise of your eyebrow, you glance at his massive frame in the second row. He’s relaxed now, body no longer rigid with surprise. A bit too relaxed, you think, with the way his legs are spread apart, thumb swiping lazily across his smirking mouth. His gaze locks onto the familiar brand etched into the side of the bike before traveling up to yours, and the half a second of eye contact sends a shudder down your spine. 

Between hazy, hopefully covert blinks, you hum out the last note of the song to thunderous applause. When you release your ending pose, waving to the sea of cheering faces, your eyes find his seat once more.

But Sylus Qin is gone.

VI. THE AFTERMATH

The moment you step backstage, a flood of congratulations greets you. 

Dancers, friends, and strangers huddle all around you, whooping with joy at your undeniable triumph.

But between the friendly pats on your shoulders, sweaty hugs, and heaving breaths, you wonder if tonight can be called a success at all. 

Hours and hours of mourning your young career. Of research that, in any other circumstance, probably would have gotten you on a watchlist. Of hard work, of pivoting, of betting your entire future on the hope that he’d break. And he’d just…left. 

You were never one to stop a celebration early, but the burning pangs of defeat are too much to bear. With a tight smile and a flick of your card into the nearest hand—drinks are on you tonight—you trudge back to the solace of your dressing room. 

And the scent of leather and spice hits you a second too late. 

Because in all his wicked glory, Sylus Qin is in your empty dressing room, lounging in your chair like he owns the place. 

Your initial reaction—a startled jump and a choked squeak—has his eyes sparkling in satisfaction, and you stalk up to the mirror with a scowl before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Feigning nonchalance, you remove your accessories one by one, starting with the feather in your hair. As you place it gently on the marble counter, a firm chest presses against your back, and you see his frame nearly swallow yours in the glass before you. 

“If I were a bolder man, I’d think you were trying to send me a message just now,” he purrs into your ear. 

Glancing at his reflection, you shrug noncommittally. “Did you like it?”

You receive a soft hum in response. 

As you continue your act with trembling hands, Sylus cages you against the hard edge of the counter, admiring the remaining pieces of your costume with light, teasing touches. 

Once you make no effort to stop him, a large hand rises to close loosely around your throat. When his thumb brushes your bottom lip, you bite it hard enough to sting, and his deep chuckle worsens the throbbing between your legs. 

“I’m enough of a man to admit when I’m wrong. I underestimated you, it seems.” The low admission sends blood rushing through your ears, and you lean into him with a quiet gasp. “You have me right where you want me now, right? Then tell me—how did you come up with your little stunt?”

Tense seconds tick by as you debate your options. How humiliating it’d be to come clean in his arms. But then again, humiliated had been your main emotion as of late. With a deep exhale and slight tuck of your head, you begin your confession.

“I just wanted you to change your mind,” you whisper, watching as he unravels the satin ribbons on your bodysuit. 

 “I was so proud of that album, Sylus. Took me months to feel good enough to release it. And then I wake up to see the most respected voice in music calling it worthless.” 

Your voice wobbles at the mention of his review, and his fingers freeze on the lowest ribbon. 

“I thought my career was over. That’s what you do, right?” you ask, eyes flashing up at him. “Ruin people like me.”

Checking your teary gaze in the mirror, he has the decency to press a kiss to the skin between your neck and shoulder. 

“My manager had to do a wellness check,” you add with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I could barely get out of bed. But then he told me…I’d have a chance to see you that night. And I guess the anxiety of impending doom was enough of a motivator. So I got up, and I watched.” 

As your voice steadies, it grants him permission to undo the final ribbon. It loosens with a firm tug, and the slackened fabric sags around your body, waiting to be removed entirely. 

“I really did want to change your mind. To prove myself to you. But then I saw that stupid fucking interview…saw you for the first time, and I…”

“You what, sweetie?” he murmurs into your neck, spurring you on with a gentle kiss. 

“I wanted you, too.”

As he sucks in a breath, you take the moment to step out of your costume, tossing it to the floor below. You’re nearly bare before him, now, save for the thin tights and thong still blocking you from his sight. 

“That’s what all this was for,” you reveal, gesturing to the fallen fabric. “I wanted your attention—all of it—in any way I could get it. So you were right. I wanted to end up right here, with you.” 

For several seconds, his labored sighs are the only sounds in the room. You, unfortunately, are too afraid to breathe. But before long, warm hands grasp your hips, pulling you flush against his hardened lower half.

Catching your ear between sharp teeth, he floods your senses with a smooth whisper. “It seems you got what you wanted, then. Why don’t I tell you what I thought?”

And the second the “please” escapes your lips, he tears the thin layers left on your hips clean off your body. 

He uses your shock to his advantage, taking the chance to free his swollen cock and glide it across your slit, teasing your clenching hole with the pulsing length. When he’s coated in your wetness, he surges into you with a firm thrust, groaning at the squeeze of your fluttering walls. 

Allowing you a moment to adjust to the stretch, he gropes the fat of your hip before continuing. 

“You obviously did your research,” he rumbles, pumping in and out of you at a steady tempo. “Speakeasies were the home of jazz, for a time.” 

As the curve of his tip hits deep inside you, you wish you’d gotten a look at him. You’d expected him to be big, if the rest of his body was any indication, but the sheer fullness in your core feels like it should be illegal. 

“And the arrangement…paying homage with a modern twist. It was admirable. Bold,” he grits out, hissing as your cunt tightens at the compliment. 

Locking eyes with him in the mirror, you meet his thrusts with a high-pitched whine, asking for more—more pressure, more praise, more of all he could give. 

With a patronizing tsk, Sylus grips your jaw in one hand, pulling your face close to his. “How many ratings of mine did you read to pull this off? I wouldn't think you knew what real instruments were, based on that album.”

The barb snaps you out of docility, and you try to twist away from him with a sneer and grumble. But Sylus only pulls you back into his quickening strokes, a fond, terrorizing chuckle enveloping you. 

“Don’t run, sweetie. I’m flattered, really. Like I was when you got on that bike—my bike—and I wanted to pull you down from that stage,” he breathes, circling two fingers around your throbbing clit. “Because I knew in that moment, you were mine.”

As his claim rings through the air, he pinches your sensitive flesh and ups his pace, kissing your cervix with brutal strokes as the lewd slaps of skin on skin echo around you. Shaky breaths and soft whimpers leave your mouth, and you rut back into him as much as his firm grip on your hips allows.

“This was all for me, hm? For my attention, you said? Now you have it,” he murmurs huskily, and a sharp scratch of teeth against the pulse in your throat has you spilling over the edge with a desperate moan. 

Somewhere in the haze of your orgasm, he pulls out with a groan of his own, leaving you empty and shivering until you feel his warm release coat the curve of your back.

With the last of his strength, he turns your face to his and captures your lips in a heated kiss, your tongues tangling unhurriedly. You’re forced to pull away first, already more than drained of your stamina for the night. When you slump forward in exhaustion, he falls into you, folding you over the counter with his heavy weight. 

You groan at the impact but welcome the soothing pressure, and for a while, your heaving exhales mingle in the quiet of the room. 

Once his breathing evens out, his low drawl—raspier than usual—eclipses the silence. “So,” he begins, and you can tell he’s smirking above you without even seeing his face. “How would you rate my performance tonight?”

Too tired to scoff, you settle for a mocking hum. “Hmm…an 8. I’d say a 9, but you just lost a point for that line,” you smile softly. “The pacing was good, but the feeling was lacking. It felt a little…uninspired.”

VII. THE EPILOGUE

You can’t feel your limbs the next morning. 

You can’t feel your limbs, but your phone is ringing—has been for a few minutes now, you think groggily. 

With a pained grunt, you roll over and over in bed until the screen is within reach and put the call on speaker. 

“Check your texts!” Devon yells excitedly, damn near blasting your ears off. 

“What? What are you talking about?” you grumble. “And you know not to wake me up until at least 4 p.m. after a show.”

“Sure, girl, fire me if you want. Just check your texts!” he repeats, voice climbing to a near screech.

“Fine, just give me a—”

Your jaw drops. It has no choice but to drop.

Because sitting in your inbox, right there at the top, is an updated link to Sylus Qin’s review of your album.

And right there, where that dreaded 4.7 had stared you down, is a giant, boldface 8.

[everythingmp3]

no need to be brave

adult Van x fem!reader

as your lover deals with a hangover, which is only made worse by her illness, she insists that you leave her to deal with it by herself, but you have other plans -with a bit of tenderness and heat, you manage to make her feel it: that you want to be with her, always, not just on her good days

authors note: hi! I was on a break from posting these fics but that promo clip where adult taivan are bickering gave me some inspiration, so I just took the idea of being sweet with her while shes suffering and this came from that, hope you enjoy <3 (5.8k words)

warnings: some smut (both receive in certain ways), mentions of cancer/grief etc.

it was a sunny winter afternoon as you laid on Van´s couch and listened to the outside noise, cars driving by, the day going unfolding while you relaxed with your legs stretched out, your eyes closed, your breathing slow and steady.

you´d been dating Van long enough by that point to feel like her apartment had become your second home, and she was more than glad to leave hers years of solitary living behind, but in that moment she had no idea that you were still there.

the night before, you had gone out to a nice dinner and against all better judgment she had insisted on getting a few drinks at the bar next door; you were aware of her diagnosis, unlike when you´d first started dating, and asked her if she was sure, to give her a chance to change her mind, but she did not budge, she wanted a proper drink for once, a few even, so, instead of playing mother and telling her that she was forbidden, you caved and indulged her. for the next few hours you joined her in enjoying the present moment, regardless of consequence, soaked up the atmosphere of the dimly lit room as you stole touches under the table and both got tipsy from a few shots and two drinks, kissing to taste the citrusy booze on each others lips.

as you walked home, arm in arm, you were glad that you hadn´t dragged her home, that you got to see her face glow pink as she smiled at you under the light of the moon, paused on your way back to kiss you in an empty street, to feel you up against a wall until you heard a group of people approaching and ran, or rather stumbled, away. you had fallen asleep later on in a tight embrace while caressing each others hair, whispering sweet drunken thoughts, "my baby..", "I´m so lucky..", falling into a dazed slumber.

that burst of sparkling euphoria was replaced by a dull dread the next morning, at least on Vans part.

she couldn´t blame anyone but herself for the banging migraine she woke up to, she knew this, so she refrained from complaining to you, even though she radiated a palpable air of "I am gonna die today. not in the near future, this is it, I´m fucking done for.", her body punishing her for her recklessness, her joints and muscles aching with every move.

you were already familiar enough with her physical makeup to know exactly what she needed on mornings like that: an ice cold coke, some strong pain killers, a flaky pastry, and you doting on her, even though she denied it. Van felt embarrassed from the moment she woke up, aware of how beyond rough she looked, her hair disheveled, her face puffy, failing to suppress her groans of discomfort, and yet, you weren´t put off by it, any of it, even when she was convinced you were surely losing all of your attraction to her by the minute, it never happened, not once; you had yet to see Van in a state that didn´t elicit feelings of adoration or warmth in you, her freckled nose and cheeks, the shape of her lips, her voice, her flame colored hair, that distinct sweet warm scent she had in the morning, they were never diminished in their effect on you by a cranky attitude or signs of her sickness, ever.

you knew that she did not always believe you, that she often wondered why on earth you stayed with her, through everything, even though you weren´t even girlfriends, not officially, not really. you knew Van well enough to know that she would not ask you to be exclusive, much too afraid of the unbearable sense of guilt of locking you down, when she might die within the year, when she might evoke widow-like feelings in someone who had barely just started their adult life.

you had no way of knowing, but in her darkest moments when she was cruelest to herself her mind told her "youre a fucking monster. you already knew you had a few months at most and still looked for a lover. you tell yourself that you werent looking for more than sex but you know its not true. you were too selfish to die without having anyone wrecked by your death. you wanted someone to really grieve your loss. and now youve found a poor soul. enjoy it."

still, even when she kept things undefined and told you you were free to date other people - while dying of envy at the mere thought - in your head, and in hers, Van was your girlfriend, she was, you didn´t need her to say it because her behavior sufficed, she treated you like a partner, not just a a hook-up, she was far from detached and you let her believe that it was casual, that you weren´t at risk of having your heart shattered by her death, that you weren´t already in love with her.

the way you´d found out about her cancer had been less than ideal.

during your first date, her attitude was "no need to tell her about it, I doubt I will see her more than a few times" at the time still very attached to her idea of keeping her love life non-committal, unromantic, only allowing hook-ups and maybe a few low-key dates here and there. this plan was abandoned fast when your first date went so beautifully that you ended up kissing her goodbye in her car, which inevitably turned into a heated make-out, which turned into you asking her to come up to your room, both of you a little shocked by how deeply into each other you were after just a few hours of talking over a dinner table.

one of your fondest memories from that night was after you´d gotten lost in each other for hours, laying there tired but far from sleepy, exhilirated by your natural chemistry, when she laughed and shook her head, still breathless, and said "what the fuck are you doing to me..", since she was not used to it: a stranger being as overtly sweet and intense during sex as you´d been, kissing her not just in the obvious places but on the back of her hand, wherever you could reach in the heat of the moment, still reeling from the way you´d begged to taste her after she´d done it to you, the way you´d caressed her sides, had given her a type of intimacy that she usually felt like she’d have to earn by being more open, more vulnerable during a date - but you didn´t care to hear her life story, you were eager to feel her, fully, and it broke her down, hit her at her weak spot, the romantic in her, that she´d kept buried, coming back up to hold you as you slept together that night.

you saw each other again two days later and you ended up spending the weekend at her place, which went so smoothly that Van abandoned her rule of "no sweet stuff, nothing relationship adjacent" : she started inviting you out for breakfast, always offered to drive you to work or to meet up with a friend, picked you up at night, listened and calmed you down whenever you seemed worried or stressed; you returned the same energy by randomly showing up at her store with flowers for her place or her favorite take-out or to just keep her some company and sit near the counter while she talked to you about her recent film discoveries, gossiped about some customers, pulled you into the back-room to make out until the bell rang, you pushing her away as she groaned and uttered "I´m not done with you" as she left the room and prayed that the person would leave within a few minutes.

this honeymoon period made her feel an acute sense of shame. she had tried again and again to find the right moment to tell you, to just say it: "I am so sorry. I have been keeping something from you." but the love she had so unexpectedly stumbled into with you, that light she felt in her chest, that unfamiliar warmth that had wrapped its soft arms around her soul, she was too desperate to keep it in tact, so weeks passed before the moment came, unplanned, she didnt want it to go the way it did.

one night as you laid on top of her, still breathing heavy, still trembling a bit from the way she´d wrecked you, her hands drawing soft circles on your back, her heartbeat under your ear, you had fantasized about possibly going on a summer vacation that year, to get away from everything, to have a few days just to be together and lounge around and jump into the ocean together, eat good food, be at ease. it hit her then, the inability to picture her future because she did not know how long she still had, so she went quiet and burst into tears.

at first, you were shocked, unable to speak, since you´d never seen her shed a single tear up until then, but you quickly recovered and held her face and tried to soothe her in any way you could as the confession came spilling out: "I´m so sorry, I´m so fucking sorry, but I don´t even know if I´ll.." she choked up in the middle "if I´ll..." you coaxed it out of her, rubbed her shoulders, listened quietly as she cried, "if I´ll still be alive in summer. I have cancer. terminal."

Van had expected you to be angry with her, to feel blind-sided and betrayed by her stringing you along for weeks without ever mentioning her severe predicament, but all you could think to do then was to pull her head against your shoulder and assure her that you weren´t going anywhere, that you would figure it out together, that she had no reason to apologize.

you put on a brave face for her but later that night the other person who was home with you had to stop you from almost hyperventilating at the thought of having to watch her lose her physical strength and suffer til her premature death, which you would have to survive, somehow. you allowed yourself one night of fully falling apart and grieving the loss you were being asked to face in the near future, but the next day a determination took over, you told yourself, "I love her. I love being with her. and I will make the most out of every second. I will ease her pain in any way I can, until the end."

Van could sense this energy from that point on, your protective spirit, and it humbled her while also making her feel a bit uneasy about her being older and yet being taken care of by you, almost shedding tears when you did things for her like massage her temples and joints with essential oils to relieve some of the pain or when you clocked her lies about having eaten enough during the day and cooked her elaborate meals at night, when you made her switch during sex to keep her from exhausting herself just to make you come again and again, a sweetness to it, the way you´d sometimes move away from under her and push her back into the pillows with a pleased smile that said "your turn now, I´m very satisfied, no need to prove yourself".

that morning, the guilt had come back to haunt Van, so she told you to leave her to deal with her aching bones and hangover by herself, to go out and have a fun Saturday, to enjoy yourself and stop worrying about her, to not turn into her "unpaid nurse", as she put it.

she´d insisted quite aggressively, her mood not helping at all with her self-loathing, so you´d assuaged her by saying "okay fine, I´ll go, call me if you need any help though" and left her room, walked down the stairs, loudly, on purpose, to make it sound like you´d left, only to quietly creep up again and stay.

you refused to leave her to her own devices in a state like that. it was out of the question. not when you were afraid she might pass out on her way to the bathroom or in the shower. about two hours after she´d fallen asleep again, around 3pm, you heard some noise coming from her room that signaled to you that she was awake.

you wouldn´t just sit there and listen, so you got up from the couch and made your way over to her room, cracking the door open and preparing yourself for her to tell you off, which of course, only took a few seconds to happen, a barely suppressed grin on your face as you saw her laying there, her eyes still half-closed, her cheeks pink from sleep, and heard her voice crack as she whined your name and said "noo come on, you said you´d go, what the fuck are you still doing here??".

you smiled as you took a few steps further into the room and crossed your arms, eyeing her with an unmistakably loving gaze, "oh, perfect way to be greeted while walking into the room" an air of smugness to you as you walked over to her nightstand and popped an aspirin into the glass of water you´d left there for her earlier. Van shook her head as she rubbed her eyes and let out a "fucking hell..", clearly still out of it, so you sat down on her side of the bed to get a closer look at her, your hand resting over the blanket, a twist in your heart when you saw how tired she still looked, but a bit of life had thankfully come back into her from the nap.

"this isn´t funny... take a fucking look outside!" Van told you, gesturing wildly at the window "it´s so nice out today, you should be with friends, moving your body, enjoying the sun, whatever, not staying inside to take care of an old decrepit woman." her tone low, an attempt at sternness that wasn´t unattractive to you, still, her pout took away from her ability to seem intimidating, to seem anything but sweet to you. you watched her, brushed a strand of hair out of her face, tucked it behind her ear and said "uh, would you mind pointing to the woman you´re talking about because I dont see anyone decrepit here".

Van rolled her eyes and squeezed your arm then for emphasis, trying not to be charmed, "listen to me lady, I told you, I don´t want to feel guilty all the time, I really don´t, this is my fault, I chose to drink, so you go, be free, have fun, please, I will call you when I am better again, I promise".

she was trying her best to sell it to you, the simple idea of: let us part ways, let me deal with it, and get back to you when I am fit again. but what you heard was "abandon me" and you never would. so it was pointless. she couldn´t sway you and maybe deep down she was secretly glad for it, your unwavering loyalty, the way you never seemed fazed or annoyed by her ailments, her moods, her little moments of melodrama.

"do you really think I am doing all of this out of pity? really? that I secretly hate this and just put on a brave face? come on. Van. you know me by now" you said, earnest, holding her hand then, clasping it tightly as she softened from your impact, felt touched by your gentle way of handling her. "yeah... yeah I do" she agreed and squeezed your hand, her voice barely above a whisper, a wistfulness to her tone, her eyes drawn to where your fingers were interlaced, a light kiss to her cheek from you before you took the glass with the dissolved aspirin and ordered her "drink.", which made her drop the tough act and smile, genuinely, pleased by that subtle sound of authority.

she obeyed and drank about half of it before pausing to take a breath and then finish the rest, a pleased "good, there you go" from you, which made her laugh as she wiped her mouth and lightened up a bit.

"do you have some kind of savior complex kink going on, is that it?" she teased, nudging you in the side as you sat closer to her and took in the sight of her eyes finally getting that familiar sparkle again.

"oh I see, you think I am getting off on all this, huh?" you joked, pretending to be offended, which only amused her more. Van leaned back against the headboard, stretched her limbs a bit and shrugged, "you tell me." a pause before she added "I´m sure you loveee seeing me all frail and helpless, hm". she´d slipped into the playful tone she often used when she was trying to get you to come onto her, to make her pay for some out of pocket comments by grabbing her and rendering her weak with certain kisses and touches.

Van was not in a state that allowed you too much aggression, but you had your ways, so, you nodded and said "hm sure, I love having you at my mercy", which made her flush, a hit to her core, her utter weakness for being overpowered by her lover, being toyed with, flustered by them.

you eyed her and saw it, that she was getting turned on as she responded "yeah. you could do whatever you want, couldn´t even fight back, not like this".

"hmm" you sighed and moved from the side of the bed to take your place on her thighs instead, carefully, making sure she was fine as you slowly settled on her and straddled her, your hands on her shoulders then, smiling at her as her face got colored in both surprise and arousal, her hands immediately on your hips, holding you in place, a soft groan as she felt your weight pressing down on her and sighed "okay. maybe I dont want you to leave.." her hands wandering up to your waist, a sound of pleasure from you as you nodded, pleased that you´d won, that she was finally surrendering, going quiet, letting you be good to her, make her feel wanted, even then.

"see, that wasn´t so hard hm" you cooed at her, your finger tracing her facial features in awe, the way you always did in intimate moments, her eye briefly closed as she leaned into your hand, let you caress her for a moment, sounded like a purring cat, until she grew eager for a little more skin contact and said "take this off" while tugging at your shirt.

within a few seconds you were topless, and to give her a bit more you also freed yourself off your bra, leaving you on her just in your jeans, a sight that enticed her to no end, the contrast of your fully covered legs and the soft flesh of your chest, all for her, her hands running down your shoulders over your collarbones down to your tits, your head falling back, a pleased "hmm" sound as she teased you a little, kept her hands over your tits while pressing her fingertips down, feeling you up, savoring the sight of you on her like that.

"come here" she whispered and beckoned you forward, so you leaned close enough for her to wrap her arms around your back and press kisses to your neck, quiet moans from you as she breathed in your scent and kissed her way up your pulse point, sighed to herself, kept a tight grip on your back, holding you as if she was afraid you leave, after she´d begged you to do just that mere hours before.

after a minute or so of letting her have her way, you grew too needy to restrain yourself and grabbed her face to give her proper, deep kiss, to run your tongue over her lower lip and bite it lightly before turning it more intense, slowly making out with her as she caressed your hair and sighed into your mouth, your hands on her face, your hips moving a bit from sheer need, a heat between your legs as you felt her desperation, the way she moved under the blanket to sit more securely and have a stronger grip on you, her tongue soft and warm against yours, her hands firm as they wandered from your hair to your neck, pulled you closer, until you both lost your breaths and separated for a moment, shaking, deeply turned on.

"god.. I want you so fucking bad right now. but I´d pass out, I´m already dizzy... " she confessed, her head resting against your arm, her breath hot on your skin, "the second I am stronger again, I swear to god..." she uttered and gave your hips a squeeze, another wave of heat to your core from the words, the touch, her sudden intense need for you, your hand on the back of her head, cradling her almost.

"we can still do something..." you said, unable to leave it at kissing, so she nodded eagerly and asked "oh yeah? like what?".

"I could.. help myself.." you said, which made her perk up, so you went on "I could jerk off and you could watch, if you want. help me out a bit, touch me.. my chest, your fingers in my mouth, anything", a pleased smile when you saw that the image alone thrilled Van from the way her expression changed, that look she always got when she was hungry for you. she hadn´t considered it before, watching you masturbate, adding to it, when she was too weak to follow her instinct to please you, and it moved her as much as it got her hot, your way of finding moments of deep pleasure and joy to offer her even on her worst days.

"hm.. yes please..." she said and waited, giving you a light slap of encouragement, looking at you with eager eyes as you climbed off her and took your place next to her on the empty side of the bed, pulled your jeans and underwear down, and got comfortable, spread your legs apart, ran your hand over your thigh, a sound of desperation from her as she took it all in, turned her body to face you more directly, leaned over to give you a kiss while whispering "show me, show me what you do when you´re alone", "when I´m thinking of you?" you corrected and smiled while moving your hand between your legs, a nod from her, "yes, yes that´s right..", a groan when she saw you part yourself to slick your fingers up to start rubbing your clit, slowly, taking your time with it, enjoying the act of performing for a devoted witness, for her. you let out a moan as you increased the pressure and felt yourself grow even wetter, already swollen and sensitive from before, the effect that making out with Van had had from you right from the start, you regularly soaking your underwear just from messing around on the couch a bit.

Van´s gaze remained your cunt, what your fingers were doing, how you were playing with yourself, salivating almost, until she moved her eyes up to your stomach, your chest, your face, and sighed "my angel.." as she felt overcome with affection and desire from hearing your sweet sounds, the vulnerability of it all, letting her see you the way you looked when you touched yourself in the privacy and dark of your own room, the distinct sound of your wetness almost making her black out for a second, stirring her need, her mouth watering.

she ran her hand over your chest, squeezed the flesh and got you to moan louder, teased your nipple, hardened it, felt your body shudder and react, "fuck.. please yes.." you whined and nodded, begging for more of her touch, as you rubbed yourself more aggressively, still, not too hard to come already, drawing it out, the ache, to have Van lavish you with her attention, so she did, gladly, her fingers digging into the swell of your breasts, hard, until she traced a path up to your neck, your jaw as she whispered "so fucking pretty..." and swiped her thumb over your lower lip, slowly, touching the tip of your tongue, which got a pathetic moan from you, so she took the cue and smiled as she pushed her index and middle finger into your mouth, slowly sliding them over your tongue, until you closed your lips around them and started sucking, intensely, as if you were giving her fingers a blowjob, perverse with it as you sucked and swirled your tongue over them, as she lost her mind from the feel and view of it and groaned "jesus christ...", trembling as you shut your eyes and savored the feeling of her fingers in you, as you felt your cunt throbbing with the need for release and picked up the pace of your fingers again to really come hard, to use that moment of double pleasure, both your face and lower half stimulated, rushing with blood.

Van licked her lips and let you keep her fingers wet and enclosed by your lips, an appraising "god look at you baby.. always so sweet for me...", only to move her fingers once you were close to finishing and touch your inner thigh, tracing a path up to where you were a soaking mess and helping you out by touching you below your clit, while you focused on your most sensitive spot, her fingers teasing your entrance lightly, which gave you the final push and made you shudder and come undone, the orgasm hitting you hard, your face twisted to the side, sounds muffled by a pillow, Van also moaning as she felt and heard and saw you come for her, to make not just yourself but her feel good, which she did, shaking as if she´d been the one to come as you went slack and laid there, bare, panting, flushed, smiling up at the ceiling as she kept caressing your thigh while you came down form the intense high.

you reached over to pull her hand to your mouth and lick yourself off her fingers, which made her laugh to herself in a resigned way while muttering "you know I might just die from this before the cancer has a chance to kill me.." which made you laugh too, still breathless, trembling. you kissed her hand before letting it go and rolled over to prop yourself up and look at her, "you good there, love?" you asked, grinning as she fussed with your hair and smiled back at you, "oh yeah, perfect, look at me, the picture of vitality" clearly alluding to her tired, worn out state but to you she was beautiful as ever, so you leaned in closer and said "I am looking yes, and enjoying it very much" a tap to the tip of her nose before you gave her a brief kiss, a scoff from her at your comment, which didn´t conceal the pleasure she took in being admired by you, earnestly.

"I am pretty fucking spoiled... some other chronically ill lesbians would kill to be in my position" she joked as you rested your head on her lap for a moment, felt her play with a strand of your hair. "well, I think some others would love to be in mine as well, so" you countered, smiling, but Van shook her head, a bit emotional all of a sudden. "I don´t know about that..." she said quietly "god. sometimes I feel so fucking sorry that I let things get this far. really. it was pretty selfish of me to keep you to myself like this.. like I should´ve told you from the jump, I should´ve made you -" she was falling into that familiar spiral of guilt so you interrupted her, "shhh" you said while moving your head up again and looking at her "easy there, take a breath, okay? and not to be morbid but even if you died right now you´d have still already given me way more than anyone else I´ve been with, and they were younger and fitter, so..." you told her, not lying, still, playing it up a bit, to amuse her.

"well they must´ve been doing something really fucking wrong if I of all people blew your mind" she said, raising her eyebrows, her tone dry, which got a genuine laugh out of you "maybe" you said, cocking your head, touching her arm "or maybe I just love you".

you didn´t plan on saying it but it was true and you had no desire to waste your time pretending you didn´t love her when you had for weeks and weeks already. it was natural, to say it, matter of fact, and it resonated deep within her should, the utter seriousness of your words. "love", she hadn´t heard anyone tell her that in years. she couldnt help it. she teared up, "please..." she begged, almost as if to say "I don´t deserve it.. don´t.. not me..not like this.." but she knew there was nothing she could do to stop you from doing so, so she leaned in and buried her head in the crook of your neck while shedding a few tears, clinging to you, as you held her close and whispered "I love you, I do, I´m not leaving, not today, not next week, not ever. so you can stop trying to convince me."

you sounded determined in a way that cooled her burning mind, so she wiped her tears and held your face in her hands, kissed you, a faint taste of salt from her tears, an urgency to her lingering kiss before she pulled away and said "I love you too. so much." her thumb running over your cheek, your eyes closed, a smile, a reversed image of what she´d done earlier, your turn to melt into her open palm.

you felt the need to be closer again so you laid on her more directly, which got a suppressed groan from her as she laughed and said "ah, careful there.." her hand gesturing at where you were laying, only the blanket and her sweatpants separating your elbows weight from pressing against the spot where she felt the effect of the previous actions. you knew Van was sensitive, but the idea that she had gotten wet from it, that she was soaked enough for it it hurt when you applied too much force, made you want to alleviate her from the ache, to taste her, to have her relax from your mouths work. you loved being devoured by her but sometimes nothing satisfied you more in bed than knowing that you were reminding her that her body was not just diseased but deeply desired, capable of giving her deep pleasure, giving had become more intense for you after youd found out about her illness, and at times she did almost cry from it, your energy of "I will heal whatever part of you I can, I will".

"let me help you with that" you told her as you slowly moved the blanket down her legs and tugged at her waistband, smiling, "I´ll be gentle, don´t worry" assured her when you saw that she feared she might react in an undignified way, lose her composure, faint from it.

she nodded as she felt you kiss her forehead once, twice, before you moved down between her legs and pulled her pants down, glad that she wasn´t wearing underwear, getting comfortable, softly licking and kissing over her freckled thighs before doing anything else, easing her into it, enjoying the intimate, sacred vibe of having her in that weak state, in bed, while the winter sun was casting a golden hue over your bodies tangled in the sheets, your lips glued to her inner thigh, perhaps your favorite part of her, the divine tenderness of the skin there that made every little touch from you send shivers down her spine.

Van was at peace then, free of the earlier intense pain, lulled into a full bodied warm state of arousal, one that wasn´t overwhelming but got some soft moans out of her as she laced her fingers through your hair, a deep sigh of relief and pleasure as you held true to your promise and ever so gently ran your tongue over her, gave her kisses and soft licks, teased her, tasting her just on the outside at first, slowly, only the tip of your tongue, before you felt her open her legs further, silently begging for more, so you moved your tongue in deeper, your arms firmly hooked around her thighs, holding her in place, caressing her stomach, more romantic with it than in moments of a shared urgent hunger, your hands eventually moving up to find hers, staying like that as you savored her taste, the deep, barely suppressed groans from her that always drove you to go a bit harder, to hear more of that, her voice strained from what you were doing.

you remained down between her legs were for a while, both of you sinking into the delicious rhythm of it, the faint sighs and whimpers, her encouraging you "feels so good... don’t stop", finally able to let you show her how much you always wanted her without pushing you away but pulling you closer, asking for more, receiving it with a smile, her head pressed back against the pillow as you made "hmm" sounds from the pleasure of eating her out for that long, a brief pause when she looked down at you, tapped your shoulder, met your eyes and said "thank you, for staying."

Van didn´t just mean that exact moment, you could tell, so you kissed her lower stomach before looking up at her again and said "always" as if you had years and years ahead of you, because in moments like that, it felt like you did, everything was forgotten, love collapsed time and made the threat of her death vanish into thin air.

[6xillaa]

Ken sato x !reporter reader

oh, how he wishes you saw him as a man and not a boy.

cw for everything below: age difference (its used for the plot), suggestive (depending on who you ask)

thinking about kenji trying to impress reader in his games. the reader who is older, more mature and composed than him. who always comments on his arrogance in their articles or interviews. honestly, you were his harshest critic! it was your nickname amongst your co-workers as well. everyone knew you held hatred for him, and so did he. you frequently commented on his age and how it isn't smart to put so much faith into such a young and ignorant man and call him a living legend. "he isn't mature enough!" you always stated.

he hated that. his age doesn't make him better or worse than anyone else; he was just better because he was ken sato. but that didn't stop him from trying to act older, at least around you. because it was for you.

he's still so desperate to impress you. he'd do cooler moves in games, smile at the camera more in interviews, and, even though it seemed impossible, he became more prideful. but he couldn't help it! feeling your intense gaze on him as he walked onto the field or got into a stance, it was invigorating.

he especially got a rise out of seeing you roll your eyes, slumping back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other once you realized there was nothing for you to comment on his performance. it was perfect. so perfect that it would (sometimes, if he was lucky) get a small, ever so slight, smile from your lips. even better if he saw you nod your head in approval. so after one of (arguably) his best perfomances yet, one he spent weeks practicing just for his pretty little critic, he walks up to you, ready to soak in all the praise he believed he deserved.

"so... how was that y/n?" he teased, slamming himself into your personal space. it's his favorite place! if you thought it belonged to you, it was also his. "leave me alone, sato." you grumble, not wanting to admit your defeat to him. "it was good, wasn't it? right? righttt?" you push him away and begin walking away, eyes looking straight forward to avoid his gaze.

"oh c'mon, am i really that bad you can't even compliment me?" he pouted playfully, poking your oh so soft cheek, giving it a slight pinch. "fine, sato! you're a good player. you impressed me today, enough for me to even say im... proud of you." if you were to sneeze each time kenji's heart began to race, it'd look like you're having a seizure because of how fast it was.

"then why dont you show me how proud you are of me," this made you halt, snapping your head towards him. "how?" you asked, eyes focused on his lips that quirked up into a grin. "take me out to dinner. tommorow night. let me pick, and i'll consider the debt you owe me paid off." he smiled, taking a step back, allowing you to breathe again. when did you stop? "i'm not indebted to you anyway?" you retort, pushing him back even more to feel like you had the upper hand here. "yes, you are! all the times you've doubted my abilities! am i not worthy of getting an apology? a gift?" he said dramatically, placing his hand on his chest.

you sputter nothing in disbelief, until something clocks inside of your little brain. "are you asking me on a date, sato?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, a shit eating grin on your face. he leans down to your level, which is when you register how much taller he was than you, and tilts his head to the side. "and if i am?" kenji's voice goes quieter. "you're not my type." you mock, mimicking his tone. "i like them older." to this, he laughs. "you like grandpa's y/n? you like them near their deathbed?" he joked, trying (and failing) to hide his laughter. "yeah, atleast they're gentlemen, unlike you."

"i may not be the most gentlemanly person on earth, but i am a gentle man in everything else."

oh! oh. now you were entering dangerous territory. not for him, for you. it was so clear what he was setting up as a trap, and yet, despite all the warning signs there was, opened your plump little lips and asked with the purest face ever (even though your thoughts were the complete opposite) "how can i know if youre lying or not?"

and kenji, oh the annoying ken sato who you would never admit admired, not even on your deathbed, stepped closer to you, leaned down near your ear, and said in the loudest voice, loud enough so that you cant mishear him, and quiet enough that no one else can, says

"why dont i show you?"

if your composure was a ship, it would be near the ocean floor, the reason for sinkage; ken sato. right when your last functioning braincell is able to deliver a quip before total failure, someone calls kenji over. "you have a interview remember?" it yelled. "coming!" he smiled sweetly, kissing your cheek ever so softly.

the immature baseball player might not be as immature as you thought...

(thanks for the support on the last one, so i thought i'd write another one because im desperate for this man, like he's desperate for the reader, lowk. also i didnt fully proofread itmso sorry if skme names r missing colors and whatnot)

[doki-doki-imagines]

They compliment you feat. mk1 bi-han, kitana, kung lao

author note: felt like I was going to explode if I didn't post them today, I hope it's not complete trash LOL.

Bi-Han: -It was a quiet morning, for once you were the first to wake up, so you started cooking for the both of you. -Then you felt the arms of your lover wrapping around your waist, always so chilly against your body. -You feel his right cheekbone brush against yours, like a kitty searching for affection, then his chin rests on your shoulder, you can feel his black eyes on you. "Dawn creates light and shades on your face, making your feature stand out even more, I didn't think it was possible to make you look even more beautiful." -You choke on your own spit, stunned by the honeyed words dripping from your partner lips. -What was happening? Did Bi-Han hit his head during sparring? In any case, there's no way you'll stop him. -Kettle whistle, but you don't move, still looking at Bi-Han with wide eyes. -He sighs, kisses your cheek, and takes the kettle, pouring the boiling water into his cup, where you previously put the tea bag. -"Moron, if this is your reaction, I'll have to filter my thoughts again." -You shook your head, hell, you don't think you'll ever be able to go back now, his sweet words a drug that got you immediately addicted. Sadly, you aren't used to compliments anymore; you can just stutter out a no, while you feel heath on your cheeks. -Bi-Han smirks at you, a playful gesture you rarely see (and you are still thanking the gods that blessed you this morning) his right hand reaching for the apple of your cheek, pulling it in between his index and middle fingers before snapping it back in place. -"Sit down, I'll make you coffee maybe it will wake you up." -You aren't sure if you want to wake up.

Kitana: -You are waiting for her to return from work, your stomach churning always worried something bad may have happened. -You are reading a novel when you feel the door of the living room opening. You lift your head up, eager to see your lover come in. -And she does, a ray of sunshine deep into the night. -Kitana walks to you, a tired smile on her face, 'till she reaches you behind the armchair you are sitting on. -"Good night beautiful, first time here?" You say, chuckling at your own silliness. -Kitana chuckles along, the kind that shows the wonderful smile that always makes you understand how lucky you are. -"Since you leave me breathless every time I look at you-" Her face lean closer to yours "maybe it is" her plush lips kiss your forehead before she leaves to change in more comfortable clothing. -You curl on yourself, face hidden inside your book, and you are pretty sure your head is fuming for how fast the gears in your brain are working. -"Don't curl up, dear! You know it's bad for your back" Kitana shouts from your shared bedroom "I don't want my princess to get back pain" she whispers the last part. -Maybe one day she will get bold enough to freely speak her mind, for now you'll have to cheerish this rare moment of softness.

Kung Lao: -You tried a new recipe today, made with the fresh vegetables Kung Lao and Raiden picked up at dawn. -Saying you were nervous is a euphemism. You didn't want to fail, but even more to thrash the food your friend and boyfriend grew and picked up after so much effort. -You put the food on the table, useless to say to start the meal, Kung Lao cheeks were already full, and Raiden followed soon. -The judgment arrived soon, the burp coming from your partner mouth a telltale sign and a bad habit you still weren't able to correct. -"My love, the food was amazing, delicious!" Kung Lao stands up, arms open ready to embrace your body "Not that I have any doubts, your cooking skill just another plus of my wonderful-" He kisses your nose "amazing-" his lips touch your left cheek "beautiful dove" his lips finally rest on yours. -You reciprocate the kiss, but your mind is elsewhere, so used to Kung Lao singing his own praises without sparing a nice word to anybody else, you didn't expect so many compliments. -You break the kiss when you hear Raiden coughing in the background, heath flooding your face while your boyfriend was totally unaffected, still looking at you with that softness he always reserves for you. -Kung Lao soon returns at the table to finish the meal together with Raiden, and then they both go back to train. -But not before smooching your cheek, lips staining your skin with, what you guessed was the juice of the peach Kung Lao eat before going back to work. -You clean yourself with the back of your hand before going back to work, the comoliments of your boyfriend still reverberating into your brain, a nice intrusive thought that won't leave you for the rest of the day.

[diorchids]

where ya headed?

simon 'ghost' riley.

cw: simon is southern in this. (walk with me...) age gap, country + southern!simon, unwanted touching, pervert!simon, slight manipulation, oral, penetration, choking.

you shivered in the cold, keeping your head low and your arms crossed as the cold breeze made you practically freeze completely. your bag was almost empty, left with nothing but a lighter and a few loose cigarettes. how lucky you were.

you walk and walk, ignoring any sounds in the woods you wouldn’t recognize in the darkness. as you walk on the sides of the road, the sound of a motor engine nears you, but you continue walking. 

the sounds came from a beat-up pickup truck behind you, low hums of tunes along with it. you turn your head slightly toward it, still unphased from the hissing of the engine. the car seemed to move at the same pace as you, failing to speed up. the red truck ran beside you with a man in the front. he sat with an arm on a seat next to him

plaid button-up, handlebar mustache, blue jeans--he had the whole get up.

he obviously wanted your attention, honking the car horn before rolling down the window. he gave you a once over before speaking, “hey there, you look like you could use a ride. where ya headed, sweetheart?” you ignored any thoughts reminding you of those men. the rapists, murderers, kidnappers, the bad men. 

you hesitantly walked to his window and rested your arms on them, shrugging as you stood. “i’m headed to the motel ‘bout an hour or so away, sir.” he could tell you were cold, your soft sniffles and sneezes giving him a hint. 

he nods and gestures to the passenger seat, “way too cold to be out here, ‘specially at this time of night. hop in, i’m actually headin’ that way myself.” those thoughts plagued your brain again as you ignored them again. you open the door and sat. as you settle in, he turns up the heat and glances over at you. “name’s simon, simon riley. i live in the cabin just up north.” you introduce yourself to him, making it known you’re not versed on the state.

he nods and controls the wheel, “pleasure to meet you, sweetheart. what brings you to these parts?” you straighten your back and tell him where you’re from, about 3 states over, trying to get back to a friend who’s at the motel.

“i’m glad i could help you out. not safe ‘round here for a young lady like you to be wanderin’, considerin’ the weather, i doubt you would’ve made it a mile,” he pauses, “you’re a pretty little thing.

you stutter and mutter out a thank you to him, a warm feeling spreading over your face quickly. this isn’t that, though. this man’s old enough to be your father, he’s just a stranger helping a girl. he notices your expression and interjects. he leans over to you, making you feel uncomfortable as he speaks lowly. “hope you don’t mind my saying so. not many young ones like you out here,”

you nodded and stayed silent before a warm hand planted on your thigh, squeezing with a grunt. “it’s refreshing.”

you try and change the subject “the motel’s a way out, sir--simon. i don’t have the money now, but when i get back home, i could mail you money, really.” you stuttered, trying not to notice his hand perversely trailing up your leg.

“ain't no need for that. think of it as a favor. you could--" his fingers inched closer to your core, “do me one, how’s that sound? a favor for a favor.”

you sat and thought about it. this man’s doing you a huge favor with this, you felt obligated. “okay. a favor.” 

he got you out of the car, calling you over to his side before groping your body disgustingly. you couldn’t say no, this was the favor. “bet you wanted this, didn’t you?” he squeezes your plush ass, grinning as you stood, helpless. his hands continue to wander and grope at your body, ignoring any protests as he gets incredibly handsy.

he rubs his bulge up against you before you touch it, your fingers curving over it. he coaxes you onto your knees on the gravelly road, small pebbles pushing into them. 

you eyed his huge bulge, watching as he unbuckled his belt, planting a hand into your hair as he instructed you to pull his boxers down. “it’s really big, sir,” you whispered, a smile spreading on his face. "go ahead, sweetheart, it won't bite."

you obey, hooking fingers onto his waistband before tugging and taking him into your mouth, gagging on his girthy length pathetically. 

you sat with his cock in your throat for some time before starting to bob your head, hair moving in the cold wind as you tried your hardest not to gag again. your hand wrapped around the base of his fat cock, stroking and squeezing while your warm mouth sucks him off. he grips your hair even tighter when you slide your tongue up a vein, bucking his hips deeper into you. 

“doin’ perfect, baby girl, look at you go,” he groaned, praising the way you squeezed and sucked him like a pro. your hand cupped his heavy balls before they just slapped your chin repeatedly. cars rode past, a couple catching a glimpse of you on your knees, but simon didn’t care.

your mouth, so hot, so delicate, was the only thing keeping him warm in this weather. you were so busy, that you’d practically forgotten you were cold. 

he ended up fucking your throat, making you keep your hands away from your mouth as he used you for his pleasure. you fondled his balls and sucked prettily, batting your lashes while you looked at him with desperation.

his cock twitched in your throat before he thrusts a few more times, causing you to gag uncontrollably.

he was disgusting. 

warm cum spilled from his pent-up cock right down your throat as you swallowed and cleaned up the spend with your fingers, sucking his hot load off your fingers. it was a sight to see, your sultry gaze on his body as you caught your breath. 

you looked up at him, still on your knees, sure to bruise by morning, before he helped you to your feet. he wasted no time to touch you again, but now his slick cock rubbed up against you when he groped you, pinching your nipples and sniffing you. a pervert.

your ass was pushed up against his, still leaking, cock, he groaned out how much he loves your body. your company--your readiness. 

“walkin’ around like that--no business doin’ that ‘round here,” his fingers hook onto your skirt, “barely got anything on.”

he decides to pull down your skirt, revealing your panties with small prints of cherries. “i wanna feel your lil’ pussy around me, need that badly.”

you nod, facing away but your eagerness is still obvious. his thick fingers run over your ass before stopping at the wet spot on your panties. they rub your already swollen clit as you push into his touch, not noticing the cars still riding past, people eyeing this disgusting view. simon pushes his fingers into your underwear, sliding his middle finger over your slit lovingly.

he pulls your panties down hungrily before rubbing his cock against your holes, gripping your hips as he speaks, “fuck, sweetheart,” before his thick tip prods at your tight entrance, forcing it inside as your legs tremble and your grip on the seats tighten. 

your eyes prickle with tears as he forces most of himself in, filling you to the brim as he attempts to thrust, only moving in and out an inch at a time. you grip the seats as he settles into you, but he goes slow for you, knowing it’s too big, knowing he’s stretching you out too much. you cry out, begging for him to go slow, but to get it over with. 

“i know, baby girl, shh, shh, it’s gon’ be over soon. just take it all.” and you did, pushing your ass up against him, making sure to do as he says and take it. 

you sucked him in perfectly, eyes rolling back, back arching uncontrollably as his cock dug through your walls. his red tip bullied your cervix, almost touching it each time he thrust deeper. his hands stayed rested on your hips as he fucked you harder. “grippin’ me like a fuckin’ vice, ain’t ya?” spit fell from his lips onto your ass before sliding down to your hole, serving as a lubricant for his oversized cock. 

his hung cock barely slipped in and out of you, tight hole failing to stretch enough. as you spoke disgusting words. begging him for the worst, to go harder, to make it hurt. talking about how badly you loved his cock, showing how fucked out and dumb his dick made you. 

a big hand wrapped around your neck, thick fingers bruising you, proof of your encounter.

you couldn’t take it anymore, your tummy feeling warm and a tingly feeling in your cunt made you weak as you tried your best to fight it. you couldn’t hold off, though, giving in to him as you cried out and gushed on his cock. your cunt constricted around him as you came. his grip on your neck tightened as you came on his cock, a milky white circle forming at the base of it. 

a car drove past, seeing you bent over with the low, yellow lights of the pickup truck shining on your figure. seeing him behind you, pants down to his ankles, your skirt down to yours. 

you groaned loudly as he continued fucking your soaked hole, juices dripping. his balls feel heavier, ready to let go. 

“take it--take it all,” he thrusts a few more times before releasing his load into your hole, potent cum sure to get you pregnant. “puttin’ my kids in you.” as his last spurts fill you. 

his cum seeps out of you as your legs tremble. “there we go. there we go, knew you could take it.” 

he helps you fix yourself up before delivering a slap to your ass and hopping in the car. he drove you to the motel and handed you a napkin to write your number down for him. 

“well, don’t let me take up your whole night. i’m sure so-and-so’s wonderin’ where yer at.” you kissed him on the cheek before he left. 

it must’ve been the southern drawl. 

[weirdmorefics]

Could you pls do a fake dating fic with Colin bridgerton? Tysm xx

A Life Long Scheme

A/N- Sorry for the delay! I really do have the fanfiction writer curse! I say that every time but I mean it! I got my appendix out and rode in an ambulance. They don't even play music in them FYI.

Readers Pronouns- She/Her

Word Count- 2,512

Summary- You convince Colin to fake court you to gain the attention of other suitors but jealousy consumes Colin.

I knew I would have a hard time finding a suitor from a young age. My family may be wealthy enough to attend balls but certainly not enough for a sizable dowry for each of their children. I grew up competitive trying to prove myself worthy even if I came with a small dowry. My siblings relied on their looks but I was determined to be the best at everything. I will treat coming out like I do life competitively. As the eldest, I must set an example.

I was lined up with the others coming out into society this year. They all nervously played with their clothes and looked to the floor. I too felt like doing that but I kept my emotions bottled tightly in my chest and held my head high. We all took our turns bowing in front of the Queen she looked completely unbothered by us, dare I say bored.

I was last in line she looked me up and down and said, "I am unsure if anyone qualifies as a diamond this season."

I can't fight back the sharp inhale I take, I can physically feel my heart launch its way into my throat. I feel as if I may hurl as she gets up and walks away escorted by her guards. I look around at others visible shock. I can't help but feel the Queen just left because of me. I mean I was the last one. I need to do something! I can't fail already I just came out into society!

My night was filled with pacing and plotting. There has to be a way to impress Her Majesty. My Mama tried to comfort me but Father quickly told her there was no point in speaking to me when I was like this. I hate to admit but he is unfortunately correct. Once I am in a thought spiral there is no getting out. I thought of other seasons for most of the night as I lay in bed. What did they do to gain the Queen's attention? The most notable season of late would have to be Daphne's. I can't recall the last time The Ton has seen a marriage done with such haste before. She had a massive amount of suitors after her though that was only after The Duke's appearance.

The idea hit me suddenly I launched out of bed, put my carpet slippers on, and ran out of the house. I am lucky my family sleeps so soundly because I am sure I sounded like a horse trotting as I ran through the house. The Bridgerton manor is right next to ours, so close in fact that I grew up playing games with all the Bridgertons. Colin has always been my dearest friend (even though Mama always told me a male friend was improper). I knew Colin would go along with my plan, we have been scheming and pranking since we were children. This should be no different! It unfortunately hit me how late it was when I stood in the darkness of the Bridgerton Garden. I was here now I refused to backtrack just because it was an untimely hour.

I used the bushes to help guide me to Colin's familiar window. Once there I gathered tiny pebbles and started ricocheting them off his window. It did not take him long to wake and open the window with a messy bedhead and a lit lantern. His face instantly flushes at the sight of me.

"My god Y/n what are you doing out here in this state!" He shouts

I follow his gaze to my clothes and feel my face heat. My god, I did not think this through as I stood in front of Colin Bridgerton's window in the dark, in my silk nightgown. I will see this through the damage is done. "I have a plan," I smile.

He sighs and rubs his forehead, "Oh no… you are lucky my sleeping schedule is still askew from traveling abroad. Now get inside before someone sees you!"

I met him in the drawing room and he refused to look me in the eye, "So what is so important that you have decided to grace the house with your presence at this ungodly hour."

"I am here to present you with a proposition," I clasp my hands as he finally looks at my face suspiciously.

"And what might this proposition be? I can assume nothing good," he questions.

I roll my eyes and pace as I recite my plan."As you know Daphne was utterly suitorless during her season courtesy of Anthony. However, the moment a Duke entered the picture she had men competing for hand. They could not care less about Anthony's interventions."

Colin nodded confused, "Your point?"

"My point is I need competition! So I propose that you pretend to court me! If you will? I know you are aware of my Papa's financial situation… I mean the whole ton is after Lady Whistledown published his unfortunate business decisions and his one-too-many daughters for a dowry. None of this will matter if I can get a suitor who loves me and will help my family but that can't be done if I can't attract a suitor!" I continue to pace as Colin looks entirely unsure of what to make of this situation. I take a deep breath, "So what do you say?"

Colin looks at me with puppy dog eyes, "Of course Y/n. You are my dearest friend. I must know why you decided to discuss this so late at night in your…" he flushes again and looks to the ground. "In your nightgown."

I suddenly became all too aware of my attire and became a stuttering mess, "the conversation was of utmost importance the time of day and clothing choices have nothing to do with it!"

Colin smirks, "I see."

"I must save my Papa's business if not for him but for the chance my sisters will get to marry for true love and not for financial gain," I sigh. Colin's eyes which were once teasing turn to sadness, "Do not look at me like that Colin. I don't need your pity, I need your help."

He nods and straightens his posture, "Of course Y/n. Of course, I will help."

I quietly snuck back into the house after speaking to Colin. The plan was set in stone he would be the first dance on my dance card and we would round up potential suitors together. We were joined at the hip for every event and I purposely chose the busiest times to promenade so the most amount of suitors would see us.

I soon began to gain the attention of many suitors and even had many coming to my house to call on me! Mama was so proud I was so happy to take her mind off the situation with Papa.

Mama pulled me to the side of the drawing room, "Maybe hanging out with the Bridgerton boy will help you! Maybe their fortune will rub off on us!" I was proud to inform her I was to promenade in the park today with Colin. It was odd to see her smile with excitement instead of pale at the thought of her daughter spending her time with a man who never planned to court her. I wish she wasn't only proud of me when I wasn't doing something that benefited me in finding a wealthy suitor. It's no matter though, I will do anything to make her proud, and it feels like I'm finally doing it. She spent the whole morning with me to find a suitable dress for my outing.

Colin arrived promptly at the time we set previously and accompanied me to the park. As we promenaded I felt many eyes on us they truly believed Colin would court the daughter of a family barely escaping financial ruin. It is truly almost humorous how easily we have swayed the ton.

"It is truly working Colin! Mother is so proud that I will be the one to save my family's reputation. Such a shame she picked such a layered gown for one of the warmest days of the season," I whisper and fiddle with the seams of my dress.

Colin sighs, "How many suitors are you getting from this Y/n? They can't all have honorable intentions given your beauty and your family's standing."

I roll my eyes, " Why Colin Bridgerton are you jealous? I would not think you are the type. Do not worry you will always be my dearest friend. No husband could replace you."

His face turns serious, "I am just worried. I hope you are doing this for the right reasons and not for the sake of your Mama… and I am most certainly not jealous."

For someone who said he is certainly not jealous he didn't sound quite certain. That, however, is not what distracted me. "You think I want to marry a man not for love but purely for financial gain? It is every woman's dream to marry for love! We can't all have the privilege to do so! Especially one born into a family with a gambling addict for a father and a mother too frail to defend herself. My mother has been preparing me for coming out since I was a child! This is my job as the eldest! To secure a good future for my siblings so perhaps they get the opportunity to marry for love as I will never get to!" I back up as if I may burn from Colin's shocking gaze but I still point a finger at him, "And the fact that you don't already know this Bridgerton is having me question if we ever truly were friends! Perhaps all those travel stories in your head leave not much room for anything else."

I storm away from the Bridgerton, I think after his initial shock he calls for me but my rage prevents me from looking back to see if it was true or a cruel trick of my ears. It was perhaps not the greatest idea to run off from a suitor with no chaperone. Maybe I wouldn't have found myself in such a precarious situation if I had chaperone. I find myself cursing my father in my head for his terrible gambling habits that prevent anyone from wanting to associate with the likes of us. Therefore getting me into this mess in the first place.

"Y/N L/N, we have been watching you for quite some time. Your father never described your intense beauty but how could one put it into words?" The seedy man approached me.

I smiled politely, "Thank you! May I inquire how you know my father?"

"Oh darling I think you know why we are here. I mean the whole ton knows about your father's habits shall we say." He smiles menaceingly and I think to myself of course this has to do with his damn gambling habits.

I back up in case I have to make a quick escape and he unfortunately catches on. He grabs my wrist to keep me in place, "We have been very patient with your father. Given his position in the ton, we thought we could be lenient with his payment schedule. However, it turns out we were mistaken. What is more shocking is the fact that his daughter thinks she has a chance of finding a suitor with no dowry."

"Sir please unhand me," I try to pull away from his grasp.

"You think being in the company of the Bridgertons will help your family situation? Perhaps we could take you as payment? You do draw a lot of attention despite your social ruin. We could use you to bring more men to the establishment," he smiles sinisterly.

I yank my hand away even harder out of fear but his strength still outmatches mine, "Why would I ever help you put more families in financial ruin!"

He laughs, "Darling you think you have a choice?"

His eyes narrow at something behind me and I hear Colin's voice, "I believe the lady asked you to unhand her."

"This does not involve you, sir," he growled.

"You see it is my business when you have your hands on my betrothed, Colin growls back.

My eyes furrowed in confusion. He had been fake courting me of course but we certainly did not discuss a fake betrothal.

The man laughs yet again, "I read in Lady Whistledown that you were courting her but the fact a Bridgerton would sink to the likes of the L/N family."

I took in a shallow breath and Colin growled in response. This situation was going quickly downhill.

"You will not besmirch the lady's name! Now I won't ask again unhand her!" Colin shouts.

"Whatever you say," he smirks and tosses me to the ground. Colin's grimace seems to only encourage the man more, "I'd honestly prefer to use her to replace her father's debt but if you want to drag your family name down with her so be it." He walks away with a peppy jaunt in his step and I glare at him from the ground.

Colin quickly helps me to my feet, "I would have dueled him right here and now if I was not in the presence of a lady."

I brush the dirt off my gown, "It's fine. I'm fine. I will handle it."

"No, you will not! you will not take a step towards that insipid man," he yells.

"Well, Colin you don't really have any choice in that matter! Do you? You are just fake courting me. Or fake betrothing me now? I don't know. I have lost track honestly!" I rant.

His face turns serious, "Y/n I care for you! I would forsake my whole family name for you! You think I do not burn with rage every time I see a new man attempt to call on you after I started court you! I noticed your beauty and your smarts before any of these men did! The fact that they only noticed you once another gentleman entered the picture is disgraceful! I will always notice you Y/n! I will never let your family go through this! I hope to be a love match for you and help your family."

Tears collect in my eyes. As the oldest sibling I've never been the one that was cared for but the one that does the caring. Colin's words made me feel full. I try to tease but it comes more out as a sob, "Mr. Bridgerton are you proposing to me."

He smiles, "I think it is about time I finally proposed to you after you always proposed your schemes to me. So what do you say Ms. L/N? Would you like to continue proposing schemes to me for the rest of our lives?"

I nod aggressively smiling. There was no stopping the happy tears now.

[idontplaytrack]

Six weeks

Janis ‘Imi’ike x fem! reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut. Coarse language, fluff

Peek into reader & Janis’ life postpartum. Other parts to the series are linked here

Never mind six weeks. You don’t even think you would ever be able to let Janis see you bare anymore. It was that same night, and Dr. Aukai rushed over to check on you as soon as she heard from Maia what had happened. You then found out the on-call doctor was a last resort as she was the first available person that Maia ran into after receiving the message that your doctor was in an emergency c-section. You were deathly afraid to use the bathroom, because you knew for a fact that it would be so much more painful than you were expecting, thanks to the episiotomy. You had a catheter in place at the moment, but it was to be removed soon— after dinner, Maia had said. It was so uncomfortable to even sit, but you weren’t strong enough to stand up or walk for long.

Janis was sitting right beside you in your bed, Kalia was in the nursery while you got some quiet time.

“I’m gonna remove the catheter, alright? You ready?”

You shrugged. “I’m sorry Dr. Kim did that, you have my full support in lodging a formal complaint against her. It was completely her fault for not listening to a patient.”

“It was like she had something against her.” Janis spoke up, you watched Dr. Aukai put on a pair of gloves and heard her tell you to shift your legs apart so she could remove the catheter. “How’s it been with the catheter?”

“Really uncomfortable. It feels like it’s poking me every time I try to sit up straight.”

Aukai winces, “Yeah, some patients have this experience. It’s not pleasant, I know. Your stitches look okay, though.”

“That’s the worst part compared to the catheter.” You admitted, staring at up the ceiling before turning your head to look at Janis instead.

“I’m gonna count to three— deep breath for me on three, alright, hun?”

You nodded, holding onto Janis’ hand hastily. On the third count, you felt a quick stinging pain as the tube got pulled out. Once that was done, she taught you what to do when you had to use the bathroom— including ways to keep the stinging and soreness to a minimum. Even how your diet should be like to help with it. You drifted off to sleep awhile after that. Janis stood right outside the room to talk to Dr. Aukai.

“Like, I get that she’s not a local but, she’s just supposed to be a patient who needs care of a doctor and she just put her through that, plus a more painful recovery because of her opinions?”

“Are you saying—”

“I heard her mumbling some really hurtful names. Haole stood out to me.” Janis scoffed, “Was it really worth it in her opinion to traumatise someone? A first-time mom, no less. Kalia is our rainbow baby. We tried long and hard for her, and I’m not saying that y/n’s experience with the on-call doctor discounts how significant this milestone is for us, but that doctor…ruined y/n’s moment that was supposed to be happy. She’s been holding back tears since she fully stopped crying and I don’t know what to do.”

“Fight for her. The no-episiotomy decision was made weeks ago and Kim failed to do the right thing by her. Failed to read the file and get to know her patient. Maia and Zelda saw everything, they can vouch for you. For y/n. You two can win this.”

“Her sister and my Dad are getting things started, we’re so lucky to have you as our doctor. You didn’t have to listen to that. You’ve already done your job.”

“My job as a doctor is not done until she is no longer under my care. My job as a human being and a fellow mother is to empathise. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how terrifying and painful that must’ve felt. If my wife was in front of me, getting cut open against her will— and she didn’t absolutely need it, I will be so furious. I am so angry for her, for you.”

Dinner was more comfortable for you now that the catheter was removed. You were also starving, now that you were more energised and that the adrenaline has worn off. You wanted. No, needed to eat. The food wasn’t great, but you had no energy to object. Well, it wasn’t terrible either. “Do you want something else?”

You shook your head, “It’s fine.”

Once you picked up your fork again, the hospital room’s door opened. Regina walks in holding a bag of food— home cooked food.

“Dinner has arrived.” Regina walked up the table, removing the contents of the brown paper bag. “Don’t eat the hospital food. You deserve the good stuff.”

“Thanks, Reg.” You smiled slightly.

At least this brought a smile to your face, she thought.

“There’s food for you too.” Regina glances at Janis, “Eat up, both of you.”

Regina hung around until some time after dinner, and you didn’t see Akoni until the day after— the day they were letting you go home. Right now, you were waiting for Dr. Aukai to come by with your release papers plus check your stitches and overall condition before discharging you. Kalia was asleep in the bassinet next to you and Janis.

“She’s so cute.” Janis chuckled to herself, “So tiny.”

“You’re good to go, y/n. I’ll see you and Kalia in six weeks for the first postpartum checkup.” Aukai informed, “Remember, your stitches should heal in three to four weeks. Your body will absorb them, they don’t need to be removed.”

You nodded, fidgeting cautiously on the pillow you had to sit on since you couldn’t put all the pressure directly on your bottom.

“This leaflet tells you what to look out for when you’re home with regards to your stitches and after delivery. If you have any concerns from the time you get home to the time you come see me in six weeks, do not hesitate to call my clinic.”

“Got it.” You answered.

“No sex for six weeks. Might be more time for some moms, and especially since you have stitches.”

“I know.” You nodded, staring at the floor. “Any pain should be helped with ibuprofen. If it doesn’t get better or if for any reason, you are concerned. Please come in.” Dr. Aukai continued. “I’ve talked to your sister and your father to give them a quick rundown, they’re all filled in and told me that they’ve got the legal matters going. So in the meantime, focus on yourself, focus on your baby girl, focus on being in the moment. Everything else is secondary until you recover.”

You decided to walk your way out to the lobby where Akoni was waiting with the car. Goes without saying that it took you pretty much forever. You were almost clinging onto Janis while she held the baby, who was probably still asleep. Regina opened the car door for you and helped you get inside, Janis set the baby down in the car seat that was already set up. Regina sat in the front, and you sat in the back with Janis— and Kalia in between.

The drive home felt like it was too long, but even walking around was a challenge now. You needed quite a bit of help. Your insides felt like they were going to fall out of you, honestly. You were warmly welcomed home by Carl and Grace with a couple of hugs, then Janis helped you to take a shower.

Help, was one word for it. You didn’t want her in the shower with you because you didn’t want her to see you naked after having a baby. And it wasn’t like you weren’t needing any help doing most things, but you toughed it out until you couldn’t. That was when you’d be sitting in bed and just starting into space. Most of the time, that would be when you had to feed Kalia. So as much as your mind emptied itself, holding your baby in your arms pulls you back into the bubble that was reality. There wasn’t any moment of complete silence or peace for you ever since Kalia came into your lives. You’ve been feeling overstimulated as hell and just pushing it aside, your main downtime was at bedtime. Your bedtime. And Janis’, but you had to be awake every 2-3 hours to feed Kalia. All in all, rough.

Six weeks went by, and you were more sleep deprived than ever. You were surprised you even left the house looking slightly presentable. But, it was time for your first postpartum checkup. Walking to the car holding Kalia in your arms, Janis leans over to press a kiss to your cheek and you cringed. You didn’t even hide it. She thought you were in pain.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You answered quickly, getting seated in the back while Janis drove. The last 42 days have been a major adjustment period and absolutely tested everything you had in you. New sleep hours, mealtimes, new diet, new chores and new responsibilities. Seeing your new reflection in the mirror, you got a shock. The weight, the loose skin, the stretch marks…the moment you managed to see yourself after having Kalia, a frown hung from your face. You’ve been doing everything you could to get started with getting back in shape, but you have lost your confidence. You couldn’t allow yourself to get any sort of affection from Janis. You simply couldn’t see how she was still able to kiss your face, your lips…or tell you that she loved you.

You sure as hell couldn’t right now, you didn’t love yourself. And any moment of peace you got, your mind automatically started to fill itself with noise…with harsh words and thoughts that ran through your brain on a loop. And god did it remind you of high school you all over again. There were moments where you knew it was wrong to think that way, that you knew you had so many people around you who loved you and cared about you. But the negativity won, despite you trying your damn best. So, now you were back to battling with your mind. Only now, it’s got higher stakes. What you choose to do or don’t, affects not just you, and not just Janis, but her family, and your family, and your daughter.

Not that you were no longer seeing your therapist, you were. But you were just going through a rough patch lately. On the way to Dr. Aukai’s clinic, you took the time to send your therapist a quick text to see if she could fit you in for another session this week. If she could, this one you were requesting would be session number two of three. Between the postpartum lifestyle and having to go to your therapist up to three times a week, your days sure seemed busier than you knew deep down it was good for you. You were helping yourself get out of this bad place.

“Everything looks great for you, mama. Pain level’s normal for your current stage and your bleeding has also stopped. As they should be. Plus, Kalia’s growing very well, so…nothing to worry about there.” Dr. Aukai summarised, “Since it’s been six weeks, and given that you’ve healed so seamlessly, plus you don’t have any concerns right now…so I’m giving you the all clear should you feel like you want to engage in any intercourse.”

Right before Aukai ended the session, she asked if you had any questions or concerns. Janis didn’t have any, while you said you did. So, Janis took the hint and waited outside with Kalia.

“I’m all ears, mama. Go ahead.”

“For the last week or so, I’ve been feeling the urge to engage in intercourse come back. But because of the birth and the stitches, I have been so apprehensive because I’m afraid it’ll hurt. And I’m not talking about badly healed, not healed enough type of thing. I’m thinking— you checked me earlier and I’ve healed properly so everything looks fine but what if it just somehow doesn’t feel fine and we don’t know why?”

“Nine of ten mothers I see don’t deal with that sort of pain, but I get your worry because it is still a possibility. Ease into it, go slow and if the pain feels unusual, tell me— either at the next appointment or you can just call.”

“Okay.” You nodded, nervously chewing on your lower lip. “I’ve um, I’ve been working way more closely with my therapist lately… these last six weeks. I feel like I’m back in high school— low moods, low energy, low confidence. I am back to disliking myself…what I see in the mirror. It’s like my body can’t bounce back. I guess my hesitance to do anything, when it comes to intercourse or just intimacy, it’s been harder for me to just feel it, experience it. I dodge, and I hate that I dodge. I just don’t feel like myself and it’s been so much work.”

“Is everything going alright with Gibbs? Or do you want another referral?”

“Yes. I’m getting used to her now. Been with my old therapist back home for so many years, so I needed to adjust.”

“Your feelings are valid. Your body, your mind, everything…had been through a big change. You’re in a new stage of life too, and big change sometimes mean big adjustment is needed. You need to fight back harder. But it’s okay to feel what you feel, sometimes you need to feel it to get through it. Not liking your body now, I feel you. It is so hard to see something so different, so abruptly. But I need you to know this. You have a wonderful village behind you, and you being able to recognise what and why…tells me that you’re aware, and you’re actually pretty damn clear on what’s really what you think and what’s just a ‘dark cloud moment’— like you mentioned before today. Sometimes those voices contradict, but you’ll be okay. Let go of your thoughts, let them float away. Focus on your present, beyond what you see and what you think you see. In mirrors, or in life. Accept help with things you need help with, bask in the fact that you are not alone. Remind yourself that. Feel what you need to feel, ask someone to baby sit Kalia for a couple hours…take a walk with Janis, chat with her, do more…give in to your urge if it feels right. This time can be tough and I know it as a mother myself, it might seem like the last thing you want because of those moments of being unhappy with what you think about your body now, but rekindling that passion, and the closeness might help more than you can imagine currently. This too shall pass, y/n. You are more than your appearances.”

“Thanks, Doc.” You chuckled tearfully, “I really, really appreciate that. I guess I just need to hear it again, from someone. I uh, I meant to ask…why, why do you care so much about me? It’s…I’ve never had a doctor like you.”

“Honey, I was you. I just want to help, as a mother, that instinct is strong. But also as your doctor, as another human being. Look at me now, you got this.”

————

“Jan, I wanna talk to you.” You said while Janis parks the car in the garage.

“Of course, honey. Let’s just head inside?”

After putting Kalia in her crib for a sleep, you and Janis were on the front porch. “I uh, I talked to Dr. Aukai about how…I’ve been feeling regarding by body image and my self-confidence and doubt. I’ve been sharing with Gibbs too, but Aukai actually said things that gave me some clarity instead of dwelling on those feelings even though feeling them and acknowledging them helps.” You looked at Janis, she looked at you…listening so very patiently.

You continued, taking in a deep breath, “Anyway, I uh, mentioned to her that for the last week, I’ve been feeling the urge to…um, get some relief. She suggested that we get a little bit of alone time to work on physical closeness, rekindling the passion and just…focus on each other for a bit instead. I knew that deep inside me, but lately I just don’t have the guts, or the confidence to act on it. But fuck, I really wanna go for it. I’m done being upset, my body’s been through a lot, my mind’s been through a lot. I have been through a lot. But I’m still here, getting the privilege to experience being a mother, being a parent with you. My body’s got me through it all so far, I should be proud of that. I have so much to be proud of. And, gosh…having you by my side through everything. I am so lucky to have my family. Life is so much more than what those voices in my head tell me to focus on.”

Janis’ face relaxed, and she leans in closer, hand cupping your cheek. Her thumb caresses your cheek and her lips tug into a warm smile right before her lips crashed into yours. First, a gentle peck. Then another, and another. Then the kiss deepens according to how you were reacting and responding. This goes on for a good while, easing you into the mood. “To the bedroom?” She asked with a cheeky grin.

“Yes, please.” You muttered, she hoisted you up and carried you to the bedroom then set you down on the bed before quietly shutting and locking the door. She gets back to you, returning to the same position. The heated makeout continued until you showed her that you were ready for more. A tilted neck, fluttering shut eyes, and the slightly heavier breathing. You also fell onto your back, so Janis being cautious laid next to you. “All good?” She asked, gaze worried.

“Mm, yeah.” You mumbled into the kiss before she detached her lips from yours with a wet noise. Janis began to kiss her way down south, leaving a trail of desire in her wake and you an ache that was pooling in between your thighs. Eventually, a forsaken whine falls from your lips. You shocked yourself, but Janis was thrilled.

When your hips bucked, she slid your pants off, hand gliding down onto your cunt, cupping it as her fingertips rubbed your clit over the cloth. You writhed, biting down on your lower lip to keep it quiet. You had a sleeping baby in the crib a few feet away. “Want me to take it off?” Janis asked quietly.

“You can.” You agreed, “Yeah, I want that.”

When the thin fabric got tossed aside, her hands were entirely on your bare skin. You exhaled harshly, feeling her gain a momentum and feeling your arousal grow. At the same time, your nerves kicked in. Nerves about what she’d think seeing you naked after the baby, nerves about whether or not it’d hurt. It’s just been a long time.

Janis started soft and slow, her middle finger moving down towards your entrance and began to push into you. Your breathing hitches, it felt uncomfortable but wasn’t painful. It wasn’t painful until regular movements started. The push and pull motion made you feel pain. At first a twinge, but then you couldn’t ignore it and told her to stop. Shit. You were really hoping that it wouldn’t hurt. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry.” Janis stopped instantly, a soft gasp was heard from her before she apologised over and over. She clambered back up to meet your face, reconnecting your lips.

“I’m okay.” You assured, “Too worked up to forget about it though.”

“You wanna try a vibe?” She asked, kissing you deeply, “Otherwise, from what I recall, my mouth alone works wonders.”

You laughed at that, your focus shifting away from the discomfort from penetration. “I’m fine with both.” You told her, eyes flicking down to meet hers.

“You wanna do both?” She asked, brows raised for a beat.

“Sure.” A grin forms on your face, you captured her lips into your own this time.

“One second.” Janis reached over to the nightstand and opened up a drawer, pulling out a vibrator and inserting a new battery before she powered it on. Laying next to you again, Janis holds the toy up against your clit while making out with you. It was simple, but so goddamn effective. You felt yourself getting closer to your high already.

“Fuck.” You cursed, voice breathy in a way that riled Janis up. She pressed it against the bundle of nerves harder for just a second. You flinched, she laughed, her tongue sticking into your mouth once again like minutes ago re-exploring each and every little crevice of your mouth like it hadn’t done so before. So eager, it was driving you nuts.

“Mm.” Janis chuckled huskily, sending a chill down your spine, “Feel good?” Then, her lips were on your neck after a very swift moment of objection from you. She shut you up by sucking at a specific spot along your neck, just like she always has. You moaned, “Oh, fuck. Fuck.” The vibrations from the toy was steadily bringing you closer and closer to your climax. Your head was spinning with pleasure as it coursed through your veins too. And then you felt that hypothetical coil in your core reaching its breaking point. A lewd noise erupted from your throat, high pitched and needy. It let Janis knew you were so very close…and the woman just deprived you of stimulation from the vibrator like it was a reflex once she heard that noise from you.

You whimpered, going, “Oh, my God.” Panting and squirming, tears pricking at your eyes.

“Hey.” She says softly, kissing you one more time, “It’s okay.”

“Fuck—” You gulped, “I need you.”

Janis stroked your cheek lovingly, kissing you so much that it was like you were a drug. “You’re so stunning, ipo.”

You whined this time, feeling the raging ache between your thighs. The tears welled up again, “I need you.”

Janis resumed her tactic, kissing her way down from your lips to your abdomen. Giving your tummy extra attention and love, peppering kisses across each and every inch while her hands on your sides moved along with her. “My beautiful wife.” She muttered to herself, thumb brushing over a faded stretch mark. You made a noise that sounded like you were trying not to cry, mostly due to that little action of hers and those three words she just said. “You are amazing. This body is amazing. Look at how much of the world we got to see thanks to it, How far our feet managed to carry us. And…I’m only a mother now because of you. Your selfless act, thanks to this body of yours giving our baby her first home. You’re incredible, y/n. You.“

The waterworks began now, you were tearing up and you couldn’t stop it if you tried. Lower and lower, Janis went. Eventually, she stops, lifting your leg and resting it on her shoulder. Then, her tongue darted out and she began lapping up and down your folds. At first in a fixed direction, then erratic and random. The coil in your core wrung itself up again, the pleasure intensified. You honestly weren’t sure how you were keeping this quiet at this point. But you were, mostly because you didn’t want to get caught lest someone came home. Janis only gradually increased her pace, but it was clear she was being careful. “My God—” You cursed in a whisper, “Fuck. Oh, that’s so good.”

You feel Janis smile against you, the strokes of her tongue intentionally slowing down, circling your clit for some time before she kissed your clit. Then she sucks at the nub causing you to gasp. Janis kept at it, going and going until you began throbbing harshly against her mouth. “Oh my God.” You kept mumbling over and over, fingers tangling into her hair. Feeling her right hand grabbing onto your right inner thigh somehow did something to you. Feeling her squeeze the flesh gave you another rush. Right as you arched your back, the movement of her tongue became stronger than ever, then it pressed flat against your clit as a finishing move. Swiftly, her hands found their way to your hips, keeping you stable as you attempted to find your breath. Your chest was heaving, your heart was racing and your eyes? They were all out of focus and blurry. Even your hearing was a mess. “Fuck— mm, sh— shit.” You swallowed thickly, ears now ringing for some reason. Janis’ touch was comforting as her palm caressed your abdomen and settled on your inner thighs— both of them. “You’re okay, honey.” She hummed, “You’re okay. Look at me.” So you did, your eyes flicked downward to look at her. You watch her crawl back up and lay next to you, wiping her mouth and chin off before giving you a sweet kiss, “I love you.” Your fingers comb through your hair as the kiss deepened, “I am so in love with you. No matter what, no matter what life throws at us, you’re still you.”

Then she broke away from the kiss, pulling back to look at you. Her eyes…they mesmerised you. They always did. Made you fall in love with her all over again every time, every single day. The way she looked at you made you believe. Believe that she loved you like she’d said. Now more than ever, you needed this reminder.

“I love you.” You replied, voice slightly shaky. You were trying your best not to cry. You weren’t exactly the quietest crier, and well, Kalia was still asleep, but judging by the time…she’d be awake soon for a feed.

“You want a bath?” Janis asked, pecking your lips, “Or shower?”

You sleepily nodded, “A bath sounds nice.”

“Okay.” Janis held your face in her hand still, the smile doesn’t leave her face just yet, “I’ll go fill the tub. Just wait here.”

“Milk’s in the freezer, just heat it up and feed her if she wakes up while I’m in the bath.”

“I will, baby.” Janis sat up, “Be right back. Just get your clothes ready, hm?”

She quietly exited the bedroom, and you just sat there for awhile, watching Kalia asleep. Shifting closer, you gently stroked her cheek with your pinkie. “Hi, princess.” You mumbled, “I love you.”

She doesn’t even squirm, still soundly asleep. You watched her chest rising and falling consistently with the biggest smile on your face. You were still in awe of your life now despite the moments of uncertainty and anxiety. The good always overpowered the bad, for you, that’s how life’s always been. You just needed to take a deep breath, take a moment to breathe and really listen. Listen to the people around you, not just the voice in your head. Because you definitely didn’t see yourself the way they saw you sometimes. And they were always going to be there to lift you up.

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

💭A/N:

Not my best work…🫠🥲

[the-kr8tor]

Kisses the brick and throws it at you

Daily Hobie HC!!

Knight x Witch prompt today>:)

At the outskirts of the town, your whole existence struck fear into societies, magic crackling at the edges of your fingertips with the belief (and possible power) of reincarnation.

However, you had a charmer inside the castle, who brought you herbs and flowers whenever he got the chance. He also gifted glass jars, empty ones for your crystals and full ones for decor, full of paper crafted hearts.

Hobie was hopelessly in love with you, whether it’s be the love potion he swore you gave him in the tea or by fate, there was no way he could ever stop.

He always wondered when he get to see you again, to hold you close against him and dance to the soft sound of music or searching for anything helpful in the forest, or even just stopping by to drop off something he had bought with a loving kiss.

He made his trips discreet, not wanting to reveal your location and possibly have you burned at the stake for his mistake.

If Hobie was really lucky, he would spend a full day in your residence, cuddling you until the sun came up and more later into the morning, scavenge for crystals, herbs, anything that could be supplies. Potentially you even giving him a demonstration as to how your powers worked, and in between all? Lots of kisses.

Hobie often rambled of life behind the castle walls, the gatherings, royalties, the terrifying stubborn suitors while you brewed tea for the two of them, never failing to make you laugh at some of his overdramatised tellings.

Over the months, you and Hobie had successfully managed to telepathically speak to each other, with immense focus and energy transfer through the eyes connecting.

You explained how the eyes were the windows to the soul, and so it was easy to telepathically communicate through eye contact. Hobie and you always took the time out of the hangouts to practice until the messages were accurately sent through just simple eye contact.

Hobie was giddy ever since he learned the trick with you, never failing to always glance towards you and telepathically tell you that he loves you, a smirk tugging at his lips when you get flustered.

However, you never thought the telepathy would be dire until you were here now, your hands bound behind your back to the stake.

Your eyes met with Hobie’s as he held the torch, tears welling in his eyes and mirroring yours. He didn’t want to do this to you. He couldn’t.

And yet, here you were, telepathically reassuring and comforting him. It was okay, it wouldn’t hurt them, and that he should do it to protect himself.

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to protect himself, he wanted you.

You told him you’d come back, and that when he saw them once more, he’ll know. Hobie trusted you. And with the last, silent ‘I love you’, torch slipped through his fingers, the flames brushing against the fabric of your outfit and making you burst into flames.

Hidden from the crowd’s eyes, he held onto your hand, feeling the fire lick and scorch into his skin until he couldn’t take it anymore and let go, regretting being so easily persuaded by you.

Hobie always had nightmares about that night, your face becoming more and more unrecognisable with every dream. He shook off the memory, focusing on the present as he walked around town, using gloves to cover up his scarred hands.

A loud meow disrupted his thoughts, a scraggly, white kitten desperately wanting his attention. As his gaze met with the cat’s, his eyes widened. He knew that look from anywhere…you returned.

-🐦‍⬛

*dodges it* haha! *Gets hit with a second brick*

Daily Hobie HC ❤️❤️❤️

You're on a roll with these knight au ones!!!

Me reading this

THE FUCKING ANGST WAS LIKE A JUMPSCARE BROOO

Anyway 😞 i love them

I can't keep knight hobie away from my mind as he trudges through the woods and the thicket just to spend a mere a hour with you because that's enough for him

Lmaoo him joking abt a love potion is so him

THE TELEPATHY?!!! CROW YOU'VE OUTDONE YOURSELF WITH THIS HC IM OBSESSED WITH THEM

OWNDIWJDNE the stake scene reminded me of the castlevania scene where they burn Dracula's wife

GASP what if hobie exacts revenge for r together with a cute cat that is definitely not r in disguise hehehe

[invisibleraven]

May I have some “Get away! You’re hurting them!” for Willex please and thank you?

When Willie and Alex get together, they both agree that no one needs to know about it outside of their friends. Willie because he has no one in his life he cares about enough to let know-his foster home was the latest in a long line of them, and he had no real connection to anyone there. And Alex-his parents were ultra religious, dragging him to church every week, proclaiming gay people would die in hellfire.

So yeah, it was best no one knew they were together.

Admittedly, it was fun sneaking around-Willie always did have a thing for being gay and doing crime. Though it would be nice to be normal boyfriends who did things like going to popular date spots and meeting each other's families.

"I don't really have any family to introduce you to though," Willie admitted. "Though you've met all my coworkers at the club, and I bet Clem would adopt me if she weren't literally only a few years older than us."

"The band is my family, and they love you, that's all that matters to me," Alex stated.

"What about your sister?"

Alex hummed at that. "Liv is busy with med school. I barely get to see her anymore. And...I don't know how she feels about gay people. I can't lose her. Not yet."

Willie got it-he had gotten kicked out of a foster home for coming out, and it had broken him-he had liked that family, even if they weren't blood. He couldn't imagine how Alex would feel losing his sibling.

So they snuck around, and waited for the day that they could forge their own path-or more so afford their own place, where parental expectations wouldn't matter. Once they had graduated, the band had plans of recording a demo, of playing gigs, and WIllie could get an apprenticeship doing tattoos.

Unfortunately best laid plans...

They had a lovely date night, sneaking into a midnight showing, sneaking swigs from a purloined bottle of vodka from the club that Clem had given Willie. Swaying together as they walked down the street towards Alex's house.

Only as they approached, there was a figure standing in the doorway-tall and imposing.

"D-dad," Alex said, trembling.

"What do you suppose you are doing Alexander?" Michael Mercer asked, hands on his hips. "You know we have a strict curfew and we must vet anyone you are spending time with."

"I just-"

"And your poor mother, worried sick when she discovered your bed was empty. You're lucky we didn't call the authorities."

Alex hung his head in shame, letting go of Willie's hand like it was on fire. A motion that his father didn't fail to miss.

"What is this filth?" he asked, voice ringing out through the quiet suburban streets. "Please tell me you are not one of those heathens that thinks homosexuality is acceptable." He reached out, grabbing Alex's arm, yanking his forwards. "You know what happens to sodomites Alexander."

"I-I..."

Willie could see how Alex was shaking, the way his breathing was turning shallow. "Alex? You need to breathe hun, you're starting to hyperventilate."

Michael Mercer glared at him, hard enough to cut glass. "You will not speak to my son, never ever again. You are not to step foot on my property-I will call the police for your corruption."

"I'm not corrupting him, I love him!"

Everything froze at that-Willie had never said those words before, no matter how true they were. Alex turned, his eyes wide, mouth agape.

"Love?" Michael roared. "This isn't love it's perversion!"

Crack

Willie stumbled backwards, hand flying to his cheek, eyes welling with tears. This wasn't his first time being struck, but usually he could see it coming. The next he could try and block, arms up as another rain of blows tried to connect with him.

Then the next one hit flesh-only it wasn't Willie's, as Alex was standing between him and his father. Standing tall, despite the fresh mark on his cheek. Holding his father's arm, eyes narrowed. “Get away! You’re hurting them!”

"The wicked shall not go unpunished!" Michael shouted.

"It's not your place to do the punishing!" Alex yelled back. "Or to place judgement. Only God can judge me and the last time I checked, you weren't him!"

"Alex, let's go," Willie stated, pulling him back.

"If you go, do not bother to come back," Michael cautioned.

"Fine by me," Alex said, grabbing Willie's hand, the two of them running off. No direction in mind, just-away from here.

"Alex..." Willie said, the two of them breathing heavy as they stopped by the band's garage. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did," he replied. "I should have done it long ago. I love you and I am so tired of sneaking around like we're ashamed of our relationship. I am....so proud to be your boyfriend. Fuck what he thinks."

Willie pulled him in for a hug then, the two of them shaking, laughing with nervous energy and relief both. Yes, they were free now, but everything was so uncertain and scary even with that weight lifted.

But he knew that as long as they were together, it would all work out.

[geonwooz]

♡ EVERY AUGUST, EVERY MONTH — HAEJO / CHAE SEUNGHYEOK

haejo x fem!reader | wc : 0.6k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, strangers to friends (?), can be read platonically or romantically, mentions of nicknames, mentions of food/drinks, bittersweet (?)

you only said it once. just once. in passing, nothing much of it. you were just making conversation. that was all.

one late night, leaning against the railing of his apartment’s balcony — that he later transferred to your name so you had a piece of him for when he was gone — your breath fogging in the cold.

haejo stood beside you, looking over at the night view, half-listening, half-lost in whatever faraway thought that always seemed to occupy his mind.

“my birthday is in august.” you said offhandedly. “sixteenth, to be exact. i like it because it’s an even number.”

he didn’t reply — just softly blinked at the stars and took another bite of the pastry that you had picked for him from your favorite café. you didn’t expect him to reply either — it was just something you said to fill the silence.

plus, it didn’t really matter. haejo never stayed long enough to remember the little things like that.

so when you woke up to an empty apartment the next morning, you told yourself it was fine. you did expect it after all, didn’t you? it was expected of him to leave without a proper goodbye — he was the type to have a quiet exit rather than a flashy entrance anyway.

you moved on — not from him, just in life, in general. you thought of him every now and then, dropped a text or two only to be left on seen.

that was it, you thought. until august came by.

you walked out of the apartment, intending to take a walk to just acknowledge your birthday, when you saw it; a paper bag with a coffee cup on the side.

the coffee — your favorite order, the very same one that you had always gotten ever since you first met him. inside the paper bag, wrapped in brown wax paper, was a pastry from your favorite café — probably the café’s daily special.

along with the pastry was a small keychain with a fluffy little charm hanging on it — a character that you said you liked in passing. and on the coffee cup was a sticky note, his handwriting scribbled onto it.

“happy birthday, sweet girl. thought i forgot, huh? — hj.”

you forgot about your walk altogether, walking back into the apartment with the things and staring at them for the longest time. much longer than you should have.

because just like that, haejo had taken residence in your mind again — not that he ever left, but he was there; soft yet strong, but permanent.

you figured it was a lucky break. a fluke. a one-time thing. but when next august came by, it happened again. a cup of coffee, a pastry, a keychain, and a note.

this time, it was another character on the keychain, and it warmed your heart. even though you rarely received a response, you kept texting his number, updating him about your life, and seeing the things you received, you knew he had been reading them.

your changed coffee order, your favorite pastry, and the little character keychain from the show you had been bingeing recently — he had read everything you sent him.

“i still remember, sweet girl. happy birthday. — hj.”

and when september came by, you got another package at your door. the little gifts weren’t an annual thing anymore; it was monthly. and this time, it was a pressed flower keychain because you had said you liked looking at flowers recently.

in october, you received a sweet tea because you said you were trying to quit coffee. november was a little cat charm because you told him about the little kitten you had adopted.

month after month, without fail, there was always a little package from the someone who never stayed close, yet somehow it seemed like he couldn’t stay apart either.

you never questioned it; you never had to.

because every month, as you stood at your door, looking down at the coffee, pastry, keychain, and note, your heart was full of everything haejo never said out loud but felt deeply.

[hknightdai]

(REQUEST) Beating Bronze - House of the Dragon

Rhea Royce x Male Reader

Tags: Noncon, Oral, Face-fucking, Vaginal, Creampie, Anal, Public Sex

Request: Rhea Royce she keep acting cocky towards reader so one night reader drag her and fuck her in front people until she pass out

XXX

‘Daemon’s a lucky bastard,’ A common thought of yours these days.

Somehow, your brother managed to get his way and fuck off; leaving you to marry the so-called “Bronze Bitch” of the Vale. Admittedly, the first week wasn’t the worst. You fucked on your wedding night, left immediately afterward, then didn’t talk for the rest of the week. It’s not as if she’s unappealing, you simply didn’t know her nor had any wish to. Perhaps in the future, you’ll get to know her.

The future turned out to be a few days later.

You were returning to Runestone after riding your dragon, Velnias, when you ran into her. Or more accurately, her horse.

“So you’ve decided to stop hiding, Husband,” Rhea said, bringing her horse to a stop.

Stepping back so you don’t have to look up too much, you say blandly, “I wasn’t hiding, Dear Wife. I was merely getting used to my new surroundings.”

“Getting used to your new surroundings,” She said. “So that requires you to run from our bed once the deed is done, like a shy boy?”

She smirked down at you from atop her horse. It's fortunate you weren't your brother. Your hand twitches slightly, alongside your eye.

Flexing your jaw, you took a breath and replied.

But she quipped, “I see I’ve left the dragon silent. Maybe you ran because your “performance” was your best.”

The implication was clear enough and your face morphed into one of rage. Seeing so, Rhea laughed before riding off. That was when you found out more about your “Dear Wife.”

Those interactions would continue throughout the first week of your “marriage,” and into your second. She had certainly proven herself to be the bitch Daemon called her. The bronze part, however? No. You’d make sure her attitude went away, you just had to be rough

After some planning, you throw a feast. Certainly not what a person who wants revenge would go for, but you've got a plan.

On the day of the feast, the festivities begin early. The hall of Runestone is filled with the faces of lords and ladies you don’t know, all jolly and laughing with one another. Even your wife joins in. Good. With everyone chugging their drinks down, you mingle about, sipping from your tankard of water.

Hours pass into the late night and everyone’s drunk. Including Rhea.

Walking over to her, you grab her and say, “Come dear, you’re wasted and it’s time to sleep.”

And she very much was. Stumbling simply from your grip, she still has enough attitude to spit a response, “O-ooh look! My husband deigns to give me his presence. Even theee shy dragon has his moments.”

Lost in her drunken stupor, Rhea roars with laughter alongside those she was talking to.

Your face gives for a moment, sneering at her, and then you regain control. Smiling at the others, you tighten your grip and pull her back to your room. The trip to which, breaks you. Rhea stumbles so much that you practically drag her across the hall. You only make it a few more steps before bursting out in anger and pushing her against a nearby wall.

She lets out a shocked cry, “W-what the seven hells, Y/n!”

She goes to continue, but you wrap a hand around her throat.

You get in her face as you squeeze tightly, and hiss, “I’ve had enough of your shit, Rhea! It seems you’ve forgotten that I’m a Prince, not some minor lordling. As a Prince, I must rectify your attitude.”

Rhea grasps at your hand, weakly trying to pull it away but fail. Once her eyes start rolling back, you let go and she drops to her knees, gasping. Saliva already drips from her mouth as she coughs; screwing her eyes shut as she gulps down precious air. With her eyes closed, you drop your pants. Your cock stands stiff in the hallway.

Slightly kneeling, you grip her jaw and her hair and slam into her throat.

“KRRRGLHK! KRPHLK! KRPHLK!”

“Not so high and mighty anymore are you, Bronze Bitch?!” You hiss.

Left weak from her earlier drinks and lack of air, the proud Lady of Runestone is left grasping and clawing at the floor. Though she does try to bite down, your grip on her jaw is enough to stop any such movement. The attempt does however draw our ire.

Your fingers clench hard enough to leave bruises. The hand in her hair yanks her head back, slamming it into the wall.

“Grrglk!” She cries.

“I see I need to beat harder,” You snarl.

Her head hits against the stone with every snap of your hips. Glaring down at your “wife,” you can see how pathetic she now looks: Her eyes are screwed shut in pain with tears running down her face; spit spews from the corners of her mouth, dripping down onto her clothed breasts as they heave.

Grinning, you hilt inside her throat. Rhea’s convulsing throat brings you to the brink and you pull out. Rhea hurls and coughs as you jerk your cock until you cum on her face and tongue.

Breathing heavily, you grab her messy face with the same hand that just jerked you off, you say, “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson, but still. Are tamed now, Dear Wife?”

Rhea glares up at you, her breaths coming as rasps. She sneers for a moment then tries to spit in your face. But you quickly raise the hand on her jaw to block it, getting even more spit on it. At that moment, she tries to stand but trips, her legs still wobbly from the alcohol and kneeling.

Your hand whips out and grabs the front of her shirt. Pulling her towards you, you smack her with the spit-covered one and let her fall on her stomach.

“Stupid bitch,” You say, though you expected it. “On to the next part then.”

Flipping her over, you enter a pitiful struggle as you rip her shirt open and she tries to stop you, hitting you with lackluster smacks and punches. When you get to her pants, she seems to regain some power. A kick scraps you while another nearly catches you in your exposed bits.

“RHEA!” You roar.

Your voice spooks her for a moment and you yank her pants and undergarments down as best you can. Despite your best effort, they catch on her knees before she resumes her struggle. But it’s enough for you. Grabbing her frantic legs, you squeeze them tight and bend her half.

“Yo-ou Bastard!” Rhea hisses, her breath being knocked from her with the force you used.

“It’s our child, Rhea. It’s not going to be a bastard.”

And with that, you spit on her lower lips and sink into her.

You let out a moan, not bothering to hide your pleasure as Rhea clenches her jaw, the sound of her sharp breathes is the only reaction she reluctantly gives. Pulling back, you slam into her. The smack of flesh rings out. Rhea claws the ground as you fuck into her.

“Are you enjoying my performance, dear Wife?” You taunt. “Or would you like more?”

Reach around her legs, you palm her breast, squeezing it. Rhea lets out a low whine as you pinch and pull on her nipple. By now, your cock practically slides in and out of her with how wet her cunt has become from your abuse.

“So you are liking my performance. It seems the Bronze Bitch is merely a whore with a hard shell,” You say, grinning.

Moving from her tits upward, you grab her throat, “Look at me, Rhea. Watch as your husband rapes you in your own home!”

Rhea’s face turns a shade of red before she finally opens her eyes. You take a sick pleasure from watching her mouth fall open as she gasps and drools while you fuck her. Clenching your jaw, you snap in and out of her cunt. Soon enough, your thrusts stutter and the sopping smacks die down as you hilt inside of her and fill her with your cum.

When your hand leaves her throat, you immediately have to catch yourself as you fall atop her in exhaustion.

“I…I take it that was enough for you, Rhea?” You say after a moment.

She doesn’t answer.

Looking at her, you catch a glimpse of her taking a deep breath. Then she strikes. A punch to the side of the head knocks you off of her and you go tumbling. Clenching the wound, you whip your head to see her hurriedly trying to get up as she scrambles away.

Furious, you have little trouble standing and stomping over to her.

Rhea’s barely got a foot fully on the ground before you grab the pants which are now around her ankles, and yank. She falls into the stone ground but barely manages to stop herself from faceplanting. She pushes herself up before you grip her brown mane and force her face into the ground.

She cries out as you hiss in her ear, “I was teaching you a fucking lesson, bitch! But it’s clear I need to stop holding back.”

“Beating a drunk enemy, you’re real tough, Bastard!” She barks, glaring at you in the corner of her eye.

Sneering, you spit in her face. As Rhea clenches her eye shut from the stinging pain. With both arms in one hand and her hair in the other, you yank her to her feet before marching her down the hall, back to the feast.

“You damn fool!” She yells, seeing where you’re taking her. “They’ll never stand for this. You’ll be dead before the sun rises.”

“I’m certain those fuckers are too drunk to even stumble towards me. And if not, well.” You shrug. “Velnias should be enough of an incentive to sit the fuck down.”

Once the hall is in sight, you have to struggle to keep your bitch from escaping your hold. Yanking her into the doorway, it takes a few moments before anyone notices but when they do there are mixed reactions. Some gawk at the sight of their friend/lady almost fully naked, her clothes being either around her ankles or torn apart, barely hanging onto her. While others, the more agreeable ones, laugh and howl in drunken amusement. Then there are the yelling ones.

“What’s wrong, my lords?” You shout in merriment. “Can’t the freshly married enjoy some fun with their friends?”

You clench Rhea’s arms and quietly hiss, “Go along with it, bitch. I die, Velnias goes wild.”

You can see her work her jaw side to side before purposefully slurring her words, “Enjooy yourselves. We cerinlly will!”

And the merry howl as the gawkers merely shrug and continue on, though some do still gawk. And the yellers, well they aren’t happy. Some leave, but many just laugh, so lost in the alcohol they won’t likely remember. But Rhea will.

Tuging her along to the head table, you slam into the side of it, giving everyone a great view of your cock rubbing between Rhea’s cheeks. Grabbing a tankard of wine, you drink some before spitting it onto her back and ass.

Rhea sharply inhales, “You fu-”

She almost gives the game away but stops herself.

Rhea trembles beneath your touch as you rub the alcohol against her asshole.

“How about next time you decide to mouth off, you remember this night, Rhea,” You mutter.

Pulling back, you slam into her wet cunt before pulling out and slamming into her tight hole. Rhea’s eyes go wide and she tries to muffle her scream. Veins pop out along her neck as her face goes red from the strain.

With your grip on her arms still in place, you use it as leverage as you pull back and slam back into her. Showing her no mercy, your cock stretches her ass open wide as you fuck her in front of everyone. Rhea tries to hide her face away against the table, but the raucous laughter is a constant reminder of the audience.

Your cock practically saws in and out of her, but despite how uncomfortable it is, her hot ass clings to you tighter than anything else. You can’t help slamming back into her.

For a few moments, there are no words between you two, just the labored breaths of you two.

Despite the pleasure, you grab the tankard of wine again. Tilting it over your wife, you drench her in it. From head to toe, wine drips from her shaking form as she whines from the pleasure and pain.

One of the men quips, “She must be thirsty!”

“You’re damn right!” You shout back.

Rhea’s breathing quickens as she quakes. The shame of this act combined with the fucking itself, leaves her in shock. Unable to hold back any longer, you feel her ass clench around you as she lets out a croaking moan and squirts onto the floor before falling unconscious on the table.

Caught unsuspecting, you let out a groan and fill her ass to the brim.

Once you've caught your breath, you look out to the room of merry men. You notice many groping their partners while other men lay unconscious themselves.

“It seems I’ve fucked the Bronze Bitch unconscious!” You bellow into laughter.

In the coming days, many don’t recall much of the night, which is good. But Rhea does. She remembers every instant of your punishment, which is good. You don’t think a second public performance is going to go as well as last time.

Oh well, at least the Bronze Bitch has learned her lesson.

[natureartisian]

Show Me The Way Home

Hi everyone!!! This is my first Bradley (Rooster) story and I am so so excited to have it posted. It has been something that has been sitting in my little brain for months and I am so happy to be sharing it with you. <3 This will be an 18+ story for both language, and mature content later on in the chapters...it will get spicy y'all.

next chapter

The summer had finally graced San Diego with the beautiful orange sky over the Hard Deck. My shift didn’t start for another twenty minutes so I decided to take a walk by the water. 

Across the bay I can see sailors boarding their boats in preparation for the upcoming season and the fishermen are getting an early start by mapping out the best spots to place their nets. 

“Andie, you’re here early.” I hear from behind me 

“Yeah, I… I couldn’t sleep so I figured I'd come by and see if there was anything I could do before my shift.” 

Penny noticed my stiff demeanor and placed a hand on my shoulder, “A shipment from Glenn’s was just dropped off, I could use the help if you’re still offering.” 

I nod my head and offer a smile, “Of course.”

I’ve been working for Penny at the Hard Deck for about three years now. I would visit frequently as a child prior to her being the head of business and it was always my home away from home. The Hard Deck is where all the kids who missed their parents would come so we could revel in their presence…even if it was just in the photos on the walls. Of course then we had to come in during specific hours, but once Penny got a hold of the lease, she designated a spot for us called the “Flight Crew Juniors”. I am one of the only few that still come around. I wouldn’t exactly call myself a “lucky one” but, my story hasn’t been as hard as the others that I frequented this place with. 

I run my fingers along the table that has signatures carved in it by knives. I pay close attention to two in particular. B.B. and A.K. 

“He’s supposed to be back, you know. His deployment ended not too long ago.” 

I let out a sigh, “Yeah, I heard that…we just…we never really kept in touch so…”

“There’s still time…”

Tearing my eyes away from the table I turn to Penny nodding, “Yeah, we’ll see. Anyways, was that the last box?”

She nods, “Yep, luckily it was mostly grenadine and toppings in that one so nothing too heavy. But, we gotta be prepared because starting tonight we’ve got new and returning sailors and aviators that are going to be busting down my door for some top shelf liquor that by next week they won’t be able to afford.” 

I let out a laugh as I can remember many nights when we’d watch new aviators try and buy drink after drink for a pretty face and then the look that rose on theirs when we rang the bell after the reader said, “declined”. They’re probably still fishing sand out of their shoes. 

Penny wasn’t kidding when she predicted we would be packed. It is 8:09pm and I have served enough mixed drinks to run out of a full bottle of Tequila. 

“Hey Pen, I have to run to the back and grab another bottle, are you going to be okay up here for a second?”

“Yes, can you also grab some more cherries? These kids keep running through them like it’s the nineties.” 

I mutter a “sure” as I watch three new sailors fail at tying a cherry stem with their tongue while the girl next to them does it in one go. 

Walking to the back I glance over at the pool table and notice the familiar kaki attire with the wings that sparkle in the light. Looks like Top Gun is going to be invaded by newbies, at least these ones I don’t have a history with. 

Grabbing three bottles of Tequila and the jar of cherries I push my way through the swinging doors of the storage when I hear, “Rooster, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

I stop dead in my tracks which makes the box wobble and one bottle of Tequila to drop flat on the floor shattering. “Mother fucker.” I mutter to myself angrily. I apologize to the couple that were splashed by the alcohol and tell them to get a shot on me at the bar while placing the broken pieces into my apron. 

“Andie?” 

The one voice I didn’t want to hear. 

“I’m fine, go back to your reunion.” I say as I continue picking up the broken pieces.

“Here, let me help..”

“NO Rooster. I said i’ve got it now just…OW fuck.!” Holding my hand I see the blood trailing down my finger.

“Andie really let me help you, you’re bleeding.” 

“Oh I am? I didn’t fucking realize that. God fuck. Can you just stand here over the spill and the glass so the drunk children of the bar don’t slip on it.” Not waiting for his response I speed walk to the back and run my hand under the sink

It just had to be Rooster. Bradley fucking Bradshaw. The one who was my best friend from the time we were six years old sitting in the back of my dads truck while he took us to see Maverick and him fly. We would spend days upon days together dreaming of being just like them. He wanted to live up to his dads legacy, and I wanted to live up to mine. That was all we ever talked about. The kinds of jets we wanted to fly, where we wanted to travel to, and when we would submit our applications. We had a solid fucking bond…until he decided to lie to me about his future and steer me completely off course. 

“Hey…Penny had one of the newbies clean up the mess, are you…how’s your hand?”

“Like you give a shit. It hurts, Rooster.” I roll my eyes at him 

He walks towards me and grabs my wrist gently, “Well to your surprise, I do give a shit. And running it under the water won’t really do much. The pressure is going to keep the wound open. Where’s your first aid kit.” 

Lifting my eyes up from my hand I point to the red box, “probably the box that says First Aid. But, that’s just a guess.” 

He turns and mutters, “smart ass” before opening the container and grabbing hydrogen peroxide, gauze and tape.

Placing my hand over the sink he pours the peroxide on my cut and it bubbles over. 

“So since we have time, how are you?”

“Seriously?” I snort out.

“What? I’m just…trying to make conversation.” Rooster says while measuring out the gauze.

“How have I been? Hmm let’s see. My father is terminally ill, my mother is barely leaving the house because she is terrified that if she does, something will happen to him. My siblings never come around much because they claim they have too much going on with their own families. And me? Oh well I'm stuck living at home, and working at this bar because well…that’s how life goes when your original plan just doesn’t work out.” I say while staring blankly into the mirror at his reflection.

His movements halt as he looks up at me in the mirror, “Look Andie…I…when he pulled my papers I thought that was it. I didn’t think there was anything I could do that would change how my career was going to pan out if i…” 

Shaking my head I grab the gauze and place it around my hand, “I’m not saying what you did was the wrong choice. You made the best choice for you, and I’m happy for you. I’m really fucking happy that after all that bullshit you were still able to be exactly where you are. What I'm pissed about, is that you didn’t have the fucking decency to tell me that you were getting a second chance.”

“What was I supposed to say? I mean you had already thrown out your admission I figured…”

“I DID IT FOR YOU. This was something we had wanted to do our entire lives. Seeing how devastated you were when you realized what Maverick did…how was I supposed to feel good going? I declined admissions because I couldn’t see myself in the navy without you. But, as I have learned, that was a stupid decision because, here you are a pilot and here I am…a bartender soaked in Tequila.”

Grabbing the first aid materials I stuff them back in the box and make my way to the back of the bar with the remaining ingredients.

"So...did you and Rooster have time to chat during your first aid lesson?" Penny smirks

"I really don't want to talk about it." I mutter close to tears.

She takes note of my emotion change and for the remainder of the night keeps the conversation to a minimum.

Once the final guy sways on out of the bar we close the doors and click the open sign off.

Letting out a huff I move towards the bar with a rag and a spray bottle.

"Nope. You sit and answer my questions while I clean." Penny says while tying her hair up

"What? Answer what questions? And Penny this place is a mess you're not cleaning it on you'r-"

"I didn't say I was cleaning it alone...you answer my questions and then after you can help. Now sit, and tell me what the hell is up with you and Rooster."

Letting out a defeated sigh I tell her everything.

"Okay...yeah...I can see where him coming back creates a bit of a spicy environment...but do you want my opinion?"

I nod gently

"Now...I'm not taking sides. You know I love you and I think the way that you feel is completely valid. I knew since the moment you walked into this bar with your daddies big aviator glasses and that Top Gun hat that you wanted nothing more than to be in one of these photos on the wall. You wanted to be a pilot, the Navy has been calling your name for years and... the fact that you declined your admission for Bradley...that's something that even shocks me. But it does show the kind of person you are and the heart you have, and you should be proud of that. Now, the other side of that...you're putting a lot of force on him for something that you chose. Again, I know that you didn't know that the admissions could be sent again at a different time, and I do agree that he should have called you and let you know...but also see it from his side. He let you turn down your dream for him. He watched you lose what you thought was going to be your future, and when he got a second chance, he probably felt so horrible in taking it but knew he wasn't prepared for anything else. Baby he doesn't have what you have. His family, is the Navy. That is one thing that makes Bradley Bradley. Now I'm not saying you need to make amends with him right now...I'm just saying, maybe it's time to let it go. You both had a beautiful friendship and I think right now more than ever...you deserve to get that back."

I sat on the barstool with tears streaming down my cheeks as I take in Penny's words. She's right. I have been sitting here for years, acting like a child. Bradley didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve the way I treated him. Am I still pissed at him for not calling me, yes. But, am I proud of him for going through everything regardless of what was done to his papers...yes.

Nodding my head I let out a sigh, "you're right. I just, I think when it happened I was just so blindsided by it. I mean he was supposed to be my best friend. I don't really know how I would have felt in the moment if he had told me that he was accepted again, but I think it wouldn't have been as long lasting as this has. I just have always felt like I did this thing for him and...if he knew that he could get a second chance why didn't he allow me one...and I know I have my family and you and Amelia and I'm so grateful, it's just...I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I am 33 years old, living at home, working at a bar and taking as many shifts as I possibly can so I can avoid being at home and waiting for the ball to drop. I mean I can't tell you how many of my friends save the dates I have in my top drawer. But I never go because I just feel so out of place and behind. I mean I can't show up to those things single and without a vision for my life. For fucks sake I just feel like I'm sitting in a glass jar trapped watching everyone around me achieve their goals and hit milestones and here I am with gauze on my fucking hand and sticky tequila on my jeans just...I remember being younger and saying you know if I don't have a partner by a certain age or kids, or if I don't have the house I dreamed of, it would be fine because at least I have my dream career...I don't know. I try and pretend that I'm fine and that things will workout and I can do this all on my own blah blah blah...but I won't deny that I'm just...I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of waking up and already feeling like I'm failing. Feeling like I just can't catch a fucking break. I just...I want it to make sense...somehow."

Laying my head on the bar I let out a very large breath and I hear Penny shuffling from behind the bar.

"Life is hard. It's never going to get easier, it is just going to be easier to handle. And don't for a second, think that you are just a woman that works at a bar. You are so much more than that, you have a big heart, a huge personality, and your life isn't over. You have so many years left to live and to figure it out. That's the fun thing about life. We are all doing it for the first time and we are all sitting with the same questions and the same exhaustions as you. I mean hell, I may have this bar in my pocket but I'm still a mother and I worry that Amelia needs more. She needs someone more present than me, and believe me, there are plenty of wine bottles that will tell you those stories. But, don't be so hard on yourself. You're doing the best you can with the material you are given and I promise you, making amends with Bradley...that could be a great first step."

She places her hand on my cheek and gives me a smile

"Now, go home. I'll finish cleaning. I want you take a bath, listen to your music and relax. Tomorrow is another day and I need you here with me when the boys come back."

Standing I take off my apron, "you sure you don't want me to help you clean?"

She nods, "Yes I'm sure. You go home and prepare that little speech for Rooster tomorrow." She sends me a wink.

I roll my eyes, "see you tomorrow Pen."

[final-girl96]

Ageless Secrets Chapter Fourteen

A/N: This is a longer chapter. It took me longer to write it than I thought it would. I was ready for this scene but at the same time wasn't. Hope you enjoy it, and I'm sorry if you cry a little.

As we got closer to Bill and Franks, an airplane came into view. It was one of the many that fell from the sky and crashed on the night of the outbreak. I remember Tess putting the car in reverse, backing up, and turning around, putting the pedal to the floor to try and get out of the way as a plane came spiraling out of the sky. We could feel the heat after the plane hit nose first into the ground and caught fire, killing everyone inside.

“Holy shit. You fly in one of those?” Ellie asked. “A few times, sure,” Joel told her. “So lucky,” she whispered. “Didn’t feel like it at the time. Get shoved into a middle seat, pay 12 bucks for a sandwich.” I hummed in agreement. “I remember going to Disney World when I was about eight or nine with my grandparents. We had to fly, and it was pretty cool seeing the world below. Everything was so small.

“Dude, you got to go up in the sky!” Ellie said excitedly. “Yeah, well, so did they,” Joel mumbled and kept walking. Ellie looked over at me with raised eyebrows. “Grim.”

We walked past the plane crash, and Ellie was still asking questions. I couldn't blame her. She wasn't even born when the world went to shit. She's just curious about what the world was like before and what happened that night of the outbreak.

“So, everything came crashing down in one day?”

“Pretty much.”

“How? I mean… no one was infected with Cordyceps. Everybody’s fine, eating in restaurants and flying in planes. And then, all at once? How did it even start? If you have to get bitten to be infected, then who bit the first person? Was it a monkey? I bet it was a monkey.”

I laughed a little, “It wasn’t a monkey. I thought you went to school," I said. “FEDRA school. They don’t teach us how their shitty government failed to prevent a pandemic.” Fair enough.

Joel spoke up then on the subject. “No one knows for sure, but, best guess… Cordyceps mutated. And some of it got into the food supply. It was probably a basic ingredient like flour or sugar. There were certain brands of food that were sold everywhere, all across the country, across the world. Bread, cereal… pancake mix.” He paused and had that distant look in his eye like he was replaying a memory from that day or before. He took a deep breath and exhaled, continuing what he was saying.

“You eat enough of it. It’ll get you infected. So the tainted food all hits the store shelves around the same time, Thursday. People bought it, ate some Thursday night or Friday morning. Day goes on… they started to get sick. Afternoon, evening, they got worse. Then they started bitin’. Friday night, September 26, 2003. And by Monday, everything was gone.”

Silence fell between the three of us. That night replayed in my head like it was a movie. Everything still felt like it happened yesterday. We were sitting at the table eating dinner, and then Tess and I were running for our lives. Andy was dead on the floor, and Chase was locked in the basement, which no doubt he's still there today.

“It makes more sense than monkeys,” Ellie said, breaking the silence.

“Thanks,” Joel said with a shake of his head. I scoffed out a laugh. “Sure,” she said. We walked a little ways until we stopped. Joel looked over at me, and I nodded. “What?” Ellie asked, looking between us.

“We’ll cut across the woods here,” Joel told her. She looked confused. “Isn’t the road easier?” She asked. “Yeah, it’s just… There’s stuff up there you shouldn't see," I told her. “Well, now I have to see.”

“I don’t want you to. Seriously. Ellie!” Joel said sternly. “Can it hurt me?” She asked, and he answered with no. “You’re too honest, man. Should’ve said axe murderer. Uh… whatever it was… I think it’s gone.” Ellie ran ahead of Joel and I. “Guess we're going that way,” I said, walking after her.

When we caught up to her, she was looking into a pit full of bones. “About a week after Outbreak Day, soldiers… went through the countryside, evacuated the small towns. Told you you were goin’ to a QZ, and you were… if there was room. If there wasn’t…” Joel trailed off.

“These people weren’t sick?” She asked. I shook my head, “No, probably not,” I said. She shook her head, trying to understand. “Why kill them? Why not just leave ’em be?” She asked. “Dead people can’t be infected,” Joel said and walked away. I sighed and wrapped my arms around Ellie's shoulders. “Come on, we're almost there.”

After walking a few more miles, we finally made it to Bill and Franks. As soon as the fare came into view, I had an overwhelming feeling of dread. I stopped walking and looked out in front of me. The grass was long, brown, and dry. The floors were dried up. There was absolutely no life behind those fences.

“Something isn't right.”

I rushed forward, punching the gate code in and pushing the gate open. Joel and Ellie were still at the gate when I rushed into the house. “Frank! Bill!” I called out. I came to a dead stop in the dining room. Everything was  covered in a layer of dust. The table still had dishes and food from the last time it was used.

I shook my head and ran up the stairs. “Frank!” I checked each room upstairs first before heading down the stairs to their bedroom. When I tried the door knob, it was locked. “No no no no. Frank! Bill!” I pounded on the door with my fists calling their names. A hand placed itself on my shoulder, and I shrugged it off, then walked towards the front door. Tears stung my eyes. I've lost everyone I've cared about. Tess is gone, now Bill and Frank are gone too.

“Yn.”

I stopped and looked into the dining room, Ellie sat at the table holding an envelope. “This was left for you.” She held it out in front of her, and I slowly walked over and took it out of her hand. On the table lay another envelope with Joel's name and a key to the truck. Joel came into the room, and Ellie read what was on the envelope.

“To whomever… but probably Joel.” She looked up at us and said. I figured I fell under “whomever.” Came with this.” She slid the key across the dusty table.

“So they’re dead?” Joel asked quietly. I could feel his gaze on me. Ellie was looking at me too when she hummed a yes. “Mm-hmm.” Silence filled the air a few long minutes.

“You, you wanna?” Ellie asked, holding the letter out.

“Go ahead. You do it.”

I didn't really know if I wanted to hear it or not. I had so many mixed emotions. I clutched the letter that was left for me from Frank and listened as Ellie began to read Bill's letter.

August 29, 2023.

If you find this… please do not come into the bedroom. We left a window open so the house wouldn’t smell, but it will probably be a sight.” I had to choke back a sob that was bubbling up as my eyes started to burn with tears.

I’m guessing you found this, Joel, because anyone else would’ve been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps.

Hehehehehehehehe.

I rolled my eyes at how Bill always found himself funny when it came to blowing people up who tried to break into the complex.

Take anything you need.The bunker code is the same as the gate code but in reverse. Anyway… I never liked you, but still, it’s like we’re friends… almost. And I respect you.

So, I’m gonna tell you something because you’re probably the only person who will understand.

I used to hate the world, and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong because there was one person worth saving. That’s what I did. I saved him. Then I protected him.

That’s why men like you and me are here. We have a job to do. And God help any motherfuckers who stand in our way.

I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep…”

Ellie trailed off not wanting to finish the letter. Joel walked over to her and grabbed it to read it himself. By the look on his face I would say it had to do with Tess.

“Stay here,” he told Ellie and walked out the door. She looked at me and asked, “So you wanna know what it said?” I didn't answer, but I didn't move.

“Use them to keep Tess and yn safe. And p.s. get your head out of your ass and tell her how you feel. Everyone can see it. Don't be a dumbass and lose something that could be great.”

I didn't say anything, just walked out the door, across the street, and into my house, slamming the door shut.

I didn't get very far, just to the living room. Everything in here was dusty too. I would need to clean it up later at some point. I sat on the couch and held the letter from Frank in front of me.

My hands shook as I turned it over to pull the letter out. I had to take a deep breath before unfolding it and reading it. And as I did tears streamed down my face and blurred my vision.

Yn,

You've probably figured out already before you even opened the gates that something wasn't right.

You've always had that intuition of knowing when things were off or if somebody was bad or good.

You always follow your gut feelings, and I admire you for that. 

I'm sorry I didn't try and contact you first about how bad things had gotten shortly after you left. But I didn't tell you because I didn't want you worrying and fussing over me.

You're young, and even though the world isn't like it once was, it doesn't mean you can't have a life. You deserve to be happy.

If you want to stay here, then you're more than welcome. You know where everything is and how to work all of it.

But I would really like you to make up with Tess. She's all you left of your past life. She's your sister and she loves you.

I always want you to admit your feelings for Joel. He might not show it, and he might push you away, but he cares about you. He's just scared to get too close to people. He and Bill are a lot alike.

I can see the way he would look at you when you weren't paying attention. He gets angry when you put yourself in danger. I know he can be a hard ass but he does care a lot about you. He denies it. He acts like he doesn't have feelings for you even though he does.

He closes himself off so he doesn't get too close. He probably thinks he's too old for you and that you could do a lot better.

When he pushes away, you need to push forward. It's not Tess he wants. It's you. You're the one who had his heart. You're his weakness. He would kill anything and anybody who tried to hurt you. He'd probably burn this world down if you asked him to.

So stop being a hardass. Get out of your head. Take a leap of faith for me and for you. Tell him how you really feel about him and don't let him run away.

I love you, and I'll always be watching over you. You're never truly alone in this world. I will always be with you. Go live your life as best as you can. Don't regret anything, and don't overthink everything either.

Frank

xoxo

[naomihatake]

Piece of peace

Summary: first meeting between Female!OC and Naruto at Cherry Blossom Festival. 1700 words

TW: fluff, mentions of death and hospitals, brief description of a wound, discrimination, mention of orphans

A/N: I don't know if I will continue this with little chapters, but I really wish to. I never written so much in English all in one sitting. Initially, I wrote this for another purpose, not to post it here, but lately I realized that sharing bits of my thoughts on here is freeing. So, here we go.

Excuse any grammar mistakes or misspellings. I'm open for opinions and constructive criticism!

She got rid of the sweaty ANBU uniform she's been stuck in for the entire mission, hissing at the dark material of her clothes that got glued to a wound because of the blood. With no mercy, she dragged the grey flak jacket off even as dull pain ran through her body, only to throw the black turtleneck into the washing machine.

The only reason why she took her time in treating her wound was because she hated the smell of the hospital, place in which other comrades of hers were now stuck. One of those comrades was Kakashi, the captain of the team, who once again overused his Sharingan. She healed herself until nothing was life threatening anymore and she wrapped bandages around the wound.

Outside the window people were chattering and kids were giggling. There was more fuss than usual and the reason for that was the Cherry Blossom Festival. She was lucky enough to get back into the village so soon, only after three days of a mission that could've left her without limbs.

While she dragged some comfortable and large on her, she got out of the apartment, looking like a mere civilian. The only thing that distinguished her from the people was the small black bag wrapped around her thigh, where she held some kunai and shuriken. She never got out of the apartment without those, a habit since becoming a shinobi.

Ruffling her dark short hair, she looked around, trying her best to ignore the worries regarding the mission she just finished. Her turquoise eyes were carefully analyzing her surroundings, but her walk was slow and steady, as if she took her time relaxing — an almost failed attempt.

A young woman, a kunoichi of only 21 years old, trying her best to act like a civilian for a night, even as the dark circles under her eyes were getting more visible with each sleepless night.

As she was walking, approaching the centre of the village, where the festival was held, her eyes fell on a small boy with hair as the sun. She blinked, remembering for a brief moment the appearance of the Fourth Hokage, who's been resting in the ground for six years. It was his kid.

She stopped in her tracks, meters away from him, figuring out what he was doing. Her eyebrows pulled together into a frown when she saw the man from the stand get angry at the boy for looking at his masks for too long. He shoved the mask out of the boy's hands while shouting loudly.

"You're scaring my clients!"

With a few quick steps, she got there in seconds, holding back from glaring at the man much taller than her.

"Give me this one and the kitsune mask," her voice gave away the anger boiling steadily in her veins. The way she stared into the man's eyes didn't help the startled reaction and the cuss words that left his lips.

She gave him the money and took both masks, handing the blond boy the one he initially chose. A soft smile painted her face, genuine kindness dancing in her eyes.

"Here, little one. It's for you."

Initially, the boy looked at her with wide eyes, as if not believing what he heard or saw. He was hesitant, probably expecting to be spitted on. When his hands finally took the mask from her hands, he smiled so brightly her heart melted.

There were enough orphans left after Kyuubi's attack. There were many people who were mourning their friends and family and they were blaming the little child standing in front of her in that moment. Everyone threw such ugly glances towards him it made her want to puke. As if it was his fault. As if he controlled the beast locked inside of him when he barely got born.

"Thank you, Nee-chan," the boy smiled up at her.

She arched her eyebrow for a second at the casual language, but she didn't mind it it.

"What's your name?"

"Uzumaki Naruto!" the child grinned.

Naruto. Right. That was his name, she thought.

"Then, Naruto, let's wear the masks together, alright?"

Why let him wear that mask on his own when she could wear one as well? Obviously, she always wears one, she got so used to it she felt more protected when her face was covered. She understood only half of the reasons why her anbu captain kept on wearing that damn mask over the lower half of his face.

Probably the reason why the kid stayed beside her for the night was the fact that he wasn't being shown kindness a lot of the time. She didn't mean to make him cling to her, but his presence was grounding. She hasn't talked with someone out of her anbu teammates in a month. It became almost suffocating, the way she forgot how to socualize, the way gruesome missions blurred her days.

She slowed her pace down just so he didn't have to rush, looking down at him from time to time. Chattering about nothings with the blonde kid felt good, almost freeing, and she guessed it must've felt pleasant for him too. He was probably alone too much of the time, discriminated, pushed away by everyone.

She knew that the mask he wore made it easier for people to ignore him and she knew he was well aware of it, even if only on a subconscious level. Such a young soul, already experiencing too much. It reminded her own her own childhood, the childhoods of her friends, people were already adults, junins.

"Do you want to watch the fireworks together?" she asked him, taking her mask off only to let him see her smile. She'd give him as many smiles as she can, the same way she smiled at any kid, at any animal, at each one of her friends.

"Can we?" Naruto's happiness seemed so fragile, even as his eyes sparkled with hope.

"Of course we can. Come here," she chuckled, picking him up, sitting him on her shoulders.

But she wasn't a tall individual either, so she raised on her tip toes between the tall men that stayed in her view. The fireworks didn't start yet, there were just two "dragons" — men distinguished as such — dancing around in a circle, but she could only hear the specific music.

"Don't get scared, alright? I'll find a better view."

She formed the tiger sigil with her hands and she used Shunshin to teleport on the rooftop of a house, where the view was much better. She heard Naruto's surprised voice at what she did and she could only chuckle at his reaction at such a lame jutsu. It's a D-rank jutsu.

She sat down and put him down as well. Her legs were parted, her feet planted on the rooftop, her elbows resting on her knees as she looked up at the sky. Fireworks were so beautifully painting the sky, the loud sounds muffled by the happy voice of the child by her side. It pulled a smile on her lips as she left the mask next to her.

"They're so beautiful!"

"They are," she admitted in a faint voice.

"At the next festival I'll do that jutsu on my own, dattebayo!" Naruto turned his head towards her, his mask down.

"Really?" she challenged him with a playful smile. "I can't wait to see that, then."

"You're a shinobi, right? What's your name, Nee-chan?"

"Naomi. Asahi Naomi, and, yes, I am a shinobi."

She didn't mention her role in ANBU, since it was forbidden.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" He suddenly got up on his feet.

The place stable, since they were on a rooftop, so he almost tripped, but she quickly steadied him, her hands carefully gripping at his shoulders.

"I wonder, can I?" she tilted her head. "Maybe. Depends on how quick you learn."

"I'm a fast learner!" he bubbled with happiness at her response.

She let out a light laugh at his attitude, shaking her head, strands of brown hair falling over her cheeks.

"We'll see that later, Naruto."

She watched him pout at her and turn his back again when another round of fireworks started. She stared at them as she got locked in her own thoughts, wondering if she should give in to such a request.

She was a busy shinobi, she was walking on the edge of death with every mission. All anbu missions are S-ranked and it's for a reason. So many comrades die in missions and it's maddening. She's still wondering how she's alive, how she manages to smiles at anyone except herself. She can never muster the energy to smile at herself in the mirror.

Should she teach him? It's a big commitment. He's been denied of help and kindness for so long, it makes sense he clung to her after that small gesture. A meaningless things for everyone but him. For him it probably meant more than she could ever understand.

She blinked as she looked at the ruffled blonde hair in front of her. She let out a small sigh.

"I will. I'll teach you how to handle shuriken first, kunai, then we can jump to jutsu."

She had no clue how hard it was for the little boy to understand some basic information, but the moment he actually got it, he was good at it. The moment he understood how his chakra worked, which would happen only with exercise, he'd be so good at it she was surprised. He learned slowly and so fast at the same time, which was a weird way to explain it.

But it brought her some normalcy. She didn't have to think of deaths and missions when she came back to Konoha and he'd run into her randomly. There were months in which she didn't even time to stay for a day in Konoha, but the smile on his lips when he finally saw her felt unreal.

Such a sweet soul was waiting for her to come back alive from missions, even if he had no clue what could happen. He didn't know how her mask looked and she was happy that way. He didn't know the danger she was put through, but he had enough to deal with. She'd do anything to lift something off his tiny shoulders.

[angstysebfan]

Mist Series-Book 1

Chapter 1- The Beginning…

Summary: Melanie Stakes aka Mist looks like a normal person to the outside world. What no one but her and her mother knows is that she is a secretly trained assassin who is being forced to do the bidding of her mother to save the life of those she loves the most.

A/N: I’ve had this idea for along time. I hope you like it. Eventually Bucky will be involved but that won’t but mostly not until book 2. Each book will be probably like 5 chapters or so. Maybe more maybe less. Depends. Enjoy!

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When Melanie Stakes was born to Martha and Sean Stakes, no one but her mother knew what her future would be. As soon as she was able to walk, Martha would take her to “mommy and me class” when really she would bring her to her organization, “Renown” to start training her to be an expert assassin.

Her father didn’t realize his wife was the head of this secret organization. Thankfully when their second daughter Ashley was born Martha didn’t do the same to her. Thinking her too weak. Melanie didn’t want to be an assassin, but with her mother threatening to kill her father and sister, she knew she had no choice.

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10 years old

“Again until you hit the bullseye every time!” Yelled Martha.

Pop,pop,pop,pop. Melanie once again fired off 4 shots from her little 9mm gun.

“What is wrong with you? Stop being incompetent and hit the damn bullseye!” Martha yelled.

“I’m doing my best mother,” mumbled Melanie.

“Well when you lose your father and sister then tell yourself that,” threatened her mother.

A chill ran through Melanie as she reloaded, aimed and fired, hitting the bullseye each time. She smiled at her mother waiting for praise.

“What are you smiling at girl? It took you too long to get it done. You must get better. You know what’s at stake.”

Melanie lowered her head in shame and then nodded. "I'm sorry mother. I promise I'll do better."

That night you're having family dinner pretending to be the happy family you know your not. It kills you having to lie to your father about everything. The fact that he has no idea who he is married to and had children with breaks your heart. He is just to kind and trusting.

"So Melly, how was school today?" your father asked.

Before you got a chance to respond with another lie your mother stepped in. "I got a call from your teacher that you are not putting in enough effort and that you are about to fail."

"Melanie that's unacceptable!" your father said loudly.

You once again bow your head in shame. "I'm sorry daddy. I am going to do better. I promise. I won't let you down," you say.

You feel the small hand of Ashley in yours. You look at her and she gives you a small smile.

"Can I go to the special school Melly goes to?" she asks your parents to change the subject somewhat.

"Absolutely not," your mother says. "We were lucky to afford her being there. We cannot afford you as well Ashley. Besides you're doing well where you are," she says.

Ashley, only 7, looks disappointment and removes her hand from yours. You lean over as your parents start to talk.

"Don't worry Ash. My school sucks. You don't want to go there," you whisper making her laugh.

You smile and look back toward your plate and notice your mother's glare. You knew you were in more trouble now.

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When summer was coming, your father and mother agreed to send you away to summer camp. You were almost excited that you could have a normal summer when you remembered who your mother was.

"You should be excited because you are about to be trained by the best assassin in the whole world," she said happily.

You were confused not knowing who she was talking about.

"You're going to Hydra. You're going to be trained by the Winter Soldier."

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Hope you are all as excited for this as me. I know I'm tagging Bucky stuff but it's because eventually this will turn into a Bucky x OC fic. You just gotta be patient. Hope you like this!