#jasmine is blooming already

[kiisuuumii]

i just happened to find a jasmine shrub in the backyard and bro ??? its sampaguita ??!!!!

[barnacles34]

Bells and Whistles (Professional Hazard pt.2)

Karina x Male Reader

18+

It's three days after that beautiful night. Still in Rome.

The voicemail plays in the quiet of her bedroom. First: silence. Then a sharp intake of breath that makes your pulse jump. 

Your thumb hovers over the phone as her voice breaks into those familiar wet sounds that have been haunting you all afternoon.

'If you play that one more time—'

'Shh. This is art.'

She's burrowed in her fortress of quilts, only eyes visible over the edge. A paperback lies abandoned by her hip.

'Delete it.' But her voice has gone soft around the edges.

'Not a chance.' You take your time with your shoes. Let her watch the deliberate movements. 'This is better than your debut song—and you know how much I love that song.’'

'You're awful.' The quilt slips as she shifts. 'I was desperate.'

'Were you?' You tap the phone, find that specific moment where her voice catches. 'Tell me about desperate.'

Her sock-covered foot sneaks out, hooks behind your knee. Tugs. 'Twenty minutes for milk. Who takes twenty minutes for milk?'

'Someone wearing very expensive, very tight jeans.'

'Someone being cruel.'

You catch her ankle mid-retreat. The quilt falls away, reveals cotton shorts still damp from earlier. Your thumb finds the arch of her foot, presses. She makes that sound again—the one from the voicemail.

'Cruel?' Your fingers trace higher. 'I'm not the one sending pornographic voicemails in the middle of the day.'

'I didn't—' She breaks off as your hand slides up her calf.

'No?' You hit play again. Her recorded gasp fills the room. 'What would you call this then?'

She bites her knuckle. You replace it with your thumb, let her teeth graze the pad.

'That noise you made,' you murmur. 'Right at the end. Makes me feel invincible.'

'Yeah?' Her tongue darts out, tastes salt.

'Like I could do anything. Find Atlantis. Solve world peace.' You brush her temple with your lips. 'Handle two of you.'

She snorts, shoves at your chest. 'You can barely handle one.'

'Want to test that theory?'

The laughter dies in her throat as your palm finds her inner thigh. Heat blooms under cotton.

'Stay.' Her fingers twist in your shirt like anchors. 'I'll send more. A dozen. Two dozen.'

'Greedy girl.'

Her eyes crinkle at the corners. 'Your fault.'

When you kiss her, she melts like she's been waiting all day.

Her tongue maps the ridges of your teeth, memorizing territory she already knows by heart.

‘Cheater,’ she gasps when you pinch the clasp of her bra.

‘Architect.’

Her shorts fall. The quilt tangles around her hips. She arches when your mouth finds her neck. Whimpers when your teeth follow.

‘Still deleting it.’ She breathes.

‘Try.’

You hit playback again. Her moan swells—raw, unfiltered—as your fingers slide into her.

‘Fuck.’ Her head thrashes. ‘That’s—’

‘—Proof.’ You curl your fingers. ‘You’re my religion.’

She chokes on a laugh. A sob. Her hips stutter. You drink the sounds from her lips. Let her nails carve half-moons into your shoulders.

Later, when she’s boneless and blinking up at you, she traces your collarbone.

‘Twelve voicemails,’ she yawns.

‘Thirteen.’

‘Why thirteen?’

You press her palm to your chest. Let her feel the gallop. ‘One for every time I died at this very second.’

She stills.

Her teeth flash. Dangerous. Devoted. ‘Gladly.’

Your fingers move lazy. Slow. Dragging out every twitch, every choked gasp. She arches into your hand, sweat gluing her bangs to her temples.

‘Still… deleting it.’ She pants, hips circling.

‘Try harder.’ You crook your fingers. Watch her back bow.

Her moan syncs with the recording still playing softly nearby—a stereo echo of need. You drink the sound. Memorize the way her throat flutters.

It’s pulsing, it’s so wet and hot. Sucking in your fingers like quicksand.

‘You’re mean.’ She whines.

‘Mean?’ Your thumb swipes. ‘You begged for this. Remember?’

The voicemail crackles: “—can’t sleep, can’t think, just… please—”

You smirk. Kiss her inner thigh. Salt and jasmine. Her hips jerk.

‘No—wait—’ Her hand fists your hair. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t pull. Trembles.

You nuzzle the damp cotton. ‘Scared?’

‘Never.’

Her shorts peel away. You linger—inhale her, lips hovering. She whimpers.

You chuckle. ‘Even your pussy smells like jasmine.’

‘Please.’

The first lick is a tease. A glancing blow. She curses. The second? A vow.

You map her with your tongue—slow, reverent. Learn the rhythm that makes her thighs clamp your ears. The angle that steals her words. She’s wildfire in your mouth.

‘There—oh god, there—’

You double down. Fingers curl inside her. Thumb presses just so.

Her scream is raw. Beautiful. The quilt soaks. You don’t let up—suck gently as she shakes, drag your tongue through every pulse until she’s clawing the sheets.

Her juices quicken, a pungent musk of sex that’s just pure fucking sin—and you’re sucking it up like a thirsty dog.

Your tongue drags a slow circle around her clit—not touching it. Just tracing the swollen bud through her folds. She whines, thighs tensing.

‘Tease.’

‘Worshipper.’ you correct.

Her hips lift. You press her back down with a palm to her stomach. Feel the muscles flutter, feel the soft cream-like softness of her beautiful midriff.

First contact: a glancing lick. Just the tip of your tongue skating over her clit. She gasps. You catalog the sound—high, sharp, yours.

‘Again.’ She breathes.

You oblige. Slower this time. Let your tongue flatten, drag wet heat across her, bury your nose into her pelvis. Her fingers knot in the sheets.

‘Good?’

‘More.’

You hum. Vibration ripples through her. She jerks.

‘Easy,’ you murmur against her. ‘Let me learn you.’

Your thumbs part her folds. Expose her fully—glistening, flushed, pulse visible in the throb of her clit. You blow gently. Watch her clench, flesh constricting.

‘Cruel—’ A high moan escapes her.

‘Thorough.’

The first proper lick steals her voice. You start slow. Broad strokes from entrance to clit, savoring her tang. Her thighs quiver.

‘There,’ she hisses when your tongue flicks her clit. ‘God, there—’

You zero in. Flick. Flick. Steady rhythm. Her breath hitches.

‘Don’t stop—don’t—’

You switch tactics—suck gently. Her back arches.

‘Yes—like—ah—’

Her clit hardens under your tongue. You trace circles around it, avoiding direct contact. She sobs.

‘Please—’

You reward her: firm pressure, rapid flicks. Her hips stutter. You pin her down, red blooming around the hold you have over her stomach—relentless.

‘Close—I’m close—’

You slide two fingers inside. Curl. Her walls clamp.

‘Fuck—fuck—’

Her clit pulses under your tongue. You suck harder.

She shatters.

A broken scream. Hips grinding against your face. You ride her through it—tongue gentling, fingers stilling.

‘Too much—’

You kiss her inner thigh. Two more kisses along the outer lips. Taste salt. ‘Beautiful.’

She trembles. ‘Again.’

Her thighs tremble as she nudges you onto your back. The mattress dips under her weight. You reach to touch her face—always reaching—but she catches your wrist. Presses it to the pillow. 

Her grip isn’t firm. A request, not a demand.

‘Let me,’ she murmurs.

You nod.

Her lips start at your collarbone—a closed-mouth kiss that lingers. She exhales warm breath against the hollow of your throat. You swallow. She smiles against your skin.

Another kiss. Lower. The swell of your pectoral. The scar from that cat. Her tongue traces the jagged edge. You hiss.

The way her thick hair travels along your chest tickles. The soothing aroma of her shampoo almost paralyzing you.

Her teeth graze your nipple. Bite down just enough to make your hips jerk. The denim of your jeans rasps against her bare thighs.

‘Off,’ she says.

‘What’s the magic word?’

Her eyes flick up. Dark. Glossy with submission. ‘Please.’

You sit up to shuck your jeans. She pushes you back down. ‘Let me.’

Her fingers fumble with your belt. The leather slips. She growls—a sound you’ve only heard when she lost at Mario Kart the day before. You bite your cheek. Laughter threatens release.

‘Shut up.’

‘Didn’t say anything.’

The belt clatters to the floor. Your boxers follow. Cool air hits your cock. Her breath follows—warm, uneven.

‘Look at me,’ you say.

She does. Pupils blown. Lips parted. A string of saliva connects her tongue to her lower lip.

‘Beautiful,’ you murmur.

She flushes. Looks away.

Your thumb hooks her chin. ‘Eyes here, sweetheart.’

A whimper escapes her. She obeys.

The first lick is tentative. A kitten testing cream. Her tongue swipes the underside of your cock. Your abs clench in response.

‘Jimin—’

‘Shh.’

Her lips wrap the head. Suck gently. Your groan claws its way out. She moans in response—vibration traveling straight to your spine.

Fuck.

Her hand wraps your shaft. Strokes in time with her mouth. Too dry. Too rough. Perfection.

‘Condom?’ she mumbles around you, the slightest gap allowed for conversation.

‘Later.’

She hums. The sound liquefies your bones.

And she continues. Swollen lips wrapped around your length, tongue slightly pushing on the underside.

Her free hand drifts between her legs. You catch it.

‘Focus.’

‘Meanie.’

You guide her head back down. ‘Earn it.’

She takes you deeper. Smoldering eye contact as she inches closer to the hilt, whereupon her nose almost makes contact with your pelvic bone. Gags. Pulls off. Coughs.

Strings of thick spit follow her mouth as she wipes.

‘Okay?’

‘Perfect.’

She tries again. Slower. Breathing through her nose. Her throat opens. Takes you to the root this time. Tears spill.

You bite down on your lip.

Her nails dig into your thighs. Sting. Ground. 

She finds a rhythm—suck, release, swirl. Strings of spit travel down your length. Where her thumb massages your balls with the spit. Your vision blurs.

Amidst it all, she’s staring into you—daring you to force her down on your cock. Begging, even.

‘Close,’ you warn.

She pulls off. Strokes you fast. ‘Come.’

You arch. ‘Where?’

Her tongue darts out. Catches the first pearl of cum. ‘Everywhere.’

The orgasm rips through you. Strips you raw. You spill across her lips, her chin, the swell of her breasts. She licks her lips. Grins.

‘Good?’

‘Amazing.’

She crawls up your body. Fully swallowing the load, then pressing a light kiss on your cheek.

Her mouth lingers on your cheekbone—wet, warm. The kiss sticks when she pulls back. Milky streaks still glisten between her breasts. You thumb one. She shivers.

‘Messy,’ you murmur.

‘Yours.’

Her nipples graze your chest as she straddles you. Heat blooms where skin meets skin. You palm her ribs. Feel the rabbit-quick thrum beneath.

Her hips lift. Your cock nudges her entrance. Slick. Swollen. You hold still. Make her work for it.

‘Please.’ She breathes, sinking down.

Heat swallows you. Tight. Quivering. You bite your tongue. Blood blooms.

She moves like water—slow swirls, thighs trembling. Her breasts sway. You catch one. Lick the salt from its curve.

‘Look at me.’

She doesn’t. Eyes screwed shut. Hair plastered to her neck. Hot and heavy with arousal.

You pinch her nipple. Gentle. Cruel. ‘Look.’

She whimpers. Lashes lift. Pupils black as oil spills.

‘Good girl.’

She whimpers. Clenches. Your fingers dig into her hips.

‘Faster.’

‘Make me.’

You buck up. She gasps. Nails score your chest.

‘Cheat—’

Her rhythm fractures. Hips stuttering. You let her chase it—the sweet friction, the burn. Her moans pitch higher.

‘Close—I’m close—,’ she whimpers.

You still her hips. ‘Wait.’

She sobs. ‘Please—’

‘Say it.’

Your thumb finds her clit. Circles.

She breaks. ‘Yours. Always yours.’

You release her. Let her slam down. Take what she needs.

Her orgasm rips through both of you—convulsions, bitten-off cries. Her rhythmic roll of hips turns frenzied. You let her ride it. Milk every pulse. 

After all, you’re obsessed—crazy about her.

When she collapses, you roll her over. Press into the sweat-slick hollow of her back.

‘Again.’

She shakes her head. Weak.

You bite her shoulder. ‘Again.’

Her body opens. Always opens. You grip your cock along her swollen slit, the sticky wetness almost  drives you mad. Regardless, you fuck her slow this time. 

Deep. Dragging each thrust. Feeling how her pussy drags on your cock, slick wet sounds singing into your ears.

‘Feel it?’

She nods. Pillow muffling her whines.

Your hand slides under. Cups her breast. Squeezes.

You curl over her. Chest to heaving back. Lips to her ear.

​​Her lips linger at your ear—sticky with confession. You taste salt when she pulls away. The room smells of sex and the spilt vanilla candle she lit hours ago, wax pooling like liquid amber.

She softly guides your hand to her throat. Your thumb finds the pulse. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. A trapped bird.

"Harder," she whispers.

You tighten. Feel her swallow.

Her breasts press against your chest as she arches, nipples pebbling against your scars. The heat between her legs slicks your thigh.

"Inside.’

You flip her. Sheets snag her knees. She whines. You bite the sound from her lips.

Her hands fist the headboard. You press into her slow. Molten velvet. Her moan fractures.

‘Eyes.’

She obeys. Always obeys.

You move. Deliberate. Each thrust a psalm. Her breasts sway—heavy, flushed. You palm one. Squeeze. Milk-white skin blooms red.

‘More—’

‘Quiet.’

She bites her wrist. You replace it with your fingers.

‘Sing for me.’

Her cry splinters the air. You swallow it. Fuck her deeper.

The headboard knocks the wall. Syncopated. Her ankles lock at your waist. Pull. Beg.

‘Who?’ you demand.

‘Yours.’

‘Louder.’

‘Yours~!’

The word still ringing when you slam into her. No finesse. Piston hips. Her breasts slap your chest—heat and sweat and jasmine.

She chokes. Nails rake your back. ‘Too—’

‘Take it.’

Her legs lock. Ankles digging into your behind. You fuck her like proving a point. Jackhammer rhythm. Headboard cracks plaster.

Dust rains down as you drag her hips back, slam into her harder. No rhythm now—just ruin.

She chokes on a scream, face mashed into the quilt, ass raised like an offering.

Your grip bruises her waist, fingers denting flesh as you split her open again. Again. Again and again. 

You can feel your balls hit the wetness of her pussy, smacking wet sounds onto her slit.

‘Take it.’ You grind deeper, pelvis punishing her clit with each thrust. Her thighs quiver, slick with sweat and your earlier release. ‘Wanted me rough? Here.’

She sobs into the mattress, voice shredded. ‘T-too—’

‘You don’t get to.’ You fist her hair, yank her head back. Her spine bows, throat exposed. ‘You begged for this. Remember?’

A nod. A whimper.

You snarl, slamming home. The wet slap of skin-on-skin drowns her cries. Her nails claw the sheets, nearly ripping threads. You lean over her, teeth scoring her shoulder. 

Her scream cracks as you pin her wrists, pound into her like you’re exorcising ghosts.

The bed groans. Her breasts sway, nipples raw from your mouth. She’s so tight, clenching around your cock like she’s trying to keep you trapped inside.

‘Gonna break you,’ you rasp, thumb digging into her asshole.

She shrieks, back arching. ‘P-please—’

‘Please what?’

‘Ruin me—’

You do. Hips pistoning, sweat stinging the bite marks on her neck. You don’t stop—can’t stop—driving into her convulsions until your vision whites out.

She sobs. High. Broken. ‘There there there~!’

Your thumb finds her clit. Grind. Her scream lodges in your teeth.

‘Come.’

‘Can’t—can’t—’

You bite her shoulder. ‘Come.’

She shatters. Walls milking. Clenching. Begging without words.

You drill deeper. Tip hitting that spongy ache. Her eyes roll back.

‘Gonna fill you,’ you snarl.

‘Please please—’

One last thrust. Hilt-deep.

You rupture.

Whiteout. Earthquake hips. Flood her until your knees buckle.

She collapses into the fault line you’ve carved. Whimpers when you pull out. Spend drips down her thigh.

Her finger swipes it—all that cumulative spend coupled along her swollen cunt. Lets the slurry couple along her tongue.

‘I love how you taste.’

‘God. You’re too fucking perfect.’ You drop down onto her. Cuddling.

Moonlight spills through the curtains. She's tucked against you, all soft edges now.

'You okay?' Your fingers ghost over her shoulder.

'Mm.' A pause. 'Was it too much?'

'Never.'

'But I was...' She shifts slightly. 'I got carried away.'

'Hey.' You tilt her chin up. 'That's what I love about you.'

'What? Being a mess?'

'Being real.'

She burrows closer. 'Still. Sorry if I—'

'Don't you dare apologize.'

'But—'

'Want some water?'

'If you move, I'll write a very detailed exposé about you.'

'About what? My green tea addiction?'

'Chapter One: The Man Who Chose Hydration Over Cuddles.'

'Riveting.'

'Mm. I'll even include citations.'

Your fingers trace idle patterns on her arm. 'What's Chapter Two?'

'Our future kids being haunted by your tea collection.'

'Kids, huh?'

'Tiny humans who'll only drink iced americanos.'

'In winter? That's grounds for custody battle.'

She pinches your side. 'They'll be perfect.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. Little artists with their mom's smile and their dad's terrible sense of humor.'

'My humor is exquisite.'

'You'll teach them to be insufferable.'

'And you'll teach them to be beautiful.'

She props herself up. Hair mussed, eyes soft. 'Where should we live?'

'Somewhere quiet. With big windows.'

'And a garden?'

'For your flowers and my tea herbs.'

'Domestic.' She wrinkles her nose. 'I like it.'

You pull her closer. 'We'll need a library.'

'For bedtime stories?'

'And quiet mornings.'

'With a reading nook?'

'Big enough for three.'

'Four,' she corrects. 'Maybe five.'

'Ambitious.'

She kisses your jaw. 'Thought you could handle anything.'

'Try me.'

'Five kids. All girls. All with my stubbornness.'

'Terrifying.'

'But worth it.'

You thread fingers through her hair. 'Worth everything.'

'Even giving up your tea collection?'

'Now you're pushing it.'

She laughs, soft and real. 'I'll let you keep the fancy cups.'

'Generous.'

'I know.' She yawns. 'I'm a catch.'

'The biggest.'

Her fingers trail your chest. 'Hey.'

'Mm?'

'Think our kids will be tall?'

'With your genes? Doubtful.'

She bites your shoulder. 'I'm average height.'

'For a garden gnome.'

'For a normal person.’ She groans.

‘—Who has been crushed ever so slightly by a hydraulic press.’

‘Ugh.’ She falls back into the bed.

‘We need a shower.’

She huffs. ‘No, I need a shower.’

‘Hm?’

‘I know what you’re gonna do: act like it’s a shower then nail me for the next half-hour in there.’

‘Oh?’

‘Don’t oh me. My legs are still sore from the cumulative effects of the past 3 days’

'Fine.' You pull her closer. 'Five more minutes.'

'Five turns into fifty with you.'

'Can you blame me?'

She traces patterns on your chest. 'I have to be at the airport by six.'

'Skip it.'

'Right. I'll just tell my company I found something better to do.'

'Like?'

'Like getting ravished by a journalist with no self-control.'

'Sounds reasonable to me.'

Her laugh is soft. Sad. 'I can’t let go of this.'

'This?'

'You.' She props herself up. 'Your stupid jokes. Your hands. The way you look at me like I'm...'

Your fingers find her hair. 'How long?'

'A week. Maybe two.'

'I'll die.'

'Drama queen.'

'No, actually die. Waste away. They'll write articles: Local Writer Perishes From Karina Deficiency.'

She smacks your chest. 'Stop.'

'My last words will be "if only she'd stayed one more day."'

'I hate you.'

'You love me.'

'Yeah.' She kisses your jaw. 'That's the problem.'

She sits up suddenly. 'Wait. What if—'

'What if?'

'My apartment in Seoul has a separate entrance. Service elevator.' The words tumble out. 'Nobody uses it except staff. And I have this office, connected to my room—'

'Jimin.'

'—could set up a desk there. Get you one of those fancy writing chairs. And there's this cafe nearby, really private, the owner's super discrete—'

You prop yourself up. Watch her plan your smuggling with bright eyes.

'The security team changes rotation at 2AM.' She's drawing invisible blueprints on your chest. 'That's when we could—'

'Breathe, baby.'

'I'm serious.' Her fingers curl against your skin. 'I've thought about this. A lot. Like, embarrassingly a lot.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' She ducks her head. 'Have the whole thing mapped out in my head. When to sneak you in. Which staff to trust. Where to hide your toothbrush.'

'My toothbrush gets its own strategic planning?'

'Everything gets strategic planning.' She looks up. 'I'd make it work. I'd make it perfect.'

'Jimin.'

'I know it's crazy.' Her voice cracks. 'But I can't—the thought of not—'

You pull her down. Kiss her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. 'Tell me more about this secret entrance.'

She breathes against your neck. 'Really?'

'Really. Though I should warn you—'

'What?'

'My toothbrush is high-maintenance. Needs its own security detail.'

She laughs, wet and relieved. 'I'm being pathetic.'

'You're being perfect.' Your thumb catches a tear. 'And I'm taking notes.'

'Yeah?'

'Mm yeah. Finally found my title: "How to Smuggle a Writer: A Professional Hazard."'

Jimin nuzzles into you further. Purring at this moment of peace.

2 Weeks Later

Dawn creeps through her expensive curtains. She's wrapped around you like a koala, skin on skin, taking up more space than her tiny frame should allow.

You try to slip away. Her arms tighten.

'No,' she mumbles against your chest.

'Tea.'

'Lies.'

'Green tea.'

'Worse lies.'

But she lets you go, rolling into the warm spot you leave behind. You pause at the door—she's barely covered by the sheet, hair a mess across your pillow. Perfect.

The kitchen gleams in morning light. That copper kettle she insisted on buying catches the sun—"Because proper tea needs proper tools," she'd declared, like your entire existence before her was barbaric.

She pads in almost-naked just as the water's heating, with your discarded shirt from yesterday.

'Cold?'

'Miss you already.'

'I'm right here.'

'Too far.' She hooks her chin over your shoulder, arms sliding around your waist. 'What blend?'

'The one you say you hate.'

'Mm. The grassy one?'

'Getting better at this.'

She hums against your skin. Already reaching for her cup—the blue ceramic one that somehow migrated from the hotel to her apartment.

First sip. Her eyes close.

'Well?'

'It’s okay.' She takes another sip. 'Bland. I guess.'

She grins wide as you turn around. Getting closer to you, inhaling the smell of your fresh t-shirt. 

'Noted.' You kiss her temple. 'Want the rest of mine too?'

'Yes.' A sleepy smile. 'But only because I love you.'

'Of course.' Your greatest triumph: her, here, stealing your tea and your heart. 'Only because of that.'

'Want breakfast?' She's already moving to the fridge.

'You're cooking?'

'Don't sound so scared.' She pulls out eggs, something that looks suspiciously gourmet. 'I've been practicing. Besides, I’m tired of eating the coal you call food, and the bacteria colony I call food.'

'Since when?'

'Since I decided to be domestic.' She hip-checks you away from the counter. 'Go sit. Let me work.'

You watch her move around the kitchen. Something's different. A nervousness in her hands, a flutter in her movements.

'Stop staring.'

She’s revelling in it, how she gets you dumb-struck every time you get a glance of her.

Too cute.

'Can't help it.'

She sets a plate in front of you. Simple breakfast. Eggs. Toast. But arranged with careful precision. Something white peeking out from under the toast.

'Fancy.' You reach for your fork.

'Wait.' Her fingers twist in your shirt. 'Look under.'

'Under the toast?'

She nods. Not breathing.

You lift the bread. There's a small note. Written as small as her hands would allow. 

‘Pregnant.’

The world stops.

'Jimin.'

'I know it's fast.' The words rush out. 'I know we just—but I've been feeling strange and the test was just sitting there in my bathroom for days and I finally—this morning while you were sleeping—'

You pull her into your lap.

'Say something.'

'When?'

'2 weeks, maybe? Remember that night after the bar?'

You remember. Of course you remember. A beautiful night.

'Are you...' Her voice small. 'Are you happy?'

You kiss her. Taste salt. Someone's crying. Maybe both of you.

'Ecstatic.' Your hand finds her stomach. Still flat. But now. But soon. 'Terrified.'

'Yeah?' She laughs through tears.

'Yeah.' You kiss her again. 'Best breakfast ever.'

'Even better than your tea?'

Instead of answering, you kiss her again.

What's tea anyway?

Fin

A/N: Goodness! They make a great couple. Hope you enjoyed!

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #37

Progenitor

Imagine dis…

I saw a TikTok about this and some A03 fics inspired me as well.

It is about the eldest daughter being parentified by her parents towards her younger siblings.

Many fics portray Danny as much closer to Jazz as she is the one who raised him since their parents are so focused on their ghostly research, and even during crucial days like holidays are filled with arguments.

There are very few where I saw Jazz feeling motherly love towards Danny, doing things only a mother would dare to do for the sake of her child.

…

Danny was originally born as Danyal Al Ghul, the lesser twin of him and his older brother, Damian Al Ghul. Danyal has the softness that no Al Ghul should have, the innocence that seems to bloom within his heart that seemed impossible to grow under the harsh desert sand and discipline within their grandfather’s rule. He tried to open up to his twin, after all, they came together, so there must be something to be linked between the two brothers.

Yet it was naive thinking of him, it had met him a deep scar on his right cheek for such an act.

He also tried to reach out to his mother, surely the woman with whom he shared a connection both blood and flesh, and the woman who had carried him and his brother within her womb instead of the artificial womb that grandfather insisted for their development for future advantage.

He received nothing but a slap and an hour under intense torture that no toddler should ever experience.

He also tried to reach out to their guard, the guard with hazed eyes. Damian had immediately lost interest in their supposed guard but he stayed. He observed the guard found little things that he quite enjoyed with the guard, the nameless guard would hold the book as if reading but now actual movement reading, so he would occasionally sit on his lap and let him read a book and read it out loud, sometimes he would see him nod along or a slight twitch of his fingers or face.

He got attached to his guard, and despite being catatonic he still had the moves of a deadly fighter so Danyal began copying him, learning from him, every time he got as much as a scrape his guard would kneel and stare at the wound as if he could stare the injury away. It made Danyal smile as he knew that his guard was trying to make it better but knew nothing of how.

Under those glazed eyes Danyal heard him speak for the first and last time. It was another day for Danyal and his guard yet when he entered his chamber he was gone, leaving Danyal to care for his heart that had been broken for another time.

Slowly but surely he made a wall around his heart, he loved so much, he loved so much yet no one stayed for him. No one gave their love and devotion back to him. So he put up walls, so that his fragile heart that had been torn into pieces by those he gave his heart to, would never further break.

It was a normal day really, a small time group of assassins that had been absorbed by the League a long time ago held loyalty to their former leader who had been executed by Ra. In an act of revenge, the remaining assassins poisoned the two heirs of the Demon head and immediately killed themselves.

As Danyal lays down on the cold floor of their private chambers with Damian already unconscious he begins to wish, from the books he manages to read with his guard he learns of a legend, wish upon a star tell no one and your wish will come true, he began to wish for his next life for someone to love him with all his heart.

…

He was reborn, the moment he blinked his eyes he noticed that had regressed into a mere baby. He was born into a family of scientists, if he can call them that, ever spent most of their time tinkering away and discussing their l; latest project. It did not bother Danyal Daniel much as he had experienced firsthand how to be compared and be ignored in favor of your much in favor of brother.

But this time it was different, instead of being left behind by the older sibling she stayed. Jasmine or Jazz as she preferred, stayed and looked after him, which confused him for a bit, being the more favored sibling both by their parents and the desolate town around them, she could left him to fend for himself, but still, she stayed.

She read so many books that reached passed her height, about parenting and how to take care of a baby. It was all new to him that he didn’t know what to do with all of the attention and love that seem to radiant from his sister to him.

He saw some of his age group civilians see how they look at their guardians and parents and how said guardians/ parents would act towards them and made a realization that he finally found the one, the one where he could lower his walls and give his entire heart to, mother? Or father? Titles that whispered inside his head. Whenever he needed help she was there, whenever he was in distress she was there to comfort her. Each time she was there, both mother and father she had filled both roles despite having the opportunity to go away and be great using her intellect and own means she stayed just for him.

He physically fumbled and tripped at what to do with the amount of love that he could ever wish to have, not only that 2 more joined in loving and caring for him. Samantha Ingrid "Sam" Manson and Tucker Foley are friends who are with him through thick and thin, even at the moment of his death they were there.

To get back to them forever loving him, he defended the town where his precious people lived.

Ellie was a surprise he sometimes wished to have a younger sibling to care for, it may started rough but both are going somewhere. Then there is his older self from the future, he saw himself if he managed to lose the most important people in his life. Dan knew both in and out the things he kept secret and every thought he made, both made a slow and shaking bond but when something clicked within them, it was there to acknowledge.

It had been perfect, Daniel Danny’s life had been, a family that loved him it was all he ever wished for. If only Maddie and Jack never did discover who he was, being cut open and witnessing how your very insides move and twitch made even the hardened soldiers faint. Jazz’s scream echoed the deep lab that coated his blood at every nook and cranny.

The moment he woke up he felt nothing but dread, he was back….

Deep within the walls of the League, a lone boy let out a silent scream to the skies.

…

Danyal woke up three days after Damian woke up, He could not get into his head, he still retained the memories of when he was Danny, some scars that only Danny ever had yet it all felt like a dream, a haze and illusion that his mind had made. From that day on he began moving through the motion, without putting any life or force in each swing, being the good little soldier that all wanted. Slowly the light in his eyes was lost and if you were to observe him from afar you’d see an asset, not a boy walking through the motions of the day.

Ra was pleased, the tool that he had seen but a dull knife was slowly sharpening itself, while both Damian and Talia remained indifferent.

…

The twins were 10 when they were sent off to their father in Gotham.

Richard “Dick” Grayson immediately took a liking to Damian as he not only saw Jason in him but also a child that needed guidance, which was cemented when they all thought that Bruce had died, it was right then that moment when Dick ensured to be the guidance that Damian needed, all while leaving Danyal.

Jason tried to be closer to the demon brat but whenever he tried to initiate some of his old habits back when he was in the League and back when his mind was still hazy he was met with a sword in his face he thought that he was shy and kept on trying to connect with said baby brother, all while leaving Danyal.

Tim is reserved and becomes guarded when Dmain threatens him and cuts off his line, he also sets up expectations towards the silent twin who seems to be a wallflower most of the time but that doesn’t deter him, so when Tim and Damian begins working on a relationship, they just didn’t see the other twin that had been left behind again.

Bruce has many regrets in his life and when his biological kids appeared he swore to be there for them, it was when he was lost in the time stream that he promised himself to be more involved in all of his kid's lives, from Dick’s job as a cop in Bludhaven to Damian’s artwork at school. He made sure that he had the time for all of them, never repeating his mistakes, yet he also left Danyal behind.

…

Constantine is sweating, as much as he rather summon another bloody demon to deal with the problem at hand, he knows that even the strongest demons he could call forth could not defeat a denizen of the Realms. He already explained to the rest of the JL that only a denizen that is either equal or greater power can defeat whomever it is making the citizens of Metropolis depressed and being murdered left and right. As he drew the summoning circle to summon the strongest that could catch this call, he just hoped it was something he or the JL could pay.

As he activated the circle, large blue flames began to surround the entire JL base that are both cold and hot. He closed his eyes shit at the sheer intensity of this being’s raw power to the point every JL member from both Dark and Maine is pushed 5 feet back at the intense power when he opened his eyes to look at what kind of being he just summoned he immediately paled to the color of paper.

There she is, in all her glory, blue flames that flow down to her back, standing 8 feet tall carrying a javelin, she wears a stunning navy blue gown that combines elegance with a militaristic edge. The sculpted shoulders, embellished with gold-embroidered epaulets, gave her a commanding presence, while the fitted bodice embraced her figure with effortless grace. A satin belt with a gold buckle tightened her waist, and the A-line skirt fell just past the knee. Subtle gold accents traced the seams, giving the clothing a regal appearance. The garment, worn with tailored slacks underneath, gave her freedom of movement evoking the authority of an empress.

He just summoned the bloody Mother of the Infinite Realms, the mother of the prince of the Infinite Realms that defeated the tyrant Pariah Dark. He immediately prostates himself alongside the rest of the JL Dark realizing whom John Constantine just summoned.

…

The rest of the JL that remained standing looked in awe and caution at the being that Constantine managed to summon, as well as the rest of the JL Dark’s behavior towards the being. All sweaty and bowing in reverence. In the most polite tone they ever heard from the con artist he asked for their assistance in containing a rouge denizen and their payment for such an endeavor.

The being looked at each of them slowly, feeling their very instincts to bow at least at the being when they felt their eyes on them and ultimately paused on Batman. She pointed her weapon at the Bat cladded hero and asked him for him as payment, not anything that Constantine was thinking but hearing his skill as a great detective their payment was for Batman to look for her treasure that she had lost and at moment she had felt the moment they stepped into this universe. Batman agreed after they had smoothed over the details of said contract. The empress, Nightigale, summoned her knight and told him to deal with their denizen and toss them back into Walker’s prison.

Looking blankly at Batman, he had no choice but to let Empress Nightingale follow him back to the cave for her to foresee the investigation of her treasure and to ensure he fulfilled his end of the deal.

…

The moment Bruce stepped inside the cave he noticed Empress Nightgale had also stopped dead in her tracks and looked intently at his youngest, Danyal, who had been training at one of the cave’s training mats. What’s more interesting is that Danyal also stopped and stared at the visitor that Bruce brought along. Just as he was about the introduce the two, he saw Danyal the ever-quiet child sprung into life and tackled the empress, while Nightgale herself had her long arms wrapped around Danyal.

Bruce saw Danyal’s eyes spring into life, tears welled up in his eyes and a pure smile stretched across his youngest face. Suddenly Bruce felt Bane had punched him again, he had never seen his youngest so happy, so full of life ever since he met him. He always thought that his youngest was independent, so quiet that he had left him with his devices, somewhere within Bruce’s mind whispered that he was too late once again.

…

News about Danyal’s sudden change of attitude had reached all of the members, even in the deep corner of space.

Dick, Jason, and Tim are now seething with rage and disappointed at themselves for the wasted time they wasted in being Danyal’s life. Who has now an older sibling that despite his menacing appearance adored and teased Dnayal in a way that erupted laughs and giggles from the boy?

Dick forgetting that they were twins, Dick kept reassuring himself that he was too busy but with each memory that he visited Danyal is always right behind them looking at them with lifeless eyes, as if he had just made a different choice back then.

Jason for forgetting his ward that had adopted when he was in the League, probably the only thing that kept him sane as the green clouded in his mind when he was dunked in the pit was the fact his little chick was within the walls and the thought that he might hurt him halted his massacre.

Tim who had now noticed the small notes scattered on his desk that were not the handwriting of anyone he knew yet the initial DW, always assumed that it was Damian who was quietly helping him in cases but the revelation that it had been Danyal made him want to turn back time. He had noticed early on that Danyal wanted to be closer to him, but pushed the boy away for expecting to be like Damian.

Damian is seething with jealousy as he notices that Danyal begins spending most of his time outside with the demon that stole his brother. He kept bringing up to his father that the being that Constantine summoned was a demon already mind-controlled Danyal. But even though he cannot stop and drink in the joyful face that Danyal has whenever he is with Nightgale, he keeps remembering the time Danyal acted this way towards him.

Talia is also seething beneath her mask of indifference how dare this thing claim to be her son’s parent? It is not she who had given birth nor she is the one who ensured they both survive, but the fact that thing gifted Danyal the head of the Joker and her father’s head after revealing to her son her own father’s plan that even she is not privy on made her want to revive her father herself and be the one to end his pathetic life, how dare his father plan that horrendous ritual behind her back.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: An inspiration bug bit me and would not let me rest until I finish this.

PPS: Got too long for my liking again.

[thesecondhandwoman]

DOING YOUR MAKEUP

Mel x f!reader

Synopsis: Today you decided to try something new and let Mel do your makeup (since you loved her look yourself). But you soon came to realize that even doing your makeup could become intimate with a woman like her.

The golden glow of the late afternoon sun bathed Mel’s chambers in a wash of honeyed warmth. Silken curtains fluttered in the gentle breeze, casting dancing shadows along the marbled floor. A soft, delicate fragrance of jasmine and bergamot lingered in the air—the unmistakable signature of Piltover’s most regal presence: Mel Medarda.

You sat on a plush stool, nerves flitting about your chest like restless birds. You’d never been in her private quarters for this long. Sure, there had been evenings spent talking into the night, and moments of quiet intimacy that spoke volumes. But this? This was different.

Mel stood behind you, poised with a brush in one hand and a palette of shimmering pigments in the other. She was a vision of elegance, clad in a flowing, wine-red gown that bared her shoulders and arms, her gold jewelry glinting softly with every movement. Her hair, perfectly coiled and pinned, framed her face like the work of a master sculptor.

Her gaze flicked to yours in the mirror in front of you—sharp, knowing, and endlessly amused.

“You’re holding your breath,” she said, one perfectly arched brow lifting in mock disapproval. Her voice was like velvet, smooth and rich. “Do you not trust me, darling?”

Your lips twitched into a nervous smile. “I trust you with many things, Mel. My dignity, however, might be another matter.”

Her low, melodic laugh filled the room like the chiming of distant bells. Setting down her palette, she stepped closer, fingers lightly tilting your chin up to face her properly.

“Dignity,” she echoed, eyes narrowing in playful scrutiny. “We can afford to lose a little of that, don’t you think?” Her thumb brushed gently over your cheek, her touch warm and deliberate. “You’ll look magnificent when I’m done with you.”

Heat bloomed under her touch, a warmth that had little to do with the sunlit room. You swallowed and nodded, finding yourself already lost in her presence—as if that were anything new.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured, her voice a soft command.

You obeyed, your heart doing a gentle stutter-step. The world went dark behind your eyelids, leaving only the feeling of her hands and the quiet rhythm of your breath.

Her fingers moved with a painter’s precision, applying a cool, silky base to your skin. It felt like being brushed with clouds, weightless and soft. Her fingertips lingered at your jaw, featherlight, tracing the line there as if committing it to memory.

“Perfect canvas,” she whispered, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

“Flatterer,” you shot back, but your words lacked bite.

Mel hummed knowingly. “I never flatter, darling. I only speak the truth.”

Her fingers left your face, replaced by the soft press of a brush. It swept across your cheeks, delicate as butterfly wings. She worked with a deliberate patience, layering colors and blending them with masterful ease. You wondered if this was how she approached her council work too—precise, unwavering, in total control.

“What color are you using?” you asked, your curiosity winning out.

“Rose and gold,” she replied, her tone light as she brushed along your cheekbones. “Soft warmth. Elegance without effort. It reminds me of you.”

Your eyes flew open despite yourself. “Mel…”

Her eyes met yours in the mirror, golden and molten with quiet affection. For once, she didn’t tease. Her gaze lingered on you, steady as a heartbeat. “Keep them closed, love,” she said softly, and you could do nothing but obey.

Her touch moved to your eyes, and you felt the gentle pressure of her thumb on your brow. Brushes followed, sweeping pigments over your lids. Gold, most likely—bright, bold, and unapologetically regal. You wondered if you’d look like her by the end of it. The thought didn’t bother you one bit.

Time slowed, and for a while, there was nothing but the sensation of her hands on your skin and the steady rhythm of her breathing. You felt her lean closer, her breath a warmth against your temple.

“Tell me,” she murmured, her words curling around you like silk ribbons, “has anyone ever taken this much care with you before?”

You hesitated, not because you needed to think but because the answer was so obvious it almost felt foolish to say it aloud.

“No,” you admitted quietly. “Not like this.”

Her breath hitched just slightly, a sound only someone paying very close attention would have noticed. She didn’t answer, but her hands moved slower, gentler, as if to be sure you felt every stroke, every touch, every moment of her devotion.

“Mel,” you said softly, heart tight in your chest.

“Shh,” she replied, the warmth of her lips brushing your ear. “Don’t ruin my masterpiece.”

Your lips quirked at that, and she chuckled, the sound low and rich.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she stepped back. “Open.”

You did, blinking away the light as your gaze focused on your reflection. Your breath caught.

You looked radiant. No, divine. The blush on your cheeks was subtle but perfectly placed, catching the light just so. Gold shimmered at your eyelids, like twin sunsets caught mid-dusk. Your lips were bare, but somehow, even that looked intentional—natural beauty left untouched, unspoiled.

Your gaze shifted to Mel’s reflection, and you caught her watching you, eyes hooded with a kind of quiet pride.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, your voice hushed in awe.

Mel smiled, slow and knowing, like she had expected nothing less. “Of course I did,” she said, reaching for a small, glossy tube. Her eyes met yours, sharp with mischief. “But I’m not done yet.”

She uncapped it, revealing a deep, wine-red tint. Your eyes tracked its every movement as she turned it in her fingers. Instead of reaching for you, she tilted her head slightly and applied it to her own lips with the care of a woman used to wielding power in every action.

You watched, utterly entranced, as she slowly, deliberately coated her lips with the rich pigment. Her gaze never left yours. She pressed her lips together with a small “mm,” ensuring every inch of them gleamed with fresh color.

“Mel?” Your voice was already breathless.

Her eyes flicked to yours, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile so devastatingly sly it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Now,” she purred, setting the tube aside. Her gaze stayed locked on yours as she stepped forward, cupping your jaw in one hand, her thumb grazing your cheek in a slow, hypnotic sweep. “For the final touch.”

Your breath caught, heart thundering in your chest.

Her lips met yours, soft but firm, slow but certain. Heat blossomed where she touched you, a warmth that unfurled in your chest and spread through your limbs. Her kiss was the kind that made the world stop—not forceful, but inevitable. Her fingers splayed across your jaw, anchoring you to her, as if you were something precious that might slip away.

When she pulled back, her eyes flicked to your lips with satisfaction. Her smile widened as she traced her thumb just beneath your lower lip, catching a hint of the red she’d left behind.

“There,” she said, her eyes hooded and far too pleased with herself. “Now you match me.”

You blinked, breath still unsteady, and stared at your reflection. The soft red stain of her lipstick lingered on your lips, faint but unmistakable.

“You planned that,” you accused, lips curving upward despite yourself.

“Of course I did,” she replied smoothly, tilting your chin up with her thumb. “You’re mine, darling. Why not make it clear to the world?”

Her gaze softened then, something tender slipping past her armor. “Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a murmur, “I rather like seeing my colors on you.”

Your heart swelled, too full for words, so you tilted your head forward and pressed your forehead against hers.

“Careful, Medarda,” you whispered, eyes closing. “I might just fall in love with you.”

Her breath hitched again, but this time, she didn’t hide it. Her fingers curled into your hair, steady and unyielding.

“Darling,” she whispered, lips brushing yours once more, softer this time, more real. “I’m counting on it.”

[writingforstraykids]

THIS CHAN?? I WENT FERAL???!????

anyways 🤭 imagine you taking chan and him forcing you to look into the mirror behind the bed as he absolutely destroys your sweet little cunt😼

Ohh believe me, that pic made my thoughts run wild already so thank you!! Your request hasn't left my mind all morning so yeah...this happened real quick😂🖤

Right here with you, always

Pairing: Chan x femReader

Word Count: 1915

Warnings/Tags: fluff, smut, p in v, unprotected sex

A/N: Hope you like it, love🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©writingforstraykids 2024-

male!version here

The cobblestone streets of Milan seemed to sparkle under the golden hues of the early evening sun as you and Chan made your way through the city. Milan was pulsing with life, its vibrant energy matching the excitement in your heart. Chan had invited you to join him on this glamorous outing, blending the worlds of high fashion and intimate togetherness.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, admiration blooming inside you. He was dressed in a blue shirt that highlighted the warmth of his eyes and complemented his dark hair. Chan suggested dinner at a small, elegant restaurant known for its secluded ambiance and exquisite Italian cuisine. Over plates of creamy risotto and perfectly aged wine, you shared stories and dreams, his laughter blending harmoniously with the soft notes of a violin playing somewhere in the background.

As the sky deepened into a velvety blue, Chan took your hand, leading you out into the enchanting night. Milan at night was a different kind of beautiful; the lights of the city reflected in the gentle ripple of the canals, the air filled with the subtle aroma of blooming jasmine. Walking through this cityscape with Chan, you felt as if you were part of a living canvas, every step painting a stroke of memories in your shared story.

Eventually, the night led you to his hotel, a place of refined elegance. Inside, the world quieted down to just the two of you. Chan guided you to the sofa in his suite, a soft, inviting piece that seemed to echo the plush luxury of your surroundings. As you settled into the comfort of the sofa, he pulled you gently into his lap, a smile playing on his lips.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” you whispered, your hands tracing the lines of his muscular arms, feeling the strength that lay beneath his soft shirt. “This blue shirt… it’s perfect on you. It makes your eyes look like chocolate; deep and endlessly sweet.”

At first, Chan blushed, a shy smile curving his lips as his gaze flickered away. It wasn't often that he heard such open adoration, even from you, his partner. Yet, the honesty in your voice and the warmth in your eyes encouraged him to accept your compliments. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, his own confidence growing with the realization of how much you needed him in this moment.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against your ear. His hands were gentle but firm on your back, making every nerve in your body sing with a pleasant tension. The room around you seemed to fade, the sounds of Milan's nightlife a distant echo to the intimacy that unfolded between the two of you. “Love how pretty you look in that dress,” he told you, hands fondling up your thighs and below the skirt. “Love how your body always searches mine,” he confessed, biting back a soft groan as you pressed down against him.

His lips met yours in a fierce kiss, hand shooting up into your hair. You kissed back eagerly, grinding down against him with soft, needy sounds. Chan's grip on your hair tightens, his hips chasing yours with a low groan.

As the kiss deepened, your senses overwhelmed by the gentle yet insistent passion between you, the world outside seemed to vanish completely. Chan’s hands moved with a tenderness that contrasted and complemented the growing intensity of the moment. He was skilled, knowing exactly how to make you feel cherished and desired all at once.

Your panties met the floor as Chan lifted his hips, shuffling his pants down enough to free his aching dick. He made quick work of preparing you, stretching you out with his fingers and kissing down your neck hungrily. You sunk down on him soon, moaning out loudly as he stretched your fluttering walls just right.

Chan's hands found your hips, steadying you in his lap as he started thrusting into you. “Fuck,” he whispered needily. “You feel so good, baby girl,” he told you, setting a fast pace.

You matched his rhythm, your movements fueled by the shared desire that connected you. The heat of the moment intensified, your bodies moving in sync as you rode him, each thrust deepening the bond between you. Chan’s eyes were locked onto yours, the intensity in his gaze making you feel both powerful and utterly vulnerable at the same time.

“Chan, please,” you whispered, your voice breathy and filled with raw emotion. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice a mix of passion and reassurance. His grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts growing more urgent. “I’m right here with you, always, pretty girl.” You hid your face in his shoulder, embarrassed of the weak sounds he pulled from you with each thrust. Chan's hand sunk into your hair, pulling you back up. “I want you to look at yourself,” he said, nodding at the mirror wall right behind him. “Want you to see how pretty you are like this.”

“Channie,” you whined softly but did as he told you. “Fuck,” you whimpered as his pace fastened, making you bounce on him.

His grip on your hips was firm as he guided you up and down, his thrusts growing more insistent with each passing second. The sight of yourself in the mirror, bouncing on his lap, your dress hitched up around your waist, your face flushed with pleasure, was almost too much to bear. The raw intensity of the moment made you feel exposed yet profoundly connected to Chan.

"Do you see how beautiful you are?" he murmured, his voice a low, guttural whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Do you see how perfect you are for me? Only for me?"

The combination of his words and the image in the mirror heightened your senses, your body responding to him with an urgency that bordered on desperation. Your hands clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, the rhythm of your movements becoming frantic.

"Yes, Chan," you gasped, your voice catching in your throat. "I'm yours."

Chan's eyes never left your face, his gaze filled with a mix of adoration and raw desire. "Good girl," he praised, his hands guiding your movements with a steady, unrelenting pace. "I want you to feel everything, baby girl. I want you to feel how much I need you."

His words pushed you closer to the edge, your body trembling with the intensity of your impending climax. "Chan, I'm so close," you moaned, your head falling back as the pleasure built to a crescendo.

Chan growled softly, reaching down between your bodies and playing with your clit. The touch sent shivers up your spine, making you arch into him with a loud, whimpery moan. “Such a good girl,” he moaned, thrusting into you harshly, feeling his own climax creeping up on him.

“Please, Chan~,” you almost sobbed, a little overwhelmed by all the pleasure coursing through your body. “Need to - please.”

"Let go for me," he urged, his voice thick with emotion. "Let go, pretty girl. I've got you."

With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, your release washing over you in waves of pure ecstasy. Your cries of pleasure filled the room, mingling with Chan's own groans as he followed you over the edge, his body tensing beneath you as he found his release.

You collapsed against him, both of you breathless and spent, your bodies trembling from the intensity of the experience. Chan's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you both came down from the high.

"You did so well," he murmured, pressing soft kisses to your hair. "So beautiful, so perfect."

You snuggled closer to him, feeling a deep sense of contentment and love. "Thank you, Chan," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. "For everything."

He smiled, his eyes softening with affection. "Always, baby girl. Always."

The world outside the hotel room was a distant memory, the night in Milan a backdrop to the profound connection you shared with Chan. As you lay in his arms, the city lights twinkling outside the window, you knew that no matter where life took you, moments like these would always bring you back to each other.

-

Later, after you had both cleaned up and settled into the luxurious bed, the quiet intimacy continued to envelop you. Chan's gentle touches and soft murmurs of affection filled the space between you, making even the simplest moments feel special.

"Do you remember our first trip together?" Chan asked, his voice a soft rumble in the darkness.

You smiled, recalling the memory fondly. "Of course I do. How could I forget? It was magical."

"It was," he agreed, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "But this... tonight... it's even better."

You turned to face him, your eyes meeting in the dim light. "Why do you say that?"

"Because we're here together," he replied simply, his voice filled with sincerity. "Because every moment with you is better than the last."

Your heart swelled with love for him, and you leaned in to kiss him softly. "I feel the same way," you whispered against his lips. "Every moment with you is a gift."

As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew that no matter what challenges or adventures lay ahead, you and Chan would face them together, your love growing stronger with each passing day.

-

The next morning, the soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. You woke up to the feeling of Chan’s fingers gently tracing patterns on your back, his touch a comforting presence.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep.

“Good morning,” you replied, turning to face him. His eyes were warm and filled with love, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Chan leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. “How did you sleep?” he asked when he pulled away.

“Perfectly,” you said, your heart swelling with happiness. “How about you?”

“Best sleep I’ve had in a long time,” he admitted, his smile widening. “Being with you always makes everything better.”

You snuggled closer to him, savoring the peaceful morning. “I feel the same way,” you confessed, feeling a deep sense of contentment.

As the morning progressed, you both took your time getting ready, enjoying the relaxed pace of the day. The streets of Milan called to you, promising new adventures and memories to be made. But no matter what the day held, you knew that the connection you shared with Chan would remain the most beautiful part of your journey together.

-

Walking through the bustling streets of Milan once more, hand in hand with Chan, you felt a profound sense of gratitude for the love and happiness you had found. The city seemed to sparkle with the promise of new experiences, each moment adding to the rich tapestry of your shared life.

Chan squeezed your hand gently, his eyes reflecting the same joy that filled your heart. “Ready for another day of adventures?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement.

“Absolutely,” you replied, smiling up at him. “As long as I’m with you, I’m ready for anything.”

And with that, you both stepped forward, ready to embrace whatever the day had in store, knowing that together, you could conquer the world.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @slutforchanlix

[maxlarens]

i promise i'm writing my max oneshot CURRENTLY but i had to get the sillies out about this really badly. australian spring/summer i love u i love u i love u!!!! also at this point i think the difference between a one shot and drabble on this account is non existent and simply based on vibes. this is only a one shot bcs it feels a bit more coherent i suppose?

LN: australia street

pairing(s): lando norris x piastri!reader, oscar piastri & piastri!reader

word count: 1.3k+

It all feels very familiar, nostalgic even— though you've never been in quite this situation before. With Oscar sure; you always rope your brother into doing things when you're in Australia again. But this is the first time that Lando's joined you.

It's nice, to be home.

Not that it's yours or Oscar's home anymore (that's not true. It always will be, no matter where in the world you jet off to). It's certainly not Lando's. It's hard to put words to the feeling, you just know it's nice.

You're driving, of course, because Oscar and Lando can never decide which of the two of them should drive. So you'd snatched the keys to the Piastri family '96 Holden Commodore and slammed the driver door behind you before either of them could say boo. Lando had snagged the passenger seat in a mad dash that you'd watched play out in the rear-view mirror, while Oscar had complained all the way to the backseat.

"Whered'ya wanna go?", you half turn your head to ask Oscar, checking your blind spot at the same time.

Oscar hums as he thinks. You can feel Lando's eyes burning a hole into the side of your face.

"Do you remember that fish and chips shop—"

You do, "Where Dad used to take us? Yeah, it closed down," then you add, "Besides, Lando hates fish. Jeez, Osc."

"Ah fuck," Oscar groans, "That sucks."

Lando makes a noise, indignant, "I can't believe you forgot. It's my one thing."

Oscar rolls his eyes, "It's not your one thing, Lando. You have plenty of things."

They start to bicker, devolving into an argument that you only understand about half of, about pet peeves and the things the other one does that get on the other’s nerves. You chime in a few times to agree about Oscar’s annoying habits, the things you'd grown up complaining to your Mum about. Quietly to yourself, you decide on a route to an old Italian place you know is still kicking around— they won't mind.

You roll your window down, feel the balmy spring breeze in your hair, on your face. It smells like the bloom of jasmine flowers, of warmth, of the smoke of people BBQ-ing in their backyards. You breathe deeply, absently aware of the petered-out conversation. Oscar dozing in the backseat like he always does. Lando looking out the other window, watching gum trees and bottlebrush on the sides of the road. 'M looking for koala’s he'd said the other day, which had made you laugh. You'd been tempted to tell him about drop bears, but you're sure that Daniel had already warned him of the dangers.

"Do you miss it here?", Lando asks suddenly.

"Mm," you affirm, "I do."

"A lot?"

You shrug at the question, not sure why he's pressing it, "Sure, Lan."

"Then why do you travel with Oscar?", you spare a glance at him, he's fiddling with a bracelet on his wrist, the one you'd made him that matched the one you'd made Oscar that matched the one you wore, "Don't you want to, y'know, settle down here?"

You raise an eyebrow, scoff a little, "God, I'm not an old maid, dude. I'm not ready to pop out babies yet. Far out."

"No, no," he's blushing, you know he is, you don't even need to check, his tan cheeks growing a little darker, redder, "Fuck. That's not what I meant. You know what I meant."

You snicker. You do. But Lando is fun to rile up.

A latent sigh leaves your mouth, "I dunno," you admit, "It's my favourite place. But I have the rest of my life to come back, and besides, it's more special like this. I appreciate it more when I'm only here for a short time."

Lando hums, turning your words over in his head. You think he may be about to say something else—

"Do you like it here, Lan?"

You're not sure why you ask. No, you are. There's this fantasy that keeps floating around in your head. Little bits of it have been coming true on this trip. Lando standing in the garage with your Dad, talking about project cars and then showing him grease covered parts, explaining where they'll eventually end up. Your Mum roping you, Lando and Oscar into helping her cut vegetables at the kitchen counter. Your younger sisters giving you loaded looks behind Lando's back, you trying to pretend you have no idea what they mean by them. It's a pipedream, it's weird and you need to stop doing it.

But you can't. Sometimes, you look at Lando and your thoughts just pick up and run away with themselves.

Lando nods in answer to your question, "'Course. It's very," he trails off, fingers finding the beads on his bracelet again, he hums, "It's very you. Hm, does that make sense?"

You feel warm all of a sudden. Something creeps up your neck, settles at the base of your skull. You blink a few times, remind yourself to focus on the road.

You skitter out a laugh, an awkward thing, you're trying not to look at him, your hands tight on the wheel, "Yeah— uh— it does. I s'pose."

You lapse into silence for a short while. The sky is eggshell orange and purple and red, stretching out in front of you. Punctuated by the star-brightness of the street lights, terracotta tiled roofs and the shadowed branches of towering Eucalyptus trees. It fills you with a feeling you can't name— there's nothing else quite like it out there. Not in London, not in Monaco, not in any of the many other cities you've traveled to or lived in for a stint.

They're all gorgeous and interesting in their own right, but they don't live up to the special peculiarities of suburban Australia. The flash of a possum's eyes where it's skittering across a powerline. The faint sounds of kookaburras laughing as dusk falls. The glow of families watching TV in living rooms coming through screen doors left unlocked. Old men tinkering in wide open garages. Wheelie bins with red and yellow lids out on the curb— cricket stumps painted on the sides.

It’s special. In the way that home is always special.

Then Lando says, apropos of nothing, “Pretty.”

“Huh.”

He shrugs, gestures around at the neighbourhood, “It’s pretty. Warm too. I can see why your parents live here. Raised you guys here. I can see myself doing that.”

You decide not to tell him about the bipolarity of Melbourne weather. Cold to hot to wet to dry to gusty all in a few hours. You let him enjoy the rare consistent spring day. And you try not think about what he’s saying, what he’s admitting. You try not to think about what you might be admitting, driving him through streets you used to play in, to places you used to go with your family, talking about settling down, like it’s on the horizon anytime soon.

It’s not— you’ve not met anyone to settle down with.

At least you don’t think you have.

It’s certainly not Lando, in the passenger seat of the old family car, fresh off a day of meeting your grandparents for fuckssake and taking a tour of your childhood bedroom. Laughing at your old boyband posters and the teenage girl shrine you’d kept to Niki Lauda. It can’t be Lando, who you turn to when you can’t turn to your brother, who gives you his hoodies when you’re cold even though he’s colder, who’s come on a bloody trip to Australia in his four week break because you’d said you wouldn’t know what to do without him for that long.

It can’t. It’s not.

He’s talking in hypotheticals and you’re getting carried away with yourself again. Like you always do.

listened to this playlist while writing😌

[storiesoflilies]

mdni, mild smut!

gladiator!toji did not know where he was.

he had been trapped someplace the gods had forsaken, somewhere his merciless master – ryomen sukuna – had sent him as punishment. all he knew was that the desert heat here was sweltering, searing his mind in lies, and making him dream of things that had already happened long ago.

dreams that he wanted to stay in.

the sweet perfume of her scent trickled through his nose, a mixture of roses and jasmine, half waking him from the haze he had been in. it would have been torturous, were she not here with him now, roped between his bronze arms like she had melded into him. little rivulets of her spent wetness trickled down the curve of his thigh, a reminder of what they had done in the night, and toji’s cock twitched beneath the worn sheets.

she stirred in her sleep, as if touched by the burning fire in his blood.

gods.

describing her as just beautiful was not nearly enough.

toji kissed her hairline, one calloused hand tenderly rubbing her forearm to slowly rouse her from the depths of sleep.

she was the morning dewdrops clinging to the curved underside of a blade of grass, glistening with all the hopes that came with every new day. he loved the smell of it when he woke every morning, rubbed his skin with it, tasted its crisp freshness on his tongue to awake the thundering resonance in his battered soul.

he placed a trail of wet kisses down the side of her face, sweeping her jawline and the edge of her lips.

she was the soothing touch of rose petals and milk, the hummingbirds that flew between the blooms of spring. the very stars and moonlight of the heavens was in her eyes, but he had not known how to read the constellations hidden within them.

toji turned her slowly, hungrily pressing his hips into the plush curve of her behind, letting his desire be plainly known.

she smiled, honey dripping from between her lips as she whispered, “insatiable.”

toji moaned into her mouth, his heavy cock slipping in between her puffy lips. “let me have you.”

but he knew now how to read the skies.

her stars taught him to fear, and that love was fear.

she turned to him, swinging her legs over his midriff, sensually kissing his chest as rain fell to bloom an oasis in the desert. her back arched just as the light of daybreak shone through the bars of the cell, bathing her in gold and sunlight.

…daybreak?

her eyes sparked and blazed into a maroon firestorm, burning him in tempestuous uncertainty.

she never stayed so long with me.

“wake up, fushiguro,” she breathed shakily, a tone deeper, her hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him like palm trees quivering in a sandstorm.

wake up?

“fushiguro, for the love of all the gods, wake up!”

her hair shifted and warped into a snowy desert, sifting through his fingers like the passage of time in an hourglass. toji opened his eyes once more, emeralds tumbling down a mountainside, and blinked once, twice, three times more.

gladiator!tengen had a harsh grip on his shoulders, a red fury misting his eyes with determination.

“come now, i’m here to take you home.”

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[mynameisjag]

Clearing out the WIP folders, have this one that didn't go anywhere.

It wasn’t the first time too curious of outsiders had found them, will not be the last either, which is why there were policies in place for such situations.

At least the…visitors…cause that’s what they were for now, here to see then leaving very soon even if it wasn’t the same way they arrived…at least they were entertaining.

Talia just smiled at the other woman across from her as they enjoyed a morning cup of tea, the red head continuing on and on with her theories and “scientific" findings.

Most were so very wrong but a few conversations in had already proved that their guest were set in their beliefs despite evidence proving otherwise.

The mountain of the man had trapped some of the more unfortunate servants in his own rant, the poor things…

-*-

She missed her son, she missed being a mother…

The duo of siblings were at least more wary of their surroundings…

Danny and Jazz didn’t trust the hospitality, wary and ever watching everyone and everything.

They had potential…

-*-

Danny was staring at her, eyes hard, “Where is my mom?”

“Hmm, dear, there is some tea and fruit waiting for you-"

“Stop ignoring me, where is my mom?”

-*-

Ra’s did a lazy hand wave to show off the room, Jazz didn’t seem impressed.

“Our library is filled with knowledge from around the world, constantly updating, after all, knowledge is power.”

“Is the whereabouts of our parents in there or is that something you already have on hand?”

-*-

The vase of roses like blooms were placed in front of Danny, Talia slightly and amusingly smiling at his paling face.

“The flowers are beautiful aren’t they, a rare and exotic breed, once believed to be extinct.”

“Blood blossoms but…how?”

“Just a little research, they look lovely don’t they, especially when places around windows and doorways, we have a few hidden away in certain rooms to keep there pleasant aroma floating around.”

“What…what rooms?”

“Hmm, mostly the ones near the perimeter, we haven’t moved into the inner sanctuary yet, don’t want anyone from within to get sick do we?”

“…no…no we don’t…”

-*-

Ra’s took a sip off his tea, casually watching Jazz silently shake with rage.

“You are very perceptive, now we will begin lessons in utilizing that.”

“I just want to be a psychologist, I want to help people…not this…”

“To help them, you must first break them down.”

-*-

“Danyal, your grandfather is expecting us soon, your sister will be joining as well, it has been too long since we have enjoyed a family meal together-"

“Stop it! My name is Danny, Danny Fenton, my mom is Maddie Fenton and my dad is Jack Fenton, you are not my mother, that man isn’t my grandfather!”

“…it seems that we need to increase your training, perhaps helping with the gardening will quell your temper.”

“…I…my apologies Mother…”

“Hmm. I expect you'll be on your best behavior then, Danyal.”

“Yes, Mother.”

-*-

“You did well in this lesson, Jasmine.”

“You poisoned the tea and had me guess which one was the safe one…”

“And you recognized the smell and avoided it.”

“There are two others dead…”

“They should have noticed this was a lesson, assassination could come at any time from anyone, by tea or…by a slow drawn out poisoning by one's home environment…”

“My parents weren’t poisoning us!”

“Now we both know that isn’t true, your Mother just had you and brother start your resistance training.”

“That's not-"

“You can continue on and risk punishment or take your earned reward and enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

“…yes…Grandfather...”

-*-

“This is Danyal. Forge him, bring him to his full potential.”

“By your order, I shall make him into a weapon worthy of your legacy.”

“I expect that and more.”

-*-

Talia couldn’t help but hum happily to herself, perhaps there was something to her beloved’s habit of taking in strays.

There wasn’t the consequences of ones own blood being of failure and any misgivings could be deducted towards past raising.

Really, those Fenton's were clearly unaware of the potential they had on their hands, it was fate that brought them here.

“Danyal, Jasmine, my dears, I believe you both have earned rewards for your recent accomplishments, a believe a trip to see your brother is in order.”

[furioussouls]

Dubious Morals

[fem! yandere villain oc x chubby hero reader x male!yandere villain oc]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆

Warnings: dubious consent (non consensual affection), villainous behaviour (though very gentle with the reader) , bondage, yandere behaviour (I do not condone in real life, but this is fiction), cursing, poly! relationship, violence (not by love interests), extreme violence and blood, near death experience (for reader, not because of yanderes)

Part I:

Your head was throbbing when you woke up. Each individual throb hammering against your temple like a sledgehammer. Opening one eye, you noticed you were slumped forward. An attempt at moving your head was met with a sharp pain travelling down your neck. You groaned out and blinked sleepily and the bright light emitting from the ceiling. Looking down at your body, you saw the familiar image of your tied up plump body in a chair. You rolled your eyes and and slumped back as far as you could ; you were already very familiar with this situation.

Your hands were tied up behind you with a silky and babypink rope, which was tied into a firm knot. The restraints were also firm enough around the rest of your body to keep you tied to the chair, but not too tight that it would cut off your circulation. Though, the fat of your belly and thighs were deliciously emphasised through the rope gently pressing against your skin.

You saw a purring mass jump onto your thighs. The familiar kitty gently began kneading your plump thighs and gently headbutted your torso.

“Hey, little baby. Where’s your mommy?“ you asked her, as she began getting comfortable on your thighs.

“Aww, darling. Have you missed me as much as I have missed you?“, a melodic, deep voice asked from behind you.

You heard the familiar steps of her high heeled boots and the scent of orange and jasmine bloom infiltrated your nose. She stood in front of you in her tall glory, her hair tied into a low bun with a few stray pieces framing her face. She wore fingerless gloves and a full body suit which accentuated her long, slender body. She grinned at you and stared at every inch of your face and her chipped fingernails gently traced your cheek. She leaned forward and you turned your face, when she firmly grabbed your cheeks and squished them together.

She cooed at your squished face and moved the kitty in an extremely gentle manner to the ground, who had already lost interest in you and began grooming herself on the couch in front of you. Now that your thighs were free, she jumped on your lap and chuckled in your face when you tried to struggle out of her hold.

“Elora“, you called out her name firmly when she wouldn’t stop cooing at you.

She raised an eyebrow and leaned back on your lap, not far enough to fall off but rather giving you the distance that you needed to continue.

“Uh oh, am I in trouble with the 'best hero of Nightplone hill'?“ she asked sarcastically and puckered her lips into a mean pout. “Wake up, little bunny. Your little hero squad is not worth a dime. Not only that, but they’re also-“

"Elora", a deep, husky voice with an accent interrupted her. Elora‘s hands were travelling down your arms when she was interrupted. Her eyes found his and her happy grin immediately turned into an ugly sneer.

“Get off our guest.“ he stepped into the front of you and ignored Elora‘s sneer completely, his gaze fixated on you. Elora winked at you and turned around to leave the room. Your eyes accidentally focus on the beautiful swing of her hip and she turned around and when she saw your gaze, she lit up like a kid on Christmas. She chucked and embarrassment crept up your neck. She has now left the room and you and him were now alone. He smelled of citrus and rosewater and you stared at him; his tall frame was dressed in an appropriate uniform, the same black suit which Elora‘s body was adorned with and his amber eyes pierced into yours. His gaze lingered on your face until it traveled down to your body, where he thoroughly examined every part of your body. His pupils dilated when his gaze arrived at the parts of your body that the rope was pressing against. He leaned forward and his roman nose softly traced your cheek. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply when his face was centimetres away from your neck and his nostrils flared. His plump lips tugged up and showed off his pearly teeth; the soft scar above his lip also tugged up.

“Hello, again“, he smiled at you and you stared at his friendly smile and rolled your eyes. Your ears warmed up at his beautiful demeanour but you needed to go.

“I want you to release me. I don’t have the time for these little games, Casimir. I need to get back and finish my rounds. What even happened? Why am I here again? My head still hurts. You guys really need to stop abducting me.“ You sighed, and admittedly, you were also embarrassed. This is certainly not the first time that you ended up in this position. The first few times you were certainly more afraid, but now you were just annoyed- inconvenienced.

Frankly, you weren’t the best hero of Nightplone Hill. You weren’t even great; you just try to do accomplish your missions as thoroughly as possible and you try to save as many people as you can- from people like Elora and Casimir. They’re certainly not the worst villains out of the bunch, but they have been a thorn in your boss‘ eye since you started (which had been since your 5th birthday). They’re not that much older than you, so yes, having two bratty kids get in the way of his company certainly aggravated a man like your boss. Elora is an incredible thief, who steals from the Nightplone Hill company, which donate supplies to people in need, and Casimir is an inventor, whose specialty is weapons. Weapons, which are used to kill heroes like you.

“Oh yes“, Casimir drawled out. “Your precious rounds, which were ordered by the hero factory, which can’t be bothered to take proper care of their biggest assets“, his eyes fixated on the various scars, which lingered on your body. The scars that you attained through rough and relentless training. After he ripped his eyes away from your scars, his gaze zeroed in on your deep eyebags. “I’m sure those nights are also filled with deep rest and generous slumber, which are needed for those important missions.“ He sneered out and a knot of fear spread in your stomach. He has never looked this angry before. Were you still safe? His eyebrows softened and he kissed your clothed shoulder. He sighed and turned around and sat down on the beautiful couch in front of you as he began scribbling away on his notebook.

You took in the background for the first time. Your chair was sat in the middle of the room. You couldn’t see behind you, but in front of you was a large dark red couch and table. To your left was a whiteboard filled with mathematical equations and drawings. Casimir was writing down in his notebook with one big hand, while the other one was petting the snowy kitty‘s belly.

“Casimir?“, you asked softly. His eyes snapped to you. “When will you let me go?“, you asked tiredly. Your head still hurt and you needed to finish your daily missions. His eyes mustered every part of your face and he sighed. “Soon. Elora will soon come back with medicine for your head. We don’t know how bad it is, so she’s bringing a medic.“

You furrowed your eyebrows and you asked them “Why would you hit me so hard?“. He tilted his head and scrunched his nose. “We didn’t hit you. We found you passed out on the sidewalk. Somebody hit you over your head and left you, like fucking roadkill“. He clenched his sharp jaw and closed his eyes. After breathing in deeply he looked up at you. “We‘re pretty sure it was one of your own guys“.

You stared at him and tried to find any indication that he was lying. Unfortunately, you couldn’t find anything but his genuine face. “You’re lying“, you said angrily. The back of your neck and cheeks heated up while a cold shudder ran down your back. No, you guys wouldn’t betray each other. That’s not how it works. You guys are heroes. You protect each other and other people.

He shook his head and opened his mouth to reply to you, but Elora’s loud shoes filled the hallway. Annoyance filled your chest and you clenched your jaw at the repeated belittling and ignoring of your wishes. She opened the door, and a bald guy with scrubs walked behind her. He swallowed when he saw you tied up in a chair and his eyes widened. Elora leaned forward, her big eyes and small nose giving her a childish expression. “You better be gentle. Or else it’ll be your head on the line“, she said with a deadpan expression. He swallowed and looked at Casimir for some sensibility between the two, but he tutted with a dangerous gleam in his eyes and nodded in my direction. “Careful.“ The doctor swallowed and nodded and he began working on your head.

When he finished dressing your wound and diagnosing you with a mild concussion, the poor man was allowed to leave again. Elora sat on your lap again, her fingers twirling with her bubblegum and she leaned forward and whispered in your ear “Should we share?“, she bit her lip as she looked down on you and gently squeezed your plush hips. She sighed happily and then suddenly scrunched her nose “Why does your little hero patrol make you wear those ugly clothes?“ She leaned down until she was only a few millimetres away from your chest and looked at the Nightplone Hill logo. “It’s so ugly. And it makes your beautiful body look so very sad. I would dress you in the most expensive and lush clothing. I would adorn your divine body in so much gorgeous jewellery.“ She shuddered and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her pupils were so much dialated that her green irises were completely washed out. She gently traces small hearts on your body, her body completely curled up on your lap.

“Jewellery? Which you got because you stole the donations of Nightplone Hill?“, you asked her angrily. Your head was still throbbing and frankly, you were getting cramped up in this chair,without being able to move your body.

She looked at you and one side of her lips tugged upwards. She tilted her head and asked: “Donations?“

”Yes“, you gritted out through clenched teeth. “For the people in need.“

She barked out a laugh and gently held your face. “Is that really the lie that they sell you guys? No wonder you guys believe their every little word. My poor little bunny, so trusting“, she giggled out and leaned forward and pressed your forehead against hers. Anger hit your body like a truck and you remembered that you’ve been here with these patronising villains for multiple hours and haven’t finish your rounds. The company’s mantra repeated in your head 'finish your rounds, we wouldn’t want to fire you.‘

You leaned back and headbutted her roughly. Agony ripped through your head and she fell backward with a yelp. Casimir jumped up from the couch and looked at you in shock. “You probably made your concussion worse“, he grumbled out in disapproval and cradled your face in his warm hands.

“Release me“, you said slowly. You looked down to the ground and saw Elora was grinning up at you. Casimir cradled your face and shone a light into your eyes. “You probably made your concussion worse“, he grumbled out in disapproval. He sighed and shared a few looks with Elora, who was shrugging her shoulders and biting her lip up at you. He reluctantly started to untie you.

After a few minutes of dedicated rope unbinding, you were free and Casimir‘s hands gently kneaded your marks on hands and the fat of your belly.

You looked at them and turned out. Hopefully, you will leave their lair for the last time.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆

You hurriedly made your way through the dark alleyways to get to the company sooner, when suddenly you heard a blood curdling scream. Your head snapped to the right and you immediately made your way to the direction of the noise. You pulled your gun and hid behind the wall to assess the threat. It was a young woman dressed elegantly, screaming bloody murder. She was beaten up and running from two men. You thought about the best way to defeat both attackers when you suddenly heard a lot bang and the woman dropped dead in front of you.

No. You felt your heart drop to your stomach and your body got uncomfortably hot and simultaneously your hands were frozen. One of the attackers turned around and-

Oh my god.

The perpetrators were one of your partners and your boss. They had stolen her precious jewellery and wallet. A sense of dread spread in your torso. You weren’t breathing. You’re sure you could hear a pin drop on the other side of the world.

“Did you get rid off your partner?“, your boss asked your partner Delaney.

Your breath hitched and you waited for his response.

“Yes, I knocked them out and left them on the side of the road. In these streets, they won’t make it til the next morning. Even if they miraculously survive that, they didn’t finish their missions for today. They’re fired now anyway, you and I both know what that means. I want you to assign me the rounds that you would usually assign to them. I’m getting fucking sick and tired of only earning a few fucking pennies, and only having night shifts. I’m putting my body on the line and I want you to give me 50% of the profit“ Delaney said and dangled the jewellery in front of your boss‘ nose.

Your boss nodded and slapped down on his shoulder, which was where the Idiot stored his gun. You told him multiple times that his incompetence would get him killed.

“Of course, you and I are partners, aren’t we?“, your boss laughed and you could see his gaze fixate on the weapon .

Delaney nodded stupidly and looked forward. Your boss pulled the gun from his shoulder polster and shot him in the head. Delaneys body hit the unforgiving ground as warm blood poured out. Your boss sighed and leaned down to pick up the jewellery when suddenly a rat ran next to you and squeaked. Your heart dropped to your stomach when his eyes snapped to the wall where you hid behind and he slowly made his way over to you.

You pulled out your gun and hid behind the wall to fight him properly; you kicked him in the knees when he reached the wall and he fell with a yelp. He tackled you to the ground, which caused you to drop your gun and he began landing many punches on your body. You twist his arm and you hear a sickening crunch and he screamed out in pain, before he headbutted you roughly in the face. You dropped backwards and you felt the wound on your head reopen. Dizziness and nausea took over you, and you tried to shake it off you, however, you suddenly feel blood run down your head and it was almost impossible for you to stand up again. He looked at you in pity “I’m sorry. I really am, you were always genuinely trying to help people, but it’s over for you regardless.“, he shook his head and gave you a pitiful, genuine smile.

“You and I both know that they will believe me over what you claim to have seen.“ he replied softly and picked up the gun and aimed for your chest and he pulled the trigger without a split second of hesitation.

Extreme heat spread in your chest and you slumped backwards. You felt blood ooze out of you in streams and the agony and betrayal that spread in your chest caused you to scream loudly. Louder than you’ve ever screamed before and hot tears streamed down your face. Elora and Casimir were fucking right. You’ve been working for a corrupt company, without questioning what missions you went on. You don’t even want to know how much damage those daily missions of yours caused. You looked down and saw the pool of blood that you were laying in was getting bigger and bigger. This is probably for the best. You’ve probably caused hurt to so many people. You were getting sleepy.

Your boss looked at you and nodded.

"Don’t worry, you were honorable with your intentions. I will make sure you will be remembered as such, not like your rat of a partner. I cannot stand traitorous rats. Farewell on your journey. Make sure to tell them all about the injustice you faced by my hand. Make sure everybody knows. I get to enjoy my physical life and I will burn in the afterlife. And you were betrayed in the physical life and get to enjoy everything after, alright? Don’t worry about it at all. They will deal with me, when I’m dead. Rest easy.“ he nodded at you again and then he disappeared. As you laid there, numb and exhausted, you thought about the gentle touches of your favourite villains.

When you thought you were finally going to sleep, you heard the familiar sound of Elora’s shoes, but suddenly they stopped. And then you heard her frantic breaths and loud screams. You’ve never heard her sound so scared ”Casimir! Oh my god! Casimir! They’re here!“ the sounds of her boots picked up again and this time it was faster than you’ve ever heard before.

Elora’s face was in front of yours as she pressed her hands to your chest. You whimpered out a guttural groan and the agony that coursed through your body and looked at her face. She was yelling to somebody on the right and her face had hot tears streaming down her face, her makeup completely washed down and she leaned down and pressed kisses to your face. You were wondering why you couldn’t hear her seductive voice, why everything was muffled and blurry but you couldn’t connect the dots. Then you followed her gaze. Casimir was standing there looking at your face in shock; his weapons were dropped and his eyes were widened. His mouth was open and his lips were trembling and he dropped to his knees and crawled over to you. One cold hand was cradling your face and it was weird, because Casimir’s hands are usually as warm as a furnace. He was talking to you. You couldn’t understand the words, though. You understood nothing. His other hand fished something out from his pocket and you looked at the syringe, he pulled out. His chest was rising frantically and his brown curls stuck to the sweat on his forehead and you looked at his pretty profile and giggled.

“You were right. Forgive me“

Part 2??

[honeytonedhottie]

my favorite looks from the victoria's secret fashion show 2024⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🐈‍⬛🎀

PINK CARPET LOOKS ; 

jordyn woods - she looks so stunning. im in love with her black lacy number and the matching black bra underneath. plus the shimmering diamonds around her neck and on her ears. her updo is so elegant but also effortless. she looks so grown and expensive and lovely. her red nails and rings add to that also, she just looks incredible. i wish that she maybe went for a different shoe but altogether the look is lovely.

xandra pohl - i love the bouncy blowout, the pink glitter, and her makeup EATS. and i love her baby pink number i think it suits her beautifully. i feel like she could've definitely accessorized a bit more because the outfit gives empty a little bit. shes on the list cuz i love the color of her outfit but i feel like some kitten heels would've made this look 10x better.

coco jones - my FAVORITE. im literally gagged. the black lace dress and the gold she literally looks stunning. i love the way she did her hair, the chunky jewelry, her nails and the headband. everything just blends beautifully. def my top 2 favorite pink carpet looks. i have no recommendations she ate.

tyla - tyla's outfit stood out and was absolutely gorgeous in my opinion. she stuns in a pretty hot pink number and i think that her heels go rly nice with the dress. her messy up do also gives off an air of elegance and beauty just like jordyn woods.

mary leest - her outfit is perfectly elegant with just the right amount of sexy and its so so pretty. i love the boa that she draped across her shoulders and the black gloves add a touch of old hollywood glam that im LIVING for.

leonie han - her dress is rly pretty and i love the delicate color of it. but again, PLEASE ACCESSORIZE ADEQUATELY. its such a shame when such a pretty dress is wearing someone and not the other way around. and strangely enough i feel like its not the bracelets and necklace that weren't enough its the HAIR. maybe something a big bouncier and bigger to give her outfit the fullness that it desperately needs.

jakie aina - her outfit is gorgeous, could use a shimmery necklace but aside from that its very very pretty on her. the outfit has fullness to it without needing a lot of accessories which is why i think that as long as the outfit speaks for itself the accessories are optional.

THE RUNWAY ; 

lisa’s black lacy number (def one of my favorites on the whole runway. i wish she had black lacy wings instead of the structured ones but easily my favorite)

anok yai’s floral number (she’s literally blooming, she looks like a FLOWER. her hair is giving barbie dolll and ultimately she had my favorite look of the whole entire night. the WINGSSS, the shoes everything just goes together beautifully.)

gigi hadid (she looks like a lavender princess fairy and it looks amazing on her. but PLEASEE why the slick hair?? when i think victorias secret im thinking of bouncy voluminous hair. i LOVE her wings though. they're so big and over the top and i love it)

imaan hamman (also goes with lisa and anok yai in my top three favorite looks of the night. its so simple but in my opinion her look gives the victorias secret that we all know and love the most.)

alex consani (i rly rly love baby blue on her, again, please bring back bouncy voluminous hair. and i kinda wish they gave her fluffier wings.)

maty fall (the silk, the feathers, chefs KISS. in his case i think the minimal wings look the prettiest because her outfit is fuller, the delicate wings complement it beautifully.)

jasmine tookes (i love the baby blue color on her, her lingerie specifically needed bigger wings because of how delicate the lingerie is. without the big wings it just lacks umph)

kate moss (i love lacy black if u cant already tell so i rly liked her outfit. the fluffy wings are also a nice touch and suit it prettily)

ashley graham (the gold details on her wings make her outfit pop and i love this for her. the lingerie also looks really gorgeous on her)

some honorable mentions include alessandra ambrosio, candice swanepoel's red number, bella hadid's red number, and miss TYRA BANKS…💬🎀

[angelofsmalldeaath]

Could you write anything about Andrew in his blue jeans. They got my going feral, absolutely loosing my shit

a/n: the blue jeans aren't heavily mentioned but i think they still do play an important part

cw: andrew having a dire desperate crush, very slightly suggestive

it’s thirty minutes until he’s supposed to be on stage. 

he’s in a city he’s played in multiple times, he knows the setlist from back to front, and he’s already thinking about what twists he can put on the songs tonight. the backstage is pretty crowded and bustling; his drummer sits on a chair, idly drumming away to whatever’s playing in his ears at the moment. his bassist has a laugh, chatting with some of the backing singers, a cigarette in one hand.  

he sits and watches. 

he knows she’s far too busy running around from one person to the next, making sure everything is perfect and ready to go. her staff lanyard swishes back and forth every time she dashes past him, and his heart squeezes every time she throws a casual smile at someone else.

“you’re running around like a headless chicken,” he calls out as soon as she’s within earshot. 

she staggers to a stop, looks at him with a raised eyebrow, “yeah, well,” she shrugs, “i have a million last-minute things to look at.”

he knows it’s literally her job, but in this moment, all he wants is for her to sit next to him (better yet, for her to sit in his lap) and just talk to him. about anything and everything. but then a small smile blooms on her face and his heart skips a beat. 

“your pins are all wonky,” she laughs a little and gestures for him to stand up.

it’s become a bit of a habit for him now, wearing the pins crooked by just the slightest. it happened a few months ago on accident when he was rushing, but then he saw how it irked her and how she was dying to fix it. how close they both stood while her fingers worked deftly at aligning them.  

and so now he does it on purpose, wears them just crooked enough to irk her so she would come over and fix them for him. but he has to be careful enough not to do it every time. and on days he wears them perfectly, he constantly dreams about what it would be like to have her hands still brushing against his chest.

“blue jeans today?” she quirks an eyebrow, looking him up and down.

“oh, you know all about my fashion choices, do you?” he teases, trying to compensate for how breathless he feels. a faint scent of jasmine washes over him—her shampoo or her body lotion, he doesn’t know—but his mind has started associating the scent with her and her alone. 

“no…” she trails off, looking at him a little sternly, and he worries a bit that he’s teased at the wrong time.

she was clearly running around, busy with other things backstage and now he’s sprung an additional task on her. he’s worried that he’s come across as a petulant rockstar who needs assistance for as simple a task as this. 

“they look nice on you. better than the black,” she bites her lip to stop herself from smiling and his brain short circuits. 

for one, she’s just teased back, even if it was barely anything. and now all he can think about is biting her lip while holding her in his arms. 

the height difference between them means that every time she looks up at him, it’s through her eyelashes. his lips part slightly, like he can’t get enough air into his lungs. and he can’t; he can’t just go around burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. so he has to collect little bits and pieces of her whenever he can and store them like stolen candy. 

“there,” she says once she’s done and gives him a little pat on his chest, “now you look all handsome again.”

him. handsome. she thinks he looks handsome. he’s sure he has the stupidest, silliest grin on his face.

“oh god, don’t smile at me like that,” she blurts out. it’s rushed, almost a whisper, almost like it wasn’t supposed to be said out loud, but her eyes widen. and she looks away in an instant.

“why?” he feigns arrogance, seamlessly slipping into the confident artist his fans meet, “does my devastatingly handsome smile make you go crazy?”

she rolls her eyes but doesn't take a step back. she doesn't even move her hands from his chest. which is a bit of a problem because his heart is racing. 

“you okay?” she asks and he watches her brows furrow in concern. 

shit. shit. shit. he has to think on his feet, and the only thing he can’t do right now is focus! 

“just nervous about the show?”

it comes out more like a question, and he wants to kick himself for telling such an obvious lie. she knows he has played here like four times before. she knows he has everything rehearsed and ready to go, and whatever amount of nerves he might feel, they’re nowhere near enough to make his chest pound like this. 

she gives him a sceptical look and opens her mouth, about to say something, but someone calls her name. both their gazes snap to see another person on the staff, clipboard in hand, feet tapping impatiently. he feels an instant annoyance because how dare they look at her with anything other than adoration, but then his gaze snaps back to her. 

“i gotta go,” she gives him a small smile. “but good luck out there, you’ll be fantastic.”

he nods absently, like a pathetic idiot. 

“and,” she grins “wear that blue jeans more, will you? it really does look gorgeous on you.” before he knows what’s happening, she stands on her toes and presses a tiny kiss on his cheek. and just like that, she’s gone, running around the set once again. 

in a daze, his fingers come up to lightly touch his cheek. multiple neurons in his body are misfiring, and he feels a bit like he’s about to fall off a cliff. 

he wonders if he should follow her and kiss her hard enough that he will taste her for days. he wonders if she tastes like the cherry lip gloss she uses. then he worries that she’s just a friendly, affectionate person. and finally, he burns with envy that someone out there might be getting a real, proper good-luck kiss from her. 

“alright, mate?” his bassist appears, finally back from a cigarette break, and he has to stop himself from unloading everything on him. 

it’s ten minutes until he’s supposed to be on stage.

and now all he can think about is his blue jeans on her bedroom floor and cherry-flavoured lips. 

[crescenthistory]

hi carina!! happy 2k!!🥳 hope to see the day you reach 10k :D

i would like to ask if you could argue for prompt 44 from list a with our favorite boy regulus black?

i imagine a fluffy prompt with this, but write whatever you please. i know i'm gonna love it anyway 💕

~🍓

hi my angel!! thank you sm, both for your love and the great request<33 proud to say i've finally managed to write something short and sweet for once

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 44 "jasmine bath salts" with regulus black

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: non-sexual and non-descriptive nudity, vague references to regulus' drama, sickening fluff, living together

wc: 844

You smelled the jasmine before anything else when you stepped foot into your flat.

A wide smile began to bloom on your face as you locked the door and began to toe off your shoes, neck already straining to see if you could catch a glimpse of your black-haired boy in the hallway. Work had dragged on today, and in your quick phone call to Regulus to warn him you would be home later than expected, he had said to take your time, that he was ready to greet you whenever.

You presumed it was this greeting he was orchestrating in the bathroom. The sound of running water and low jazz music streamed out through the cracked open door, along with the marvellous smell.

As you made your way through your narrow flat, you tried your best not to be quiet, so he wouldn’t be startled by your sudden presence. You made quick work of putting your outerwear and bag in all the correct places, taking appreciative note of how clean the flat was. Regulus was far from a messy person, but it was clear he had gone the extra mile for you today; even the fairy lights had undergone a battery change, shining significantly brighter than when you left this morning.

When you reached the door to the bathroom, slightly ajar and with steam rolling through, you carefully pushed it open and leaned against the doorway.

There, in all his domestic glory, sat Regulus on the side of your nearly filled bathtub, whisking up some white bubbles. His usual black dress shirt had been discarded for one of his softer, oversized t-shirts – still black, mind you – and his hair was pulled back on each side with some of your hair clips.

“What’s all this for?” you asked, somewhat breathlessly and with a look in your eyes you were certain was positively smitten.

Despite your efforts, Regulus still jumped a little at the sound of the creaking door and your voice, but it was nowhere near how bad it was when you first moved in together; he was getting used to you. The thought itself made your smile stretch even further.

Your smile was quickly reflected back at you on his face, lips tugging as he got up from his knees and dried the bubbles off his hand with a plush towel. “Hi, amour.” He greeted you verbally seconds before he stepped close to greet you physically – his skin was damp from his time spent in the bathroom and he was more soft and pliant than ever. 

You breathed him in and pulled away to gaze in his grey irises. “It smells heavenly in here.”

“Good. How else is an angel like you supposed to feel at home?”

His smile turned sheepish even before he made the joke, and you swatted at him harmlessly as laughter bubbled in your throat. 

“You’re too sweet to me,” you murmured, pressing butterfly kisses around his chin and jaw. You were undeterred as he vehemently shook his head.

“Not sweet enough,” he corrected, voice low and concerningly close to displeased with himself. He carried on before you had time to disagree, but you wrapped your arms around him nonetheless. “I missed you today. Let’s never schedule my days off for when you have to work again.”

You pulled him in even tighter at that for an overdue hug, nuzzling your nose into his t-shirt that you were increasingly certain he had stolen from Sirius. “Noted, never again. Is that why you’ve drawn us a bath?”

“Us?” He pulled his head back comically so he could look down at you. “Amour, you’re the one who's been working on your feet all day. You should relax in the bath while I fetch us dinner.”

Now that was just silly. You said as much as you pulled the bathroom door shut behind you and began to discard your clothes for the day, basking in the soft lights from the many candles he had lit around the tub. “Dinner can wait, my love. I’ve missed you too, you know. Take the bath with me.”

Regulus regarded you with a joking expression that was supposed to convey apprehension – but you saw how fiercely the corners of his lips were twitching into a lovesick smile. You walked up to him and pushed your hands up under his t-shirt, holding him close as you encouraged him to get changed. “Relax with me, baby,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him sweetly. “You deserve it.”

“You deserve it.” There was no real fight left in his voice as he began to help you in your endeavours.

A small laugh escaped you as you gave him a sideway glance. “Alright then, I deserve it. And I relax best with you. Not to mention, these are your favourite bath salts.”

Regulus took your hand to help you descend into the bathtub, warm water and steam engulfing you like it was welcoming you home. He gazed down at you with nothing short of adoration and worship. “Hard to argue with that logic.”

“Then don’t.”

Safe to say, he didn’t.

[jasmineandcedar]

You already have me

Azriel's confession

An Elriel one shot (Elain’s POV)

In which Azriel resorts to poetry and confesses his devotion to Elain.

Warning: sexual content (not explicit)

-----

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a cool, pearly glow over the river house. Moonlight spilled through the windowpanes like liquid silk, painting every contour in shades of blue and silver. Even the shadows seemed to take on hues of deepest indigo, pooling in every corner like dark ink.

Elain stepped into her room, pausing at the threshold and closing her eyes. A gentle breeze stirred the curtains, carrying with it the deep scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was there. Tilting her head slightly, a faint smile bloomed across her face. Tonight, that familiar scent was laced with something darker, wilder.

When Elain finally opened her eyes, they found his at once.

Azriel stood by the window, half veiled in shadows, the moonlight catching on his dark hair like the silvery gleam of a raven’s wing.

They watched each other in silence. For silence was their language—the language of the unspoken longing that clung to the air around them, between them, in every space they shared.

Elain noticed then, the freshly picked flowers resting on her pillow—delicate and pale blossoms of the same shade of white as her nightgown—like silver moonlight woven into bloom. She crossed the room on light steps, her bare feet gliding over the cold, polished floor. The thin, lacy fabric of her nightgown danced over her skin with every step.

Without breaking Azriel’s gaze, she trailed her fingertips over the bedding, feeling the crisp linen beneath her touch. Finally, she lowered her eyes to carefully pick up the pale flowers. Bringing them to her nose, she let the sweet scent of jasmine envelop her. Her heart clenched as she felt the ache of his longing in the fragile petals.

He had thought of her.

“They’re lovely,” she said quietly.

It was a bittersweet, intimate gesture—a piece of his inner world, offered in secret defiance of the outer world’s attempts to keep them apart. The anguish of it all twisted something deep inside her, reigniting that dull, persistent ache that threatened to consume her if she dwelled on it.

Elain beheld the flowers for a long time, gently twirling the fragile stems between her fingers and savouring their subtle scent as the night stretched around them.

She took a deep breath, then whispered into the stillness of the night.

“It should have been you.”

Azriel didn’t speak, but Elain knew the intensity in his gaze was edged with unspoken desire. It was raw, unguarded, just like she knew he was beneath those shadows that hid him.

She finally met his gaze and held it, well aware he needed her to. Azriel made no effort to hide the pain in his eyes—the pain that mirrored her own. There had never been any pretense between them, no veil to obscure the cruelty of their fate.

The room fell still again—into a heavy, intimate tranquility that held all that unspoken desire between them. The only sound was the peaceful hum of the breeze stirring the curtains, like a sigh of longing from the night itself.

When Elain spoke again, her words were as fragile as the flower stems she still held between her fingertips.

“What would you do?” she asked, barely more than a whisper. The question hung in the air like morning’s mist. “If it had been you?”

Words she had carried in her heart for too long—the heart that pounded against her ribcage, like the desperate wingbeats of a caged bird.

Azriel’s gaze thawed, the tension in his features melting into warmth.

“I would cherish you,” he said at last, his tone hoarse, as if the words scraped against the rawness of his heart.

He pushed off the windowsill in one seamless motion—like a shadow detaching from a wall. He approached her with a measured grace, the space between them narrowing with each step until Elain could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“But my intentions go far beyond that,” he said in a voice soft as night.

Azriel stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath caress her skin. His gaze cradled hers, as it always had, uncovering all the truths she hid from the world around them.

“Should you allow it, I would revere every inch of you,” Azriel murmured in a quiet, intimate whisper. “I would fall to my knees, and worship every curve, every freckle kissed by the sun—until you see the beauty I see every time I look at you.”

That gaze that cradled hers didn’t waver. Neither did hers.

With aching reverence, Azriel let his fingers glide down her arm, skimming over the thin fabric of her nightgown. Elain felt the warmth of his touch seep through the light fabric, sinking into her skin. Her pulse fluttered wildly, every beat an echo of where his touch had been.

“I would whisper praise against your skin,” he breathed, his devotion etched in every syllable. “Until you ache for what I long to give you.”

Azriel lifted a hand and slowly swept her hair behind her shoulder. His eyes flickered down, tracing the elegant line of her neck, bared to the cool night air—and to the heat of his gaze. When that gaze met hers again, it was a molten swirl of embers and emeralds.

“Only then would I unveil you fully to me,” he murmured, that hazel swirl locked on her. “Until there was nothing between us.”

His eyes drifted back to her exposed skin, and Elain felt a flush of warmth spread in the wake of his gaze. Azriel’s fingers traced the finespun neckline of her nightgown where the fabric met her skin. He eased the thin lace aside, baring the small dip of her collarbone. Elain felt as vulnerable as the petals still in her grasp, yet beneath his touch, she had always found a sanctuary. Her faint gasp filled the air between them as Azriel lowered his head, his lips brushing her skin as softly as the beat of a butterfly's wing. Elain's eyes drifted shut, and the sensation washed over her like the first touch of sunlight after the darkest of nights.

“I would reveal your beauty inch by inch,” Azriel murmured, carefully easing the nightgown off her shoulder. “And show you the depth of my devotion.”

Elain shivered when the cool night air kissed her bare skin, but then his lips followed, warm and soft, as he pressed them to the gentle curve of her shoulder.

“I would adorn your skin with the kisses you deserve,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, lingering as if to etch the memory of it into his very being, “and commit your perfection to memory.”

Elain’s fingers found the fabric of Azriel’s shirt, soft against the unyielding strength beneath. She clutched it tightly, like the roots of a plant cling to the earth.

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck. Elain felt her pulse flutter beneath his lips, beating like a delicate bird’s wings. He traced a slow, reverent path of kisses up the graceful curve of her neck. When his lips brushed the sensitive spot just below her ear, a shiver rippled through her.

Elain took a small step towards him, her body instinctively seeking him, and Azriel moved with her, as shadows move with the sun.

“And when I finally take you,” he whispered against her skin, his longing carried on the heat of his breath, “I will listen for every catch in your breath, drink in every gasp, savour every moan.”

Elain's head fell back as she surrendered to his touch—as if the weight of his words alone could unravel her. The room seemed to hold its breath with her when he trailed kisses along her jaw.

“I will learn the song of your body,” Azriel murmured, voice low and thick with desire. “Uncover the secrets of your skin.”

He pressed another kiss to her neck, so tenderly it stole the air from her lungs. Then his lips lingered again at that spot just below her ear, unmoving, as if he were listening for those secret confessions her body whispered to him alone.

“Until I know you more intimately than I know myself.”

Azriel swept one hand into her hair, his fingers weaving through the silken waves of golden brown. He tilted her head to the side, revealing the delicate slope of her neck, in a gesture that was both a plea and a command. Elain’s chest rose in a shivering gasp, but she arched her neck further in silent answer. Azriel dipped his head lower, brushing his lips to the hollow of her throat, before trailing featherlight kisses up her sensitive skin, pausing just beneath her jaw where her pulse thrummed with secret need.

Elain felt him inhale with her.

“Until I hold your pleasure in my hand,” Azriel said on the exhale. “And you’re trembling beneath me, yearning for release.”

He drew closer still, so close that his lips brushed her ear.

“And when that moment comes,” he promised, and Elain tightened her grip on his shirt, “I will I let you come undone in my arms.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to cradle her gaze in his again. The moonlight caught the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, making them glow like embers in the dark, smoldering with a heat that could devour them both if they surrendered to it.

Azriel slanted his lips over hers in the ghost of a kiss. Elain felt the world around her shrink into this singular, sacred point of contact—where his breath became hers, her every inhale a plea, every exhale a yielding surrender.

“And when you come undone,” he said, his lips so close to hers that Elain felt the tremble of every syllable, “it will be with my name on your lips.”

“Azriel,” Elain breathed, the sound slipping out of her in a faint, desperate plea that carried all the unspoken longings of her fluttering heart.

“Just like that,” he whispered against her lips, his voice raw and broken with a need that echoed her own.

They lingered there, their breaths entwined in the shared rhythm of that silent song only they seemed able to hear—as if they had always moved to the same quiet cadence of life.

Azriel’s hand remained in her hair, his fingers threading gently through her silken curls. His free hand moved to cup her cheek, before coming to rest at the base of her neck. His thumb drew slow, soothing strokes along her skin, in the way his touch always spoke of a quiet devotion language could never capture. Elain’s fingers were still curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to the steady warmth of his body that grounded her beating heart.

“It should have been you,” Elain repeated desperately, voice quivering on an inhale as if the air itself was too heavy. “It would have been you.”

That gaze that cradled hers softened again, smoldering heat giving way to that tenderness that made her chest tighten. He cupped her face between his hands, embracing her as if she were the most precious thing he had ever held.

“You already have me,” he said at last, before leaning down to press a kiss to her lips—like a seal to his silent vow.

[cera-writes]

Heyo saw you were taking requests for Gambit and I'm deathly starved for content of our favorite cajun could I request something really fluffy maybe Remy taking us to the french quarter and going to cafe du monde for beignets and taking touristy pics in front of the st Louis just light hearted fun 😊 anyway love your writing and hope you keep it up!

I love this idea! I literally went to New Orleans again over the weekend and it's fresh off my memory so this was a fun idea to write <3 Pairing: Remy LeBeau x Reader Prompt: Remy shows reader a fun, cute time in the French Quarter.

A walk Around the Quarter

The air hung thick with the scent of chicory coffee and powdered sugar, drawing Remy LeBeau and you deeper into the bustling heart of the French Quarter. The vibrant hues of Creole cottages and wrought iron balconies blurred past as Remy, ever the charming guide, navigated the labyrinthine streets with practiced ease. Each corner turned revealed a new treasure: a hidden courtyard overflowing with blooming jasmine, a street musician coaxing soulful melodies from a weathered saxophone, the tantalizing aroma of Cajun spices wafting from an open doorway.

"Welcome, cher," Remy announced with a flourish as you both emerged into the sun-drenched plaza fronting the iconic St. Louis Cathedral. "The crown jewel of New Orleans, and the perfect backdrop for our first touristy snapshot."

He winked and produced a camera seemingly from thin air, capturing your smiles against the majestic facade. Then, with a playful tug, he led you towards your ultimate destination.

"Prepare yourself," Remy warned with a grin. "For a taste of pure, unadulterated bliss."

Cafe du Monde, a bastion of beignet-fueled delight, awaited. The air thrummed with the lively chatter of patrons and the rhythmic clatter of trays laden with the irresistible pastries. Remy secured a coveted table, its marble top already dusted with a generous layer of powdered sugar. A street performer, drawn by your laughter, serenaded you both with a jaunty tune on his accordion, adding a touch of whimsy to the already enchanting atmosphere.

"Three beignets, s'il vous plait," Remy requested with a practiced charm that had the waitress returning in record time.

The beignets arrived, a trio of golden-brown pillows, their airy centers promising a symphony of flavor. Remy, a connoisseur of the finer things, demonstrated the proper technique: a delicate pinch, a generous dip in the accompanying mound of powdered sugar, and a bite that elicited a satisfied sigh.

"C'est magnifique, non?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with delight.

The afternoon unfolded in a leisurely haze of powdered sugar and laughter. You strolled through Jackson Square, admiring the vibrant works of local artists, and paused to listen to the soulful melodies of a street musician. Remy, ever the entertainer, even tried his hand at juggling, much to the amusement of onlookers. A horse-drawn carriage clopped past, its passengers waving merrily, and Remy couldn't resist doffing his hat with a flourish.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the Quarter, Remy and you found yourselves back at the St. Louis Cathedral. The plaza was bathed in a soft, ethereal light, creating a scene of undeniable romance. The street lamps flickered to life, casting dancing shadows on the ancient walls, and the distant sound of jazz music drifted on the breeze.

"One last photo, cher?" Remy asked, his voice a low murmur.

He captured the moment, your silhouettes framed against the cathedral's illuminated spires.

"But the night is still young," Remy said with a wink. "Care to hear some real New Orleans music?"

He led you down a dimly lit alley, the sound of a saxophone growing louder with each step. You emerged into a smoky jazz club, the air pulsating with the rhythm of the music. Remy took your hand and led you to the dance floor, where you twirled and swayed to the infectious beat. The music wrapped around you, a tapestry of notes and emotions, and you lost yourself in the moment, in Remy's eyes, in the magic of the night.

As the final notes faded, Remy pulled you close. "Merci," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "For sharin' dis perfect day with Remy."

The French Quarter, with its vibrant tapestry of sights, sounds, and flavors, had woven its magic. And at its heart, amidst the beignets, laughter, and the rhythm of the jazz, a connection had blossomed, leaving a trail of unforgettable memories in its wake.

[daydreaming-nerd]

Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 12

Young Love and Old Money Masterlist

AN: Wow this took longer than I thought because I JUST graduated college, which has been a hard transition for me. Also in one of my grad photos I posed with ACOMAF and Fourth Wing and tagged both Sarah and Rebecca Yarros and REBECCA FUCKING DMed ME AND CONGRATULATED ME! So yeah that was insane.

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Smut, mating bond being accepted, territorial Cass, angst for Rhys

Word Count: 5,535

“And this is really what you want?” Rhysand asks me for the one-millionth time. 

“Yes brother,” I assure him, taking his hands in mine. 

“No ornate, over the top mating ceremony? No wedding with all seven courts in attendance? Need I remind you that you are the Princess of Velaris, The Jewel of Prythian. I am the High Lord of Night, simply speak it and it is done,” Rhysand fusses. 

I can’t help but laugh at his eagerness to lay the world at the feet of his little sister. He had already given me our mother’s sapphire encrusted diadem as my something blue and had the small temple decorated in faelights and night blooming jasmine. I could practically smell the sweet flowers from the other side of the double oak doors before me. If I peeked through the crack I would see my handsome mate, my cousin, Azriel, and Amren, all waiting for Rhys to walk me down the aisle. 

“Rhys, I already had a larger than life wedding. I want this one to be intimate and sweet, just my family,” I assure him and I see his shoulders relax. 

“I’m sorry that Autumn Court traditions didn’t allow me to walk you down the aisle last time,” he smiles, offering me his arm, which I take. 

“It’s okay that was just the practice wedding,” I tease, bumping into his shoulder. 

Rhys barks out a laugh, a real one, a sound I hadn’t heard from him in a long time. He looks over at me one last time, taking in my appearance before placing a kiss on the top of my head, “You look beautiful sister. Cassian is truly a very lucky male.”  

I smile, smoothing my dress over one last time before the double doors open to reveal the beautiful temple and my mate turns to meet my gaze.

The soft faelights cast a warm glow throughout the temple and the smiling faces of my family meet me as Rhys leads me down the aisle. Mor looks so happy she might squeal, Amren’s face dons a small smile, the biggest one I’ve seen from her, ever. Azriel looks at me for only a moment before turning his head to Cassian, watching his brother's reaction to seeing his future wife and mate.

Cassian was dressed immaculately, in one of the many jackets that he wore to the Autumn Court balls. But I didn’t care much about how he dressed, I was more focused on his eyes, how they glassed over as I walked closer to him. Such happiness and joy that lie in them, like he had been waiting for this day for many years. 

As I step up to him Rhys passes my hand to Cassian’s with a knowing glance. My general looked down upon me like I was the most precious thing he ever beheld. I squeezed his hands tighter to assure him that I was real. 

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, my love,” Cassian smiled before turning to the priestess. 

I don’t have time to say anything before the priestess begins to speak, seemingly more eager than the rest of us. 

“We gather here today to bear witness to the union of these two beings. If anyone should have any reason why these two shall not be joined please say so at once.” the priestess says. 

“This is also the time when I remind everyone that I have a knife,” Cassian says under his breath, earning a laugh from all of us. 

“Very well,” the priestess giggles. “Do you, y/n, youngest sister of our High Lord Rhysand and Princess of Velaris, take this male to be your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you shall live?” she asked me. 

“I do,” I smiled seeing the love pouring from Cassian’s eyes as I slid the simple gold band on his finger. There might have been five other people in the room but I couldn’t care less. Cassian’s hands gave mine a gentle squeeze, his way of showing me how happy he was to hear me say those two little words. 

“And do you, Cassian, General of the Night Courts Armies, take this female to be your lawfully wedded wife? In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you shall live?” the priestess asks, looking at Cassian. He didn’t even notice her. 

“Hell yeah I do,” he laughs, earning a laugh from our family once more as he places his mother’s ring on my hand. 

“Princess if you would,” she said, gesturing to the small blackberry tart on the plate before her. 

When I asked Cassian what he wanted as his official mating offering he didn’t hesitate to ask for a blackberry tart. I was puzzled at first until he explained that we met because of a blackberry tart. The first day he saw me, reading on the couch of the townhouse he and Azriel had come over because my mother had made us all blackberry tarts.  It was after  his story that I realized he had thought about this for a long time.  

I picked up the small pastry off the ornate plate and offered it to Cass. He plucked it from my  hands like it was made of porcelain and took a bite, berry staining his lips. I couldn’t help but reach a  hand up to wipe the mess from his face. 

“Congratulations you two, you are now mates as well as husband and wife,” the priestess smiled fondly, taking a step back.

“C’mere you,” Cassian smirked, pulling me into a kiss. 

His mouth melded against mine, and immediately things felt…different. They were deeper, stronger. The bond between us seemed to glow even brighter.  I felt Cassian dip me, in order to kiss me deeper, earning cheers from our family, especially Mor. When we came up for air I felt like my skin was on fire, the need to touch and feel all of my mate consuming my very soul. Like all moral code I had was thrown out the window. I barely felt it when we broke apart for air. The only thing bringing me back to reality was Cassian’s hazel eyes darkening. 

“Rhys I’m sorry to say this, but I’m going to go fuck your sister now,” Cassian jested picking me up bridal style and walking back down the aisle. 

The sound of my brother’s protest and the family’s laughter followed us as we launched skyward the cold night air whipping my dress around. The stars seemed brighter tonight as we flew over the Sidra, making a beeline for the House of Wind. It wasn’t uncommon for mating ceremonies to end so abruptly, but most of the time the couple would give their thanks to all in attendance before caving to the frenzy. Then again since when were Cassian and I a normal couple?

We landed on the terrace of the House of Wind and the second we were on solid ground Cassian kissed me, not even stopping to put me down. 

“Cass put me down!” I laughed between kisses. 

“Over my dead body, we're going straight to our room,” he smiled storming off towards the door. 

That’s right, our room. I had moved all my things into his room just yesterday. Thankfully he didn’t have much of a wardrobe so my thousands of dresses fit perfectly. 

The house thankfully opened our bedroom door for us, but it closed promptly with a slam as Cassian’s foot kicked it shut. I felt my feet finally touch the ground as greedy hands roamed my waist. 

“You are truly the most beautiful bride, I am so lucky to have you,” Cassian beamed, taking in every inch of me. 

“I’m far luckier to call you my mate and my husband,” I hum, kissing him again as I begin ripping the buttons of his shirt open. 

“That’s right you’re my wife now,” he exclaimed, kissing me deeply. “I’ve waited so long to call you my wife y/n, you have no idea.” 

I felt his hands wander to the buttons of my dress, he fumbled with a few before the thing was ripped in two, buttons ricocheting off every wall and surface in the room. I gasped as the cold air hit my bareback.  I took a step back to reveal my surprise for my husband, one Mor insisted I needed tonight. 

As the intricate wedding dress pooled at my feet my white lingerie was revealed. I remembered when Mor took me shopping at her favorite shop, she claimed it was nonnegotiable, and as Casssian’s eyes nearly popped out of his head I could see why. 

“Fucking hell,” he moaned closing the distance between us by grabbing me by my waist. “Pinch me baby there’s no way you’re my wife,” he said, wandering his hands up and down my body setting my skin on fire. 

“Why don’t you get on your knees Cass,” I whisper in his ear, knowing his second surprise is waiting for him there. 

My general, and the Lord of Bloodshed, falls to his knees before me without even a protest. His eyes fell directly on the garter I was wearing on my thigh. Seemingly plain and white, but I smirked as his eyes widened once again as he saw the customization on it.  

Embroidered on the garther in red thread, read one name. 

‘Cassian’

“You’re going to kill me princess,” he groaned, pressing his head against my thigh.

I couldn’t help  but laugh at his reaction to the fabric around my thigh as I ran a hand through his hair, “So it’s safe to say you like it?” I ask.

“Like it? I fucking love it baby. I’m fucking you with this one tonight.” He smirks leaving open mouthed kisses on my thigh. 

“Damn it that thing is scratchy,” I giggle. I wasn’t lying, the lace had been rubbing against my leg all day. 

“Then allow me to take it off for you,” he said, pressing a kiss just above the lace. “Can’t have anything marring my princess’ perfect skin,” he smirked before grabbing the fabric with his teeth and pulling it down my leg. 

The sight of his dark eyes locking on mine as the lace slid off my leg was enough to have my knees buckle. Thankfully his hands on my hips kept me stable as the garter slid off my foot. He chucked the thing clear across the room before standing and picking me up in one fell swoop.  

I couldn’t help but giggle as he laid me ever so gently on our shared bed. Staring down at me, taking in every single inch of me. 

“My beautiful, beautiful mate,” he breathed, leaning over me to press a kiss to my lips before trailing his mouth down my neck. “Beautiful, exquisite, and all fucking mine,” he groaned accentuating each word with a kiss.  

“Cassian,” I breathed, feeling his mouth traveling to where I needed him most. “I need you now,” I pleaded. 

“Shhh not yet wife, I want to taste you first,” he grinned placing a kiss atop my clothed core before sliding the white lace down my legs and discarding it with the garter. 

A series of kisses lined my core before he parted my folds, licking a long stripe up the center of me flicking his tongue at my clit causing me to arch my back off the mattress. He took his time, swirling and suckling on every part of me. When his fingers slid into me slowly but surely it had me crying out in pleasure. 

I  looked down to where my husband feasted on me, his eyes staring directly into mine. He watched my every reaction to his tongue and his hands as he brought me closer and closer to the gods themselves. Those hazel eyes turned dark brown as they devoured every gasp of pleasure I let out.

“Cass I’m going to-” 

“Cum baby, I want my wife to cum all over my fucking face,” he growled thrusting his fingers into me faster. The change in his voice was so drastic, so deep it had me doing just that.   

I knew the fae were more primal, more needy during their mating but I had no clue it would be like this, no clue I would love it as much as I did. As I came down from my high I realized how badly I needed him unleashed, needed all him. 

“Fuck you taste so fucking good mate,” he groaned licking up whatever juices I left over. 

“Cass I need you,” I said with a guttural sound that didn’t even sound like me.

His eyes snapped up from my cunt to me, somehow even darker than they were moments ago. He crawled up my body, a look in his eyes that could only be described as pure male pride as he said with a smirk.

“Yeah wife? You need me?” he grinned, placing open mouthed kisses over my collarbones. 

“Yes Cass, I need you. I need all of you,” I pleaded, my nails raking down his now bareback. When his shirt had come off? I didn’t know. 

“I’m not myself right now y/n,” he gritted, trying to show restraint. “I’ve never needed you as badly as I do now.” 

“Take me Cass, I want you unleashed,” I begged, pulling him closer to me, just needing to feel his skin brush against mine. 

His pants were quickly discarded to wherever my clothes had gone and I felt his hard cock brush against my stomach. I found myself subconsciously bucking into it like my body was forcing me to. He thrusted inside me in one motion filling me to the brim and causing us both to let out unnatural sounds. 

“Ah oh god’s Cassian, it feels so good!” I cried, finally feeling the relief of having him inside me. 

The only response I got from Cassian I got was a low growl as he started rutting inside of me. The sensation was almost too much to take. I knew that once the mating bond was accepted sex was  different. There was nothing in the world that could compare. It was part of what made the mating bond so special. 

As I felt Cassian thrusting into me, and heard his moans of pleasure as my walls clenched around him I wondered if I would ever get enough of this. If I would ever be truly satisfied. No wonder they called it the frenzy, I could sleep with him inside me and I would still need more.

“Holy fuck baby you feel so good,” Cassian grunted, his face tightening in the process. 

“Cassian!” I screamed, unable to remember anything but the name of my mate. 

“Who’s fuckin pussy is this?” he roared, setting a brutal pace. 

“Yours Cass,” I cried, feeling myself falling over the edge at  his words. 

My orgasm ripped through me like a tidal wave, the pleasure branding my every nerve as I felt the aftershocks all over my body. I had never felt this way before.

“Fuckkk,” Cass moaned, sitting himself inside of me as I felt his load coat my walls. 

He collapsed beside me cradling me to his chest, both of us sweating and breathing heavily. My legs trembled from the aftershock of my release. 

“Shit princess, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Cassian asked, tilting my chin up so he could assess my face. 

“No, no I’m fine,” I assured him before collapsing on his chest again. 

“I’m sorry I got a little rough there, it was-” 

“The bond,” I said, finishing his sentence. “Don’t worry I feel it too.” 

The heat returned to that spot between my legs and suddenly I needed to be closer to him, even though I was lying on top of him. I lifted my head to press kisses to his bare chest, my favorite activity to do. 

“Y/n if you don’t stop I’m gonna-” 

“I need you Cassian,” I said, cutting him off again with another kiss to his pec. 

His eyes lit up in amusement as he placed my hips over his already hard cock. I started grinding on him like my body was on autopilot. 

“Who am I to deny a princess?” he smirked, pressing a kiss to my lips. 

“We might be here a while,” I breathed, grasping his hair to pull him closer. 

“I can live with that,” he smiled.  

Cassian’s POV:

As expected the mating frenzy lasted about two weeks. Hell it would’ve been longer had Rhys not sent Azriel to break up the love fest. Apparently, there was still work to be done and my presence was needed at Windhaven. Devlon had been slacking in recruiting new troops, and with a war looming, and no Autumn Court soldiers to aid us, that wasn’t going to fly. 

Thankfully with a few ass kickings, Devlon finally got his shit in gear, and more Illyrians were being recruited and trained. Every day I flew up to impart my wisdom and of course make an example of a few of the older soldiers who thought they were ready for battle. 

The days were long, but it only made coming home to my mate all the more sweeter. I used to come home to an empty bed and a glass of whiskey, maybe even a female if I was lucky. At least I used to think I was lucky back then. Nothing compared to seeing y/n’s smiling face as I walked through the door every day.

 Sometimes she would be reading a book and I could sneak up on her and kiss her on the cheek.  Other times she would sneak up on me and wrap her arms around me before telling me I was stinky and needed a bath, a bath she always happily joined me in. One that was more fucking than it was washing. 

“Princess, are you almost ready?” I asked her, knocking on the bathroom door once again.  

With things in the camps finally starting to run according to schedule I finally had time to train y/n as she had asked me to. I couldn’t believe that she thought I wouldn’t want to. I had never been more proud of her for wanting to give herself that freedom, that peace of mind to know that she could defend herself if need be. I was grateful to be the one to help her. So grateful in fact that I went out and bought her some Illyrian training leathers.

She nearly squealed at the sight of them, but the second she touched them her face contorted. She told me that she was scared to wear them because even though she was half Illyrian she didn’t have wings. To which I explained to her that if anyone dared say a word about it they would find their head on a pike. Not that I thought anyone in Windhaven would dare insult their general’s mate. 

“Yeah I think so, are they always this tight?” she asked, throwing open the bathroom door. 

I had seen my mate in lavish dresses, wedding dresses, lingerie, and nothing at all, but seeing her in Illyrian fighting leathers? It was going to be a lot harder to keep my focus than I thought.

“Cass?” she chimed, snapping her fingers to get my attention. 

“Oh- um,” I stumbled. “Yes they are, they create less drag when flying and they keep your opponents from having something to grab onto,” I explain to her, unable to keep my eyes from wandering over her body.

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said, turning to look at herself in the mirror one last time. “I’m ready to go then.”  

We made our way to a terrace giving Azriel a wave as we took flight. It might’ve been faster to winnow to Windhaven, but I didn’t mind flying with y/n in my arms one bit. Not when I spent days thinking I never would again. Not when this relationship between us was so new. I still felt like it would be ripped away from me at any given moment, Cauldron knew everything else in my life had been. 

The weather in Velaris was beginning to warm up as spring was approaching, but in the Illyrian mountains there was still snow on the ground. As we neared Windhaven I felt y/n shiver and instinctively pulled her closer to me. I hadn’t told Devlon that we were coming to use the sparring ring and the practice grounds. I didn’t need to, I was the general, and more importantly y/n was their princess. Granted a princess they had never seen before, but still their superior nonetheless. 

Confused faces graced every man woman and child as I touched down at the edge of camp with y/n. They had all of course heard stories of y/n, maybe even seen paintings of her, but they had never once seen her in the flesh. Even though news traveled slowly here it wasn’t hard to guess who she was, not with all the stories of her beauty. I remembered Eris recounting one…

“Eyes like a storm, skin soft as rose petals and hair like threads of silk. The Jewel of Prythian and the weakness of every male…”

As we walked through the camp I understood why y/n hated large crowds so much. I remember she once told me that walking through a ballroom felt like being a painting put on display. As we walked hand in hand I noticed that every pair of eyes that found her also found me, which set me on edge. I looked down to see her blissfully unaware like she was completely unbothered by their stares. Still, I would keep on my toes. 

We approached a rogue training ring near the edge of the camp, and I felt y/n’s body language lighten as she ran over to a rack of wooden weapons picking up a sword. The look on her face was so enthusiastic I couldn’t help but smile at her. 

“You’re not quite ready for that one,” I laughed watching her swing the sword around like a toy. 

“Are you kidding me? Does this look ‘not ready’ to you?” She challenged, pointing the sword at me.

I cocked an eyebrow at the dull wood pointing at my chest. In one movement I grasped the end of the practice sword in one hand and pushed her down with the other. She fell to the mat with a thud, looking up at me like a toddler. 

“Hey!” she protested dusting herself off as I put the fake weapon back with the rest. 

“You asked me to treat you the same as I would any of my troops. Are you taking that statement back?” I challenged her. 

“No I just didn’t know you were going to push me,” she huffed. 

“Oh, I’m gonna do a lot more than just push you, princess,” I laughed ruffling her hair which was in a simple braid. “If you want to wield a sword you have to be strong enough for it. Which means we're going to be working on those muscles first.” 

“Okay let's do it!” she exclaimed. “Where do we start?” 

“You, start by giving me three laps around camp to get warmed up,” I said sitting on a nearby rock. 

“You’re not joining me?” she asked, crossing her arms. 

“And miss the view of you running away in those pants? Not a chance princess.” I smirked, getting comfortable where I sat. 

To my surprise, there were no further protests as she collected herself and began running around the camp. I was right about the view of my mate running in those tight Illyrian leathers, it would be a miracle if I let those things get home in one piece. 

Y/n ‘s first lap around the camp was a quick one, I forgot to tell her that it wasn’t about getting the laps done quickly, it was about warming up. I supposed that learning from one’s mistakes was the best way to learn though. Once she got through her second lap she had slowed down and by the time she came back to the mat her breaths were ragged. 

“By the cauldron how do you do that?” she asked out of breath. 

“That was three-quarters of a mile princess, my warm-up is five miles,” I laugh standing from the rock. 

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head at my words. She straightens up trying her best to control her breaths. 

“Now drop and give me twenty push-ups,” I said pointing to the mat. Y/n raised her eyebrows and started doing her pushups as asked. 

It wasn’t until a few moments later that I became acutely aware of the presence around us. Without turning my body from where my mate did her exercises, I lifted my gaze to find women and soldiers alike staring at y/n. I tried to act as if I didn’t see them there, turning my attention to my wife once more where she stood, wiping the sweat from her brow. 

“Good now let’s try something else,” I said, walking over towards the rack of weapons and grabbing weighted gloves. “Put these on and let's see how you’re able to swing.” 

I watched as she tied the gloves on and tried to hide my smile as the things flopped around her small hands. I could get her custom ones made later but for now, these would do. She put her hands up like she was ready to fight me and I helped her adjust her position to one that she might actually use.

“Alright now I’m going to hold out my hands and you’re going to punch in sequence, right, right, left, right. Do that over and over again.” I instruct her to hold up my bare hands. 

“Aren’t I going to hurt you though?” she asked, peering from behind her gloves. 

“One day you will,” I laughed. “But I promise I can handle a beginner. Now come on, lay a couple on me.”  

She cocked her head to the side as if she was still questioning my toughness, which was a slight bruise to my ego. Once she did the sequence a couple of times and I didn’t so much as flinch I could feel pride floating down the bond. Like she was proud to have me as a mate. 

My thoughts were interrupted as the interlopers aside us continued to ogle and whisper about us. Their numbers having doubled since the last time I looked. Y/n was completely focused on the series of punches, muttering the order under her breath. I couldn’t help but try and listen in on two females standing by us.

“Is that the princess?” 

“Why would the princess be here with the general?” 

“I’m not sure but she looks like a painting of y/n that I’ve seen before.” 

Y/n continued her exercises until I stopped her, as I wanted to try out a different sequence. I corrected her stance once more and made sure she was holding her fists properly before she picked up on the new pattern. My eyes flitted to a group of three or four soldiers looking at us and listened to their exchange.  

“Who the hell is that with the general?” 

“I think it’s the princess.”

“That’s not the princess you idiot, why would she be here? Rhysand keeps her locked up tight.” 

“Well, whoever she is I’m definitely taking a piece of her before I go home,” 

The male who made the final comment flared his wings as if to try and get y/n’s attention. 

I dropped my hands feeling a few of y/n’s lingering punches bounce off my chest before she realized what was happening. 

“Hey I was doing good!” she protested, attempting to raise her weighed down hands in the air. 

“Yeah that’s enough training for today,” I said tightly before sweeping her up in my arms and taking off into the air. Weighted gloves and all. 

“Cass!” she shouted over the winds. “What was that about? We just started!” 

“The whole camp was eye fucking you, we can train at home. I’ll bring some weights and equipment tomorrow,” I grumbled remembering the male's greedy eyes. 

“You territorial Illyrian prick!” she laughed, smacking me on the chest.

“Hey cut me some slack! The mating bond is still fresh!,” I laughed and the second I said it I saw  the understanding fill her eyes. 

“You’re lucky you’re so handsome,” she sighed leaning her head on my shoulder. 

I gave a small chuckle as we continued the short flight home. Training could start up again once we arrived at the townhouse. It would be easier to train her in private and more fun for when things got a little…well…heated.

y/n’s pov: 

Today marked a day I had hoped would never come. Feyre’s wedding.

When I told my brother of the planned event he said that he was well aware of his mate's upcoming nuptials. I begged and pleaded with him to call in his bargain with her just once, just to give the female a chance to get to know him, but he refused. Even Cassian told him of the pain he felt when I married Eris.  But Rhys was steadfast in letting Feyre be happy, and in the end, I let him do it, for every time I spoke her name there was a sadness in his eyes I couldn't stand to see. 

“Hey,” I said quietly, stepping onto the balcony of the townhouse where Rhys stood. 

Cassian sat dutifully inside waiting for his brother with a glass of whiskey. It was going to be a long night, and he had offered himself up as Rhys’ drinking buddy, an offer my brother happily took. I just wanted to speak to my brother once before Azriel took me home. 

“Hey sis,” Rhys said, looking worse for wear. 

As usual, his image was perfect. A perfectly tailored suit, hair set in place, a clean shave. But his eyes held all the sorrows of the world. Grief I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I realized that this is exactly how Cassian felt the day I married Eris, and in that moment my heart broke twice. 

“Cassian’s inside with a couple of bottles of whiskey,” I gave him a half hearted smile wrapping an arm around him. 

“That was nice of him,” Rhys grinned weakly, tugging me closer to him. 

“Don’t give him too much credit he stole it from your liquor cabinet,” I laughed looking up toward my brother. I barely recognized him in this state. 

“Why am I not surprised,” he said, turning toward me. “Do you and Mor have everything you need for girls' night? You have enough wine and snacks right?” 

“Rhys,” I said, squeezing his hands. “You don’t always have to be so brave, you know? It’s okay to grieve. Especially with me, we promised no more walls, no more secrets.” 

I saw his violet eyes begin to glass over as he took in my words. In a way I was happy he felt he could be vulnerable with me again, that he didn’t have to wear the mask with me. However, I was sad that these were the circumstances. 

His arms pulled me into a tight hug and I felt his body shake ever so slightly, either in relief or in sadness. As I felt a drop on my bare shoulder I knew it was the latter and it killed me inside. 

“I’m going to lose her forever. She’s my mate and I’ll never even get to hold her.” he cried, his voice breaking. 

“Rhys I’m-” 

“I’ll have to sit here and watch her love him for the rest of my life,” he breathed. 

All I could do was hold him closer as I felt him breaking in my arms. The misery he felt echoed throughout the Illyrian mountains, and I wondered if today would be the day they finally crumbled. Before I could even try to console my brother he straightened, releasing me from his grasp and staring into the air behind me. 

“What? What is it?” I asked, grasping his shoulders.

“I-It’s her. It’s Feyre.” he stumbled as if coming to a shocking realization. 

“What’s wrong, is she hurt?” I panicked, willing to follow him anywhere to ensure her safety. The female wasn’t just my brother's mate, she had saved him from under the mountain, saved all of us, and saved me. I owed her my life.

“She wants to stop the wedding, she’s begging for someone to help- anyone to help.” Rhys rambled looking around him as if he was looking for some sort of sign. 

“Rhys… RHYS!” I shouted finally getting his attention. “Go get her,” I pleaded with him. 

Before I could get another word in he disappeared into a cloud of shadows, no doubt going to the Spring Court. Going to his mate.

To be continued…

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[almellow-crk]

Another theory. Here we go.

If you played the new Burning Spice Cookie Update (ofc you have) and won 100 battles in the Arena (ofc you did) you'll be rewarded with this tiny Subtle Jasmine Cake Hound

But why Jasmine? Why not a Spicy Cake Hound like happened with the other updates? Is it a premonition of a new cookie to come? A non-playable cookie? Thanks you for asking.

You see, when Burning Spice Cookie interacts with Nutmeg Tiger Cookie (the only interaction he has. DEVSIS I NEED MORE BURNING SPICE COOKIE CONTENT!) They talk about how weak the kingdom is. Then Burning Spice Cookie remembers something.

So our kingdom(s), weak and blooming, reminds him of a place. And when Nutmeg Tiger Cookie inquires further, he acts defensive and changes the topic.

He is the Great Destroyer. Why would he be defensive talking about a kingdom? What happened to that kingdom? Is the Subtle Jasmine Cake Hound related to this?

It's theory time.

He doesn't say what he did to that first Kingdom. If he had destroyed it, he wouldn't react like this. Not if it was just a flicker of adrenaline and nothing else. But what if it wasn't? If he still has some kind of attachment to that kingdom, other than being the first one he destroyed, something that made him look weak so he acts defensive on it. Regret? Guilt? Why would he? What had that kingdom that is so important?

I say it was a cookie living in that kingdom. A Subtle Jasmine Cookie. If we were to know this cookie only by their name (I won't assume genders, Devsis has taught me well) then we must know that jasmine flowers are revered for their purity and beauty, often symbolising love, sensuality, and grace. While subtle means delicacy. A delicate beauty of sorts. This cookie was dear to Burning Spice Cookie, already at the verge of boredom and about to be corrupted. This cookie held him back from turning into a destroyer. If this cookie died, be it from age or wronged by others, Burning Spice Cookie's wrath would have been too great. Finally giving into his intrusive thoughts and destroying everything and everyone on his wake, trying to cope with the loss of his dear friend/love/family.

On a more personal note, what if he never got over the loss? What if part of his need to destroy and fight comes from stopping the hurt and pain that the memory provoques.

On an even MORE PERSONAL note. The Subtle Jasmine Cookie could resemble Golden Cheese Cookie. Maybe in ideals and look. So Burning Spice Cookie becomes too attached to her because this might finally give him some closure. If he fights against the hurt from his past, then it would be a way to end that chapter once and for all. It's not about winning or losing. It's about the moment, about the fight itself. And he needs it to be long, exhaustive, on the edge of death so he can recreate that situation.

Remember this is just a theory. But I wanna pray for warrior Subtle Jasmine Cookie 🙏🙏🙏🙏. (If not then it's a new oc)