#she will bite though anything for nothing

[fjordfolk]

nother reason why i prefer treat pouch over pocket is that i have very often, multiple times, put treats in my pockets and *usually* emptied said pocket. but then put my trousers in a hamper. or hang my coat over a chair

and theres a little shrimp in my apartment. a little pointy one. shrewd little bastard who shall remain nameless. who thinks the possibility of a fraction of a crumb of a treat is ample payment for chewing through said pocket (or any pocket to ever have held a piece of kibble) from whichever angle most convenient to her

[uniasus]

"Danny."

There are voices outside the cage, the room. He pays them little attention.

"Danny," they say again. "Danyal. Danny, we want to talk to you."

Once upon a time, he'd called himself Danny. Once upon a time, he'd thought himself real. He knows better now. He's a copy. He's not even sure when he was made.

"Danny," the voices say again, and he realizes they're not just talking about him, they're addressing him.

He turns his head to look.

They've been adamant that he's not Danyal al Ghul. That he didn't live a life as Danny Fenton. They've rarely called him by name; Damian has insisted on calling him 'the clone'. He has only been addressed by the bulter in the past three weeks, and then there had been no designation. Simply "here's your breakfast," and other such phrases.

He's one of many clones. Disposable. A trap for the Bats. A fake boy with no name. He doesn't understand why they're using a name now.

"Danny," Batman says. "We've found Jazz."

He stays flat in the air, floating an inch above the cot. He ignores Damian next to Batman, fidgeting with his hands, and another vigilante looking wan behind him.

He's not sure what they expect him to do after such a statement, so Danny continues to stare at Batman. He wants to fly to the ceiling and touch the rock to ground himself, but that feels rude.

"Do you understand?" Batman asks. "We found Jazz."

"Jazz doesn't exist."

Because the only evidence of her is his false memories. There's no record of Amity Park, there's no record of FentonWorks, though Jack and Maddie do show up in university records. They disappear five years after graduation.

"She does," Damian says with a tremor, biting his lip.

He used to plead with them. That she was real, that Amity Park was real. That his memories were right. But the evidence kept piling against him and in their favor. No records of his family. No scars to match his memories. Phrases and manners and image and posture so eeriely similar to Damian.

He was real only because he breathed.

"No she's not," he says and looks away.

The ceiling is familiar. He knows the touch of it under his palm. The taste lingers in the back of his mouth. It's real. Here is real. He's a locked-up clone, kept safe for something.

Or maybe simply kept alive because the Bats are too kind to murder in cold blood.

"She is. Danny, Danny, I'm sorry. We were wrong. Anki, please believe us."

He holds up his hand. Looks for the chemical burns he remembers getting from the lab. The calluses on his knuckles he should have from punches. There's nothing there. His skin is unblemished. His only scars are the thin, faded one on his stomach and the jagged pink lines crawling up his right arm. His implanted memories tell him they're death marks, but he doesn't trust them.

Maybe the Lichtenberg figure is from the portal, maybe it's from an experiment conducted at Ra's' behest. Maybe the sword scar near his belly button isn't from Damian, but from the scientist who grew him.

He cried and begged for so long to make Damian believe him, clung to the memories of his sister's red hair and citrus perfume. But he knows the truth now.

He doesn't know why the Bats are lying.

He finds he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything other than staying here because here he can touch the Earth and know it's not make-believe.

"Jazz is real," Batman says. "We can prove it."

They couldn't a month ago.

He doesn't answer. Just floats the few feet to the ceiling to touch the rock.

DPxDC prompt #15

Demon Twins Fic

But!

Okay, so something I've seen floated a time or 2 from DC is that when using the Lazarus Pits to revive, a person emerges completely healed of all previous injuries or illnesses. Including scars.

Now obviously fandom often plays fast and loose with this rule, given how we like to give Jason an autopsy scar and some folks also like to make him keep the J from the Joker. But let's lean into it a bit here and make it play nice with the DP side of things.

Let's say that it's the ectoplasm, even the rancid stuff in the pits, that heals all scars except Death Scars.

So if Danny was, say, revived in the Pits by Talia before she disappeared him away to an orphanage in Illinois? The Danny that shows up in Amity Park wouldn't be covered in scars from his time in the League. He'd only have the one, the Death Scar.

Similarly, the Danny that stumbles out of the portal wouldn't have any scars from his time in Amity Park. He'd only have 2, the original Death Scar and the new Lichtenberg Death Scars.

Now I've seen it done many times where the Bats/Damian realize that Danny isn't a clone because you can't clone scars. So if Danny doesn't have those scars, and if his DNA is too messed up from the ectoplasm in him to check for any "regular cloning markers"...

Danny, fresh from an autopsy table, runs to Gotham to hide. And because of his inability to walk away from someone in danger, gets found by the Bats. Whether or not they know about Damian's twin beforehand, they are quite confident that Danny is a clone. An exceptionally good clone with nearly perfect implanted memories, but a clone nonetheless. Damian is particularly enraged about this

And poor Danny, already all sorts of fucked up from growing up Damian's lesser, then Dash's punching bag, then an experiment; in the face of Bat certainty and lacking any tangible evidence to the contrary; Danny starts to believe them.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Succubus Ellie x fem! reader

Content / warnings: 18+ content, succubus Ellie, virgin (kind of a loser) reader, Ellie is super shady and you're horny & oblivious, corruption kink, oral sex (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), spit play, strength kink, Ellie gets increasingly more aggressive/stronger, biting (and some blood), nipple stimulation, mentions of stretch marks on reader's thighs bc I personally love them

Word count: 2.3k

You're a lesbian in a small religious town, and all you've got going for you is reading and your own apartment. It's not your fault that you get desperate enough to check out a book on demonology, summon a literal succubus, and sign a contract stating that you belong to said succubus.

Libraries have about every book you can think of.

Some may not have the most interesting options, but upon searching enough, you can truly find anything. You love reading. You love scanning over the ink-littered pages for hours until your brain is fried from trying to make sense of a complex plot. You get off on reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein because pretty words just do it for you. There is something about losing yourself in Edgar Allen Poe’s poetry that makes your blood hot. You know it’s fucked up, and yet you have no shame searching throughout your small town’s local library for something new.

Perhaps it’s just growing up in an isolated town that makes you find entertainment in the concept of everything all at once–literature truly has it all. There is no limit to what an author can write onto an unlimited amount of pages. You’d rather stay underneath your blanket with a flashlight at four in the morning than actually socialize (unless it’s on reddit, like a freak). Sometimes, you do get lonely though. Books don’t satiate your physical needs, and no amount of masturbation with a vibrator from an adult store a few towns over will truly make you cum like a woman could. You know that, but do nothing about it. You downloaded a dating app only to delete it when you had to set your profile picture. 

That is exactly why you find yourself in the occult section of your lovely local library scanning through books to find one about demons. Unsurprisingly for a library in the middle of a religious town, there are little to no books on the subject. Just one. Demons and Demonology.

You’re lonely, remember? Summoning a succubus is a low blow even for you, though. You don’t meet the librarian’s judgemental gaze, and you rush home to your humble apartment to hopefully read all about demonology, specifically the sexual kind. Little do you know what is in store for you.

Succubus are romanticized in the media; pretty women who seduce humans and sexually drain them. That sounds appealing to many who can imagine someone sleeping with them so willingly, something that you fall victim to simply because you’re lonely. That is exactly what demons prey on, though. People who are lonely and vulnerable. But did you ever really think that a malicious soul could give you one night of pleasure and stop there? 

You light the candles in just a cute, lacy tank top and a pair of white cotton panties. Your feet are cold, so you do have these little patterned, fuzzy socks on. You look desperate, but why would you need pants? A succubus wants to fuck you. You definitely don’t want to be wearing any pants for that. 

And before your very eyes is a woman you will grow to wish you never summoned. 

Dark, auburn hair with sneaky strays that you wish to tuck behind her ears as she fucks you. You’d like to tug on that hair or grasp at it with her lips tending to your clit. Your thoughts are flooded and you can’t even categorize each filthy need upon each beautiful feature your eyes are granted. Your lust is beyond repair.

Your brain should realize that all of the feelings you cling to involving this girl are persuaded by simple vulnerability and need. Her appearance isn’t humanlike. She is a demon, and she has resources to lure you in. You should be realizing how unsafe you are with this girl, not hoping that she will fill you until sunrise. You don’t realize, though. Instead, you find yourself looking up at her as she stands in front of where you sit on your bed. 

“You summoned me, huh?” Her eyes are unbelievably green, vivid in different shades that make you want to squint. 

“Well, yes.”

Such a simple answer, but she appreciates that you are getting straight to the point. Some girls waste her time with nerves and stuttering, but you know exactly what you want. She almost feels sorry for you.

The succubus seems to know where your drawer with your journal is already. She rips out a page and grabs one of your black ink pens, throwing it precisely onto your lap. 

“Sign yourself to me.” 

You look up at her quickly, brows slightly furrowed in confusion. The demon sighs, impatient.

“Don’t you know how this works? You have to write it out. You write out your full name, mine, and that you give yourself to me. Otherwise, I can’t touch you.”

In all honesty, Ellie is a little nervous that you’ll back out. You seem like a smart girl. Maybe you’ll realize that signing yourself up for “giving yourself” to a demon is simply foolish. She finds herself feeling something akin to disappointment when you scribble down your name. 

“My name’s Ellie. Write it down somewhere, it doesn’t matter where. All I need is our names, and something that states that you’re mine.” 

Ellie. You write that down.

Once you dot that final period, Ellie is done with the whole patient act. She grabs your sock-clad ankles with rough hands, pulling you to lay down with your ass just off the bed. You squeal in surprise, but she pays no mind. She hasn’t had a virgin in a long damn time, and she is starving to make you cum for her. 

Her hips part your legs and she leans down to press hungry, sloppy kisses onto your pulse. You feel like you’re about to explode with need, pressure within you building, but with no stimulation. Nobody has ever touched you like this. You’ve never felt a person’s tongue swirl over your collarbone, or you’d realize that this feeling of pure need isn’t in the amount that a human should even be able to feel.

“I need you.” You plead with her, fingers pulling at strands of short hair. This seems to encourage her in ways you didn’t expect, because Ellie is already kneading your tits through fabric, fingertips rolling stiffening nipples with ease.

“Tell me what you want most.” She buries her face into your sternum, hands making haste of pulling the flimsy tank top over your body. 

“I want you to touch me.” 

Ellie grabs your face, hands unfortunately leaving your tits. “Nuh-uh, none of that vague bullshit. Tell me exactly where. How. I need to know.” There is an aggression in her voice that makes your heart drop and your clit throb.

You trail your hand down to the soft fabric of your panties and Ellie doesn’t care that you skimp out on actually telling her. She only peels them down to your ankles and tosses them carelessly. Before you can even beg for her touch, she grabs your hips and throws you into the middle of your bed in a flash. Your head is spinning from the action, the logical part trying to make sense of how she could pick you up and toss you so quickly like you weigh nothing to her.

Before you can register her next actions, her tongue is tracing foreign patterns onto your thighs and her hands are forcing your legs wide. 

“Say you want me to fuck you and ruin you.” Sharp teeth sink into your left inner thigh, branding you. 

“I want you to fuck me, please.” Your voice is breathless, your hips are shifting with impatience and need.

“And you want me to ruin you? Ruin this pussy for anyone but me?”

You let out a whorish whine at her words, a sound you want to be embarrassed about, but your brain can’t grasp the idea of protecting your dignity. 

“So fucking needy, I’m about to have the time of my life taking you apart.” She snorts at the way you try to pull her mouth down onto your sex, but to no avail. She wants you at your most needy so that she can milk every drop of pleasure from your body until you’re a panting, sweaty, and fucked out mess.

It feels like forever since she has been between your thighs, tongue swirling over stretch marks and fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. 

“Please, I can’t take it anymore. I need you to fuck me.” You’re a mess beneath her, desperately trying to lift your hips enough to feel her tongue swipe over your clit. Instead, all you get is her warm breath over your aching pussy. You’ve been begging relentlessly, and you can’t tell if it’s working or not. 

Until you feel her spit drip from the hood of your clit, further down to your perineum. You gasp at the sudden warmth, and your legs squirm within the hold her hands have on them. You’ve been soaked for a while now, but it seems that Ellie thinks that your pussy wasn’t wet enough. 

You can’t even get out another round of begging before you feel her wet tongue slide up between your pussy lips and dig into your clit. You jolt and pull her head down, wanting to feel completely connected. You want her mouth onto you without any separation after so much teasing. 

The more pleasure flows through you that Ellie causes, the stronger her hold on you gets. You don’t seem to think much of it within your horny haze, but her nails grow sharper than your soft skin would like them to be, and her hold is more firm and decreasingly human-like, but the way she just eats you up makes you forget it all. It doesn’t matter now, you already signed yourself off to this. 

She is a succubus. You can’t be surprised when she moans like a goddess when you feel a particular jolt of pleasure in your body or when your free hand grasps your bedsheets for support. It’s a dangerous kind of perfection; even when you don’t physically show that her lips suckling onto your clip makes your vision blurry, she somehow knows and spreads you further.

You’ve never felt like this before. You’ve finger your own pussy and used vibrators in the past, but this is otherworldly. You wonder how you could ever live without this. You know that after you’re all fucked and spent, every bit of your need satiated, that you will never be able to have sex with a regular person. That should scare you enough to beg and cry for her to rip up the contract and leave, but there is a knot in your stomach that needs to snap in half. Ellie scratches every inch inside you, knows where you need her. When you crave her tongue deep inside your pussy, her taste buds are suddenly printed onto your inner walls, curling up into your sweet spot. When her mouth isn’t on your clit, her nose steadily fucks it. As if you need any of that to simply cum, though. Just grinding your pussy against her face in such a shameful manner as you’re doing now could be enough. That isn’t how this works, though. She needs you feeling the best.

You feel her middle finger part your folds and slip into your hole, and the feeling of another’s fingers inside of you besides your own for the first time is an experience that you simply will never be able to forget. She reaches places inside of you that you didn’t know about whilst flicking her tongue over your clit at a steady pace. You soon feel another finger inside you, and you realize how truly deep her digits can reach. How nicely they can stretch you, make you feel all full and warm. 

Her tongue pulls away from your clit, her thumb replacing it. The view above you makes you wonder how you’ve lasted this long. She leaves bites all along your navel while fucking you into a whining mess. 

“Fuck, you’re just so tight for me. Pussy needed to be ruined, didn’t it? You needed this.” She sounds breathless, and you can’t even dwell on it because suddenly her teeth, which are noticeably sharper than before, are sinking into your hip. You cry out, and she soothes you with her tongue as it laps up some blood that trickled out of the bite. 

Her fingers make your pussy squelch as they drill in and out of you and curl deep within your insides. You feel tears form in the corners of your eyes from the pure, unfiltered pleasure she sends through your body. 

“C’mon, baby. I need you to cum. Give it to me.”

When her mouth trails up to suck on one of your nipples, swirling over the soft bud like she did your clit, you cum hard. 

There are no words to describe the way a demon can drain your body. It should be labeled horrific, not in a goreish way or in a truly depraved sense, but instead, in a way that leaves you truly ruined. You’re hers, now. Not that she plans on fucking you again, unless you really leave a good mark on her. The feelings that flow through you and transfer over to her are ones you’ll never be able to replicate again. No amount of one-night stands or kink-finding will lead you back to this orgasm. No book can make you feel hooked again, not after the feeling of her nails digging into your skin. It’s almost sad that your first time will actually fuck you up like this. If Ellie is able to feel any sort of guilt for you, she’ll find herself back in your bed. She can do that now. You signed yourself over to her, whenever she wants you. You’ll never find it in you to hate it, either. You’ll crave her so much that anytime she comes back to take care of you and feed off of your need, you will be begging on your knees for just one more orgasm from her. 

For now, you simply lay limp in your bed, body aching and covered in marks from someone who isn’t even human. The bites on you won’t leave your body, and you’ll be lucky if the hickeys fade. You can only hope that she will visit you again soon and give you what you need.

[thisisntmyrightera]

Park SungHoon Head Cannons x Fem Reader

Pairing: Park SungHoon x Fem Reader

Headcannons about your relationship with SungHoon. Type: Fluff, some Angst Beware: Messages of hate, racism, sexism.

Note: I wanted to do something different and since I couldn't find anything about Park Sunghoon anywhere, I decided to bring something to the lovers of this great actor. It had been on my mind for a long time and I had to express it. I hope you like it.

-SungHoon and you met back in March 2023 when you were both recruited for the cast of Squid Game 2, with you being the foreign addition of the season

-As soon as you met, his kindness and tenderness resonated a lot with you, you were used to only knowing his roles but meeting him in person surprised you, he was a totally different person than usual.

-He, on the other hand, didn't last a single second without getting to know you before he was enchanted by your beauty. You seemed so delicate and different from what he was normally used to that he couldn't get you out of his head. As soon as he had the chance, he approached you and introduced himself, and quickly you both became good friends. Your first friend from the cast.

-A couple of weeks later, he invited you to eat at a place that wasn't fancy. In fact, he surprised you when he asked you to dress comfortably, something not at all formal. You both wore sweatpants, baggy sweatshirts, and caps. The date took place at a local gimbap restaurant, his favorite, which you loved as soon as you tried the first bite.

-The date was unique, like none you had had in years. There were no prejudices or anything false to impress. No one approached to bother you or you felt pressure around you to run away. On the contrary, everything around you was calm and the conversation you both had flowed as naturally as if you had known each other for years.

-Your friends (who you've told absolutely everything to) were initially hesitant about your relationship, he was much older than you, almost 40 and it could be harmful, but when he was with you he seemed like nothing more than a teenage boy in love, giggling and blushing, something about him made you feel like he was the one, but no one made the first move… or so you thought.

-The second date was shortly after, this time at your apartment, you both wore comfortable clothes again, ate instant ramen and fried chicken that he brought from his favorite restaurant, even though they had a movie on Netflix in the background neither of you paid attention, again you spent hours chatting laughing at stories and telling anecdotes.

-It was almost in October when during a walk along the banks of the Han River he took your hand, you didn't even notice, everything was so natural as if both of you were made for each other that his hand simply became part of yours

"I'm cold" you told him trembling with your cheeks blushing a little from the cold autumn wind, he didn't mention anything, he just smiled surrounding you with his arms while both of you leaned on each other looking at the river current

-In November, one of his best friends was getting married and he didn't miss the opportunity to invite you, he didn't spare his feelings either when he entered taking your hand, greeting his acquaintances and introducing you as his girlfriend, it was the moment when someone took a photograph which quickly traveled through the networks divulging your relationship

-Your name and his were everywhere, some portals referring to you as "the girlfriend" not even bothering to publish your name, many fans and followers began to share messages misogynists and racists against you.

''She's probably an easy one, she's a foreigner that's why they come to our country''

''She should have slept with him, aish she looks so fake''

''I don't understand why they keep bringing foreign celebrities to our country, now she'll dirty their legacy''

-Message after message made your heart ache, you spent hours crying and feeling like you weren't enough, to the point of asking him not to contact you anymore so as not to ruin his career, he had enough dramas in his life being hated for his controversial roles and now you would cause him more problems

-This only lasted a couple of weeks, one day he came to your door knocking with a small bouquet of flowers, subtle but with your favorite flowers, it was impossible not to let him in with his kind and warm smile, after talking for hours where he comforted you and apologized for not acting quickly against all the people who hurt you he took out of his pocket a small box, it was white and inside it two rings, one thicker than the other which made you overthink and panic a little making him laugh at your innocence.

''These are promise rings, I'll wear this one and you'll wear this one, we'll always wear these rings, no matter where we go we'll always wear them and when people see them they'll know that you and I have something that they can't break, because we've promised to love each other''

-From that day on, wherever you went, you always wore your ring on your left hand, which fans were quick to compare and realize that you and SungHoon shared the same design and quickly began to demand answers.

-For the fans it was something sick, despite being far past the age of majority, you still looked young and this made you earn roles as a student or teenager in popular kdramas, while he continued to receive the hatred of the public by playing mature villains without scruples, how could a sweet teenager have a relationship with a mature man, it was unforgivable.

-Despite this, there were thousands of people who loved both of you and respected your privacy, who supported you in your work and understood that you were both adults with your own decisions, that made you feel better and motivated you to move forward every day.

-His favorite dates were still at home, either at yours or his, they were always dates to eat fast food or recipes that he prepared to introduce you to Korean cuisine, then they watched movies until both of them fell asleep, almost always you sitting on his lap asleep on his shoulder.

-The next day you woke up in his bed or yours and he slept next to you always taking the necessary distance so as not to bother you or inconvenience you, but that didn't last long, as soon as you woke up you climbed on top of him hugging him to sleep some more time.

-A couple of months later both of you began to have more serious talks, would you sell your apartment or his? or would you both sell and buy a better one?, would you like to get married?, have children?, how would we work when the children were born?, talks that didn't sound uncomfortable at all, on the contrary it was comforting to know that you had a responsible and dedicated man at your side.

-At the beginning of 2024, both decided to sell both apartments and buy a better one, with enough space, which they decorated in neutral colors, which they inaugurated by inviting both their families to dinner, both cultures came together to welcome a new family which announced that their future plans included getting married.

-The families of both could not be happier than ever, your mother loved him like a son and his mother hugged you and squeezed your cheeks whenever she saw you, you were the girl she always wanted to have.

-In June 2024 while you were working on a series where you finally played a more mature girl than your previous characters, you felt a strong pain in your stomach, something like a colic and then you vomited the coffee and breakfast you had eaten before.

-They quickly took you to the hospital, everyone feared that you had suffered some kind of intoxication or poisoning, but everything was fine, your blood was clean in almost all the tests until you got to the bottom of the exam

-"Congratulations, you're pregnant" the doctor told you smiling while you looked at him in shock without knowing what was happening, you clearly knew what had happened, you were both already a formal couple and had thousands of plans for the future, but you had forgotten one thing in particular, to take care of yourselves when having sex.

-That night you told him, both of you sitting on the couch where many other nights you had had dates (and possibly where you had also gotten pregnant) he seemed worried at first, but when he realized he was very happy, he was going to be a father, he was going to have a little being with the woman he loved and it had been created by the love you both felt

-You cried at first, you were scared but as soon as he hugged you and comforted you with his words you knew that everything was going to be okay.

-From that day on, he started making thousands of plans, how they were going to decorate the baby's room, how they would protect the house so that they wouldn't suffer any accidents, that you would wait for them to be born to find out if it was a boy or a girl or they would like to know before, it seemed like he had had an adrenaline rush.

-At night, he liked to lie down next to you and talk to your belly (still flat) while he told the baby how his day had been, he told them how he had met you, how the weather was, insignificant things for everyone but for him, it was important that his baby knew that he was already part of the family.

-As the months went by, as soon as your belly began to show, he loved taking pictures of you in all the landscapes they found, he wanted to save even the smallest detail of your pregnancy.

-One day while you were both drinking cold coffee on a bench in front of the river, Han took your hand and talked about the future. From his pocket he took out a small box, carefully opening it and showing you a ring like the one you had always dreamed of (and the one that your best friend surely helped him choose).

"After our baby is born, I would like us to get married in a beautiful wedding like the one you deserve. It can be big or discreet, you decide that, or it can be just you, me and our child. I will be happy with the simple fact that our family is formed.

-It wasn't long before someone again leaked a photo of you where your belly was noticeable and again your name was all over the gossip tabloids, this time accompanied by rude comments against you and your unborn child.

-By then your last series had already ended and you were at home resting when your agency sent you a statement telling you that SungHoon and his agency wanted to make a joint statement, you gave your approval without thinking.

''I appreciate the support shown by our fans, im so sorry if some feel offended by our private life, I would like to announce that after knowing each other for a long time and realizing that we both felt the same way about each other, Y'N and I decided to formalize our relationship which has flowed healthy and happy, we are currently expecting our first child which we are very excited to welcome in February of next year who will be born in a home full of respect and love. Our relationship is better than ever, having already decided to get engaged to be married after our firstborn comes into the world. We appreciate the love and understanding of those who feel happy with our happiness, we treasure it in our hearts.''

-With that, SungHoon made sure to make everything clear, if that was what they wanted to know, he gave it to them by clearing up all the rumors.

-In December of that same year, Squid Game 2 finally premiered, taking you to the premiere on the arm of your future husband and adorning your dress with your beautiful belly.

-Your co-stars were happy, Ae-Shim (Geum-Ja) who had become a motherly figure for your character in the series kept caressing your belly repeating how beautiful you looked and how bright your face was.

-''It's a little squid, it will be my godson or goddaughter'' Jung-Jae repeated laughing whenever he saw you

-SungHoon never left your side, wherever you went he would accompany you holding your hand or resting it on your back, always making you feel protected

-This time the tabloids mentioned how pretty you looked, how happy you seemed and how adorable you seemed with your round belly, as well as how pretty your engagement ring was and how in love you both looked.

[bowsnstrings]

Diamond Boy (DTM)!

Onyankopon x Black Coded Character✌️🏾

Summary: After realizing that she has feelings for her handsome plug, Milana decides to give in to her rapidly growing crush for him, but what happens when things get a bit too intimate too fast?

Warning MDNI!: First date fluff mostly! Mentions of thigh riding, Praise and Dirty Talk, Mentions of smoking weed, Mentions of food, Original character with original descriptions.

Masterlist:🍃

Word Count: 6.8k

First kisses were supposed to be awkward, a little disappointing, and definitely nerve wracking. Too much tongue, or not enough passion, at least something that you could go and tell your friends about so you don’t sound like you’re already falling for a person you’ve only kissed. At least a little funny cringey moment to keep it lighthearted and easy, nothing like the kiss Milana and Ony shared.

It started so sweet, his lips pressing so softly over hers that she questioned if this was actually happening. Her first kiss, clutching the most gorgeous flowers she’d ever received, holding onto an even more beautiful boy. Her hand, shaky with anxiousness, raised to rest over the side of his face, thumb sliding over his cheek to feel his warm skin and ground her enough to savor every second.

Something about that made everything change in an instant, Ony pressing forward with determined movements, practiced ease getting the best of her. He easily took the lead, capturing her again and again, using a hand on her chin to help her keep pace with him. Her other hand held onto his bicep, feeling like she was going to topple over if they continued, neither of them thinking about anything else in the moment besides the electric feeling that came when they connected.

Moving in sync to deepen it further, until they pulled apart with nasty smack, both taking large breaths to cool down. It seemed like Ony couldn’t get enough though, giving her two quick pecks to her pursed lips, her eyes dreamy and looked like they were swirling with hearts.

“Fuck.” He groaned, purring low right in her face, biting down on his lip to contain himself from doing too much in public. His eyes scanned around to make sure no one was looking, lazily combing the area until they landed back on hers, another smile on his face that made her feel a lot lighter. “You be getting niggas caught up, huh?”

Her face scrunched up, smacking her lips as Ony laughed, a hand coming to cover up his smile as Milana pushed him away. “No.” She rolled her eyes at him, joining in on his sniggering, not being able to hold back her joy for long. “I don’t even date.” The admission wasn’t as bitter as she thought it would be, just a shrug off that she wasn’t so concerned about.

“This is a date, Ma. What ‘you think I’ve been trying to do all day?” He wiggled his brows at her suggestively, standing up to get out of his crouched position, moving back to sit and actually start eating.

“What? This is not a date. You have to ask a girl first, Ony.” She exclaimed as he dropped down, not knowing if he was eyeing her or his ribeye in hunger. “Besides, how do you know I wanna go on a date?” Deciding it was better to join him instead of staring, she laid her flowers down to pick up her silverware with a teasing remark.

He couldn’t even hide his happiness at her burst of confidence, chuckling at the way her lips twisted to hide her smile, determined to hold her face steady. That’s alright, he knew exactly what to say to make her crack. “Mama, with the way you kiss we're for sure going on a date.”

Oh Ony was good alright, that low drawn out humm while thinking of the memory was a nice added touch, her legs clamping shut as soon as the deep sound left him. She had to admit, he had game, but she wasn’t going to just let him have all the fun. “Still didn’t hear you ask me…” Milana sighed, playing up her uninterested look by sitting back, mimicking his nonchalant face that he puts on.

His eyes lit up in recognition, laughing at the way she bunched her eyebrows together like he did when he was annoyed. Damn, was he really that readable? She must’ve done her homework, seen him more than he thought she had. As flattering as it was, he still wasn’t going to let her win, licking over his bottom lip to bring in her focus as he dropped his voice to really play up his words.

“Please, Milana?”

That definitely did it, her hands jerking at his sultry plea, like he was begging to kiss her again. Fork accidentally clashing onto her plate noisily, face flushed in surprise, trying to collect herself under his steamy gaze. She realized that he was waiting on a response, actually asking in a way she’d never expect in a million years. “Okay…” Agreeing blindly, knowing that if he ever wanted her to do something, all he’d have to do was say is please.

“Tomorrow, it’s settled.”

“Ony!” She should’ve definitely seen that one coming, and yet she still dropped her mouth in shock, flowers nearly bumped off the table if it weren’t for her hands grabbing them as quickly as they did. “Are-you can’t be serious. So soon?”

He nodded enthusiastically, with almost childlike wonder like they were elementary crushes getting to sit together for the first time. “The only day it can happen is tomorrow. Promise if you go you’ll have fun.” With the way he said it, she definitely believed him, and why not throw caution to the wind. So far when she did it got her some action, no harm in that. So, she said yes, twirling a petal around her finger as she felt her flowers, smiling across from him as they talked about any and everything. They sat there for the longest breakfast in the world, getting to know each other like they were old friends meeting again. Laughing at their similarities, sharing their values, and trying to get Ony to spill any clues about their first date.

He wouldn’t budge at all, instead redirecting her with jokes and funny stories as they ate, showing such a rare side of him not a lot of people saw. It’s been such a long time since he felt like he could let loose around a girl, not having to put up a tough ass act, afraid that if he showed even a bit of vulnerability the fantasy of a relationship would just crumble. Provide, protect, and don’t be a pussy, the only things he was told about women really.

For once, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t always have to be so hard all the time. That Ony could take off that mask he wears, and not have to hold back from expressing himself because she was doing the same for him. He could see it, the way she was trying to be vulnerable like she couldn’t help but wear her heart on her sleeve, and all he wanted was to be the one to keep it safe for her.

Perhaps, that’s why he already couldn’t keep his hands off of her, a calloused palm sliding down her arm being cautious and gentle. Walking hand in hand underneath a lovely orange sun, the blue sky pushing wind to blow her hair around and make her look so pretty that he didn’t want to drop her back off. Clinging onto her hand as they made it to Milana’s front door again, knowing that the waiting was going to eat him alive.

“I had a good time.” She admitted, her shy attitude making it that much harder to go, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles to commit the feeling to memory. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Hopeful excitement shining in her eyes as they looked up at him, his head falling down to lean in closer, eclipsing her view of everything besides him.

“Six o’clock, tomorrow. Give me until then, Mama.” He murmured to her, pressing a long lasting kiss to her lips, pulling her in by sliding his hand around her back. Letting out a squeal and scrambling hands to hold onto him, she made sure not to stumble over in her sandals from trying to get to him so fast, head spinning at the way he was able to take the reins like that.

Ony willed himself away from her, drawing her in a calming hug that let her rest into him for just a second longer before he started walking back to his car. Calling out a goodbye after him, voice breathless with a meek wave. Making him turn one last time to send her a coy wink as he ducked into the front seat, leaving her standing on her doorstep like she was in a dream.

The rest of the day moved as slowly as she did, barely wanting to do anything else besides write and stare at the lilies now sitting in her nightstand vase. Oh God, would it be bad if she told him she missed him while he was gone? Too much and too soon, right? Definitely too clingy already, but a part of her was just crushing too hard right now. Kicking her feet up while she laid in bed, journal filled with curly cursive words, gushing over him like she was talking to her best friend.

All her life she could only imagine what this would feel like, and now she was experiencing it firsthand. That warm bubbly feeling of romance that she'd been begging for, and the thrill of it all was just too exhilarating. Ony was suave, confident, so effortlessly in control of everything he did, being with him felt like being able to let go. Release all her worry and stress, and it was scary to her that he could throw her into a total state of compliance, maybe even scarier was the fact that she liked being able to be the docile and sweet one while he handled everything.

He paid for their breakfast like it was his job, didn't even let her see the check, let alone touch it. Milana had a feeling that he was always generous, that he had a good heart underneath all that intimidation. Maybe, he just showed it through gestures, his actions definitely grand, making her feel spoiled already. She thought about it all as she hugged onto Oreo, trying to receive a bit more affection, counting down the hours until the arms she’d be in wouldn't have fur or paws.

The entire day since Milana woke up, she'd been getting ready for their night out. Practically glued to her vanity as she tweezed her brows, applied a mud mask, watching housewives as she did her makeup. Her skin rubbed down in marshmallow body cream, spraying her favorite perfume as she watched herself in the mirror, rollers giving her a slight headache as she tried not to be so nervous.

Taking the time out to pamper herself was nice, it relaxed her down, the hour long bath was helpful getting her in the right headspace, but she just wanted to see him already. He might've said something nice or funny to get her to smile instead of worrying, or calm her nerves enough to stop freaking out inside.

She stood in the mirror for nearly an hour, trying on everything in her closet that would be a possibility for any date. Skirts, heels, shorts, tops, but none of them felt right until the last outfit. Ony never told her what they'd be doing when they went out, so she only could hope that her long, tight brown dress with a crochet green bolero matched the occasion. She paired it with tan sandals in case they'd be close to the beach or had to do some walking, and her chunky vintage coach shoulder bag.

Milana wanted to impress him, look special and pretty, imagining she was a princess for the night as she slid in her twisted gold hoop earrings. By the time she was finished, it was getting into the late afternoon, trying to drink some honey chamomile tea and have some fruit to quell her nerves. Hearing that knock at the door almost spooked her, a rush of anxiousness hitting her all at once as she stopped to look at herself one more time.

Fluffing her hair and finding an extra roller she accidentally left in, she quickly straightened up and made sure nothing was in her teeth before pulling the door open. “Hi, Ony.” Milana smiled, trying to appear effortless and nonchalant until she saw the bouquet of flowers he held in his hands. Pretty pink and white roses, all blooming gracefully, wrapped in green paper for her to receive. He looked just as perfect as they did. Loose fitting jeans and a hoodie that made his arms look even bigger, a heavy gold chain glittering from underneath.

“Hey, Mama. These are for you.” He must've gotten a shave, his facial hair looking sharper, hair covered by a fitted baseball bat. His cologne almost engulfed her as he passed her the roses, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she breathed him in.

“Ony, you already got me flowers.” She still cooed happily as he gifted them to her, letting him inside all giddy and giggly.

“These are for our date, thought you might like ‘em when I saw the pink.” He remembered her saying that was her favorite color yesterday when they had breakfast, so he knew it'd only be right for her to have them.

“Aww, thank you. Let me get something to put them in.” He closed the door for her, eagerly entering to breathe her home in further, smiling at the good feeling he had being inside. The candles she lit had the perfect scent of vanilla, but nothing rivaled her perfume that was floating everywhere. He stopped for a moment, just taking it in as he stopped at a particular photo on the wall.

“You a writer?” He asked, pausing specifically at a picture he saw when he spent the night, one where she stood in her graduation gown, neck covered in medals and holding awards. She looked so cute when she was younger, glasses thicker and hair a bit shorter in curls pouring out of her decorated cap.

“I am I guess. Won a scholarship for it, but I think I should probably start writing more often.” She hummed out as she tried finding another vase for the new bunch of flowers. His gaze getting stuck on her as she bent over, noticing just how tight her dress was. He nearly swore out loud as her hips wiggled trying to pull it from the cabinet, her ass shaking lightly enough to trap him in a daze. Guess he’ll just have to adjust himself all night while he silently suffers.

“Is that what you do for work?” He tore his eyes away, feeling a bit hot as he tried distracting himself. Ony watched her straighten back up, filling the glass with water as she answered.

“Yeah, freelance. Pays the bills and what not.” She was fixing up the petals of her roses, placing them down on the table as he approached her. Reaching into his hoodie pocket, he pulled out something once she turned around, letting her eyes zero in on it before explaining.

“Picked up a treat for us,” His palm opened to show her a sandwich bag full of nugs, shifting around in there, hypnotizing her into watching it. The smell of potent greenery filled the air as soon as he opened it, letting her get a whiff and laughing when she scrunched her face at the smell of straight weed. “Named it ‘Laid-back ‘Lana’.” She couldn’t contain the giggle that bubbled up her throat at the name, her hand trying to cover her mouth at his playfulness.

“Why’d you name it that?” Milana asked, their light and playful banter easing away any thoughts from earlier. This is definitely what she missed, just being around him, basking in the way he joked around.

“‘Cause this shit will have you laid back on that ass the same way you had me on your couch.” Ony chuckled as he watched her burst into a fit of laughter, the most relaxed she’d ever been around him, and the atmosphere was only getting less and less tense. “Here, you got papers?” He asked, handing the bag for her to inspect some more.

“I don’t know how to roll my own…” Her hands fumbled slightly as Milana tried not to sound pathetic, but at twenty-two she should probably know how to roll her own blunt. Or change a tire, or file taxes; maybe she should start with those first.

“Don’t sweat it, Ma. I got backwoods, but you’ve probably never smoked with ‘em before. I got some good ass flavors though.” Obviously coming prepared, he pulled out a packet of the cigar leaves, the purple package reflective under the light as she read the words, ‘Honey Bourbon’, written all over it. “We got to head out to make it before it gets hella dark, so we’ll smoke on the way.”

After grabbing everything and locking up they left to head out, Ony’s hand falling to her back as he went behind her. The walk to his car was dizzying, feeling so stiff with the touch of a man on her. He lead her without having to say a word, and she almost felt like she could float away if she let herself go a bit more, scared of what would happen if she did. Sliding into his car to drive wherever they were supposed to be going, just taking the time to watch Ony as he moved.

Given his occupation, it was no wonder how experienced he was with handling the eighth he was carrying. Grinding it down easily, dusting it gradually into the leaf, thick fingers squeezing and rolling it between each other. Licking it off with a smooth glide of the tongue, their eyes meeting as he did, making her flush and look away. By the time she looked back he was done, the fat blunt sitting between his lips as he lit it, puffing out smoke that danced in the air, wrapping around their heads in grey streaks.

He leaned his head back, letting it glide out then sucking it back in to blow a ghost, shifting slightly to look at her as he passed it. She took it, knowing it'd at least ease her up some more, generously taking it down her lungs until she pulled back coughing after her uncoordinated breath. “Don't smoke much?” Ony laughed at how her eyes narrowed, he knew that already, just was teasing.

“I’ve never had any this strong.” Milana admitted, taking a much smaller puff before handing it back. The effects hitting her almost immediately, eyes going lax and lips pressing together as she felt a rush of euphoria. Ony had to admire how sexy she looked like that, her lashes hanging lower in a sensual cateye. Driving was his only distraction, trying not to turn and glance at her every five seconds, but he was failing that miserably. She wasn't doing much better, the high making it just that more obvious so she faced the window instead, watching the beach waves in his music filled car driving down the highway. Thirty minutes of the most torturous drive for either of them, only wanting to jump each other's bones and forget the formalities.

They were looking forward to this though, especially with the way Ony was so proud of himself once he saw her reaction. Pulling in she could see all the bright shining lights, hues of blue, red, and yellow everywhere in the cartoonish displays. The rides flashing at her as people screamed with joy in every direction, and soon as she stepped out of the car with his help, she could smell popcorn and funnel cake in the air. “The fair?” Her face was just lit up, and it had him pausing as he took it all in. That face was going to be the end of him, because he knew already that he'd go to the ends of the Earth just to see her look at him like that.

“Today’s the last day it’s in town. Knew I had to take you.” Ony took her by the hand as they walked around, getting through the entrance to take in every exciting sight and decide what they wanted to do first. He left it in her hands, indifferent to it all as he just wanted to let her have all the fun she wanted, happily trailing a step behind as she pulled him by the hand. Milana turned to look at him every step of the way, scanning his face to see if anything caught his eye.

They stopped at the ticket counter first, Ony reaching into his pocket for a thick wad of cash inside, neatly folded bills that he grabbed and pulled apart. Counting each one silently in her head, she tried to ignore the mixed feeling of guilt and gratitude, but that was easy given how desirable he looked while being so gracious. She briefly wondered if she should be scared about them getting robbed, but when she took into account how strong he looked, there wasn't too much to be afraid of. His eyes lazy as he hid the rest in his pocket, passing the woman the cash as he asked her, “Where you want to go first, Mama?”

“I don't know… I think I want to do some games, but I’m scared we won’t win.” Milana looked down at the string of red tickets the woman gave her, all bunched together in her hands. “Maybe this one?” She stopped at the booth right in front of them, a fish pond game where they'd at least get a prize judging by how easy it looked. Even the little kids around it were doing well, but Ony only gave a noncommittal hum as he continued looking around, his arm coming to wrap around her shoulders from behind, stepping so close that her stomach clenched in anticipation.

“What about that one?” He turned them to face a little further down, another game table there with giant prizes hanging all at the top. She let him maneuver them towards it, a little unsure once they got closer. It was a BB gun challenge, having to shoot down the targets from a far distance away.

“Are you sure?” Milana looked up at him, holding onto their tickets skeptically. She didn't want to be wasteful, Ony already paid a bunch of money for them to be able to get inside and use the tokens for rides and such. Ultimately, it didn't matter though, not with the way he was seemingly so flippant about it, taking some from her hands to pass to the worker there waiting on them.

“Don’t sweat it, Ma. Have some faith in me.” He was confident, if not a little cocky as he picked up the rifle, resting it in his hands as he focused his sights on aiming it correctly. His feet shoulder with apart, thick finger on the trigger with one eye closed, not moving or even taking a breath.

*bang*

Maybe it was how high she was, but the first shot came out of nowhere, making her jump when she heard the pellet make contact with the painted wood, hitting the small red dot in the middle.

*bang*

*bang*

The last two were quicker, but still made her eyes widen in awe at how fast he’d done that, moving one by one down the line until all three had holes in the center. She didn’t even think a minute had passed by before he was done, sliding the gun down and handing it back to the guy at the stand.

“What did we win?” Ony asked, turning to Milana as the man pointed out the stuffed animals hanging at the top of the booth, giant, almost as tall as her, and all so pretty. Immediately, she narrowed in on a big brown bear, with dark fur and sparkly chestnut eyes. She pointed meekly to it, arms stretched open to let the cuddly animal fall into them as it was passed to her. “You like it?”

Nodding, all smiley as her nails raked through its fur, she couldn’t express how grateful she was, carrying it around as they went down the rows of attractions. Playing games, sharing the biggest plate of funnel cake she’d ever seen, and laughing when Ony got powdered sugar all over his nose, willingly letting her dust it off with her soft hands. He ended up carrying her bear as they made their way to their last ride, the Ferris wheel, helping her step up into the seat as it rocked slightly back and forth.

“Is this safe?” Milana’s eyebrow raised slightly as she sat down, looking around at all the other swinging chairs. It was his idea to go after he told her he’s never been on one before, but now it looked a bit too scary for her.

“Ain’t nothing gonna happen.” He was gruff about it, setting up her bear in the seat so it wouldn’t fall before sliding in the middle, throwing an arm on the back of her chair to wrap around her shoulders. As soon as their door closed the employee pulled the lever to let the ride start, her breath hitching in her chest as it moved mechanically.

“Are you just not afraid of anything?” She asked, not knowing if it was rhetorical or not as the wheel began turning, slowly bringing them higher and higher. She could only stare down at her toes as they got further from the ground.

“What’s there to be afraid of?” Playfully, he rocked her by her shoulders to pull her away from fearfully looking at the floor. Getting her attention to focus on him instead, he figured getting her talking would get her to stop gripping the railing with white knuckles.

“Well for starters, how high up we are.” Her deadpan expression made him chuckle, laying back cool as could be once the ride stopped them at the very top, the world looking much prettier when you could see all the glowing lights in the distance.

“How can I be scared right now?” Ony truly was content, a man who had nothing to fear, only things to desire. Not for more things like money or a new car, he already had all that. He’s craving for something real, someone to share his life with, even someone who he could lean on too.

“I’m always scared,” Her voice was shaky as she tried to close her eyes and relax, vulnerable as she poured her heart out, getting it off her chest. “I think it’s just easier when you’re around though.” Their hands interlocking, his squeezing hers reassuringly at her admission. Just sitting for a second to look at the city from so high up, the breeze flying in their faces making her nose cold.

“Y’don’t have to be scared. I’ll be here, no matter what.” How could he not, stuck in a trance from her beautiful face. Bouncing between her round eyes, fluttering lashes covering the brown, then sliding to her cute button nose, and full pink lips. Committing each detail to memory, counting each beauty mark as her hair blew back in the wind.

“No matter what?” He nodded with determination, no empty promise in sight when they were at the top of the Ferris wheel, just the two of them together and their unwavering bond. “Just… promise me. Promise that you’ll tell me if it’s too much. If I’m too much.” She asked him, fear lacing her tone, afraid to be the one to ruin this for herself, to ruin them already. He didn’t give her the chance to allow the thought to take over, ducking his face down as he slid closer.

“You’ll never be too much. Just right to me.” He whispered, just to her, leaning over to kiss her, cupping the side of her face to keep them close as he groaned from her eagerness to kiss him back. This is what he’d been missing, his mouth moving with hers in sync, allowing those walls to come crumbling down. Hungry for it, craving the affection that being with one another provided, so caught up in their intimate moment to notice that the ride was descending until they were almost to the bottom.

Milana pulled away first, blinking up at him with her shy little smile as Ony’s fingers danced across her cheek, allowing him to lean down and press one last kiss to her lips before they stepped off. Holding each other as they walked back to his car, her head resting on his shoulder the entire way as he led them back to his car, both unable to stop laughing from how much fun they had just being together the entire weekend. She couldn’t even stare at anything else besides him the entire way, going down the highway at night but Ony still managed to shine brighter than the moon beaming down at them. His handsomeness was distracting enough, but getting to know him personally, in a way that most people don’t, was the icing on the cake in her eyes.

They just couldn’t let each other go, she was practically tripping over her feet trying to pull him by his heavy arm. Ony trailing behind, enjoying her more assertive side as she got him to come into her apartment rather easily. To be honest, she could’ve asked him anything and he would’ve done it in a heartbeat right now, too happy making this night perfect for her. The lights dim as they flopped down onto her couch, still reeling from all the excitement. “I can’t believe we just went on a date.” She sighed happily, tossing off her sandals as she faced him, seeing how he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her.

“Really? Thought it was only a matter of time.” He didn’t like feeling far away from her, hand itching to reach out, his willpower getting lower and lower. Grabbing her by the waist, an abundance of giggles rained out as she wiggled in his arms until he settled her down on his leg again, just like he’d done at the club.

They took a moment to take each other in, Milana shifting to sling her other leg over his body, unintentionally sitting flush on his thigh, but too wrapped up in how good it felt being close to him to notice. Shifting up to lean in, he cupped the side of her face, tender as he pulled her in to kiss her, a quick peck that had her slowly melting into him. Her hips moving to get closer until an unfamiliar feeling shot through her, making her go stiff in his hands. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t know at first, mind still trying to register the arousal that she felt pooling deep within, hands falling onto his shoulders as she unsurely ground down again. Call it virgin curiosity, but she couldn’t stop exploring after her first taste of pleasure. Her head spinning with confusing sensations, the heaviness of passion weighing her down to roll back and forth on his thigh another time until her eyes shifted up and saw his expression. Blank with disbelief, mouth agape as he watched her move, kick starting her into stopping her movement to explain herself.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry-I don’t-” Ony snatched her up in an instant, grabbing her by the hips to pull her into riding his thigh again. She never expected that, hands staying up in the air out of pure shock before he pulled them down, urging her to touch him back. Milana did so as she whimpered, trying to keep up with the way he was moving her.

“I tried.” He grunted, his body working with fervor as he helped her grind, eyes shut tight as he felt himself quickly hardening, his thigh tensing underneath her. “I really fucking tried, but I need you.” Big and burly arms locked tightly around her as he breathed her in, mind going fuzzy as he tuned out entirely, letting his actions speak for him. Adrenaline was pumping through them, hands gripping at each other, desperate to touch, feel, see everything they could. Everywhere her fingers grazed left him yearning for more, the realization that he’d been craving for this his entire life felt like cold water splashing over his heated skin. Too used to floating in and out of people’s lives to get the touch that he needed, the touch that only she seemed to provide, practically thriving after starving for it.

“You’re alright, Mama.” He reassured, hands sliding under her dress, Milana was spooked at first by the touch, but was relaxed down by his calming strokes. They moved so easily, bunching up her dress until it rose around her hips to give him more access to her, kisses trailed along her collarbone to keep her from retreating into her head.

He began moving upward, skimming her throat as his mind went blank, the only thing he could tangibly string together was her name over and over in his mind. Her hair, her voice, her scent, it made him feel dizzy just thinking about it, a burning feeling of greed taking over any rational thought. He needed her badly, running hot as he finally made it to her face, opening his eyes to meet hers as he pressed forward, taking her by surprise as he lowered her down slow into his lap, feeling her nearly bare skin meet his jeans.

Her mouth dropped open in the neediest moan he’d ever heard, long and whiney, eyes rolling to the back of her head as they closed. The expression was just too good, making his dick jump as he sat up, clutching her hips desperately. “Fuck, Milana.” He groaned out, slightly shifting to get her adjusted, quickly needing her to feel him too. “Don’t do that shit, Baby. Gonna stop my fucking heart.”

She couldn’t say anything, too busy trying to stop herself from shaking as Ony began moving her up and down his groin over his pants. Rocking her hips faster, steadier, with so much effort she almost thought they were actually having sex. The image made her knees try to close together, his hands shifting to grip under her thighs, forcing them open as he grunted curses in her ear.

Milana couldn’t stop herself from moving, like she was lit with fire for the first time, throwing her arms around Ony’s neck to clutch him closer. “Need me, Mama, don’t you?” Nodding and unable to hide small moans from escaping her, their lips met again, noisy and echoing around the room. She was so damp, Ony was starting to see her show up on his jeans, having to look away before he embarrassed himself in front of this girl.

“Fuck,” He cursed when her nails ran down the nape of his neck, his hips lifting off the couch to put force behind the thrusts he was giving her. Ony’s hands curving down to grip her ass, hissing as her clit caught perfectly over his bulge, pulling her all the way up, up, up, then back down until she felt like she was fraying at the seams. “Stay with me, Baby.” He urged, but her mind was too cloudy to sense that unfamiliar feeling at first, too busy asking the Lord to forgive her for praying to lose her virginity after a first date. Thoughts turning to mush before they could form and soon she found herself stuck in the feeling that she was going to burst.

Then her stomach wound tighter, eyes snapping open in panic as she felt a mix of emotions, wanting to go faster and run away from the feeling all at once. Tingles crawled up her body from her toes, moving with vigor to heighten the pressure as it all rushed to her head. Her hips trying to jump away from his, squealing as she tried to stop her impending orgasm before it made her lose control, hands pressing into his chest to push away.

“Gonna cum, Mama?” Calling Milana back as he forced her to sit flush down on him again. He was asking like he already knew that, and when she tried looking at him through teary eyes she was taken aback at the hungry glint in them. “Yeah, gonna make a fucking mess. Let that shit happen, ‘want you to soak my face after.”

Milana’s mouth dropped open, whining out as she clutched onto him, thrown headfirst into an orgasm she never expected. It felt like free falling right into his waiting arms, where he could bring her more pleasure than she ever thought possible, without even having to touch her. His kisses trailed from her jaw down her neck, toes curling and eyes watering in bliss as she tried to catch her breath. He let her settle slightly, then flipped them both over to lay her on the couch. Her head lying on the armrest as Milana looked at her ceiling, body sagging into the cushions while Ony took her legs and threw them over his shoulders.

“Damn, that was good, Baby. So fucking good. Gonna have you do that on my mouth then around me next, Mama.” He rambled out, planting long appreciative kisses over her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to her covered pussy. His head dipping down to press his lips right against her, surprised at how she shrieked and pushed herself up slightly to see him, eyebrow raising as he stopped to make sure she was alright. To be fair, she didn’t expect them to still keep going, not with how worn out she felt either.

“Uhh… Ony… think I should-probably should tell you some-something…” Her chest was still rising and falling rapidly, whole body thrown off kilter in a sensitive state that had her scrambling while trying to find her bearings. He nodded for her to continue, rubbing circles into her skin when he saw how she was still coming down into reality, thinking she was just a bit delicate in the moment. “I just never- that was my first time so-”

“What?” Ony practically threw himself off of her, legs falling off his body as he moved to sit across from her, a rush of indecipherable emotions written all over him. The sudden loss of touch made her feel a lot more hurt than he intended, but he was honestly so blindsided by her confession that he thought his heart stopped. “Are you saying that you're…” God, it all made sense now, why she was so nervous all the time, shying away from any hint of intimacy, why didn't he see it sooner? “Fuck, Milana.”

His head dropped into his hands, groaning out in an unmistakable tone of frustration as he sobered up, her stomach twisting in a not-so-pleasurable way after that. Once again, her big mouth strikes again, opening it just when things were going so well. Why did she have to stop him, why did that knawing feeling in the back of her mind have to tell her that they might've been moving too fast? Her face dropping with so much disappointment as she tried not to get weepy. “I’m sorry…” Voice tinged with pain as a hand rubbed at the corner of her eyes.

Ony didn't miss the way she sounded, head picking up to jump into action, pulling her back into him, tucked in his side. “Shit-No, Baby. I'm not upset with you. I'm mad at my damn self, should've known better than to be trying to push all up on you like that.” He explained, trying to blanket her with as much comfort as he could, hand a bit frantic as it moved up and down her back. “Fuck, shouldn’t have done that, it wasn't right. I just don't want to take advantage of you, Mama.”

His mind was rushed with guilt, feeling like he just pushed her too hard and definitely way too fast. A bad feeling erupting inside, thinking that he'd been too selfish in the moment, using his second head instead of the one resting on his shoulders. “Don't say that.” She mumbled, her sniffling getting quieter as she saw how upset he was. “I wanted to do that with you, I just didn't think you'd even like me.”

“What?” After all that he thought she'd at least realize he liked her little stubborn behind. “Of course I fucking like you. I don't take girls out and shit, did that ‘cause I want you to be mine.” He admitted it so truthfully, that it shocked her to the core, the revelation swaddling her in the tenderness of his words.

“Really?” Milana felt it, she really did this time. Her eyes were getting watery all over again as it came over her in waves, feeling just as good as his touch was.

“Yes, Milana. I really want you.” Ony felt a rush of relief, his body sagging down to lean against hers too, just needing to hold her for a while. They laid down together, arms wrapping around to hold each other with soothing light touches, side by side facing each other on her little sofa. Her hands sliding to cup his face as he buried his face in her neck, practically laying on top of him to make room, but it was the most comfortable she’d ever been. They would have a lot to talk about soon; her fears, his tough shell, their shared desires, but both were certain that together, it’d be alright.

Hello Everyone! Thank you for being so patient and for supporting my story! I can't believe Milana and Ony already had their first date! It only gets better from here for them, so keep tuning in to read! xoxo - Bow 🎀

Taglist:

@kxllanxtdoor

@rintcrous

@blackgirlmagicforever

@hidd3nbimbo

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 9

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or: A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

Happy New Year!

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

Two hours.

It was barely any time at all.

And that was assuming the High Lord didn't cut his meeting short out of sheer impatience.

Feyre sprinted back to the apartment, gritting her teeth against the protests of her aching body. She was sore everywhere, and each slapping step against the cobblestone seemed to lodge a new pain forward—a kink in her neck, a stab in her abdomen, a sharp twinge between her legs. The stone was smooth beneath her feet, but in her mind she pictured she was running over fractured glass, where every stride revealed a new reflection of the ways the High Lord had touched her. Claimed her.

As fast as she pushed her legs, she couldn't outrun the memories. Her mind was fixed on Rhysand's expression in that final, scorching look he'd given before he'd left. Rest. You'll need it when I'm back.

She'd been starving enough times in her life to recognize that kind of hunger. Unfulfilled, it was dangerous. Unpredictable. Her stomach swooped at the thought of what he might do when he returned to see she was gone. Would he check to see if she'd taken anything? Had she remembered to shut his bedside drawer?

Around her, High Fae meandered the pale stone streets, dressed in long coats to ward off the crisp air. During this time of year, when Velaris straddled autumn and winter, it was always the wind that had the final say in the weather. Today, it blew in from the east, carrying the cold of the Illyrian Steppes with it.

Nights were warmer when the wind blew in from the west. Feyre had spent many winter mornings praying that the winds would carry warmer weather, but on this night she was grateful. Even as the air gnawed at her nose and fingertips, she considered it a good omen.

Feyre ran faster. Until her throat was bloodied and her muscles screamed. City-goers scrambled out of her way, some shooting her filthy looks that became blurs of color as she darted past.

Her sisters were already waiting outside the confectionery, their bags packed, eyes scanning the streets. Nesta visibly relaxed when she saw Feyre coming.

"You're late."

Nesta's tone, accompanied by her withering stare, was sharp enough to cut a grown male to their knees. Feyre had seen it happen enough times during their years in the tavern. Even when they were swaying on their feet, the drunken males knew almost instinctively to give Nesta, and Elain by proximity, a wide berth.

The death stare had long lost its luster on Feyre, however. She knew her sister, and though Nesta fought to keep her body rigid, her eyes still darted warily over Feyre's shoulder—checking to see if anyone was following.

"I know." Feyre winced. "I had to add extra time to our bargain."

"Why?" Nesta demanded, extending Feyre's bag as she skidded to a halt in front of them. "Did he suspect something?"

Before Feyre could say anything, Nesta's eyes narrowed on her throat. Feyre didn't have to look down to confirm what her sister noticed. Though she'd stolen one of the High Lord's coats to cover the love-bites on her exposed shoulders and stomach, there wasn't much she could do to hide the marks on her neck.

Rhysand was nothing if not thorough.

"No," Feyre said, feigning indifference as she took the bag from Nesta and slung it over her shoulder.

"You're certain?" Nesta pressed.

As clearly as if she was standing before his portrait, Feyre could picture the High Lord the way the rumors painted him. The way her sisters imagined him. Some dark, imposing figure with stern features and a power honed to near-omnipotence. Outwitting an opponent like that felt impossible.

But she felt that she could smear her thumb over that image to find a second, softer portrait beneath. One that offered a hesitant smile and sounded sincere when he told her, I'd like for you to stay. He'd left her in that bedroom expecting—or perhaps, simply hoping—she would be there when he returned. That wasn't the kind of vulnerability a person would show to a suspected thief.

She felt a pang of guilt pinching her chest, which worsened as she reflected on the moments she swore she'd caught him looking at her with genuine fondness. But fondness didn't equate to much, in the scheme of things. Feyre had seen the Tavernkeeper affectionately pat the hides of pigs before he butchered them in the kitchen and served them for dinner.

It was better this way. There wasn't room for someone like Feyre in a High Lord's life. Not for anything larger than being his novel plaything—a diversion to soothe his unchecked boredom and dust off a treasury too large to fathom.

It was painful to share those thoughts out loud, though. More painful, still, to examine why.

Feyre only nodded.

"Good." Nesta fastened her own pack across her shoulder, tight enough to stay secure if they needed to run. "Then let's get out of the city before he realizes."

Feyre glanced at Elain, who clutched her small satchel close and offered a determined nod of agreement. It was almost pathetic how easy it was to pack up their lives. Anything they had of value fit into one bag each, and it wasn't much. A few new sets of clothes, which would come in handy for the journey, and a handful of sentimental trinkets. What few of them they hadn't pawned off for coin.

"You're certain you don't want to bring your cards?" Elain asked, glancing towards the window above, where Feyre had left them when she'd packed her things the day before.

Feyre shook her head. "I'm certain."

Rhysand would find them when he undoubtedly came looking. They were worthless, and would probably be trivial to him, but she couldn't resist that final way of saying goodbye. To the High Lord, and to a life she'd never truly asked for.

Wherever she ended up after this, Feyre didn't want to be known as a witch or a thief. She wanted a fresh start, and had two diamond cuffs around her wrists that would help her get there.

"Let's go," she said, guiding them back into the crowd.

They didn't run. It wasn't worth the attention it would draw. But their pace was quick, sufficient in roughening their breathing by the time they reached the boathouse.

It was run-down, like many buildings along the docks. The green-stained, mossy overgrowth on the stones caused most onlooker attention to glaze right over the entrance, despite its attractive spires and archways. Though big enough to house one of the cargo ships docked outside the harbor, at present the structure was filled with small utility boats, flipped upside down with oars strapped to their sides. One such boat was floating in the small bay of water in the center of the boathouse, tied up beside a ladder.

Feyre frowned, searching through the dark, dripping space for its owner.

Behind her, Elain yelped.

Before Feyre could react, a gloved hand reached out through the shadows, snapping Feyre around the wrist.

"Did you bring it?"

The quiet cold of that voice licked down her spine.

She shook his grip away, whirling to glare at the sliver of High Fae features visible through the mask and hood. He kept to the darkness, which swelled over him like a cresting wave. Through it, she spied narrowed hazel eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes. Black hair curled against his forehead under the hood, though he quickly lowered his face when he saw her looking, preventing Feyre from studying him any closer.

Still, he was familiar. In a way that made her stomach churn.

"Here," she said, retrieving the velvet box from her pocket to extend it towards him. "It deserves to be buried with your wife."

It was like blinking, how quickly he moved. One second, the box was in her palm, and the next it was gone, swallowed by shadow.

"Thank you."

He didn't sound moved. Not in the way she would expect from the sob story she was given. And he didn't check the ring, either, to make sure she'd found the right one.

An oily feeling settled over her. She'd suspected it was a lie from the moment he'd told her the story. But what did she care why he needed the ring? What mattered was that he held up his end of the promise—and that was part of an unbreakable bargain.

She looked at him expectantly. "And the ship?"

The male nodded towards the front of the boathouse, where it opened to the sea. Docked beyond the harbor, she could see the mast of a great ship, nearly as large the merchant vessels her father used to sail. Its mainsail was furled tightly in the mast, waiting to be loosed and filled with the Illyrian winds that would send it westward.

"That one's set to embark in the hour. The captain promised discretion for a steep fee. You three get to stay in the hold for any inspections."

"Great," Nesta said dryly.

Feyre ignored her. It was going to be a long journey, even with the winds at their advantage.

"Thank you," she told the masked male.

He only shrugged, gesturing toward the small tied up boat. "Better get rowing."

They'd made it all of three steps before he called out to her.

"I'm curious. How did you manage to take this from him?"

Feyre paused. She turned back to the male, studying what limited features she could see through the thicket of shadow. "How did you know it would be in his bedside drawer?"

"Lucky guess."

"Feyre," Nesta warned, pulling at her elbow. "Let's go."

But she couldn't. The compulsion for knowing was too strong, and before she could check herself, she was already drawing the bowstring of her mental arrow and spearing it towards the stranger, one after the other.

Tell me who you are.

Tell me what you know.

Tell me if you're going to hurt him.

Thunk, thunk, thunk. Like firing shots into a metal post, each pulse of her magic repelled off the surface of his mind, unable to find a hold.

All fae had an innate mental shield. Some possessed stronger shields than others, depending on a person's power and species and, she suspected, intelligence. But she'd never encountered a shield she couldn't penetrate with a little bit of force.

Until she'd met Rhysand.

The masked fae held her stare, his eyes brighter than they'd been moments ago, as if amused. "I've answered your question. Now answer mine."

She had a feeling if she yanked down the mask, she'd find the makings of a dangerous smile.

They needed to leave. Now. Rhys would be finished with his meeting soon, and she didn't want to risk being halfway between the shore and the ship when he came looking. She also had a curdling suspicion the male in front of her would be selling them out the second they left the shore.

Feyre angled her head in feigned innocence. "Would you believe he gave it to me out of the kindness of his heart?"

"Maybe if you'd asked for it nicely, Feyre."

It wasn't the masked male who spoke. This voice was richer, smoother. Like a cup of melted chocolate. The sound of it turned her blood to ice.

"Though, I'm sure I don't need to remind you that stealing from a High Lord is a capital offense."

Her heart was a tempest, thundering against her chest. Part of her was too petrified to look over her shoulder to confirm who she already knew was standing there. Instead, Ferye looked to her sisters, validating the worst of her fears in their expressions alone. Elain was staring toward the front of the boathouse in unmasked horror. And Nesta—fierce, unruly Nesta—stared with an expression of unflinching stone, hard enough to endure the sharpest blade.

It was her eldest sister's courage that gave Feyre the strength to look.

Her eyes met cold, blackened violet. Just like the day she'd met him, the day she'd witnessed the type of punishment he doled to those who dared steal from him, she could feel his anger radiating, plummeting the temperature of the boathouse. She could see her next breath peel from her lips. It was potentially her last.

Pinned by that gaze, Feyre's mind went spinning at breakneck speeds, mentally sorting through every fraction of knowledge that could help her recalculate their plan:

She knew the Archerons were fighters. Even Elain. Especially Elain. If Feyre took a stand, they would fight beside her to their own detriment, clawing and thrashing until the bitter end;

Rhysand was a proud male, and she'd wounded his ego twice over by stealing from him and snubbing the chance to warm his bed;

And if they tried to run, there was no chance that all three of them were escaping.

So she made a snap decision, the same kind that brought her into this mess in the first place.

She stepped closer to Rhysand, placing herself deliberately between him and her sisters.

Unlike the masked male—who had vanished at the High Lord's arrival—Rhysand didn't shy from the light. He stepped into the sun shaft pouring in from the front of the boathouse, basking in it. Demanding she look upon him to answer for what she'd done. Feyre couldn't help but marvel how someone could be flooded in sunlight and seem colder for it. Like the warmth and brightness emphasized all of his darker elements, his hair and clothes a black contrast against the glowing sky.

"Stealing?" Feyre echoed. "I'm not sure what you mean, High Lord. How can it be stealing if it never belonged to you in the first place?"

"Is that what you were told?"

Rhysand's gaze shifted toward the wall where the masked man had been standing. The fact that Rhys wasn't chasing after him lent merit to her suspicion that this had all been an elaborate trap.

Feyre crossed her arms. "I was told," she said, subtly maneuvering her fingers towards the clasp of her bracelets. "That the High Lord once stole a female from her home. That the ring in that box was once her wedding ring. And you kept it when she died."

"All true, I suppose."

The amusement in his voice sickened her.

"So that really was her husband?" She demanded. "You truly refused to give it back to him?"

Rhys barked a laugh. "Now that, Feyre, is where I feared you've been lied to."

It didn't matter what the truth was. The diamond bracelets were loosened around her wrist. She quickly shoved them behind her back, directing one to Elain and the other to Nesta.

Take them, she urged in their minds. And run. Don't stay together, you'll be easier to catch.

Feyre's hope was that Rhys would focus solely on her, and that by the time he remembered they existed, they'd already be gone.

On my signal, she told them.

"Was this all something you orchestrated?" She asked him. "Some sort of test of loyalty?"

"I suspected there was a reason behind your sudden change in heart. But no, Feyre, I didn't plan for you to steal from me and—what was your plan, exactly? Get on that little row boat and go where?"

Feyre shrugged. "Anywhere but here."

Rhysand's lips pulled back at that answer, flashing his teeth. The blatant display of anger shocked her—even with the sailors, he'd kept his expression neutral. Indifferent. He had to be in a truly terrific mood to let his emotions show this much.

Feyre would ponder at it later, how her dislike of Velaris had coaxed such a strong reaction from him. Did he really think his precious city was so perfect that no one would ever want to leave? Or was it simply one insult too many for a High Lord's supreme, immortal patience?

Either way, she saw her opening.

Go, she urged her sisters.

That was the only prompting needed. Each of them took off in separate directions. Feyre cut the path closest Rhys, hoping he would take the bait and dismiss Nesta and Elain entirely.

As she darted past, a talon scraped her mind, trying to find a hook.

Don't run from me, Rhys cautioned. It will only make me excited for the chase.

Feyre scoffed. Don't you have better things to do?

I did. Imagine my surprise when I came home and found those 'better things' had run off with one of my precious belongings.

He was trying to distract her, but he could try all he liked. Feyre knew these streets. She could trace them in the dark because she had, more nights than she could count. When the attic was too cramped and the tavern was too raucous, she'd walk along the docks and listen to the ocean slap against the harbor.

Rhysand might have been High Lord, this might have been his city. But he wasn't raised by it.

Wooden boards creaked and groaned under her feet as she sped to the other end of the boathouse, hoping he would follow her out and give chase through the harbor. With the sun settling behind the horizon, the fishermen would be coming in to peddle the day's catch. It would be crowded enough to lose him.

There were no thunderous footsteps at her back, causing her to wonder if he was even following, or if she looked half-mad dodging barrels and leaping over fishing nets for the fun of it.

She didn't slow until she'd elbowed her way into the center of the fish market. A glance over her shoulder didn't show any sign of him, only errant market goers balancing baskets on their arms and fishermen carting barrels of their latest catch, some of the fish still twitching.

If would be a fitting end for Rhys to catch her here. When he was done, he could toss her atop one of the barrels and she would blend right in among those hollow eyes and gaping mouths.

That was, if he even bothered chasing her. If he didn't choose to pursue her sisters instead, thinking they were the easier prey and knowing Feyre would trade anything for their well-being.

Because she needed to know that they were safe, she cast her magic in a wide net, hoping he would hear her taunt.

Won't your people think it's strange to see you chasing someone through the street?

Only if they notice, came his immediate response. Try not to make a scene, will you? Bad press for the both of us.

It was impossible to gauge his distance. In their minds, he sounded close, like he was whispering in Feyre's ear, but she was being vigilant in keeping her head on a swivel. She knew he wasn't anywhere in eyesight.

Feyre edged her way to the end of the dock. She could veer off here, take one of the alleyways back into the city center, but that was where Rhys would be expecting her to go. It would be a quieter place for a confrontation, less likely to end up in the papers.

But it was either that, or double back the direction she'd come.

Or… she could swim.

If he wasted enough time scouting the docks and alleyways, she could probably get decently far. Make camp on a quiet shore, then regroup with her sisters and catch a ship out in the morning.

Feyre took one last cursory glance around the marketplace, searching for violet eyes or a general whiff of self-inflated arrogance. When she was certain he wasn't here, she took a deep breath and dived into the ocean.

All at once, the chatter of the market went silent.

She always appreciated that about the ocean. The calm. All she could hear were the air bubbles whooshing from her nose and the rhythmic strike of the waves lapping at the harbor. Everything moved slower underwater, floating so delicately, so compliant to the will of the current.

Feyre had never been very good at letting something else take control. She wondered if it would be peaceful, the way the seaweed rippled to and fro at the ocean bed. Or like the buoy, oscillating slowly with the tide, content in its role of directing mariners in and out of the harbor.

There was something in her, and it was no small part, that longed to stop. To float. To see where the current would take her, so that the weight of survival could rest on something else for a change. But then she thought of those dead-eyed fish in the marketplace. And she started swimming against the current.

She stayed under water as long as she could, until her lungs began to squeeze, demanding she surface for air. She fought that, too, until her throat was on fire and black spots plagued her vision.

Only then, did she swim to the surface, gasping for air and praying she was far enough not to be spotted from the docks. The chatter of the market was dulled to a distant hum, replaced by the squawking gulls overhead. Their shadows swooped past as they scouted for food.

Having a nice swim, darling?

She gasped, whipping her head back towards the docks. It was too far away to make out any person in detail. Could he really see her at that distance?

Do be careful. You can never be too certain what's lurking below the surface.

A dark shape swooped down overhead. One of the gulls, she thought at first, diving for a fish.

She didn't remember that the High Lord Had wings, and that those wings could fly, until she realized the shadow was becoming much too large for a bird. And when she looked up, she saw large, membranous wings and the face of an avenging angel, come to deliver the wrath of the gods.

Panicked, Feyre was about to duck her head back under the surface when a cold, icy touch slithered around her ankle and yanked, dragging her under with an abrupt shriek. Water flooded her mouth and nose, gagging her as she went down, down, down.

Let go of me! She thought, clawing above her head to resist the pull, thrashing her feet to try to break loose.

Me? Rhysand's croon held an air of derision. I'm not touching you, Feyre.

Magic counts.

You should be more careful with your words then. How else am I meant to take them at their true value?

Feyre curled back her lips, baring her teeth into the vast darkness. So this is how you intend to punish me then? Drowning?

There were worse ways to die, she supposed. Better ways, too.

Her lungs were starting to burn, seizing as if constricted by a flaming fist. Black spots dotted her vision, blending with the dark water so seamlessly that at first she didn't notice the rippling darkness.

Not until the High Lord formed from the shadows, violet eyes glowing in the dim light. His smile was cruel as he watched her helpless writhing.

Punishment? Rhys thumbed her chin, drifting closer until their lips were inches apart. Not necessarily. How this goes is up to you.

Feyre would blame her disoriented mind on the lack of breath. It was making her dizzy and vulnerable to absurd thinking, like how warm his body would be if she pressed closer. If these were her last, precious seconds, they might as well be pleasant.

She arched into him, thoughtless, impulsive. A procession of bubbles escaped Rhysand's lips in what she imagined to be mocking laughter as he pulled away. Denying her in her final moments.

Not until you make your choice, he said.

Her eyelids were becoming so heavy. She shut them, reveling in the brief reprieve from the sting of saltwater.

Rhys's fingers tightened on her chin, squeezing until she opened her eyes again. Focus.

What? She snapped.

I'm offering a trade. You can drown and join the other thieves at the bottom of the Mother's Cauldron. Or, I'll provide my help and winnow you to the surface.

Help? At least her mind was sound enough to recognize what a ridiculous notion that was. You're the one drowning me.

You're facing the consequences of your own poor judgment. He corrected. But I'll pardon your crime, in exchange for your service.

Feyre focused on the stone grip he held at her chin, channeling the dregs of her fading energy to keep her eyes open, fixed on the unyielding violet before her. Darkness danced in the corners of her vision, but she couldn't be certain if that was Rhysand's magic or her waning senses.

A life debt. That's what he was asking for.

Would he truly kill her if she denied him?

Her lungs were panicking now, thudding against their cage for the sweet release of air. She clenched her teeth, fighting against ancient instinct that begged her to breathe. To ease the sharp, excruciating burn coiling through her throat.

Rhys stroked her cheek. Softly. The way he'd touched her in the early hours of the morning, when the lust and hunger were finally sated and all that was left was the sweet, aching sensation of warmth. Skin against skin. A pulse beneath her lips, a beating chest beneath her fingertips.

Did he remember those gentle moments as he looked into her eyes?

What will it be, Feyre darling? He asked, in that same voice he'd used to whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

Go to Hell.

Pity, Rhys mused, brushing his thumb along her lower lip. You could be destined for so much more. And you'll trade it all away for your pride.

Feyre knew better. There was no escaping a life debt. With such ill-defined terms, she'd be agreeing to be little more than his slave. Her will, her life, her desires, no longer relevant. She would feel the restraint of that bond for the rest of her life.

At least in Death, she would still belong to herself.

Her resignation must have been obvious, because Rhysand's mask of arrogance faltered. As her vision blurred, she felt those intense eyes studying her, weighing if this was a bluff.

I never expected to see defeat in your eyes, Feyre Archeron.

Giving in to you would be the defeat, she countered.

There was something pensive in the way he lowered his mouth to hers, murmuring, Are you certain?

This was not how Feyre imagined Death.

There were plenty of moments where she'd been hungry enough and cold enough and defeated enough to think it would finally win, but she always managed to evade its covetous touch. She thought it would be cold. The bitter frost of winter, ensnaring her the moment her guard was down, grinning as she wilted and rotted beneath its inescapable grasp.

But this—this was a sweet, soft surrender.

The burning in her lungs wasn't pleasant, but the pain ebbed when Rhysand's lips met hers, parting slowly. She opened for him, knowing it was her last breath and using it in spite of herself.

Her fingers slid into his hair, their soft waves floating and merging with the water. Easy to slip her fingers into and hold onto something for the last time.

She wasn't aware her magic reached for his until his mind parted, and it was like diving into the ocean anew. Somewhere deeper, darker, quieter.

Peaceful.

Feyre shut her eyes, floating in the warm darkness, letting it caress and soothe every fear, every pain.

A voice asked, strained, Is this really what you choose?

Just hold me until it's over, she said.

There was no response, save for the darkness that curled around her, letting her drift in the cradle of its warmth until that, too, slipped away into nothingness.

[0kurakura0]

Case Files Pt. 3

Simon Riley "Ghost" x UN lawyer Reader

TF 141 receives a visit from a UN prosecutor working at the ICC. This overworked prosecutor is trying to build a case against war criminals and must team up with them to catch these criminals. Along the way, they may even catch feelings for a brooding soldier. slow-burn, M/F, cursing

>> Pt.1 >> Pt.2

The steady hum of the plane engines filled the cabin as Task Force 141 and their new reluctant companion settled into their seats. Ghost was seated near the back, arms crossed and gaze fixed straight ahead, his mask revealing nothing of his thoughts. Soap and Gaz sat side by side a few rows ahead, already engrossed in a spirited debate over whether the in-flight rations counted as edible.

Price, ever the professional, was at the front of the cabin, reviewing the mission details on his tablet. ___, sat slightly apart from the group, her normal suit attire traded for a more practical outfit consisting of cargo pants, boots, and a plain black jacket. Despite the attire, she still looked out of place amongst the others. 

The tension from the earlier briefing hadn’t dissipated. Ghost’s warning lingered in her mind, and she’d caught Soap throwing her a few sideways glances since they boarded. She adjusted her seatbelt, shifting uncomfortably as the turbulence made the plane shudder.

“Relax,” Gaz said from across the aisle, offering a small smile. “We’ve been through worse flights.”

“Great,” she muttered, gripping the armrest tighter. “Good to know my first field mission might involve falling out of the sky.”

Soap leaned back in his seat, flashing her a grin. “Don’t worry, lass. If we crash, Ghost’ll probably land us on his feet like a bloody cat.”

Ghost didn’t even bother looking at him. “Focus on the mission, MacTavish.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Soap quipped, though his grin didn’t waver.

Price’s voice broke through the chatter. “Listen up. Once we’re on the ground, things will move quickly. Tarek’s network is vast, but we have intel on a small arms deal happening at a warehouse outside Beirut. Our job is to intercept, secure evidence, and take down anyone who tries to stop us.”

“And the suit?” Ghost asked, his tone devoid of any warmth.

Leaning forward to glare at Ghost. “The suit has a name you know.” 

Price’s gaze flicked to ___. “She’s here to ensure what we find sticks in court and to make sure we don't violate any international laws. You’ll keep her safe.”

Ghost didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. __ decided to stay quiet for the rest of the flight, knowing anything she said would only add fuel to the fire. She stared out the window instead, watching the dark clouds swirl outside.

This was going to be a long mission.

---

The plane touched down on a small airstrip outside the city, the wheels screeching against the tarmac. The team disembarked quickly, the cold night air biting at their skin. They moved with practiced efficiency, loading their gear onto waiting trucks.

The base was a small, makeshift outpost nestled in the hills overlooking Beirut. As the convoy approached, the sound of generators and the hum of radio chatter greeted them. Soldiers moved about purposefully, their silhouettes stark against the floodlights illuminating the area.

Price led the group into the main operations tent, where maps and monitors covered every available surface. An officer greeted them with a sharp salute, then handed Price a tablet with the latest intel.

“Welcome Captin,” the officer said. “We’ve got eyes on the warehouse. Minimal movement so.”

Price nodded, motioning for the team to gather around. “We’ll go over the plan in the morning. For now, get some rest. Long day ahead.”

The team dispersed, each heading to their assigned quarters. __ was shown to a small, room with a cot, a desk, and a single lamp. She dropped her bag onto the floor and sat on the edge of the cot, exhaustion already creeping in. Just as she started to kick off her boots, there was a knock at the door.

Price stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

“Yeah sure,” she replied, though her tone was wary.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You’re not a soldier. I get that. But out there, it won’t matter. Bullets don’t discriminate. If you can’t hold your own, you’re a liability to the team.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to ensure justice is served.”

“And you can’t do that if you’re dead,” he countered. “Starting tomorrow, Ghost will run you through the basics. Enough to keep you alive if things go south.”

Her stomach sank. “Ghost?”

Price’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a small smrik. “He’s the best we’ve got. You’ll learn fast.”

---

The morning sun cast a pale light over the base as __ made her way to the training area. She’d slept fitfully, the looming prospect of Ghost’s “training” keeping her awake. When she arrived, he was already there, his imposing figure standing by a table laden with gear.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice as gruff as ever.

“It’s six in the morning,” she shot back. “I’m not exactly a morning person.”

“Good thing you’re not here for a vacation,” he retorted. “Grab a vest. We’ll start with the basics.”

She sighed, shrugging into the heavy tactical vest he handed her. It felt like wearing a brick wall. He led her to a small range, where targets were set up at varying distances.

“First lesson: handling a firearm. If you’re in a fight, the last thing you want is to fumble.” He handed her a pistol. “Show me what you know.”

She hesitated, gripping the weapon awkwardly. “I’ve only ever handled a gun once. And it was a carnival game… I lost”

“Fantastic,” he said dryly. “Let’s fix that.”

For the next hour, he drilled her on the basics: stance, aim, trigger discipline. Her first shot hit the dirt two feet in front of the target, and her second ricocheted off the side of the range, prompting Ghost to step back with a muttered, “Bloody hell.”

“Are you trying to hit the target or scare it to death?” he asked.

“It’s harder than it looks!” she snapped, reloading with all the grace of someone trying to assemble IKEA furniture without instructions.

By the end of the session, she managed to hit the target more often than not, though her technique left much to be desired.

The second half of the sessions was worse, however. Ghost led her to an open area where he demonstrated hand-to-hand combat techniques.

“What are we doing now?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

“Teaching you how not to die when someone gets too close,” he replied. “Come at me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Attack me,” he said, gesturing for her to move. “Don’t think. Just do it.”

With no small amount of reluctance, she lunged at him. It ended poorly—she found herself on the ground in less than two seconds.

“Again,” he ordered.

She groaned, getting to her feet. “Do you enjoy this?���

“You’ll thank me later,” he said not masking the amusement in his voice, motioning for her to try again.

Her next attempt was equally disastrous. She tried to throw a punch, but it lacked any real force, and Ghost easily sidestepped, causing her to stumble forward. By her third attempt, she was so frustrated she let out a battle cry that sounded more like an angry goose, which prompted Soap—watching from a distance—to burst out laughing.

By the time they finished, she was bruised, exhausted, and thoroughly annoyed. Ghost, on the other hand, looked as unbothered as ever almost happy even.

---

By the time dinner rolled around,  was utterly spent. Her muscles ached, her pride was bruised, and her stomach growled loud enough to echo in the mess hall. She grabbed a tray and slumped into a seat at one of the long tables, praying for a moment of peace.

Naturally, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite new recruit,” Soap announced, plopping down across from her with an exaggerated grin. Gaz followed, carrying his tray and shaking his head at Soap’s antics.

“I’m not a recruit,” she mumbled, poking at the unidentifiable stew on her plate. “I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer who can’t throw a punch to save her life,” Soap teased. “That wee war cry of yours? Nearly killed me. From laughter.”

Gaz snorted into his drink. “I’ve seen geese with more intimidating moves.”

“Ha, ha,” she said dryly, stabbing a piece of whatever kinda meat this was with her fork. “Glad I could entertain you.”

“To be fair,” Gaz added, “you did hit the target a few times by the end. Progress, eh?”

“Sure, if you call barely competent progress,” she muttered. “Ghost probably thinks I’m hopeless.”

Soap grinned. “Nah, if he thought you were hopeless, he wouldn’t bother trainin’ you. He’s just got a funny way of showin’ encouragement.”

“Funny isn’t the word I’d use,” she said, though a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Before they could continue, an officer entered the mess hall, his expression tense. The room quieted as he approached their table.

“Captain Price wants everyone in the operations tent,” he said, his tone brisk. “We’ve got activity at the warehouse. Looks like the deal’s happening sooner than expected.”

Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Soap and Gaz were on their feet in seconds, their joking demeanor replaced with sharp focus.

“Guess playtime’s over,” Soap said, getting up from his spot and heading to the operation tent outside. 

__ stares down at her food before getting up with Gaz as they both start to head to the tent. 

“Hey maybe you might get lucky and Terek is scared of geese,” Gaz says with a chuckle.

“Please shut up…”

hey guys... so... yeah been a minute hasn't it.

I'm so sorry for the super super late update. Iv been stuck in the hospital due to a heart condition I suffer from and with the holidays I was just so stressed with that and my condition that I wasn't able to write anything.

but now I'm out horray so happy lol. but I started writing again just not sure about the schedule of when stuff with come out now also since I'll be starting college back up again so ill be busy. but I'll try my best to get stuff out to yall. also, I don't want this story to be a crazy slow burn so I might try to push things along in the next one and start the juicy stuff soon. hehehehhehehe.

[earthlybeam]

Could you describę,how Thranduil's beloved has a problem with accepting her own body. Thinking that,Thranduil loves her less,which of course is not truę. Because of this,she starts to eat less,less,and less meals,and she starts to lose more and more węight. Her dress starts to hang. She is getting weaker,frailer. Thranduil sees this after a long timę,when she is already very bąd,assuring her that she is for him,the most beautiful elleth everewherę.🥺🖤🌌🧝‍♂️🔥

Trigger Warning: Anorexia

This story touches on themes related to anorexia. Please proceed with caution if this topic is sensitive for you. Your well-being is the most important, so take care of yourself and prioritize your mental health.

I’ve written this from the perspective of “she” (you, the reader), but it’s not overly detailed as I want to remain cautious and considerate. As someone in recovery from anorexia, I know firsthand how challenging it can be to navigate these topics. Writing this was both personal and difficult, but I wanted to create something meaningful for others who might be struggling or healing . I apologize if it doesn’t delve deeply into specifics—I intentionally kept it this way to avoid triggering myself or anyone else.

To anyone reading who is struggling with anorexia or disordered eating, please remember you’re not alone. Recovery is possible, even when it feels out of reach. Be kind to yourself. ❤️‍🩹🫶✨

🍷���𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Thranduil is often lost in his own duties and the responsibilities of his realm, but even he cannot miss the gradual change in his beloved. At first, it wasn’t as noticeable—small things that he might have dismissed had his keen senses not been so attuned to her presence. She would push her plate aside at meals after only a faint nibble, offering a quiet explanation that she simply wasn’t hungry or had eaten earlier. Her tone was soft and convincing, so much so that he hesitated to question her further. It was not unusual for elves to sometimes abstain from food when preoccupied, and he attributed it to fleeting restlessness rather than anything deeper.

But her habits grew more peculiar over time. More often than not, she would skip meals entirely, assuring him in gentle words that she had already eaten. Though her words seemed sincere, a faint doubt lingered in his mind. When he pulled her close during the night, wrapping her in his arms as they rested, the growing unease took root. His hands, brushing feather-light against her body, began to notice the subtle yet undeniable change in her. Where there had once been soft curves and warmth, there was now a startling firmness—sharp edges that made him pause, his brow furrowing slightly in the dim moonlight. Even then, he said nothing. Thranduil was no stranger to sorrow, to burdens that weighed heavily on the heart, and he respected her autonomy too much to press her before she was ready to speak. He told himself he would wait, that she would come to him in time. But as the days turned into weeks, his concerns only deepened.

In an attempt to ease her struggles, he began encouraging her to share breakfast with him in the mornings. He framed it as a small moment for them to spend together before the demands of the day pulled him away. She would comply, sitting across from him with a faint smile and picking at the food before her. She ate just enough to appease him—small bites that seemed painfully measured—but he watched her closely, noting the deliberate pace with which she moved. It was enough, or so he thought, to convince him she was eating, and he allowed himself to be reassured, if only for a short while. But the truth was far more troubling than he could have imagined. Once he left to attend to his duties, satisfied that she had eaten something, she would retreat to the privacy of her chambers or the nearest restroom. There, the food she had carefully consumed was discarded, her fragile body rejecting what little she had allowed herself to take in. This hidden ritual became her way of maintaining the facade, of keeping her pain and self-doubt hidden from him.

Over the course of months, her decline became impossible to ignore. Her once vibrant frame, so full of life and grace, seemed to shrink before his eyes. Dresses that once fit her beautifully now hung loosely, their fabric billowing around her as though the wind might carry her away. Her face, which he adored for its soft glow and gentle features, appeared hollowed, the light in her eyes dimmed. Even her movements, always so elegant and assured, began to seem too light, as though her body no longer held the strength to move with the same vitality. Thranduil noticed it all, though he told himself at first that it was not yet time to speak. He convinced himself that perhaps it was just a passing phase, that her appetite would return with time. But the weight of his doubts grew heavier with every glance, every moment spent by her side.

It wasn’t until a shared dinner one evening that the reality of her condition struck him fully. She sat across from him, her head slightly bowed, her hands trembling faintly as she held her utensils. He watched her take only a faint nibble of her meal before pushing the plate aside, her expression calm but distant. His piercing eyes, so often unreadable and aloof, softened with a mix of confusion and deep concern. As she rose from the table and quietly retreated to her chambers, Thranduil’s gaze followed her, his heart aching in a way he had not felt in centuries. The realization hit him with a force he had not anticipated: he had let this go on for far too long. Whatever pain or fear she was hiding, whatever thoughts had driven her to this state, he could no longer stand idly by. Though his duties had often drawn him away, he could no longer ignore the truth staring him in the face. His beloved, the one he cherished above all else, was slipping away from him. And this time, he would not let her fade.  

That night, Thranduil does not let her slip away into isolation as he has unwittingly allowed her to do before. His duties and the weight of his crown have often occupied his mind, but this time, he casts aside all else. His steps are purposeful as he ascends the stairs to their chambers, his heart heavy with guilt and determination. He has been blind for too long, content to wait, to let her come to him when she was ready—but now, he understands that the waiting has cost them dearly. He will not lose her to this. Not to her own self-doubt. Not to her pain. When he reaches their shared quarters, the soft glow of candlelight spills into the hallway. Pushing the door open with a deliberate calmness, he finds her standing before the tall, ornate mirror by the window. Her arms are crossed tightly over her middle, clutching herself as though trying to shield her reflection from her own eyes. She stares at her image, her expression a mixture of sorrow and silent disgust. Her gown, once tailored to her graceful frame, now hangs loosely off her shoulders, the fabric falling limply where it once hugged her figure.

The sight of her, so lost in this quiet torment, tears at his soul in a way no battle or grief ever has. For a long moment, Thranduil cannot speak, his breath caught in his chest as he stares at her frail form, illuminated by the soft candlelight. Her gown, once fitting her like a second skin, hangs off her frame as though it were meant for someone else. The sight of her hollowed cheeks, the way her arms wrap around herself tightly, makes his heart constrict with a pain he has no words for. He feels as if the ground beneath him has shifted—this is not the woman he adores, the one who once stood strong at his side. This is someone drowning in a silent, invisible battle, and he had not seen it. He finally steps forward, his voice trembling with uncharacteristic vulnerability, shattering the heavy silence. “Why?” he asks, his tone laced with anguish. “Why have you done this to yourself, meleth nîn?” At the sound of his voice, she flinches, her arms tightening across her middle as though trying to protect herself from the weight of his words. She does not turn to face him, staring instead at her reflection, the shame and self-loathing in her eyes unbearable even to herself. Her voice, when she finally speaks, is brittle, as if it might break under its own weight. “Because… because I thought if I could just be better—if I could be worthy—maybe you would—” She cuts off, swallowing hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her.

Thranduil’s chest tightens as her words sink in, each one a dagger to his heart. “Stop,” he commands gently, though the sorrow in his voice makes it a plea more than an order. He takes another step closer, his movements slow, as if afraid she might break apart before his eyes. But she still doesn’t face him, her shoulders shaking as silent tears fall. “I look at myself,” she whispers, her voice breaking with every word. “And I see someone… weak. Someone ugly. Someone you couldn’t possibly still love. You deserve better—someone beautiful, someone strong, someone—”

“Someone like you,” he interrupts, his voice unsteady but firm, his own pain now laid bare. His hands rise, trembling as he gently turns her to face him. The sight of her tears, of her fragile frame, threatens to undo him, but he holds steady. He cups her face, his thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks. “You do not see what I see,” he says, his voice low but thick with emotion. “You do not see how every part of you—the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way your very presence lights my path—makes this world brighter. You are not weak, nor ugly, nor unworthy. You are everything to me. You are my heart, my light. You have always been enough.” His voice cracks on the last word, and for the first time in an age, Thranduil’s regal composure breaks.

Her hands come up to grip his wrists as though anchoring herself to his words, but still, she shakes her head. “I… I don’t feel it,” she admits, her voice trembling, her tears falling harder now. “I don’t feel like enough. I feel broken, Thranduil. I feel like I’m fading away, and I don’t know how to stop it.” Her confession cuts him deeper than he ever thought possible. He pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly as though his embrace alone might keep her from slipping through his fingers. “Then let me hold you together,” he whispers, his voice raw. “Let me remind you every day, every hour, if I must. If I have failed you—if I have not shown you just how much I love you, how much you mean to me—then it is I who must ask forgiveness.”

She sobs quietly into his chest, her fragile frame trembling in his arms, and he holds her as if she is the most precious thing in the world, his heart breaking for her pain. “But promise me,” he whispers, his voice shaking, “promise me you will not fade from me. I cannot lose you, meleth. You are the root of my heart. Without you, I am nothing.” For a long moment, they stand there in the quiet of their chambers, her tears soaking into his robes as he holds her as though his very life depends on it. And perhaps it does—for in her, Thranduil sees not just his love, but his purpose, his joy, his everything.

In the days that follow, Thranduil becomes relentless in his devotion. He refuses to let her battle this darkness alone. Meals are no longer solitary; he invites her to eat with him, crafting each moment with care, ensuring she feels cherished rather than scrutinized. His words are tender, laced with love and affirmation, as though he is weaving a tapestry of reassurance around her heart. When she falters—when the doubt resurfaces like a shadow in her mind—he does not let her fall. He takes her hand, guiding her into the sunlight of the forest, walking with her through the golden glades and quiet streams. He speaks not only of her beauty but of her spirit, her strength.

“You are no less a part of this world’s beauty,” he tells her one day as they stand beneath the sunlight streaming through the canopy. “You are its center. Without you, the stars would dim, the forests would fall silent, and my heart… my heart would break.” Day by day, she begins to heal. The despair that once gripped her loosens its hold as his love surrounds her, unwavering and infinite. He does not rush her, nor does he expect perfection. He meets her where she is, every moment reminding her that she is enough, that she is loved, that she is his. To Thranduil, she is perfection—not for her outward appearance, but for the light within her, the love she has always given so selflessly. He remains steadfast, a king brought to his knees by the one he loves above all else. For her, he would wait an eternity. For her, he would give everything. And in time, as the shadows lift, he knows she will see herself as he does: beautiful, strong, and deeply, endlessly loved.

Thranduil, with the depth of his love and devotion, took it upon himself to help his beloved heal, piece by piece, moment by moment. Each day, he made it his mission to remind her of her worth, to show her that his love for her was unshakable and infinite. He didn’t merely speak his love—he lived it, weaving it into their daily lives with a quiet intensity that left no room for doubt.

The Mornings: Each morning, Thranduil would wake before her, lying still so as not to disturb her rest. As she stirred awake, he would press gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and the corners of her lips, whispering softly, “Good morning, meleth nîn. You are my first thought of the day and my greatest joy.” If she resisted joining him for breakfast, citing a lack of hunger, he would never pressure her. Instead, he would bring a tray to their chambers, filled with small, carefully chosen foods he knew she liked. “Just a little,” he would encourage, sitting beside her and eating with her so she would never feel alone. He never commented on how much she ate but celebrated each bite with soft smiles and warm words, making the experience gentle and unthreatening.

The Midday: As his duties called him to the throne room or council chambers, Thranduil would often find ways to keep her connected to him, even when they were apart. He sent her small notes, written in his elegant script, left where she would find them—a book she had been reading, a favorite resting spot by the window, or even tucked among the blooms of her favorite flowers. Each note carried his thoughts, like: “The world feels lighter knowing you are here.” “Your smile outshines the sun, meleth. I will see it again today, won’t I?” But it wasn’t just his words he offered. On days when her strength waned and she couldn’t bring herself to join him outside, Thranduil would bring the beauty of the forest to her. He would gather blossoms from the woods, arranging them in delicate patterns on her desk or beside her bed, whispering, “Even the most perfect bloom pales beside you.”

The Evenings: The evenings were sacred to Thranduil—time he could dedicate entirely to her. He would often draw her a warm bath, filling it with soothing oils and the petals of her favorite flowers. He would help her undress, and though she hesitated at first, he would take her hands in his and kiss her palms, whispering, “There is nothing here that is unworthy, meleth. Nothing I do not love.” When she let him, he would kneel beside the bath and gently wash her, his fingers tracing over the parts of her body she had grown to loathe. Her collarbones, once hidden, now too sharp in her eyes, he would kiss with reverence. Her arms, which she thought too thin, he would cradle, pressing his lips against them softly. “Each part of you is a piece of my world,” he murmured. “Without one, I would be lost.” Afterward, when she was clothed and resting, he would take her in his arms, trailing kisses over her skin. If she tried to turn away, he would stop her with a hand on her cheek, his eyes piercing yet soft. “Do not hide from me,” he would say, his voice heavy with emotion. “You are mine to love, wholly and without condition.” Every night before bed, he would kiss every part of her that she had grown to feel insecure about. Her wrists, her shoulders, her ribs—wherever her own fingers lingered in shame, his lips followed in devotion. He would press his lips gently to her stomach, his hands resting there with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Here,” he would whisper, “is where life and beauty dwell. Here is perfection.” He would trail his kisses lower, over her thighs, her knees, and down to her ankles, his lips brushing the places she thought unworthy, as though he could erase every doubt with his touch. He kissed the curve of her hips, the small of her back, her collarbones, and even her fingertips, murmuring soft words of love with every press of his lips. “Here,” he said with quiet reverence, “is strength. Here is grace. Here is the one who keeps my heart beating.” No part of her was ignored, no inch of her body was left untouched by his worship. And in his touch, there was no hesitation, no doubt—only love, pure and unshakable, reminding her with every moment that she was cherished beyond measure.

The Small Things: Beyond the grand gestures, it was the little, unspoken acts of love that began to rebuild her confidence and trust in herself. Thranduil was attentive to her smallest needs, anticipating them before she even realized. If she shivered, he would wrap his cloak around her shoulders. If her hands trembled, he would take them in his own, rubbing warmth into her fingers. He began to guide her to the world outside their chambers again, never pushing but always encouraging. Together, they would walk the forest paths, and he would tell her stories of the ancient trees, the history of the land they walked upon. But always, his words would circle back to her. “These trees have seen thousands of years,” he once said, standing beneath the great canopy of the Greenwood. “And yet, it was not until you walked beneath them that they truly knew beauty.”

The Nights: At night, as they lay together, Thranduil would pull her close, her body pressed against his as he stroked her hair. “I will always love you,” he would whisper into the quiet darkness. “There is nothing you can do, nothing you could be, that will change that.” When she cried, overcome by the weight of her emotions, he would hold her tighter, his voice steady as he whispered reassurances. “You are not broken,” he would say again and again. “You are healing. And I will be here for every step, for every moment, for as long as you need me.” Sometimes, when words weren’t enough, he would sing to her, his voice low and melodic, the ancient elvish songs of love and light filling the space between them. These were his prayers for her, his promises woven into melody.

The Healing: Thranduil knew the path to healing would be long and fraught with setbacks, but he never faltered. When she doubted herself, he reminded her of her strength. When she pushed him away, he stayed. When she felt unworthy, he held her and whispered his love until she could no longer deny its truth. Through his daily acts of love—his unwavering attention, his patience, his gentleness—she began to see herself through his eyes. And though the darkness did not leave entirely, it no longer held her captive. Slowly, with Thranduil’s steady hand and boundless love, she began to find her way back to herself. And to him.

[wisteriasymphony]

Adrien Agreste and Alya Cesaire had been neck-and-neck in grades ever since he'd spawned out of nowhere that first day of lycée. Given she was always trying to balance her excessive livejournal usage and expensive comics collecting with equal amount of parent-pleasing displays of "applying herself", Alya always had something to prove with her grades: Adrien, conversely, seemed like he only had something to maintain.

He was perfect, suspiciously perfect—Always raised his hand first, never spoke unless spoken to, and spent every lunch reading alone no matter who invited him to what table. It was that air of well-kept, polite mysteriousness (and a jawline that could cut glass) that apparently swept Alya's good friend Marinette head over heels. But Alya had never been someone to take a person at their word. Good journalism means more than just believing, it means proving.

And there was no proof in the world so far that Adrien's teflon shell was more than skin deep. Quite the contrary, actually.

It had been in their last French Literature class, on a dreary Tuesday morning still shaking off the rain from the night before. Nothing good ever happens on Tuesdays: They either surprise you on Monday to make up for the week beginning, or they show up on Wednesday to push you through the rest of it. The point was, Alya wasn't expecting to get much joy out of recent test results to begin with.

She studied the paper. Sixteen, Trés bien. One of the best possible marks in the class, which was standard fare. Seventeens and eighteens and even nineteens were ludicrous, and, as many teachers were pleased to put it, "a twenty is perfection, and none of you are God". Sixteen was great. Alya tapped the back of her pen on the paper, right beside the red ink sixteen, and looked over to where Marinette and Nino sat. They were talking with the others, Nathaniel and Juleka and such—Fourteens, Fifteens, Fourteen-point-twos and so on. Not as good as Alya, but still good enough. Her friends didn't need to chase after grades the way she did, so their platitudes about the numbers being trivial was refreshing.

Of course, then Adrien walked past. He had been sat in the back of the class for the entire year as if lording over the other students with a watchful eye. Every time he made his way up or down the steps, students would turn their head as if his mere presence was some grand procession. It wasn't just that he has gotten sixteen-point-three that angered Alya. (But sixteen point three was bad enough. Sixteen point three! Apparently there was some magically insightful commentary that Mme. Bustier thought was worth him being Alya out by three points. Unbelievable.)

In a split second, Alya could swear Adrien glanced at Alya's paper and then to her, and—though nobody would ever believe her on it, not even for a second—she had heard the quietest, most imperceptible scoff.

"He's an asshole!' Alya had proclaimed to Marinette later that week, in between shoving Dupain-Cheng cookies in her mouth. "I swear it's all an act. I know what I heard."

"Alya," Marinette pouted. "This is Adrien we're talking about. The guy who can't even bring himself to squash spiders?" "Him bringing spiders outside doesn't necessarily mean anything," Alya retorted. "Assholes can still like spiders." "Well... Maybe it wasn't him that day. Maybe he has a secret evil twin or something, and it wasn't him there after all." Alya plucked another cookie from the plate Mme. Cheng had given them, taking a furious bite of it. "Now that's just unrealistic."

Marinette only shrugged. Alya continued to simmer while chewing on her cookie. She could practically imagine Adrien's words to his father now: "Alya got sixteen because that's all she could get. I got sixteen-point-three because that's all there was to get." Point three, point three, point three. He didn't need that extra point three. For what it was worth, he didn't need good grades at all! Adrien could just as easily continue modeling for the rest of his life.

"I need to catch him slipping up somehow," Alya muttered. "Show him I'm not falling for this 'Immaculate Mr. Perfect' charade of his."

"Well, if that's what you want to do." Marinette grabbed a cookie of her own, adding "But I don't know if you're going to get anywhere. He really is that perfect."

[pavosnoctua]

cw: yandere, demi-human reader, afab reader, mentions of isolation, spanking, diluc's savior complex, forced/arranged marriage. mdni.

let me know if i missed a warnining!

All he can do is offer...empty apologies - especially when you look at him with wide eyes and ears flattened against your head. You used to attack him at one point, now it's just fearful resignation.

You screwed up - why do you keep thinking you can escape? The man has eyes and ears everywhere. What you say and do, never go unnoticed or unheard of by him. Your heats are promptly taken care of, your attempts to slip out the window meant it being sealed shut. Your cruel words are repeated back to you - always called tantrums.

"My love."

"I'm not -" It's no use, no point. He wishes to call you that, live in his delusions. "I missed the sun." Your voice is weak. "I just wanted to feel the sun." Because running away is impossible in clothes made of thin fabric, intending for you to simply be on display for him. It wouldn't stop you from trying again though.

"I know." Diluc sounds remorseful as he sits down on the bed - your stomach sinks. "You bit one of the maids though."

"She startled me." You offer, lamely. You wanted to apologize but couldn't because Diluc caught wind of this too quickly - intervened too quickly. It has been him you wished you'd bit.

Diluc says nothing as he beckons for you to come closer and you shake your head at first. Even if there's no instrument involved, his open palm feels far more humiliating. Being spanked is humiliating.

"I am not a child." You grit out. This makes things worse.

"You certainly act like it."

"I don't want to be spanked."

"Then you can stand in the corner, kneel on rice, or..." Or go back into that awful room with him as your only company until you break just slightly more. "Love, I hate doing this, you know I do, but I have to."

Diluc is delusional, you think as you resign to this. He helps you get comfortable on his lap. Your skirt lifted up and for moment, you think propriety may when out when he hesitates. He always does, and you're never sure if it's because he has view of your underwear and he thinks himself a gentleman or maybe he does have a conscience. One hand grips your tail to keep it out of the way. You want to bite his throat.

"We'll do ten. You count and you thank me."

The first strike is light, so maybe he'll go easy on you -

"One." you grumble. A pinch. "Thank you." Even if you have to force it out, it seems to appease him somewhat.

The second is harder.

"Two. Thank you." You consider biting him, consider remaining silent until he gives up. That doesn't work when he strikes twice, harder. "Three, four. Fuck -" You bite your tongue. "Thank you."

"I can add more." he says. "Use a paddle instead."

You shake your head.

"Behave." His words are said through grittes teeth. You might make him crack eventually. Another strike - he alternates between each once.

"Five, thank you. Six, thank you." There are tears burning at your eyes now - maybe not from the pain, maybe it's how humiliating this is. "Seven! I'm sorry."

"I know love." Another hit. You don't want to.

"E-eight. Thank you."

The ninth is painful, he seems to have used a bit of his pyro vision on you because it burns and you jostle, freezing when you feel his erection press against you. Fucker is turned on by this. He gets off to this.

You hate -

"Love?" he prompts. "We'll start over."

"No! Nine - nine! I'm sorry." You sob. Anything to not keep this going.

A soft sigh. "You were forgiven awhile ago." One final strike - the pyro hurts so much but it's not enough to actually burn you. But you know sitting will be hard.

The final strike.

"Ten. Thank you."

Diluc seems pleased by your change of attitude - weepy and clingy, not so much squirming to get away. You used to curse him out, especially when he'd grab and hold your tail while he spanked you.

He gently extracts you from him, going to grab a cool compress from the en suite bathroom. It stings a little but not bad. You ignore his praises and sweet words of comfort.

"My love, if you wanted to go outside, you could have just asked." Diluc is bad at comforting and you hate him. He loves you - thinks he does.

"You would have said no." You bite out. "You always do."

"It's-"

"I don't care. Leave me alone."

Diluc lets out a heavy sigh and leans down, kisses your cheek. He stays, regardless. So you ignore him, you count loose threads, you stare at the window with disdain. Anything to avoid looking at Diluc. You reject aftercare because if he continues to touch you, praise you, you might start believing him.

"I'm sorry." He mutters as he gets up. "You're precious - you...need to be protected. One day, you'll understand." At the door, he looks at you. "I will be up to have dinner with you in a few hours. Do try to lose the attitude."

And the door closes behind him. In your only act of pathetic defiance, you toss a pillow at it. It harsly relieves you of your anger.

[remperoni-melt]

Suspended

Matt Rempe x Short!Alt!Fem!Reader

Kinks used: mirrors, praise, degradation, choking, size, breath play, scratching, begging, biting, marking, unprotected, cream pie, blood (brief), spit (brief)

*Another user, @cuteandhughesy got the same request and we decided to release our own versions. I HIGHLY recommend reading her version as well as well as all of her other work. She’s extremely talented with her writing and I promise, you’ll find something written by her that you love!

The elevator came to a halt, causing both of us to let out frustrated groans. Red light bathed us, casting a somewhat apocalyptic glow over us. Our surroundings felt weirdly synonymous with the thoughts occupying our heads.

“Call button’s not working.” The tall man sighed and ran a hand over his face in frustration.

“So we’re fucked for the night?” I sighed as well, a scoff and an eye-roll following to accompany my annoyance and disbelief.

“Probab-fucking-ly.” The man said sarcastically and sat down on the floor. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sighed again. “Cute. No signal.” He muttered to himself. “You got anything?” He asked, lifting his head to look at me. I looked at my phone as well and tried to send a few texts to some friends, my roommate, a neighbor. Nothing.

“Nope.” I answered, popping the ‘p’ of the word. The man let out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head as he tilted his head back. I sat down as well, a sigh falling from my lips. “So, what do we do?” I asked with a small shrug.

“I don’t know. 20 questions?” He asked sarcastically, his tone mocking.

“Fuck it.” I shrugged in response. He looked at me with annoyance and disdain before sighing and rolling his eyes. “Start trying to guess what it is.” I encouraged him.

“Is it an elevator?” He asked bluntly, irritation evident in his voice.

“Damn, you’re good.” I said with a slight smirk. He couldn’t help but let out a little bit of a chuckle, he had to admit I had a sense of humor. Or… I tried to, at least. Given our current circumstances, what else could I really do?

“Okay, 20 questions was a bust.” He said with an amused chuckle. “What about,” he paused to think, looking up at the mirrored ceiling. “I don’t know. Random trivia? Random shit. We can just quiz each other on… whatever.” He suggested as I moved to sit across from him, leaning back against the wooden wall behind me.

“Why not?” I shrugged again. “You’re going first this time though.” I nodded in his direction.

“Fair enough.” He answered in a bored, monotone voice. Despite the tension of the situation, the conversation was flowing pretty fluidly. We were both clearly still annoyed, but we were trying to make it work. “Who was the only person to knock out Muhammad Ali in a heavyweight title fight?” He asked with a smug grin.

“I’m 4’11 and I look like I just stepped off the set of The Craft. You expect me to know the answer to that?” I asked, drawing a sharp laugh from the giant man across from me. “Fucking… I don’t know, uhhh…” I thought about it and decided to just go for the stupidest answer I could think of. “John fucking Cena? I don’t know sports like that, man.” I groaned in annoyance.

“You could’ve said fucking Elmo and it would’ve been a better guess.” He sighed and shook his head, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Larry Holmes.”

“Who the H-E-double-honest-to-god-fuck is that?” I asked in mock offense. “Anyway, my turn.” I said over his laughter. “What does M&M stand for?” I asked him, a challenging glint in my eyes.

“Uhh…” He seemed stumped as he bit his lip in thought. I took the opportunity to look him over.

He was absolutely stunning. Tall. Like, really fucking tall. He had brown hair and these gorgeous dark brown eyes that I couldn’t help but get lost in. His facial features were pure art, like he was a sculpture made specifically for me to fawn over. He had a muscular yet somewhat lanky build but it still drew me in. His scent carried from across the small space of the elevator and holy shit. It was intoxicating. He smelled like the slightest bit of mint, something woodsy and ashy, and… cold. The man was the personification of seduction. Sex incarnate. I feared I may have gotten addicted to him before I was able to even get a proper taste. I tried to look away before he realized I was staring, so I averted my gaze to the mirrored ceiling, as if that made my predicament any better.

“Mars and Mercury? Because the Mars company?” He took his best guess. I was actually kind of impressed. Especially with that voice. Smooth, deep, thick Canadien accent. With each word, I swam… but I wouldn’t mind completely drowning in his voice if he’d let me.

“Close, actually.” I praised him subtly. “Mars and Murrie.” I corrected him.

“Why the fuck do you know that?” He asked with the most charmingly sexy lopsided smirk I’d ever seen in my life. I just shrugged with a small laugh. I didn’t trust my words right now. He made me way too nervous for me to keep my voice steady. “You okay?” He asked, nodding his chin in my direction. Fuck, he must’ve noticed how nervous I am. Shit. Fuck. Uhhhhh. Say something! Fuck!

“Yeah! Just stuck in an elevator. You?” I said with a slight laugh. YOU AWKWARD FUCKING IDIOT! Oh my god. Why would you say that? No fucking shit, he’s stuck with you! Dumbass! Is he laughing? Oh shit. Is he laughing at you or did he take it as sarcasm?

“Fair point. Not an ideal situation.” He spoke up. Oh thank fuck. He took it as sarcasm.

“Why don’t we play truth or dare?” I blurted out. Truth or dare? What? Are we in fucking middle school? Why the fuck would you even suggest that? Oh my god.

“Truth or dare? What is this? Middle school?” He asked with a chuckle, looking around at our surroundings. See?! Fucking idiot…

“No!” I said a little too quickly and a lot too loudly. I quickly cleared my throat to try to make up for how awkward I was being. “We might as well get to know each other since we’re trapped here for who knows how long.” I suggested. “Truth or dare could be an entertaining way to do that.” I stated with a nonchalant shrug. Good save, girl! He suspects nothing. Hopefully.

“I guess.” He laughed with a shrug. “I’ll bite. Truth or dare?” Speaking of bite…

“Dare.” I replied. I decided to be bold. Why not? I can’t run away, might as well just embarrass myself and get it done with.

“Dare you to tell me your name.” He said, his smooth voice echoing off the wooden elevator walls. My eyes met his and I found my lips pulling up into a small but slightly flirty smirk, involuntarily, obviously.

“____.” I answered in a more confident tone. I leaned forward and extended my hand towards him which he accepted without a second thought. His large hand completely engulfed my smaller one, his grip firm, polite, and gentle all at the same time. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to mine which tended to be freezing cold for some reason. He flashed me a warm smile as we leaned back against our respective walls again, our eyes locking again for a few seconds before we both quickly looked away. The energy in the confined space felt somewhat charged and I wondered if he felt it too or if it was just the absurdity of our situation. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” He cleared his throat. He decided to play it safe and I couldn’t blame him. It’s not like we could escape any awkwardness or each other right now. There was tension between us but I wasn’t sure if it sexual, aggression-based, or something else entirely.

“What’s your name?” I asked him. He knew mine so it was only fair to ask him now. He sighed but a hint of a smile graced his face.

“Matt.” He answered simply. He didn’t seem to want to be answering my questions. In fact, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Can’t say I blame him, really. “Truth or dare?” He sighed with a roll of his eyes.

“Truth.” I said, still avoiding eye contact. He was pretty, but he was intimidating.

“You seeing anyone?” He subtly nodded his chin towards me as he asked his question. Maybe I was wrong? His voice was slightly deeper than before and I felt a flutter in my chest. My breath caught in my throat and my eyes snapped back to his. He was surprisingly bold despite the arrogance and annoyance that radiated off of him. I wasn’t sure if I liked that or not yet.

“No.” I shook my head subtly as I tried to stop my breathing from becoming shallow. The rise and fall of my chest definitely gave away how affected I was though. I didn’t want him to see the power he had over me. He seemed like an asshole. But… he was at least trying, I guess? “Truth or dare?” My voice was hoarse and quiet, almost unlike my own.

“Truth.” His gaze was intense and his voice was unwavering. His cold eyes never left mine and I felt myself slipping further and further into the clutches of this captivating man who I now knew as Matt. I took a shaky deep breath, preparing myself to speak again.

“What do you do for a living?” I tried to alleviate some of the tension that was building between us.

“Work.” He answered quickly as he adjusted his body to sit up straighter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do I make you nervous?” He asked bluntly.

“You didn’t even ask me to choose.” I replied with my eyes locked intently on his, not even acknowledging that he didn’t even give an actual answer to my question either.

“Didn’t have to,” he shook his head slightly, “you’re too worked up to choose anything besides truth right now.” His assumption was straight-forward, but not inaccurate.

“Try me.” I narrowed my eyes at him. I wasn’t sure if I was more annoyed at his audacious attempt to psychoanalyze me in the moment or the situation we were in, but I decided to challenge him. He may be able to read me like a book right now, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t still try to trip him up. I watched him scoff and bite the insides of his cheeks, the annoyance obviously affecting him as well.

“So, you’re choosing dare then?” He questioned me with raised eyebrows. I kept up my facade, determined to win this little dick measuring contest we had found ourselves in. He nodded slowly before a sentence left his mouth that caused me to freeze. “I dare you to take your hoodie off then.” I took another deep breath and set my jaw in determination. His is bigger. It’s definitely bigger.

“Fine.” I said, my tone laced with challenge. I pulled my hoodie over my head and tossed it to the side, leaving me in a black lace bra and a pair of jeans that hung loosely off my hips. I was set on maintaining my faux act of confidence. I sat there unmoving as I watched his eyes shamelessly roam over my curves. “Truth or dare?” I asked in a slightly raspier voice, my jaw set tightly.

“Truth.” He said but I wasn’t sure if he was even aware he was answering. His eyes were drinking me in and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He was absolutely 100% unapologetic with his gaze. He objectified me like I only existed as a device of his pleasure. He looked at me like a piece of meat. Like I was nothing. I think I liked it.

“How miserable are you in this elevator right now?” My voice was softer, a hint more seductive, completely unbeknownst to me.

“So fucking miserable.” He all but groaned out the words. His voice was raspy but breathy, a symptom of the effect I was beginning to have on him. His eyes finally darted back to mine. His eyes were slightly wider than before, more pleading. More… needy. “Truth or dare, ____?” The way my name dripped off his tongue sent a subtle shiver down my spine and I swallowed hard.

“Dare.” I all but breathed out the word as our sights stayed locked on each other’s.

“Lose the jeans.” His words were still groaned and that’s probably the only reason I didn’t even question his reasoning. Hearing the desperation and need in his voice was getting me so hot and I couldn’t stop myself from wanting him. Without a thought or any hesitation, I stripped the jeans off, revealing the full matching black lace set I was wearing. A chuckle fell from him as his eyes took me in again, his bottom lip caught snug between his teeth.

“Truth or-“ I began but he cut me off quickly.

“Dare.” The word was rushed, a demand.

“Shirt.” I didn’t even have to elaborate. He knew exactly what I meant and he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. He was a lot more muscular than I expected. Talk about a sleeper build. His chest rose and fell as we took each other in. “Dare.” I said as he opened his mouth to speak. He smirked and his eyes darkened.

“Come here.” He said and patted his lap. Without protest, I obliged. As soon as I was within arms reach, he grabbed me and pulled me onto his lap. He groaned softly at the feeling of my back against his chest, a throaty chuckle following the sound. “Truth.” He breathed the word into my ear, his breath fanning across my skin, causing my back to arch off of his body.

“What are you thinking about right now?” I whispered, tilting my head back against his chest to lock eyes with him.

“Dare.” He said with a smirk, clearly not wanting to answer the question.

“I dare you to demonstrate what you’re thinking about.” My eyes drifted from his eyes, to his lips, and back up to his eyes again. A shit eating grin broke out on his face before he dipped his head down and pressed his lips against mine. My arms reached up above me and tangled in his hair while his ran up and down my sides, his giant hands stopping to grip at my hips and my ribs. We were rough and desperate right away, hungry for each other like we had been deprived of this forever. Which, in a way, I guess we technically had? He bit my lower lip, drawing a hissed gasp from me. His tongue ran over the spot he bit to soothe it but at the taste of blood, he sucked my lip into his mouth to stop the bleeding. Seconds later though, his tongue delved into my mouth, his tongue slowly swirling around mine. Sloppily, our tongues stroked each others, swirled around each others, sucked on each others. We pulled back with a thick string of saliva still connecting us, both of us breathing heavily. “Dare.” I whispered breathlessly.

“We’re still doing this?” He smirked, licking my lips to break the string connecting us. “Dare you to sit pretty and let me do whatever the fuck I want to you.” I swear to god this man is walking, living, breathing sex. This stranger makes me so fucking weak and I don’t know how. I love it though. All I did was nod and keep my eyes on his. My breath caught in my throat as his hand slowly slid down my stomach and into my soaked panties. “Did I do this to you, baby?” He smirked as he slowly dragged his middle finger up the slick slit under his hands, causing my body to tremble slightly. “That feel good?” He murmured as he began slowly circling his finger around my clit. When his finger brushed against my clit piercing, my body stiffened slightly and I let out a little whimper. “Oh? What’s that, baby doll?” His finger brushed against it again.

“Piercing.” My voice was shaky as I looked down at his hand under the black lace.

“You like watching me play with you?” His voice was deep and raspy, his lips brushing the shell of my ear in a feather light touch.

“Mhm.” I bit my lip and nodded, watching him continue his slow movements. I heard him let out a chuckle before I felt his other giant hand wrap around my tiny neck and yank me back. He forced my face to look at the mirrored ceiling, his grip on the sides of my neck tight.

“Watch yourself, angel.” He practically growled, his hand on my clit circling faster and faster, causing me to squirm under him. I trained my eyes on my reflection above us. I was so fucking small compared to him. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So tiny and pathetic, writhing around for me like a bitch in heat.” He spat out the words. “You always get this wet and desperate for guys you just meet?” He smirked at me through our reflections.

“No sir.” I forced out the words, my tiny hands gripping onto the bicep of his arm that was teasing me.

“Sir?” He looked down at me in amusement. “Good girl. I like that.” He moved his hand faster, applying more pressure. My back lifted off his chest again as I felt a knot form in my stomach. “Pathetic little slut getting close?” His voice was teasing. I couldn’t speak, just nod. Then, he ripped his hand away, right when I was at the edge.

“Matt.” I whimpered. He brought me up to my knees by his grip on my throat and roughly pushed me forward. I caught myself on my hands and heard him fumble with his belt behind me.

“Sir.” He corrected before aggressively pushing my head down to the cool elevator floor. He moved the lace of my panties aside and swiftly plunged himself inside me, not giving me a second to adjust to his size. Starting with slow but hard thrusts, he kept his hand on my head, keeping it pushed into the ground.

“Yes sir.” I whimpered out the words with each of his thrusts.

“Such a pretty little whore.” He groaned. He gave a few more brutal thrusts before he slowly extracted himself from me and flipped me over on my back. He picked me up with ease, wrapping my legs around his hips and carefully standing up. Pushing me up against the wall, he tilted my chin up roughly again to look at the ceiling. “Look how pathetic you look already.” He smirked, holding my face in place. “I barely even fucked you, Princess.” His lips dropped to my neck and he immediately started sucking, biting, and licking at my pulse point.

“Oh fuck.” I whispered out a moan. My hands tangled in his hair again as I struggled to watch him work through our reflection on the mirrored ceiling. “So good.” I whimpered.

“You want more, baby doll?” He groaned against my skin, licking up from my collarbone to my jawline, nipping at my pulse point again. “You wanna get fucked like a pretty little slut? You want me to stretch this little hole out over my dick?” He chuckled and gave my throat a squeeze. “Want me to ruin you for anyone else? Turn you into my cute little plaything?”

“Yes sir.” I gasped softly, fighting the urge to look at him.

“Beg for it, pretty girl.” He growled in my ear, squeezing my throat tighter and drawing a pathetic squeak from my lips.

“Please, sir.” I gasped. “Hurt me. Do whatever the fuck you want to me. I’ll be so good for you.” The words came out in a rushed whisper as I finally looked back at his face. “Tell me what you want me to do,” I breathed out the words as my eyes locked on his. “Turn me into your braindead little cock sleeve.” I nibbled on his earlobe gently. “Ruin me.” He didn’t need anything else because he was inside me again within seconds, slamming in and out with reckless abandon.

“God, all you can think about is getting fucked, huh?” He groaned through his thrusts. He went so hard and fast that my moans were transitioning into screams. His hand flew over my mouth as he hit my g spot as hard as he could, grinding his tip against it. “You want everyone to know I’m passing the time by fucking this tight little hole?” He growled in my ear. “Such a desperate little bitch. Need me all to yourself, right?” He punctuated his question with another hard hit to my g spot. “Need everyone to know how good you’re getting fucked right now?” He let go of my mouth and I immediately sunk my teeth into his shoulder to keep myself quiet. “Yeah, show me how good I make you feel. Little fucking cock slut.” He hissed.

“Fuck me like you mean it, sir.” I hissed in his ear. He ripped my body off the wall and next thing I knew, my back was on the floor and his hips were snapping forward faster than before. We were going at it like crack addicts. “Oh my fucking god, you’re so pretty.” I groaned as my gaze landed on our bodies in the mirrored ceiling above. My vision was hazy but I could still see the marks he had left on my neck and collarbone. I saw how his body moved with mine and how my legs wrapped around his hips in a desperate attempt to get him closer.

“You wanna cum, don’t you, pretty baby?” He teased, his voice rough and breathy in my ear. “You want me to show you what getting fucked right should feel like?” He ground his hips against my g spot again.

“Make me cum, sir. Please.” I begged in a breathy whisper. He growled out a laugh and bit my neck. Hard.

“I’m gonna fucking break you.” He laughed as his hand slid between our bodies, his fingers circling my clit again. With the combination of his dick practically splitting me in half and his hand going crazy on my clit, I knew I wasn’t gonna last long. “Pathetic little slut. Look at you. You’re already shaking.” He said in a mocking tone.

“Feels so good!” The words were shaky and forced but they still caused him to groan and rest his forehead against mine. I felt a knot forming in my stomach and I dug my nails into the back of his neck, desperate for something to hold onto.

“That’s it, babygirl. Let it out. Show me what the fuck I do to you.” His words, once again, were growled out. This time through gritted teeth. “Pathetic little fucking slut. Cum for me.” His lips fell to my neck again where he started leaving more dark marks. He started thrusting deeper, his hand applying more pressure on my clit. “You’re doing so good, baby. My perfect little hole. Pretty little whore.”

“Oh fuck, MATT!” I had to use my hand to muffle myself as I came, screaming his name. My back lifted off the ground and my hips ground against his involuntarily as my body shook violently and my walls fluttered around him, grasping him tightly and releasing. Over and over and over again. My nails dragged down his back, over and over as I rode out my high on him. The tracks prickled with blood as low groans and hisses escaped him but he never stopped.

“Oh god, ____.” It didn’t take him long to cum after me. His thrusts had gotten harder, bruising even. His hands dug into my hips and he kept grinding against my g spot, daring to draw another orgasm out of me. When his hips started stuttering and his breathing grew more shallow, I knew he was almost there.

“Almost there, Matt. Fuck me like you own me.” I encouraged him to chase his high. He was so fucking close and I needed him to cum. I needed him to feel just as good, if not better, than he made me feel.

“I do own you.” He growled as he placed his hand on my throat, choking me again. “My personal cum dump now, yeah?” His body started shaking more. He was right. Fucking. There. “____.” He moaned and with one final thrust, I felt him twitch inside me. He kept thrusting, determined to dump everything he had in me.

“There you go. Fill me up like the good little cumslut I am for you, sir.” I giggled and ran my hands through his hair as he fucked himself through his high. He finally pulled out after a few minutes, smirking down at my breathless form on the ground.

“You look so pretty dripping with my cum.” He said in a small voice. “All pathetic and fucked out. All because of me.” He leaned over my breathless body to place a gentle kiss on my lips.

“Thank you.” The words came out in heavy breaths and my eyes locked with his. Without another word, he got dressed again. In my fucked out state, he carefully dressed me as well, placing gentle kisses along my body as he went.

“You did good, ____.” He murmured and pulled me into his chest. “Took me like a good girl.” He praised me.

“You did good too, sir.” I mumbled as I curled up in his lap and laid my head against his chest.

“You tired?” He asked in a soft voice. I answered him with a quiet hum and a subtle nod of my head. “Get some sleep. They’ll wake us up when they get us out.” He whispered.

We fell asleep like that and weirdly enough, I felt calm despite the situation we found ourselves in. Suspended in a box who knows how many floors up with a stranger, not knowing when we’d get out, and here we were. Holding each other like we had known each other forever. There was something so… serene. Was it the stress relief? Possibly. Regardless, I felt a lot less agitated and I think he did too.

At least we’ll get out of here on better terms than we walked in here on, right?

[ragingbookdragon]

I Wanna Talk About Me

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 3.1K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of this fic here! Enjoy!

**********************************************************************

She stood outside the gate, smoothing the fabric of the slim fitting, black dress, waiting for Jake to show up. The air was cool, and she ignored the continual whistling from the security officers stationed just a few feet behind her.

A sleek, black Dodge pulled up and parked before her, then Jake stepped out and walked around the side of it, casting a glance at her before he opened the passenger door.

“Your chariot awaits, princess,” he sarcastically said, and she rolled her eyes, walking up to him.

She took a moment to take him in full view, the way the dress blues fit him perfectly. “You look…good, Jake.”

“I am good,” he replied, taking a look at her too. “I see you managed to dress appropriately for the occasion.”

“You’re a dick,” she insulted, and put her foot on the step while grabbing the handle above the door. Jake’s hand found its way to her rear as he helped her up and she stopped, deadpanning, “Hand. Off. Ass.”

He snickered but didn’t remove his hand as he practically shoved her inside and closed the door behind her, then he looked over at the security guards who immediately stood straight and saluted. “You boys just keep this little secret, yeah?”

They nodded and he walked around the front of the truck, climbing in. As they drove, she kept fiddling with the clutch in her hand.

“You nervous?” he asked. “I’m not going to bite unless you ask for it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just not used to dressing up like this and going out to fancy restaurants.” She looked at him. “Still taking me to the Ritz?”

“Uh no,” he answered. “The nearest Ritz is in Cali.”

“You looked it up?”

He went uncharacteristically quiet for a moment then said, “I’m taking you to Wild River Grill in Reno.”

“That’s an hour away,” she said. “We’ll be getting back here at like 0200.”

“What are you a teenager with a 9:30 curfew?” he retorted. “Relax. We’ll be fine.” She cocked a brow and looked at him from her seat but said nothing. “You do look nice though,” he said lowly. “I like the dress.”

Her cheeks warmed and she smiled. “Thank you. I had to rent it from a boutique.”

Jake snorted as he turned on to the main highway. “Yeah, that enlisted pay isn’t all that, is it?”

“Hey, I’m an LDO thank you very much,” she griped.

He looked at her skeptically. “We still do LDO programs?”

“Uh, yes? You think I was going to spend my entire career being enlisted?” she shifted in her seat. “I did the same thing my old man did.”

“Your dad was Navy?”

“Mhm, retired as an LT after 28 years.”

“Wow, career man then,” he noted with impression. “So, you were a regular military brat too, huh?” he said smugly.

“Yes,” she answered exasperatedly. “I was, Jake.”

He hummed low in his throat. “My dad was Navy. So was my grandfather.”

“I heard,” she said. “I bet you grew up with expectations.”

“I did.” He looked to the left as he switched lanes. “It was expected that I would graduate high school and immediately go into boot camp.”

She looked over at him. “Is that what you wanted?”

He shrugged. “Never had anything else going for me.”

“You? I don’t believe that.” She reached over and squeezed his bicep. “I bet you played sports. What one? Baseball? Football?”

“Lacrosse, actually,” he informed. “And I was incredible at it.”

“You know it’s okay to be humble, right? I do promise it won’t kill you if you are.”

“And I would be humble if I knew I sucked. But I don’t. So, I have no reason to be humble before you.”

“Arrogance begets failure,” she muttered. “That’s why Mav beat you in dogfighting.”

“Rude.”

“Truthful.”

“Hurtful.”

“You’ll live,” she comforted and patted his arm.

***

As they walked in, a hostess smiled at them. “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

“We do,” Jake said, pulling off his cap. “Under Seresin.”

The hostess clicked a few times on the screen before she nodded. “Yes sir, a table for two.” She grabbed two menus and handed them to a waiting server. “If you’ll follow, they’ll lead you to your table.”

Jake placed a hand on the small of her back and gently led her as they followed the server to a small table near the corner. Like a gentleman, he pulled out her seat and helped her sit down before he took his own seat.

“Would you like me to take your cap, sir?” the waiter asked, and he nodded, handing it over. “I’ll put this up and be right back.”

As he left, Jake looked at her. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, looking around. “I like this place so far. Comfortable. Classy.”

“Came here with a couple friends when we graduated Top Gun,” he said. “Good food. Good drinks.”

As the waiter came back, he placed the menus down. “I’m Graham, I’ll be taking care of you both this evening. Can I start you off with any of our wines, beers, or hard liquors?”

Jake scanned the menu and answered, “I’ll take a 10 Torr Secret Cove.” He looked at her. “You?”

She made a face as she scanned the cocktails and looked at Graham. “What would you recommend for cocktails?”

“Definitely the Apple’y Ever After or the Practice What You Peace. I love both.”

“I’ll take the first then,” she smiled. “And a glass of water with lemon on the side.”

“Yes ma’am. Any appetizers to start with? I recommend the Cheese Plate or the Caprese Bruschetta. Both are really light and leave enough room for entrees.”

She looked at Jake. “You?”

“The Cheese Plate, and add the chef selected cures.”

“Yes, sir,” Graham said. “I’ll go put those in and get your drinks.”

As he left again, she looked over the menu. “Jake…”

“Yeah?” he said, already scanning over the steaks.

“These prices are pretty high.”

“Uh huh. Good food usually is.”

“You aren’t worried?”

“Why would I be?” he asked, then looked up at her. “Don’t worry about the prices, pretty girl. You just order whatever you want.”

She narrowed her eyes and said, “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’” he replied. “Order whatever you want.”

She glanced at the menu. “So, if I wanted a filet mignon with seared scallops and blue cheese cream…I could?”

Jake sighed. “Pretty girl, this isn’t a game of gotcha. Order. Whatever. You. Want.”

“Okay…just checking.” She looked at him. “You aren’t going to say something stupid like, ‘Oh wow, you know how to eat’ if I order a steak will you?”

“You’re a grown woman. I expect you to eat food like a grown woman. Which includes eating whatever you want,” he added exasperated.

“Okay, I got it,” she laughed. “But I’ll go ahead and say, I’m not really a steak person.”

“You look like a chicken tenders and fries type of woman. No offense.” He hummed. “I actually mean that with full offence.”

“Well, lucky for you I don’t take offense,” she said. “I do love a good chicken tender.”

Jake scoffed and shook his head with a grin.

When their drinks and appetizer came, Graham smiled. “Have we decided what we want to eat?”

Jake nodded at her to go first, and she said, “I’ll have the chicken piccata. But can you hold the lemon capers in the sauce?”

“Yes ma’am, I’ll let the chefs know. And for you sir?”

“Let me get the ribeye and the seared scallops with it.”

“Of course.” He gathered the menus. “I’ll get this put in. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”

“No, we’re good, thank you,” Jake said, and Graham walked off; he took a sip of his draft.

She looked at him, really looked at him for a good moment. Jake was, objectively an extremely attractive man. Though he’d be much more attractive if his attitude wasn’t as cocky as he was. But she knew that cockiness came from skill and the simple fact that he was raised to be who he was.

“Something on my face?” he asked, and she blinked.

“No, just looking at you.”

“Look all you want, pretty girl. This is me in all my glory for you to take in,” he smirked, and she rolled her eyes, sipping her cocktail.

Setting the glass down, she said, “So, tell me a little about you, Jake.” When he met her gaze with a raised brow, she added, “And I mean the real you. Not the man we all know and ‘love.’”

He snorted. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you do in your spare time when you’re not on duty?”

Jake took another sip of his beer. “I read. And cook. Go exercise. Visit war memorials. Museums.”

“What do you read?” she asked.

“Mostly non-fiction history about war and aviation.”

“Figures,” she smiled. “Did you ever read that World War 2 biography about Louis Zamperini?”

“Unbroken?” his eyes lit up. “I did. I loved it. It was such an amazing and powerful story.” He leaned forward. “Do you read them too? World War novels, that is?”

“I do.” She enjoyed that honest smile on his face. “Did you ever read the story about the USS Indianapolis?”

“Oh man, yeah, and did you watch the movie they made with Nicolas Cage?”

“Men of Courage?” she replied. “Yes! It was so heartbreaking…and tragic.” She looked at him. “You said you visit museums? Did you ever visit the Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola when you went for training?”

“I did,” he said. “Every time I visit, I try to go. Just to see if I learn anything new.”

“Me too!” she grinned. “I think I’ve been there like ten different times. Every time I go, I always point out to people around me the carriers my dad and I served on.”

Jake smiled at her. “I forgot you do sea duty most of the time. Which carriers have you been on so far?”

“Uh, let’s see,” she murmured, thinking for a moment. “I’ve been on the Truman and Washington so far. Even did a stint on the Roosevelt destroyer a couple of years ago.”

“Ever think about trying for shore duty?” he asked.

“Sometimes, but it always feels more natural being on the water,” she smiled at him. “Kind of like you being in the air.” She leaned close. “What’s it like, Jake? Being up there, just you in God’s ballroom?”

He sat back and thought for a moment. “The first time I ever flew, I was ten. Dad took me up in a rental on an airstrip back home. And I remember sitting in my seat just, watching the ground get smaller and smaller until cars looked like ants.”

“Were you scared?”

“Shitless,” he joked. “But…dad, he kept telling me to look up at the sky and when I did…we were in the biggest, white clouds I’d ever seen before. And I could see the rays of sun shining down over the land.” He looked so far away in his memory. “Dad showed me how to handle the stick and I remember everything else faded away as I flew us through the clouds.” Jake’s expression was one of reverence. “And it was just beautiful. Like nothing I’d ever seen in my life up until that point. There’s…really no way to describe it.” His gaze met hers. “I knew then that all I ever wanted to do with my life was get back up there no matter what it took.”

She smiled softly at him. “It sounds beautiful, the way you describe it.”

He nodded his head gently, then asked, “What about you? Why’d you want to be an AM? Was your dad one?”

“My dad was actually an AT. My brother was an AM when he served.” She took a sip of her drink. “I was eleven and my dad brought me to the hanger one day. I was hanging around his office and he had a meeting to go to, so he left me with some of his AMs and asked them to watch me for a little while.”

“Oh, nice, give the caffeine and nicotine addicted eighteen-year-olds a kid to be impressionable on.”

She laughed. “Something like that.” She took a piece of the cheese on the platter and popped it in her mouth. “They started showing me all different pieces of the F-16. How to change out fuel capacitors, how to fuel one up, how to fix this and that.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, felt right with tools in my hands. Dad kept bringing me back to the hanger when I wouldn’t stop asking him about it and he let the guys teach me how to work on it.”

“Ah, so you were a natural grease monkey then,” he grinned, and she nodded.

“I was. I also spent a lot of time tinkering with machines at home. I can fix just about anything if I look at the inside of it long enough.” She took another piece of cheese. “I have been trying to change my rate to AT though. Wanted to get a better technical point of view than mechanical.”

“You been able to?”

“I’ve been tinkering with a few ATs in my squadron. Sitting in on fixings here and there. I don’t think they’ll let me change so far in my career, but it never hurts to learn all I can.”

“I can always put in a word with Cyclone,” he offered. “He might have some sway.”

“I appreciate that, Jake,” she smiled. “But I do enjoy being a grease monkey. Not going to lie to you about it.”

He smiled back at her as their entrees arrived and they continued on in conversation, diving into family beginnings and careers.

***

“Jake…it’s 2300…when are we going back to base?” she whined as he drove up the side of Audrey Harris Park.

“Jesus, get you out of bed past nine and you get cranky, don’t you?” he snorted. “What are you, eighty? Need to go to bed old lady?”

“Some of us have duty tomorrow,” she griped, and he pulled up to the edge of the side of the road.

“Just, look,” he said and nodded out the window and she did, eyes widening at the view of lights and colorful displays out past the land.

“Oh…wow…Jake, it’s…gorgeous.”

His eyes never strayed to the lights from her face, watching the way that awe spread across hers. Something in his heart lurched when she turned and looked at him.

“Jake, it’s beautiful.”

The corner of his lips turned up. “Certainly not the night sky like I’d like to show you, but it’s…close.”

“You wanna take me up in the air?”

“One day,” he said and looked at the steering wheel and quietly added, “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?” she asked.

“The other day at Hard Deck. I…was a dick.” He met her gaze once more. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She shrugged with a smile. “Eh, it’s you. I’ve gotten used to you by now.”

“Still though,” he replied. “I should’ve been…nicer.”

“Jake,” she said, laying her hand on his thigh. “It’s okay, really, it is.”

He glanced down at her hand, then gently laid his on top of hers, rubbing his thumb over her skin. “You like me,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I do,” she answered honestly. “But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I know I’m not exactly your type.”

“And what do you think my type is?” he asked.

“Well…y’know…smart, funny, drop dead gorgeous?”

“You just explained like every guy on earth’s type,” he deadpanned.

“Fine, you don’t have a thing for an AM who spends most of her time covered in hydraulic fluid then goes back to her room and listens to shitty pop music and does crossword puzzles.”

“Jesus you’re really an old lady,” he breathed. “Crossword puzzles?”

“And Sudoku.”

“Oh my God, we have got to get you a social life.” He thumbed the back of her hand. “I happen to be…very interested in this particular AM who spends most of her time covered in hydraulic fluid.”

“No shit?” she asked, and he looked up at her.

“Pretty girl, I let people see who they want to see. A cocky, rude, arrogant asshat who can smoke just about anyone. But you…” he lowered his gaze again and sighed. “You see deeper. You want to see more.” He shrugged halfheartedly. “Pretty girl, you’re the only one who tries to put up with me to see me. And…that scares me.” His jaw tightened. “I don’t get scared…and you scare me. What you could be to me. What you see.”

She listened quietly then shifted, gently putting her hand on his cheek. “Jake…” he met her gaze, and she smiled softly at him. “I see you.”

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Yeah. Big ego and everything underneath,” she whispered. “I see you.”

He reached up and cupped her hand to his face, turning his cheek to kiss the inside of her palm, then said, “I wanna take you out again.”

“I’d like that,” she answered, pulling her hand away and smiled at him. “I’d like it a lot.”

Jake smiled back at her and put the truck in drive. “I should get us back to base.”

“That’s probably best. Mind if I play some music on the radio?”

“No pop shit.”

“Rude.”

“My truck, my rules. Play country or classic rock.”

“Country?” she cooed. “Ooo, I have the perfect song for you then.”

And Toby Keith’s “I Wanna Talk About Me,” filled the cabin and he chuckled as she sang to him.

“Are you saying I only ever want to talk about me, myself, and I?”

She grinned and replied, “That is your favorite topic.”

He nodded. “It is. I love talking about myself. I’m incredible.”

They looked at each other as the chorus came on and sang down the highway, “I wanna talk me, wanna talk about I. wanna talk about number one, oh my, me, my, What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see! I like talking about you, you, you, you usually! But occasionally, I wanna talk about me!”

Jake reached over and laid his hand on her thigh, gently caressing it with his fingers as she rested her hand atop his, smiling out the window as they drove back to base.

[bwat5-blog]

Hope: Chapter 3

Arcane Fanfic: Non-Canon Compliant

Jinx sits quietly, brushing Vi’s shaggy mane of fiery hair, singing softly: “Dear friend, across the river. My hands are cold and bare. Dear friend, across the river, I’ll take what you can spare…”

She smiles and sets the brush aside, leaning down and pressing her forehead to her older sister’s.

“You’d probably hate to hear this... but I think the long hair suits you. It makes you look...softer... like you’ve experienced something other than pain in life... other than the fight.”

“I happen to agree,” a polite, nervous voice says from the doorway.

Jinx looks up to see Caitlyn Kiramman standing in the doorway, smiling awkwardly.

“Welcome back. How was the meeting?” Jinx asks.

Caitlyn walks in, setting down a bundle of papers and scrolls with a sigh. “Oh, the business of setting things right and rebuilding... exhausting, but worthwhile. Especially given my part in the breaking.” She smiles sadly and sits in the chair across from Jinx.

In the week or so since Jinx had been moved from the bunker, she and Caitlyn had slowly started finding a rhythm. They were cordial and cautious—not in the way of two people setting their mutual hatred aside for a common cause, but in the way of two people realizing that hatred meant nothing anymore and afraid they’d be the one to ruin it.

Caitlyn leans forward, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair. She scratches Vi’s left forearm gently with her nails. “When she would wake from nightmares, I would do this to soothe her back to sleep. I’d give anything for her eyes to open now... even if they were full of the hatred I deserve.”

“We all made mistakes, Caitlyn, and we’ve both hurt her,” Jinx offers quietly.

Caitlyn looks at her, and Jinx is shocked to see gratitude in her eyes. Caitlyn shakes her head gently.

“I was deceived... and preyed upon... I know this. But my mistakes were mine. The Piltover council recognizes that they all agreed to martial law, and as such, the occupation of Zaun was... technically lawful. And they found enough documentation in Ambessa’s private offices to prove I didn’t know about the brutality happening in Stillwater. But...”

“Zaun wants more,” Jinx says simply.

Caitlyn nods. “And they are right to. Regardless of the whole story, they suffered. But I think I’ve found a solution.” She brushes Vi’s hair from her eyes.

“I really miss her, Jinx. Father says she should wake any day, but... she gives me strength.”

“Me too,” Jinx whispers. She looks up and sees tears in Caitlyn’s eyes. “Caitlyn... Zaun... what did you offer them?” she asks, a small bit of apprehension blooming in her stomach.

Caitlyn sits back and smiles ruefully. “Well, it isn’t finalized yet, so I didn’t want to tell you. Firstly, I believe I’ve secured your pardon.”

Jinx sits back, mouth open. She looks at Caitlyn, this woman she took so much from, who hated her and whom she hated in return. “Why?”

Caitlyn runs her hands through her hair. “I meant what I said, Jinx... I want to give Vi a world worth waking up to. If she woke up and you were still suffering, it might break that heart of hers for good. I won’t allow it,” she says, turning away a little.

“Caitlyn, thank you.” Jinx reaches across and takes Caitlyn’s hand without thinking. “But... what’s the other condition?”

Caitlyn turns back to her. “I’ve agreed to leave these shores. For good. Once Vi is well.” She says stiffly. “My father still has land in Ionia. I can live comfortably there as long as I... I never return.”

Caitlyn gives her a clearly forced smile. “As I said, though, they were understanding. They will allow me to wait until Vi is awake so I can bid her farewell.”

Jinx’s stomach drops. She gains her freedom, and Caitlyn is exiled. “That can’t happen. You said this is for Vi. How do you think she’s going to feel if the woman she loves is sent away?”

“It’s for the best. All I am is pain to the Undercity and I.. I don’t think she can ever trust me again anyway” Caitlyn says biting her lip so hard she draws blood.

“She trusts me...” Jinx says earnestly.

Caitlyn shakes her head. “You are her sister. Her kin… I lost the right to her love, Jinx. I didn’t help you all and Vander down there in some desperate bid for the reward of her coming back to me. I don’t deserve that. This way, Zaun is pleased. She gets her sister... and I go where I can’t hurt anyone else here.”

Jinx sits quietly. “Caitlyn. Vi loves you. You know that. There has to be another option”.

Caitlyn shakes her head chuckling through tears “Their first offer was thirty lashes but it was quickly taken off of the table when Sevika offered to relieve the man speaking of his head. This was the only thing they would accept in lieu of violence”.

Jinx grimaces in disgust “Blood for blood. Just what we need… Caitlyn Vi needs you she”

Caitlyn sobs loudly choking. “I hit her Jinx!... after that fight in the vent chamber. I promised not to change. I kissed her, and then... I.I hit her and abandoned her. I knew her history! I knew how she had suffered! And I still became everything she ever feared I was and took away her hope. And all for the great crime of her putting herself in front of my gun to save that little girl from my hatred and madness.”

Caitlyn leans forward, curling up on herself, sobbing now. Jinx freezes. She has never been good at this sort of thing, and the mention of Caitlyn hitting Vi, as well as the reminder of the day she almost shot Isha, sends a whisper of that old rage through Jinx’s mind. But...

No... back to sleep... back to sleep...

Jinx stands slowly and walks gently around the bed. She drops to her knees next to Caitlyn and, like Tobias did with her, starts rubbing small circles on Caitlyn’s back.

“Hey... um... follow my breathing, okay? In for five, hold for five, out for five.”

Caitlyn goes stiff at her touch for a moment, then nods through her wracking sobs.

In: 1... 2... 3... 4... 5. Hold: 1... 2... 3... 4... 5. Out: 1... 2... 3... 4... 5.

They repeat the cycle several times as Caitlyn slowly masters herself. Jinx stands and quickly pours her some water from a pitcher and brings her the glass, standing back while Caitlyn sits up and smiles gratefully through red, puffy eyes.

“I... am so sorry. That was... unbecoming of me,” Caitlyn says stiffly. “Thank you for helping me. I imagine it wasn’t easy for you with our history”.

Jinx nods and sits back in her chair across from Caitlyn. “Maybe as easy as you willingly inviting me into your bedroom” she smiles ruefully. She looks down at Vi and squeezes her hand..

“She told me about your breakup.”

Caitlyn looks shocked for a moment, then laughs. “I suppose I should have known. I’m surprised you knew what I did and didn’t attack me the moment you saw me.”

“Oh, there was a moment I considered it,” Jinx shrugs, allowing a slight chuckle. “But, um... Vi told me something that stopped me.”

“Oh?”

Jinx nods. “She said that a person can only hold so much pain before it starts overflowing. And when it does, no matter how hard you try, that extra pain always lands on someone else. Hurts someone else. And that it doesn’t make it okay or right to hurt that other person; it just makes you human. And that if anyone should understand feeling so much pain you lose control... it should be me.”

Caitlyn looks at her, eyes watering, but nods as Jinx continues.

“I didn’t understand that as a kid, obviously. When Vi hit me in that street, I thought she hated me. And then when Silco told me she died, I had it in my mind that my sister hated me, left me, and I’d never see her again. But even when she came back to me—when you,” she reaches across and squeezes Caitlyn’s hands, “brought her back to me—I couldn’t process it. Even when she told me she’d been taken that night... seven years in Stillwater being beaten and God knows what else... all I could feel was her fist that night. All I could see was her eyes."

“And then Silco told me she was only here for you. That she didn’t care about me anymore, and it just consumed me. I was so convinced you were going to take her from me, that I was going to lose her again. I couldn’t take it. I was so angry and—”

“Afraid,” Caitlyn whispers.

Jinx looks at her and nods. “I was terrified. I know it doesn’t excuse anything, Caitlyn. I’d never say it does. Taking you, hurting you, what I did to your mom... I was so angry and afraid and alone, and I just needed to hurt. It was like fire eating me alive until I let it out, but when I did, I was just more alone than ever.

“And then I saw my sister in that uniform, and it just felt like I’d finally done it. I’d finally destroyed the last possible thing I had left worth living for. Sound familiar?” Jinx wipes away stinging tears and laughs sadly.

Caitlyn nods. “Yes... yes, it certainly does.”

Jinx sits quietly, the crackling of the fire and Vi’s breathing the only sounds around them.

Caitlyn leans back in her chair, and Jinx is struck by how exhausted she truly looks. Her eyes droop, and her head lolls. Caitlyn whispers, “I’d give anything to go back... to talk with you back then.”

Jinx smiles as she rises from her chair and grabs a blanket, gently tucking it around Caitlyn. “I’d probably have killed you,” she grins. Caitlyn smiles before her head droops, and she starts to snore gently.

Jinx exhales. She looks at Vi, sleeping soundly but still not conscious, and at Caitlyn’s exhausted form. Caitlyn, who had traded Jinx’s own freedom in exchange for her exile and never seeing Vi again...

“I believe we swore that Vi would wake to a world worth living in, Commander Kiramman. No more suffering,” Jinx says softly, smiling.

_______________________________________________________

Caitlyn wakes an hour or so later, a cool early winter breeze caressing her skin. She looks around… “Jinx?” and stands groggily, realizing she has a blanket around her that falls to the floor.

“she covered me up” she says softly… She looks down at Vi, blissfully unaware. Caitlyn leans over and kisses Vi’s forehead. “I won’t fail you again…”

Meanwhile far across the city, down in the darkness of the lanes cheers sound from the inside of The Last Drop. The representatives who attended the earlier council sit gathered around a large table toasting the inevitable exile of “The Commander” when the doors slam open with force and high raspy voice exclaims for all to hear-

“I’m hommmeeee! I need a word, councilors!”

[kathlare]

no strings attached

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: At a star-studded afterparty following the VMAs, Amelie finds herself urged by Taylor Swift to embrace a carefree night of fun and distraction.

Wordcount: 1.9 k

Warnings: suggestive content

full masterlist // request over here!

September 12th, 2023 - Newark, NJ

The afterparty was in full swing, the air electric with the buzz of alcohol, neon lights, and celebrity gossip. Amelie nursed her second—maybe third—glass of champagne, the soft hum of music vibrating through her chest as she leaned against the bar. Her long black dress shimmered under the dim, colorful lights, catching glances from all corners of the room. She didn’t mind. She was used to it.

—Well, if it isn’t the heartbreaker herself,— Taylor Swift teased, sliding up beside her with a mischievous grin, a cocktail in hand. Taylor looked effortlessly stunning, as always, her energy magnetic. She’d swept the VMAs with multiple wins, and tonight, she was in the mood to celebrate—and stir the pot.

Amelie rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. —I’m not a heartbreaker. That’s your title, Taylor.—

Taylor tilted her head, mock-offended. —Oh, please. You practically invented heartbreak, darling. I just made it rhyme.— She nudged Amelie playfully before lowering her voice conspiratorially. —But you’re way too broody tonight. What’s up?—

Amelie sighed, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. —Nothing. Just tired, I guess.—

Taylor gave her a knowing look, the kind that saw straight through the bullshit. —No, no, no. We’re not doing that tonight. You’re at the fucking VMAs afterparty. You’re Amelie Dayman. Tired is for tomorrow. Tonight, you’re living.—

Amelie chuckled, shaking her head. —What exactly do you suggest, oh wise one?—

Taylor leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. —You’ve been single for what, four months now? It’s time, babe. One night. No strings. Just fun.—

Amelie blinked at her. —You mean a one-night stand?— The words felt foreign on her tongue. She’d never done anything like that before. Casual hookups weren’t her thing—not really.

Taylor shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. —Exactly. You’re overthinking it. Just find someone hot, have a little fun, and move on. It’s liberating. Trust me.—

Amelie hesitated, biting her lip. —I don’t know, Tay. That’s not really... me.—

—Why not?— Taylor countered. —You’re single, you’re hot, and half the people in this room would kill for your attention. Besides, you deserve a distraction. Someone to make you forget about... you know who.— Her voice softened at the end, but Amelie knew exactly what she meant. Lando. Lately, it always meant Lando.

Amelie laughed humorlessly, shaking her head. —That’s not why I’m...—

—Don’t care,— Taylor interrupted, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the dance floor. —You’re doing this. Tonight.—

As they weaved through the crowd, Amelie felt the champagne settling warmly in her veins, the buzz of the night dulling her inhibitions. Taylor stopped abruptly, her eyes locking on someone across the room. —There. Perfect.—

Amelie followed her gaze and immediately recognized him. Jack Harlow. He was leaning casually against a booth, a beer in hand, his curls unruly and his grin magnetic as he chatted with a small group of people. He exuded confidence, charm, and just enough swagger to be intriguing.

—No,— Amelie said instinctively, shaking her head. —Absolutely not.—

Taylor smirked, her grip on Amelie’s arm tightening. —Oh, come on. He’s perfect. And he’s looking right at you.—

Amelie glanced back, and sure enough, Jack’s eyes met hers from across the room. He smiled, tilting his head slightly, as if inviting her over. Her heart skipped a beat.

—I can’t,— she whispered, though her feet didn’t move.

—You can,— Taylor said firmly, giving her a gentle push. —You’re welcome. Go be hot.—

Before Amelie could protest, Taylor melted back into the crowd, leaving her standing there like a deer in headlights. Jack raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting to see if she’d come over.

Fuck it. The champagne spoke louder than her hesitation, and she found herself walking toward him, her dress trailing behind her like a glittering wave.

As she approached Jack, he straightened up, his easy smile never faltering. He gave her a once-over, clearly appreciating the view. —Amelie, right?— His voice was smooth, with a hint of playful curiosity.

She nodded, feeling a strange rush of heat flooding her cheeks, though she didn’t know why. She’d been in the public eye for years, but something about the way he looked at her felt different. —Yeah, that’s me.—

Jack’s grin widened, and he gestured toward the empty space beside him. —Come on, sit down. Don’t tell me you’re here to just stand around. The night’s too young for that.—

Amelie hesitated for a split second before sliding into the booth next to him. His presence was magnetic—he wasn’t tall, but he had this laid-back yet confident aura, the kind that demanded attention without asking for it.

—So, uh, are you here with anyone?— Jack asked, his voice casual but laced with an undercurrent of curiosity.

Amelie took a deep breath, trying to focus. The combination of the alcohol and the electric atmosphere in the room made her feel lighter, freer. This wasn’t a conversation she would’ve had sober, but tonight, she was letting herself go. She glanced at him, feeling a spark of something she hadn’t felt in a while.

—No. Just me. I came alone, actually.— She found herself smiling despite the nerves. The words felt both real and unreal, she was here, at the afterparty, and Jack Harlow was talking to her like they weren’t worlds apart.

—Perfect, then. I don’t like sharing anyway,— he said with a wink, leaning in just enough for his words to feel intimate, yet not too forward. There was an edge to his flirtation, but it felt playful, not aggressive.

Amelie laughed, relaxing a little as the conversation flowed. —Yeah, I’m not really a fan of that either.—

He raised his glass. —Cheers to that. And to this... whatever this is.— His eyes lingered on her for a second too long, his gaze sharp yet inviting.

—This is... us talking, I guess.— She gave a teasing shrug. —But who knows what else it could be, right?—

Jack’s smile turned mischievous, his fingers tracing the rim of his bottle. —I’m definitely open to whatever happens next. Life’s too short, don’t you think?—

There was something in his eyes—something bold, daring. It was the kind of energy Amelie usually kept at arm’s length, but tonight, she was embracing it. Taylor’s voice echoed in her head, urging her to live a little. To do something she hadn’t done before. To forget about the past and just enjoy the moment.

—You’re right. Life’s too short,— she agreed, her voice low. She didn’t know what she was saying anymore, but it felt... liberating.

Jack grinned wider, clearly pleased with her response. He leaned forward, the proximity making her heart race a little faster. —So... what are you doing after this, Amelie?—

Her breath hitched, the question suddenly feeling charged. The music around them thudded in the background, the flashing lights bathing them both in a kaleidoscope of colors. For a moment, everything else disappeared.

—What are you suggesting?— she asked, her voice suddenly more confident than she’d intended.

—Maybe we should take this party somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. You, me, and the night, no strings attached.— Jack’s voice was smooth, like honey, and the way he said it made it sound like the most natural thing in the world.

Amelie’s mind raced, but the part of her that was tired of thinking, tired of holding back, decided to let go. She didn’t need a reason, and right now, she didn’t want to analyze anything. She needed a distraction. Something to fill the emptiness that had been lingering ever since her breakup with Rodrigo. She needed to prove to herself that she wasn’t stuck in the past, that she could let go and embrace the unknown.

—Okay, let’s go,— she said, surprising herself with how easily the words rolled off her tongue.

Jack’s grin deepened, and before she knew it, they were making their way out of the party. The air outside was a cool contrast to the heat of the club, but Amelie didn’t feel it. The adrenaline from the decision she’d just made coursed through her veins, replacing any hesitation with a rush of excitement. They walked through the streets, Jack’s hand finding its way to the small of her back, guiding her toward a private car parked nearby.

The drive to her apartment was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional glance exchanged between them. It wasn’t until they stepped into the elevator of her building that Amelie finally allowed herself to breathe. The weight of what was about to happen hit her all at once.

When the elevator doors slid open, Jack followed her into the apartment without hesitation. The lights in the living room were dim, casting a soft glow over the space. She felt strangely calm, even as the reality of the situation settled in.

Jack placed his beer down on the counter and turned to face her. —You sure about this?— His voice was serious now, though there was a trace of that same playful energy.

Amelie stood still for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Then, without a word, she closed the distance between them, cupping his face with both hands. The kiss was sudden, a spark of heat that spread through her entire body, igniting something she hadn’t felt in a while. Jack responded instantly, pulling her closer, his hands finding their way to her waist.

It wasn’t the most graceful thing—it was raw, intense, like two people giving in to an impulse they couldn’t explain. Clothes came off in a hurry, discarded carelessly on the floor as they stumbled toward her bedroom. The night felt like it had no rules, no boundaries. Just two people in the moment, pushing everything else away.

When she woke up the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the curtains was the only thing that reminded her the world hadn’t stopped while she’d been wrapped in the chaos of last night. Her head felt heavy, the dull ache of a hangover just beginning to settle in. She stretched out, feeling the sheets cool against her skin, and that’s when she noticed the emptiness beside her. Jack was gone.

Her heart skipped. For a split second, panic set in—had he left without a word? But as she glanced around the apartment, her eyes landed on a small note on the pillow where he had been. She picked it up, unfolding the paper.

"Thanks for the fun, Amelie. You’re amazing. Take care."

A smile tugged at her lips. He didn’t need to leave a note, but somehow it felt good. No drama, no promises—just a quiet exit, as if everything that had happened last night was exactly what it needed to be. A brief distraction. A release.

-------------

liked by jackharlow, landonorris, and others

ameliedayman: vma in custom Vera Wang could shed a tear maybe i did

View all 1,584 comments

amazingangel88: OH. MY. GOD. The dress, the vibe, the QUEEN. 💅

gracieabrams: you are a literal angel ✨ I’m not even sure how to comprehend this level of beauty, like do you even breathe??? 😭 → ameliedayman: @gracieabrams I do, I swear!

oliviarodrigo: UHHHHHHHH this dress is giving too much, Amelie. Are you trying to make us all cry? 💔 → amelie: @oliviarodrigo I mean, it’s for the vibes, right? 💀💅

f1girlies4life: WAIT LANDO?? 👀 but he's not even following her though? WHAT IS GOING ON

musiclovers_unite: Ohhh look who’s liking posts now, Lando’s back 😳🤭

callumdayman: I’m still getting used to seeing my little sister all grown up, but I’m proud as hell. Always shining.

jackharlowlover24: JACK HARLOW LIKED THE POST!!!! 👀👀👀 We LOVE to see it → onlyjackharlowtrulove: @jackharlowlover24 nah, but did he slide into her DMs after? 🤔🤔

elysia_dayman: Literally, why do you keep getting more stunning? Every year, you just keep proving you’re the prettiest.

emiliamernes: No puedo dejar de pensar en lo impresionante que te ves, Amelie. 💖💖 → ameliedayman: @emiliamernes ¡Mil gracias! Siempre me haces sonrojar. 😅

stella_dayman: Just when I think you can’t get more beautiful, you do. I’m so proud of you. Keep shining, darling. ✨

lantern_fan: Hold up. Lando is liking her posts again?? After all these years? We need answers! → itslouisf1: @lantern_fan Don’t read too much into it! They were friends, you know. He’s just showing support. 👀

lando4nation: If Lando’s not following but is still liking the posts…doesn’t that say something?? 🤔 → melissaf1fan: @lando4nation Guys, relax. It’s probably just a “friendly support” thing. But who knows 👀

[queenbeewrites]

my doctor is a pervert 🩺part 1.

gentle femdom smut

After noticing him stalking her for a while, she finally faces him with ruthlessness and questions his intentions. And during playing and dominating his body, finds out that the doctor truly likes her.

Female’s P.O.V~

“Why are you following me?” I boomed, staring right into his astounded and fearful eyes, pinning his hands against the wall in an empty hospital room.

Tall, masculine, and fierce in features, he was the doctor in charge of my friend, admitted for an injury caused by an accident.

From the way he talked, walked, and carried himself, he always seemed very proud, confident, and dutiful to me.

But instead of my friend, an injured patient, he was stalking me every time I visited my friend, keeping his eyes on him, and allowing me a deeper view of his personality.

He was so much more than he showcased to the world, and I wondered what layers he was hiding behind that strong veil.

That is why I did not mind his obsession with me until he started crossing the lines.

He was doing the same thing that day as well; he was stalking me when I yanked him into that empty room and pinned his hands against the wall, even though he was taller than me.

The quiet boomed in the room after I questioned his behavior, his calm eyes turning restless, like his body, before he answered, stuttering, “No -- no, I’m not!”

I was right about him. He did behold something interesting about him. The thought of it churned my stomach.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” I questioned again, squeezing his wrists tight on the wall, and added, “I’ve seen you following me many times.”

His already astounded eyes turned fearful, wandering, his lips sealed together without a word, palpitating.

At that moment, he looked delicate and breedable, the absolute opposite of his normal demeanor.

“I bet you have nothing to say now!” I smirked when suddenly he squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, and blurted. “I like you!”

I wasn’t surprised at all. I was, in fact, amused and thrilled.

“Is that why you have been following me?” I questioned, watching him open his eyes and answer, “No. I don’t know why I did that.”

“You’re a doctor. You seem so in control of yourself, so manly and responsible, yet you don’t know why you did that?” I questioned as I released his hands and pushed him to his knees, watching his eyes get astounded once again.

Even through astonishment, he did not hesitate. He simply sat on his knees and looked hesitatingly at me, looking like a big softy in a doctor’s coat in front of me.

“Do you stalk everyone, then? Without a thought?” I questioned as I pressed the sole of my heel to his crotch, and felt how hard he already was, while he stuttered. “No - no. That’s not it.”

“Then why were you stalking me, if it’s not because you like me?” I continued, as I set my bag on the floor and applied pressure to his crotch with my heel, rendering him shudder and whimper so mildly.

He was relishing that way too much for someone like him.

“Were you trying to do something wrong?” I applied more pressure to his crotch, watching him whimper more loudly while his hands grasped my leg.

He looked ever tastier and sounded like it, making me wet.

“Answer me, doctor! You’re not saying anything, you’re just making these dirty noises.” I added and started stroking his dick with my heel, feeling his dick getting harder than possible.

“I - I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong!” He moaned, digging his nails into my leg.

“Is that right?” I continued and added, “then you might have been stalking me for this.”

I pressed harder on his dick.

I watched him moan with pain and bite his lips as he embraced my leg as if begging for his life.

The scene spurred my insides, driving the greater hunger inside me. I wanted to turn him dirtier at that point.

“Answer me!” I boomed, “You wanted me to do these things to you, don’t you?” I pressed again, watching him whine and moan from pain. “No!”

“Then why are you enjoying this so much?” I questioned as I lifted his shivering chin up, noticing the tipsy look in his eyes, “that means, you are a whore, aren’t you?” I added and felt his dick twitch against the sole.

“No! I’m a doctor!” He moaned, making me chuckle, and push two of my fingers into his mouth and command. “Suck.” While I continued stroking his cock, watching him instantly obey and suck my fingers.

“Look how quickly you obey, yet you claim you aren’t a whore. You even look like you’ve done this before.” I teased, while he denied it, sagely shaking his head, his tongue twirling around my fingers.

“Then why are you sucking my fingers like a pro?” I questioned again, thrusting my fingers into his warm and salivating mouth. “Only whores suck like a pro.”

His cheeks kept beaming red with embarrassment as I continued thrusting my fingers into his mouth, reaching his throat, stroking his twitching dick with my heel, while he coughed, cried, whimpered, and choked on my fingers altogether.

“You’re such a whore.” I boomed, watching him turn into a mess, admiring his heaving body, and I added, “You know your dick twitches every time I call you a whore. You like hearing that, don’t you?”

His dick twitched again, while he shook his head again, denying my allegation as his saliva seeped through his lips.

“You need to be true to yourself, doctor.” I chuckled and pulled my fingers out of his mouth, shoving him onto the wall, while I regarded his mouth dribbling a pool of saliva.

“You are a whore.” I boomed and strongly began stroking his dick, aware of his stimulating body.

“Respectful doctor, can you tell me, what do you call cumming in medical terms?”

“Orgasm.” He growled, shuddering like a leaf.

“Correct! Do you want it?” I questioned, and he nodded his head vigorously, looking at me with needy eyes.

“I will give it to you if you accept you’re a whore.” I conditioned, watching him thrust against my heel and quickly whine, “I am a whore!”

I felt chills run down my spine, pride taking over me while he growled, “You are right. I am a whore. Now please, can I cum?”

I faked contemplating, while he begged again and again until his voice turned hoarse.

Then finally I pressed his dick harder, watching him orgasm against my heel, soiling his pants like he was peeing with so much eagerness; his body trembling and his moans louder than before.

Quickly I covered his mouth, while he continued oozing out each drop he had in his ball, whispering, “What kind of doctor are you, do you want everyone to know what you’re doing here?”

He shook his head again, settling his trembling body on the floor, looking up at me with fatigue.

“I thought you had that fantasy as well,” I added as I removed my palm from his lips, cleaned my heel on his pants, and picked my bag from the ground, continuing. “Give me your phone.”

I dialed my number in his phone and petted his head, calling him, “Good boy. I’ll see you next time when I need a whore.” And left him shuddering.  

_________________

END OF THE PART 1

--- Love, author! 

Early Access to more smut and short stories https://queenbeewritess.carrd.co/

[faaun]

oh my god u rly are everyone you've ever loved !! for better or worse !! a part of you becomes them!