#the one i got is cute but i don't have a picture of it...

[redwinelew]

Hello! i’ve had this thought about lewis hamilton’s daughter having a massive crush on Charles and being super embarrassing about it and the internet thinks lewis is gonna try and off CL but instead he ends up setting them up!

Would be like crack fluff

I absolutely adore all of your work and hope you are doing well. Thank You! <3

BUT DADDY, I LOVE HIM!

type social media au

pairing charles leclerc x hamilton!reader

summary as requested!

face claim bailey bass

warnings fluff. reader is of age. no mention of her mom. reader acted once in the barbie movie playing ariana greenblatt's character

author's note this is so fucking cute anon i love this so much 😭😭 thank you for sending it in!!

english is not my first language. all pictures taken from instagram, pinterest and twitter. credit to owners.

masterlist | request info | requests are OPEN!

ynhamilton just made a post!

liked by lewishamilton, flavy.barla and 56,836 others.

ynln a random appreciation post because it just hits me how lucky i am to be able to live this life! 💜💜

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user1 SHE WAS IN THE BARBIE MOVIE????

user2 user1 lol i had the exact opposite reaction. like holy shit the girl who plays america ferrera's daughter is related to lewis hamilton? 😆😆

user3 we love a self aware nepo baby

user4 you are the coolest girl on this planet

ynhamilton user4 🥹🥹

user5 the dior bag convo.... god i wish i was her

user6 is your dad single?

ynhamilton user6 not this again 😭😭

user7 i wish lewis hamilton was my daddy but not in ways you'd think

ynhamilton user7 haven't heard of this one yet. 3 stars for effort 👌🏼

user8 pls tell your dad i turned 18 next month

ynhamilton user8 GIRL 😭😭

user9 2 pics of charles and only one of her own dad 😭😭

user10 user9 someone's got a crush 👀

user11 user9 surprised there are only two tbh considering how much she hung out at ferrari's garage last year

ynhamilton user11 gotta familiarize myself with daddy's new workplace!

user12 ynhamilton girl be SO ffr rn we all know you're there to see charles 😭😭

messages!

twitter!

f1gossipofficial just made a post!

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f1gossipofficial charles leclerc and lewis hamilton spotted having lunch together in monaco today! not pictured but was also present is hamilton's daughter, y/n.

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user1 pre-season lunch?

user2 i bet it's got nothing to do with f1 since y/n is also there

user3 user2 yeah considering her tweet.... i don't think so 😭😭

user4 oh my god lewis is giving charles THE talk

user5 user4 "so what's your intention with my daughter?" lol

user6 user5 guys we don't even know if charles likes her too

user5 user6 lewis would purposely crash himself into charles if he breaks his little girl's heart

user7 user5 we love a girl dad

ynhamilton just made a post!

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ynhamilton daddy approves 🫶🏼

tagged charles_leclerc

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user1 FUCK YEAH

user2 SILVERSTONE ROYALTY AND PRINCE OF MONZA ARE DATING

user3 this just gave me the courage to confess to my crush (it'll never happen cause i'm a coward)

ynhamilton user4 do it!! you'll never know!!!!

user5 god i wish my dad was lewis hamilton too so he can set me up with his teammate

user6 charles just got an extra motivation to win wcc this year

lewishamilton Anything for my babygirl

ynhamilton lewishamilton I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

lewishamilton ynhamilton I love you more bub

user7 lewishamilton i'm not crying there's hair in my eyes

charles_leclerc Amour ❤️

ynhamilton charles_leclerc ❤️

[typingtess]

Deeks and Rosa were sitting in a waiting room while Rosa's immigration lawyer was dealing with some paperwork snafu before her interview with her immigration case worker. Deeks was in a suit and tie, Rosa in a lovely blue Calvin Klein dress Kensi found on sale at Macy's. Kensi was at Camp Pendleton testifying in a trial. She was waiting for his text.

"I found your wedding album while I was helping Kensi cleaning her box called 'stuff'," Rosa told Deeks as they waited.

"Our anniversary is next week. It's good to know it survived the move two-years ago."

"That's why Kensi was cleaning up her 'stuff' boxes in the garage. Part of her anniversary gift to you."

"Part?" Deeks was really interested now. "Oh, tell me the other part. I can fake being surprised."

"Where's the fun in that? Just be surprised."

"Please." Deeks pled.

"No. I'm staying out of this."

"You're in. You know what Kensi is getting me, tell me and we're all even."

"To be even, you'd have to tell me what you're getting Kensi."

"Well, it's a surprise." And Rosa was a part of part of it. He booked a Mother's Day spa weekend at Two Bunch Palms in Palm Springs for Kensi and Rosa. He also got the annual Moshe call after Valentine's Day with a good price for some piece of jewelry that didn't move. This year it was dangly earrings with diamonds. "So if you won't share, you'll get nothing and like it."

"'Caddyshack'."

"See, you are catching up on all the good movies. Next Friday, I say we do 'Clueless'."

"I wouldn't mind watching 'Bend Like Beckham' again."

"Again? You have it on Hulu all the time."

"Because it's great."

"You'll like 'Clueless'. Kensi loves 'Clueless'."

"The way she loves '13 Going on 30'?" Rosa asked.

"Kensi doesn't love anything the way she loves '13 Going on 30'."

"That's not true, she loves you more than that movie," Rosa had a big smile. "She showed me all the pictures in the wedding album. Told me about what happened that day."

"It was a day."

"She looked beautiful. You looked handsome in your tuxedo. Mandy was so pregnant."

"The only weird thing that didn't happen in that wedding and reception was Mandy going into labor. She held that off for three more days."

"Why did your Mom wear black?"

"It was a much better dress than the purple one she originally bought. Deep v-neck, open back and the dress ended about halfway down her thigh. It was a lot."

"Julia looked beautiful."

"Yes she did. Not as beautiful as her daughter…"

"Did you know you'd always marry her?"

"No, we needed to work through some things but once we did, I knew she was my last girlfriend and my only wife."

"That's romantic in a very strange way."

"Please put that on my tombstone, 'He was romantic in a very strange way.'"

"Don't talk like that." Rosa looked at her hands for a second. "Do you think Gregory can fix the paperwork problems."

"I haven’t heard any yelling so Gregory is likely making progress." Deeks saw Gregory T. Coates III, immigration lawyer to the stars who does some pro-bono work for Los Angeles uniformed services members, military and those involved in education, making a bee-line to them.

"Those fu…..fools finally got the paperwork right," Gregory said as he sat next to Rosa. "Your interview will start in a few minutes. All the letters of recommendation are in, your school records are up to date, including your first round of SATs. You're in a very good place, Rosa. Go in, be yourself, be calm and remember, Kensi, Marty and I are all here to fight for you. You be you and you'll be great, kid."

"Thank you," Rosa smiled.

"You," he pointed to Deeks. "Keep your mouth shut. It's her show. You answer questions directly asked to you. Don't be cute, don't be funny, don't be…"

"Don't be me." Deeks was not offended.

"You can be you the minute this is over and you're taking me to dinner."

"Rosa Diaz," an assistant walked up to the three of them. "We're ready for you."

Deeks gave Rosa a peck on the cheek. "And you're ready for them." The three walked to the interview room with the assistant. Deeks didn't think he'd spend the Friday before his anniversary in an immigration office but there was no place else he'd rather be.

It’s a love s t o r y! - Densi Wedding

ncisla

[spideysquake]

death of a bachelorette

drew starkey x costar!reader

masterlist | one | two

youruser

liked by hunterschafer, drewstarkey, and others

youruser i have loved euphoria with every single piece of me. i love rue with all of my heart, and i love all of the people who have gone into making her a real person. i love the family that this show has given me, and the memories that i will be able to keep forever from working on this show.

and now it's on to the next one...

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hunterschafer my darling boob, you will always and forever be my favorite co-star

alexademie getting to watch you become the star that you are has been one of the best parts of this show

petracollins you have brought rue to life in a more meaningful and beautiful way than i could've ever imagined, and i'm just so damn proud of you

user3 i can't believe euphoria is actually over but good god they gave rue the most beautiful ending

⤷ ynfanaccount like the petra and y/n team up was so important for telling rue's story the way it needed to be told and i'm so proud of them, even if i'm going to miss the show

popcrave

liked by ynfanaccount, drewstarkeyfanpage, and others

popcrave Rumor has it that Y/N Y/L/N and Drew Starkey are being eyed to lead the new movie from Plan B director Natalie Morales, Death of a Bachelorette. It's being described as half slasher, half romantic comedy about a man and a woman who meet at a wedding and hit it off, only to find themselves running for their lives from a vicious serial killer.

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ynfanaccount oh i just know our girl is going to eat this up

user1 i barely know either of these people but just based off looks, this is going to be an incredible rom com

drewstarkeyfanpage drew has unlocked some of the most fun and interesting projects lately and i just know he's going to be incredible at this

user2 can't believe that slasher rom-com is a genre now but i'm so here for it

youruser

liked by nataliemorales, huntershafer, and others

youruser a bit of a break...

read all 25,648 comments

huntershafer god that matcha latte was the shit

youruser liked this comment

rachelzegler i'm so glad i got you hooked on the trader joe's pear wine because it's just so yummy

youruser liked this comment

user3 soooo if she's the one taking the picture, who's pouring the wine???? we know she and timmy aren't dating bc they've said so a million times but that is absolutely a man's hand...

⤷ user4 maybe it's drew???? we know our girl loves to prep well for her characters, maybe they're hanging out to develop their chemistry

⤷ user3 i'm trying so hard not to ship them but it's so hard bc they're both so hot and she just has great chemistry with everyone

⤷ user4 no because i get you so bad and i just want drew starkey to have a great relationship that people don't get weird about

y/ny/l/nupdates

liked by ynfanaccount, waitingfordeathofabachelorette, and others

y/ny/l/nupdates y/n seen on the streets of los angeles this weekend, it's rumored that death of a bachelorette is set to start shooting this month!! hopefully we get some sneak peaks of her outfits, because of course they're going to be iconic

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ynfanaccount god how does she make a casual tank and trousers look SO good

waitingfordeathofabachelorette i'm so so so so excited for this f'n movie it's so serious

user5 wait but if this is how good she looks in a casual streetwear type outfit, just imagine her in that bachelorette dress holy god

user6 why does she always walk around like she's the greatest thing ever???? she's barely a good actress and she's not even that cute

⤷ y/ny/l/nupdates you commented hate about y/n on a y/n stan account for why???? because you know we're all in a group chat talking shit about you now

⤷ ynfanaccount ooh get him again for me girl!!

drewstarkeyfanpage

liked by drewstarkeyupdates, waitingfordeathofabachelorette, and others

drewstarkeyfanpage drew spotted this past week at the airport and on location for filming in toronto!! and he looks goooooooooood

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waitingfordeathofabachelorette if anyone sees me stalking these update pages over the next six months... no you didn't

drewstarkeyfanpage liked this comment

y/ny/l/nfanpage babe we're really gonna have to team up to do press during this shoot bc i want CONTENT

⤷ drewstarkeyfanpage girl dm me! we're basically user twins already let's be mf besties

[justyourtypicalwriter]

Wondering if you have any headcanons for what jobs the kids pursued when they got older

Hi!!

So l actually haven't put much thought into this (I probably should) as I don't currently have a "post cannon" middle ground between the show and PC (pre-teen/teen/young adult) so I'll just give you their most used occupations in my "incredibly scuffed clashing with cannon" aus :)

Stan - Anything revolving around animals or child education. Veterinary, wildlife rescue/rehab, music teacher, world history teacher. I highkey pulled the world history one out of my ass. I just remembered all the epics and legends I learned in that course and I feel like Stan would be all over that

Kyle - Law, child psychology, music, art. Law for obvious reasons, yes follow in your fathers footsteps not because you want to be like him but because you want to be BETTER than him (sorry gang, I hate Gerald as much of some of yall hate Randy). Child Psychology is pretty widely accepted by everyone it sense for Kyle to want to help kids (add in watching his friends go through childhood trauma and not being able to do anything about it as a motivator and the story is chefs kiss) some of my Kyle's would KILL to have this job but I fuck them over a little to much and they can't (sorry bb, I love you I swear). Hear me out: slutty indie singer Kyle and his shitty band of childhood trauma repressors to challenge Crimson Dawn, PEAK rivals to lovers. I have no clue why but I’ve been chipping away at a starving artists au since May and bpd artist icon Kyle has lived rent free in my head ever since

Kenny - Paramedic, doctor, firefighter, scientist. I LIVE for Kenny getting high stakes jobs that match his high stakes life style so I feel he’d excel at jobs where he’d have to get creative on spot. I also adore the smart Kenny who still acts like a himbo thing. PC, he’s a smart little freak and I love that

Cartman - CEO or entrepreneur. I will always be a sucker for self made business man Cartman wether he’s an antagonist or protagonist. I think it adds so much to his character. Either he’s the antagonist and does some fucked up shit to the protagonist (typically Kyle or Butters let’s be so fr) and an issue for the plot is no one believes them since he’s held in such a good light by the community. OR the antagonist is a higher power and by helping the protagonist, his playing all his cards and risking loosing EVERYTHING

Butters - Baker. I’m sorry, he deserves all good things and the Vic Chaos plot doesn’t really do it for me. I want to give him a cute little bakery to just relax and decompress from that traumatic ass childhood

Craig - Astronomer, racing, detective, forensic pathologist. I feel like the first two are pretty self explanatory lmfaoo. And Kivea and acreekinthenight turned me on the other two. Craig having a high risk, stress heavy job really allows more character development and lore opportunities

Tweek - I’m guilty of criminally negligent my little meth addict and I think the only job I’ve given him is keyboardist for Crimson Dawn. Kinda wanna give him a gun and see what happens

Clyde & Tolkien - Film/screen play writing, club owners. Now these aren’t the only jobs I write for them. I’ve got plenty of separate ones but ever since I started the SDAU, I live for them working together in the film industry. And they’re literally THE club owners. Chaotic as fuck but the

Jimmy - Comedian. Let the king keep his crown bro. I could never cut the comedy aspect out

Wendy - Something in politics or child education. Wendy for president man, she’d have my vote. Also I could picture her and Kyle working at the same school. They’d gossip so much smh

Bebe - SALON OWNER BEBE MY LOVE!!! Let her be an independent business woman and still kind of a bimbo

[identityua]

Hello!! I saw your post about baking with certain IDV characters and thought it was so sweet and fell in love with your writing!! Would it be possible to request Norton x a reader (potentially a Ukrainian one…? #self-inserting) who enjoys spoiling him and is generally super sweet and understanding towards him? I hope you have a nice day !!

Aww, thank you so much! Did you see the cute Kharkiv themed banner in my profile😋 Happy to supply my Ukrainian baddies. I hope this is what you wanted! And again, send me more requests and chats y’all… I’m trying to cultivate some discipline here to post more💗

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

N. CAMPBELL WITH A UA!S/O

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PAIRINGS: Norton Campbell x GN! Reader

WARNINGS: A bit of period-specific racism (POC Norton), a teeny-tiny bit of swearing, normal IDV lore stuff? Nothing too graphic.

Not proofread!

There is a popular head-canon within the community that Norton is Mexican (or at least of Mexican heritage) which formed due to his limited "Soul Catcher" costume. In the context of this post he will be partially Mexican, since the parallels between two of the cultures are adorable.

At first glace, It may seem that your lover is apathetic towards your origins. Don't get me wrong, he certainly noticed the hint of a distinct accent in your speech upon first meeting; Norton just paid it no mind. His speech pattern is shaped by working in the mines,therefore, how anyone speaks is none of his goddamn business. Unless It's in an aristocratic manner. That’s when he has a problem and starts shooting nasty looks.

In fact, his apparent lack of interest is due to a disconnect from his own roots. Norton was raised in the 1900s period England, which was not the warmest to immigrants and especially not people of color. Esteem issues lead to a negative perception of reality, combine that with societal stigma and the outcome is assimilation. He doesn't know his culture!

It is up to you to explain to this man with the emotional intelligence of a wine cork why you being Ukrainian matters to you so much. He might be skeptical at first because… let's face it – Norton's life goals are very primitive and materialistic. Get rich, live a lavish lifestyle, eat well. It's hard for him to relate to "national identity" since he has none.

Over the course of your relationship he’ll subconsciously begin picking up on some of your lingo without noticing. One day you may blurt out a "клята сковорідка!" in the middle of cooking and he will be quick to reprimand you for foul language. His treasure cannot swear. Cue the two of you staring at each other in surprise. Guess he does care enough to listen!

Gradually, his indifference transforms into curiosity and even a source of comfort, though he wouldn't admit to that. Nope, vulnerability is terrifying to Norton. Though, in the rare moments you get a glimpse of his sweat-streaked forehead from yet another nightmare, soothing lullabies in Ukrainian seem to help. So much so, he starts sending non-verbal signs that you should always sing him to sleep. Laying his head on your chest while you hum melodic words unknown to him, your fingers affectionately running through his damp hair. He truly feels safe. Get to it lover, you've got a lot of traumatic incidents to repel.

At some point you may decide to introduce your partner to the wonderful вишиванка. He is not exactly ecstatic. See, on you – his treasure – the cross-hatched flower patterns look stunning. Meanwhile, he insists only dark and gloomy(read as manly) colors suit him. Remember, Norton cares a lot about his reputation and tough persona. Be smarter, show him some pictures of Богдан Хмельницький in similar attire – that ought to do the trick.

Previously, I mentioned that one of his goals in life is to be food secure. Your partner’s heart is in his stomach without a doubt. Offer Norton a steaming plate of борщ and I’m afraid he might propose right there and then. Probably not, but despite his overwhelming trust issues – he might start to imagine what a domestic life would look like with you by his side. That is a tremendous leap into the unknown for your lover and yet… he doesn’t seem to mind as long as you keep feeding him this “beet soup”.

Your positive attitude towards your upbringing will leech onto him in the form of contemplation. A worm of doubt wiggling It’s way into his brain about Norton’s connection to a far-away land he faintly remembers. Can he still learn about this part of himself? Is it just wishful thinking? Your partner will be too conflicted to make a step in the right direction. You might have to push him towards self-discovery.

Most likely, Campbell’s knowledge of Spanish is minimal. He rarely spent time at home other than resting or eating, so he wouldn’t have the chance to converse in the language. He also… doesn’t know how to read. What’s the use of literacy to a prospector? Take it into your hands to find a Spanish textbook and teach him the contents. Despite the protests and scoffs, it will touch Norton to his core. For his treasure to care so deeply, you must truly love him, don’t you?

Once Norton is convinced you are not going to leave him (why would you?), he will step-by-step embrace his fear of vulnerability. With a nostalgic frown your lover will admit to one of the only bright memories from his childhood. The recollection is jumbled and filled with holes, yet he can never forget the bright candle lights of “Día De Los Muertos”. Like a thousand stars, he confesses, leading the spirits of the dead to their loved ones. That was the only time in his life he remembers being genuinely happy.

You would be a fool not to mark the date on your calendar and prepare for celebration. Organize it all! The feast, the marigolds, the candles. It might take lots of research into proper traditions(and late night studies at the library). However, your efforts will pay off in the most satisfying sight. A baffled expression that slowly morphs into a teasing smile. “All that, f’ me?” he would snicker, ruffling your hair. Norton tries to act smug but you can see the shimmer of tears in his eyes. Who needs so many candle lights when you are the brightest light in his existence?

Just don’t expect him to be as reciprocative with the day of Івана Купала. He’s not jumping over a massive bonfire.

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

-"Sometime during the night you both got rid of your clothes as your bodies demanded more closeness, your skin against his" YOUR BODIES DEMANDED MORE CLOSENESS, I'M SHOUTING

-"If the blade entered your king’s body a bit to the right or at a different angle, you would be sleeping in an empty bed and the only place you would be able to see Thorin’s face would be the marble effigy at his tomb in Erebor." You have no right to make me form tears like this

-"even if just for a moment" sTOP-

-"Now, however, in the darkness of the night, he is still yours, just for a while longer." oh-❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

-"The raven mane of his hair interspersed with silver strands, like veins of a precious metal encased in a rock" THIS WAS AMAZING WRITING AND VERY DWARVISH LIKE. I'm starting to suspect you are a dwarf…

-“Maralmizu, Thorin,” I need to close the computer and take a moment to regain composure-

-“'Can’t sleep?' he murmurs with a charming smile" MAHAL KEEP ME FROM GOING CRAZY

-Roäc!!!! I am going to CRY

-"A few clumsy niceties about how he enjoyed your time together and how he will always remember you, yadda yadda yadda." Lol. That's so sad but it made me laugh

-"This is the last time he plays you like his harp" ÄULE AND YAVANNA-

-"Nothing else matters beyond this little island of joy you created in the cruel ocean of time." stop this, please-

-"You are not afraid of the L-word any longer." I'M KICKING MY FEET

-THIS SMUT WAS SO CUTE😭

-ooh the amount of oceanic symbolism here😭

-"You are sure your hazy mind plays tricks on you. He has just called you his tiny songbird. He has called you his. No, you must have heard it wrong." STOP IT RAGNA I WANT TO ATTEND YOU TWO'S WEDDING BUT THAT CAN'T HAPPEN IF YOU DON'T SEE HE LOVES YOU TOO FOR DURIN'S SAKE!!1!

-"This blissful picture is not written in the stars, not for you." oh-

-"Perhaps they should have named him Stoneheart instead." oooh the dramaaaa

-"this is how a goodbye tastes like." STOP ITTTTT LATHALEA I WILL FIND YOU

-“Ragna… come with me to Erebor,” I JUST SCREAMED SOOO LOUDLY!!!1 FOR DURIN'S SAKEEEEE

-"No, of course not, you stupid, stupid Ragna! He just enjoys having you in his bed, have you forgotten about it again?" RAGNA STOP IT YOU ARE MAKING ME RAGE!!1!11

-"your own private map room if you wished so" I WANT TO CRY. HE'S SO THOUGHTFUL

-"His eyes are closed but you somehow know that they are as blue as his father’s." THE TURMOIL OF EMOTIONS I'M FEELING RIGHT NOW WILL MAKE ME EXPLODE

-"this is one of his flanking maneuvers" RAGNA YOU MAKE ME FUCKING MAD. JUST OPEN YOUR HEARTTT!!! WHY IS IT SO HARD TO ACCEPT LOVE??

-"looking more like a stone statue of one of his ancestors at the Main Gate of Erebor. Stern and lifeless." I want to cry. This writing is so great

“Tell me, Ragna. Let me hear it.” I screamed

-THORIN WHAT YOU DOINGGGGG YOU JUST HAD TO SAY "I LOVE YOU"

-"Instead, you have locked yourself in your rooms, trying to pretend that the world beyond your door doesn’t exist." I am fucking depressed and I feel a void in my heart

-i'm trying so hard not to hate on these two idiots but it's hard

-"One of Thorin’s braid beads. In your own bed." I'm crying

-"Since then, every day looks the same: work, work, more work, and staying at the office until late evening, until you are numb with tiredness." Oh I know how this goes. Trying to hide your heartbreak under piles of work papers. Yikes…

-"And then that bloody letter comes and turns everything upside down." MY HEART JUST SKIPPED A HEARTBEAT

-LATHALEA I HATE YOU FOR THIS AND BECAUSE I KNOW THAT NEXT CHAPTER WITH THORIN WILL HURT ME TWO

-I still have tears in my eyes...

All Is Fair in Love and Trade –  Part 6/9

Relationships: Thorin x Reader Rating: E Warnings: smut, angst

You can read the other parts here: The Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

For @gwen-ever 💙 Thank you for your support and help and everything else, you know yourself 🤩 A special thank you to everyone who has commented, reblogged and supported this fic! I'm really grateful to you all, you give me the strength to continue writing 💙💙💙

Khuzdul phrases: Maralmizu - I love you Zunshanush - [intimate diminutive] tiny bird Zunshanushê - my tiny bird

* * *

All Is Fair in Love and Trade, part 6/10

Later that night

A tear rolls down your cheek and you sleepily wipe it away. Last wisps of a dream are quickly fading away, leaving you slightly disoriented. You can’t remember much besides a lingering feeling of softness and warmth. Something tickles at the tip of your nose. Something coarse and reassuringly warm, just like in your dream. You open your eyes and it takes you a moment to realize that you are still in Thorin’s bed, cuddled up to his bare chest. Sometime during the night you both got rid of your clothes as your bodies demanded more closeness, your skin against his. Now your lover is laying down on his side, one of his arms resting against your hip, your legs entangled, You run your hand through his thick chest hair, but he doesn’t react to your caress, still in deep sleep. Covering his left pectoral, there is a dark blue tattoo of a raven, barely visible in the faint light of a single candle. The tips of your fingers are tracing its outline, admiring the detailed pattern, feeling the strength of Thorin’s body slumbering beneath his skin.

Your gaze shifts down, to the side of his abdomen, where a long, knobby scar meanders through the peaks and valleys of his muscles. It is not the first time you see it, but only now you have a moment to look at it from up close. There are so many tales and songs about the Battle of Five Armies and the bravery of Thorin Oakenshield that you know very well how it was inflicted. Azog the Defiler. If the blade entered your king’s body a bit to the right or at a different angle, you would be sleeping in an empty bed and the only place you would be able to see Thorin’s face would be the marble effigy at his tomb in Erebor. Thank you, Mahal. Thank you for sparing his life. Thank you for bringing him into my life, even if just for a moment.

You have spent two weeks with him, only two weeks of your long lives, but it was enough to make your heart beat faster. It was still worth it, no matter the emotional turmoil you have been through. You know that whatever you have found in each other’s arms is going to end before long, in a couple of hours, as soon as the dawn of the new day comes. The King will return to his mountain, leaving your heartache in his wake. Now, however, in the darkness of the night, he is still yours, just for a while longer. Your fingers continue their explorations, as if trying to commit every inch of his body to memory. The raven mane of his hair interspersed with silver strands, like veins of a precious metal encased in a rock, his strong neck, the powerful line of his shoulders and arms, his broad torso narrowing into lean hips, his sinewy thighs dusted with coarse hair, pressed against yours, his legs intertwined with yours. Yes, you will always have your memories, the memories of an arrogant, irritating king, of a daring warrior, of a splendid lover. Of your Thorin and that tender smile he gave you in your bed last night, melting your heart. Now, his face is peaceful, the lines of his usual frown smoothed out by sleep. You feel a sudden, irrational burst of warmth in your chest and before you can think, you hear yourself speak. “Maralmizu, Thorin,” a shadow of a whisper leaves your surprised lips, and you are hoping that the night will keep your heart’s secret safe.

The tips of your fingers once again brush against the raven tattoo, the bird’s eye watching you attentively, its beak shut. A silent witness of your moment of weakness. You place your hand over the ornament and feel how Thorin’s chest is slowly rising and falling.

This would be a good moment to leave, you think, to disappear in the darkness while you still have the strength to do it in a composed manner. You have just said your farewell and there is nothing more keeping you here. You cast one last glance at Thorin’s oblivious face and start carefully disentangling your legs from his.

Suddenly, a hand covers yours on his chest and you are staring into the clear blue eyes of your king. Well, there goes your strategic retreat.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmurs with a charming smile that makes your heart flutter.

“Your raven kept me company,” you smile faintly, your muscles tensing in anticipation of what is to come. Woman up, Ragna! You have always hated goodbyes, and, let’s face it, you suck at them, but you know Thorin well enough by now to expect a short and efficient one. Look, he opened his mouth. Here it goes. You hold your breath. “Roäc?” one of his eyebrows lifts in surprise and his gaze follows yours to his chest, his hand still covering yours. “So he has a name?” you point your chin at the tattoo, letting out a sigh. Just a moment longer, then. “I had the tattoo made in Dunland, after Erebor fell, to remind me of what I left behind.” his face darkens, his hand clutches yours. “I raised Roäc from an egg, we were almost inseparable. But then Smaug came and every dwarf alive had to leave the Mountain.” “And… what happened to Roäc?”

“He stayed. He would not leave Ravenhill nor his kin,” Thorin closes his eyes for a barely noticeable moment.

“I am sorry to hear it,” you answer, your eyes set at your hands clasped together. “I never thought I would see him again, and yet he waited for me for over 150 years. Roäc was the first raven to greet me when I returned… home.” He makes a small pause and you see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.

“It must have been a happy day for you both,” you pat the image of the raven on his skin. “It taught me that one should never lose hope,” his intense gaze meets yours, and there is a new spark at the bottom of his eyes, something you can’t decipher.

“Hope…” you repeat. Hope. How ironic. Rapidly you close your eyes in an attempt to stop them welling with treacherous tears. Now is not the time, Ragna! You need to hold on a bit longer!

Thorin’s hand, still clasped together with yours, slides towards the center of his chest. You can clearly feel his strong heartbeat beneath your palm.

“Ragna, I…” he says. Oh. Absorbed by his words, you have completely forgotten about what has to happen now. You’ve had enough lovers to know where this is going. A few clumsy niceties about how he enjoyed your time together and how he will always remember you, yadda yadda yadda. After that, it will be time for you to leave for your chambers where a cold and empty bed is waiting for you while he is to return to his comfortable life in Erebor. The end.

You decide to save you both the embarrassment of that meaningless conversation and bid him goodbye in the only way you are good at. When you place your finger on Thorin’s sensual lips, his eyes widen in surprise, but not another word leaves his mouth. Instead, your hand moves to his bearded cheek, cupping it gently, enjoying the tickling sensation of his beard gently scraping against your palm for the last time. And then you kiss him.

He lets out a hum when your lips meet his. But this is not a ravenous, hungry kiss from before. It tastes like the first strawberries of summer, fresh and sweet, making your lips tingle, its careful tenderness going straight to your head. His hand sinks in the hair at your temple, his fingers gently running through your locks.

“Ragna…” he breathes against your mouth, his nose rubbing against yours, his thumb brushing against your cheek. But this is not the time for talking. You place a small kiss at the corner of his lips, and then another and another, sealing them with a myriad of soft pecks. His hand cups the back of your head and he responds, peppering your whole face with gentle kisses. He moves his lips lower and you stifle a small whimper when he repeats his ministrations on your neck.

“Ragna…” he murmurs against your throat, and then kisses you just below your earlobe, eliciting another whimper from you.

“Ragna...” his lips brush against your ear, gentle like a dove’s wing, making you purr with pleasure, while his hand starts unhurriedly travelling down your back, tracing the line of your spine, making you shiver with delight. This is the last time he plays you like his harp and you want to make the most of it.

Thorin’s hand slides down to your waist and then slowly, sensually travels up again, while his lips trail over the swell of your breast. Passion stirs inside you as you press your hips towards him, feeling the red-hot hardness of his manhood between you. A rumbling groan leaves him as his mouth attentively worships every curve of your breasts. Oh, Mahal, you want to feel him all over your body. When his thumb brushes against your nipple, a shadow of a moan escapes you.

“Ragna…” he murmurs once more. Now he is back to kissing your mouth with impossible ardour, and you are drawn to his eyes, darkened with lust. They remind you of a sea on the brink of a storm.

No, you are not going to let him talk. Not now. Not yet. Knotting your hands in his hair you return his kiss. You revel in the hardness of his warrior’s body against yours, sensing the signs of a coming squall that is going to carry you both away.

You place your hand on his chest and push it gently. When his back rests flat against the bed, your lips cover his, meeting in yet another sensual kiss. Your silky locks fall around you, a curtain of hair shielding you both from the whole world. Now, in this very moment, it is only you and him. Nothing else matters beyond this little island of joy you created in the cruel ocean of time.

Unhurriedly, savoring the moment, you straddle his hips. A spark of recognition flickers in Thorin’s eyes and a familiar half-smile appears on his face as his hand travels upwards along your thigh to rest on your bare hip. You wrap your hand around his silky hardness and guide it straight to your core.

“Ragna...” he purrs as you lower your body on him, taking in his formidable length, your breathing shallow. His fingers dig into your skin as you are impaling yourself in one steady push. It feels so ecstatic. So right.

He is buried in you to the hilt, but doesn’t move, waiting for you to adjust to him. You rest your hands on his chest, taking in deep breaths and finding his gaze. His eyes are like the late evening sky on a warm summer evening, adorned with flickering stars. A silly thought crosses your mind: if you were to make a wish now, would you see a falling star in his firmament, carrying it to fulfilment?

Please, stay with me.

“Ragna, lovely Ragna,” he whispers.

As you hover over him, Thorin cups your cheek, oblivious to your unspoken plea. There is something in the way he speaks, something sweet and tender, that once again makes you wish you could hear him say your true name in this tantalizing voice of his.

“Thorin,” you respond, leaning into his palm and brushing your lips against it. Your chosen name for his chosen name. Your heart for his passion. A fair exchange. No strings attached. One last time.

This is when you rock your hips against him for the first time. Not breaking the eye contact between you, you lift yourself up slightly only to slide all the way down with a sigh accompanied by his low grunt.

Don’t let me leave. Please, don’t go.

This slow, sensual dance of your bodies is what you would call lovemaking. You are not afraid of the L-word any longer. You pour your heart into every caress, every move you make. It does not matter if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. Yours will have to be enough for both of you tonight. It is your farewell gift for the king of your heart.

Please, show me, how can I melt your heart? How can I make you see?

Thorin’s hands are wandering across your skin, caressing you gently, as if he was admiring a marble statue sculpted by the greatest stone masters of Erebor. The intense feel of his manhood inside you is overwhelming. Taking in the new, incredible sensations, your body continues the slow, steady movements. Now it is not about chasing the diamond peaks of pleasure; it is about enjoying these precious moments between you for as long as you can. It is as if Thorin understands your thoughts, because his caresses become in an equally unhurried manner; his every touch is attentive and careful, leaving your skin tingling with delight.

I want this night to last forever. Please, let it never end.

His eyes are hooded with pleasure, the dark waves of his hair scattered across the pillows. Thorin is yours now, just for a few moments longer. Only yours. You press your weight against him, taking him in once again, rocking back and forth with a moan while he pulls you down, his hands caressing your back and buttocks tenderly. A whimper escapes your lips at this change of angle, all the sensations intensifying, your breasts pressed against his muscular chest.

Thorin’s hands firmly rest on your hips as he thrusts up into you, slowly, purposefully, again and again, finding a way to plunge deeper inside of you than ever before, not stopping, navigating you both through the wild waves of your ocean of passion.

“Ragna…” the sound of his deep, husky voice fills your ears as he thrusts into you once more.

With a stifled cry of pleasure on your lips, you give in to your passion. Your body tenses in with pleasure, waves of ecstasy washing over you, taking over all of your senses. But you are not alone. Thorin is there, not letting you go, riding out the storm beside you. You are holding onto him as if he was your raft on the high seas, your only salvation on the stormy waters of the ocean. A few more erratic thrusts and his delicious warmth spills inside you, making you shiver with pleasure. He is right there with you, sharing your bliss, your hearts beating to the same rhythm.

My heart belongs to you. Only you.

“Thorin…” you whisper into his skin, as you lay down, your limbs heavy with bliss, your cheek against his chest, clinging to him, feeling his arms closing around you in a tight embrace.

“Zunshanushê,” he murmurs back tenderly, his fingers running through your hair as the storm of ecstasy slowly subsides around you. You are sure your hazy mind plays tricks on you. He has just called you his tiny songbird. He has called you his. No, you must have heard it wrong. The word he must have spoken was Zunshanush. Just a tiny songbird. A pet name. A songbird from the Iron Hills he will perhaps recall from time to time with a smile, back in Erebor.

You wish the circumstances were different. You would have been his Ragna, and he could have been your Thorin. You would start each day with a kiss and braid each others’ hair every morning. You would fall asleep in a tight embrace every evening, just like you are embracing now. And then, a little pebble or two would appear in your lives, giggling, saying their first words, making their first steps, running happily around the mountain, learning to ride a pony...

Ragna, you need to pull yourself together and stop being mawkish. This blissful picture is not written in the stars, not for you. First of all, you are painting an ideal, overly romantic picture of your happy life with none other than the arrogant, bullheaded King Under the Mountain! Have you suddenly forgotten how irritating and full of himself he is? Have you forgotten how you both have your separate lives and completely different duties to fulfil? And if that wasn’t enough, there is the matter of you living under two completely different mountains, separated by days and days of travel.

You know what you have to do now. Get up, gather your things and go. You have to ignore the whispers of your heart and forget how good it feels to have his strong arms around you, once and for all. Need something to snap out of it? How about this tiny little detail: Thorin Oakenshield is only interested in your body, nothing more. Perhaps they should have named him Stoneheart instead. The only way you are going to have your “happily ever after” with that dwarf is in your dreams. Damn your luck and your silly feelings. Couldn’t you have fallen for someone else? Preferably not an extremely annoying and unfeeling king?

There is something wet on your cheek, and you brush it away, only to realize that these are your tears. You feel their salty taste on your tongue. This is how a goodbye tastes like.

“Ragna, what is it?” Thorin murmurs into your hair.

You press your face into his chest in panic. He can’t see that you are crying! The last thing you want is for him to pity you. Take a deep breath. That’s it. Calm down, Ragna, you can do it. You know how to hide your emotions. Imagine you are back in the council chamber.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” you hear yourself say and then you clear your throat. “It is almost dawn, isn’t it?”

You can almost hear his heart beating in the silence that falls after your words. And then he takes a deep breath. “Ragna… come with me to Erebor,” he says, pressing his lips against your head.

Oh. You have not seen it coming. Does he mean…? No, of course not, you stupid, stupid Ragna! He just enjoys having you in his bed, have you forgotten about it again? The only thing that matters to him is not your sharp mind, but the thing you have between your legs! And now he is probably thinking that you will gladly obey him, like a lowly scullery maid, becoming simply yet another submissive woman in the long line of his conquests, just because his majesty wishes so! Over your dead body!

“That’s a good one!” a dry laughter escapes you as you feel a stab of pain in your chest. You hope Thorin doesn’t notice how much the sound you have just made resembles a sob. He doesn’t join your chuckles, but grunts instead.

“Does my proposal sound amusing to you?” his words rumble in his chest against your cheek. You sit up to face him, feeling the anger, the pain, the disappointment rising their ugly heads within you.

“Return with you? As what? As a lo…” great, here we go again. The L-word refuses to pass your mouth this time. “As the king's concubine?”

“Would it be that bad?” he rises on his elbows, meeting your gaze. “Come with me and stay in Erebor. You will have everything you could ever imagine, and more. New apartments in the royal wing, dresses, jewels, your own private map room if you wished so, and a table.”

“A table?” you frown.

“Yes, a table, and two comfortable armchairs by the fireplace. We will sit there in the afternoon and you will tell me how bad my ideas are and how much you dislike them... And yes, I will be the one to keep you warm in my bed at night.”

“Do you think I want this?” your frown deepens. Seriously. Is he that stupid?! It looks like you need to spell it out for him. “Do you think I would like just being just rich and doing nothing all day long while you are busy with the matters of state?” Thorin shakes his head slowly and sighs.

“For most of my life, I did not have any of these riches, but now I can use them in any way I wish. You deserve a life in luxury, Ragna...” he sits up and tries to take your hand in his, but you move away. You know very well that the moment he touches you, the moment you feel that pleasant tingling on your skin, you will agree to anything he proposes.

“What luxury would it be if I wouldn’t be able to speak with you nor anyone else for more than an hour a day or so? What about every single of my actions being closely observed and scrutinized by everyone under the mountain?! Oh, and I almost forgot about people bowing at me just because I happen to sleep in your bed! Is this what you think I want? A golden cage?!” you hear your heart pounding in your ears.

“Do not speak to me of golden cages!” he gives out a roar. “I lived in one, and I know how it feels, both inside and outside! If you come with me, you will not have to suffer any of it. I am offering you only what is best! Can you not see it?”, his stormy stare bores through you as he leans towards you, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set in anger.

“So now I am to throw my whole life away on your whim only to pleasure you every night?! And to be shunned when you are bored with me?” your hand clenches into a fist. Does he not see how much pain he has caused you already? Why is he adding more? Is he really that thick?!

“This is not…” he starts, but your fury takes over and you cut him off. You are not finished yet. “What about my career? Do you have any idea how hard I have worked to become Lord Dain’s advisor? How important my work is for me? Do you think I can abandon my responsibilities just like that?!” you throw words at him as if they were daggers. “And you have the nerve to propose it now, knowing how much depends on the upcoming treaty negotiations with Mirkwood?!”

“I do not care about Mirkwood!” he roars back at you. “It has nothing to do with you and me!”

“Well, then clearly we are of different opinions on this matter! A good negotiator thinks of everything before presenting their offer, and you clearly haven’t! Are you even speaking to the right person? Why me? You can have any other woman to warm your bed at night!”

“Ragna…” he growls your name in one long purr. “Are you truly asking me this? Have we not been enjoying ourselves?”

“This is not the point! Here, I’m respected, I’m making a difference, and in Erebor, I’d be just another bed warmer!” you spit out the last words as if they scorched your tongue. “Do not speak of yourself this way! This is not who you will be under my Mountain!” he slams his hand against the bed.

“Then who would I be? What would happen if you were to find yourself a queen? Would I be expected to keep on being your mistress, discreetly hidden away in the deepest corridors of the mountain? Serving her king whenever he feels like?” you feel the salty taste of tears on your tongue, an explosive mix of pain and rage running through your veins. A hazy image suddenly appears before your eyes, you looking at a sleeping babe in a beautiful bed as you brush one of his dark locks off his face. His eyes are closed but you somehow know that they are as blue as his father’s. “What if I were to give you a child? What life would I be expected to lead, along with your bastard son or daughter? Would we be required to live away from you, from anyone’s sight, not to offend your queen’s sensibilities? Or would we have to leave your mountain, never to return?! Do you really think I’m like one of your ladies, ready to fulfil any of your wishes, without a single thought?”

A dark silence fills the chamber for an eternity, or maybe it is just a few heartbeats. At this point, you are not sure any longer. Thorin’s bedchamber feels equally dark, as dark as the vision of your hypothetical, but quite probable future in Erebor. Luckily for you, you won’t let the stupid, arrogant dwarf in front of you destroy your life. Now he is glaring at you without a word, his own face set into a grim expression. And then he explodes.

“Stop this nonsense at once, Ragna! It won’t happen! Nothing of the things you said will happen! You are different! Do you hear me?!” Sparks of anger brighten his stormy eyes.

“How can you say that?! How do you know?! And am I truly different from other women who keep you company at night? Different how?” You demand. Did he really think you imagined him to act like a chaste and proper ruler from the ancient dwarven legends? Did he expect you to think that his nights in Erebor were filled only with peaceful sleep and thoughts about the bright future of his beloved kingdom? Seriously. Life is not a fairy tale.

The King opens his mouth, looks at his fisted hand and unclenches it slowly. Then he clears his throat and lowers his gaze along with his voice, “I sleep better when you are around.” He has to be joking. That sudden change in him baffles you. What is he up to? Is he trying to soften you up? What a cheap trick.

“Let me get this straight. The King Under the Mountain wants me to go with him to Erebor so that he has pleasant dreams?”

Thorin looks back at you, and you can notice a shadow passing over his eyes as he sighs.

“This is not what I mean, Ragna,” he says in a quiet voice.

You pause for a moment, tilting your head slightly. This… this is so unlike him. It takes you a moment, but then you understand. He is a great strategist, that is what they say about him, and this is one of his flanking maneuvers. Everything is a battle to him, even your last conversation. This is a way for him to gain an advantage over you and counterattack when you least expect it. You have to be on your guard, Ragna!

“What do you mean, then? Have you forgotten our arrangement? It was just an adventure, a treat to sweeten up the negotiations,” you retort, ignoring the stinging tears. You can’t stop them from running, you can’t swallow them any longer. Each of them burns a trail down your cheek. It hurts more than you expected it to.

“So it was all business to you? This? An additional hidden clause to this trade agreement?” he gestures at the crumpled bed sheets around you, his shoulders suddenly sagging. Now that shadow is cast over his whole face, its features set in stone. But perhaps it is just a trick of light. Because… he can’t be that sad, can he? It is not as if he was about to lose his favorite trinket. Besides, he has a whole damn treasury of them! He won’t ever notice your absence; while you… you know you will never forget him. You wipe off the tears from your cheeks. He follows your movements with his eyes, but never makes a move, looking more like a stone statue of one of his ancestors at the Main Gate of Erebor. Stern and lifeless.

“I…” for the first time in your life the words fail you. You feel his gaze burning your face. How can you tell him how you feel…? How can you find words to describe this shard wedged painfully into your heart, making you feel restless, clouding your mind, making you change into a helpless puddle of emotions every time he is around…?

“Tell me, Ragna. Let me hear it.”

But the right words don’t come. You will not give him the satisfaction of an answer so he can gain the upper hand and easily use you any way you like. The moment you tell him how you feel, you are lost. So you stare at your hands instead, trying to control their trembling.

Thorin waits for a few heartbeats and then speaks, as if to himself, “I see.”

He gets up from the bed and walks over to his desk, the light from the fireplace dancing over his muscular, well-honed body of a warrior. But you realize the time has come. From now on, the Thorin who held you close mere moments ago is out of your reach. Only Thorin II, King Under the Mountain remains. You search blindly for your clothes, your vision blurry. When you raise your gaze, he is already dressed, wearing a pair of loose trousers and a crumpled shirt that somehow makes him look even more alluring, and yet no longer yours to touch.

“You are right, Lady Ragna, this was just a negotiation.” he speaks coldly, in an official manner, and yet you notice a hint of anger ringing in his voice. Clearly, he is not as unaffected as he wants you to think.

You made him furious, and you are glad. An eye for an eye. He shouldn’t have offered you that humiliating arrangement. He shouldn’t have hurt you the way he did, but he did, and now he is paying for it.

King Thorin Oakenshield’s back is turned towards you, while his hands rummage among the papers on his desk. “I will not require you any longer. That will be all.”

Not able to utter even a word, you dress as quickly as you can, and leave his chambers, ignoring the shaking of your hands, and the heavy weight in your chest. This is for the best, isn’t it? So, what is wrong with you? Then why are you feeling the way he surely wanted you to feel? So worthless, so replaceable? As one of the many tools he would use in the forges, and then cast it aside when it is no longer needed, and then move from one anvil to another. An object. That is what he made you feel like. Once something useful, something important in a way, now an useless piece of scrap metal. You are happy he is suffering, you are happy that for once you made him feel something, something that was not pride, nor triumph. You are happy, Ragna, aren’t you? But if you are happy, then why your tears won’t stop tonight, why every breath hurts so much, why do you want to turn back? Why do you want to run into his rooms and take back every word you said? Isn’t it exactly what you have wanted in the very beginning? A profitable trade agreement and a bit of fun on the side?

* * *

This is the last time you speak with the King Under The Mountain during his visit to the Iron Hills. You don’t get any sleep in the early hours of the morning, but you arrive to the council chamber for the ceremonial signing of the treaty, making sure you look your best, wearing the most lavish gown you own (the one with the deepest cleavage, to turn away everyone’s attention from your reddened eyes). You make a point of staring at the painting of Lord Dain’s great-great-great-great grandfather while he and the king make their speeches. His majesty signs the cursed treaty, but Thorin never graces you with even the smallest of his looks, his brow constantly furrowed, his gaze as stormy as the autumn sky.

Afterwards, Lord Dain applauds you for serving the Iron Hills admirably and securing favorable treaty terms. Everyone else congratulates you for another great success. Soon after, the King of Erebor leaves back to his Mountain. You should feel triumphant, but instead you hear that little voice inside you growing louder as the distance between you grows: “Was this truly what you wanted, Ragna? Was it?”

* * *

Thorin is gone. The king left the Iron Hills a couple of hours ago. You have never gone to the Main Hall to bid him farewell as everyone else did after the treaty was signed. Instead, you have locked yourself in your rooms, trying to pretend that the world beyond your door doesn’t exist.

Thorin is not here. Sitting down on your bed, you move your hand across the mattress, as if hoping to feel the lingering heat of his body. Unfortunately, the bedsheets are unpleasantly cold under your touch.

Thorin has left. He is not coming back. Your bed is empty. Just like your heart.

You are about to get up when your fingers find something small and hard beside one of your pillows. One glance is enough to recognize it. One of Thorin’s braid beads. In your own bed. As if you weren’t trying to forget that he was here, along with his warm gaze, gentle kisses and tender caresses. You still remember the way he held you in his arms. Something aches in your chest and you need to take a deep breath to chase the tears away.

Bringing the bead to your eyes, you recognize all the details. It is made of silver, and there is a small sapphire along with the rune “T” and the symbol of the royal house of Erebor etched in it. You barely register when your hands find one of your braids and clasp the bead around it. The glistening metal complements your hair color well. You steal a glance at your reflection in the bedroom mirror. This is how you could have looked like in another life. Sighing hopelessly, you shake your head. Oh dear, Ragna, is this how bad it got you? Dreaming away about wearing Thorin’s marriage braid along with his bead? Weren’t you supposed to hate being chained to another dwarf this way, surrendering your independence, your freedom? Ah, well. Last night made clear that certain things between you were never meant to happen. Forcefully, you pull off the bead from your hair and throw it blindly on the floor, your vision blurry once more, your cheeks wet yet again. Stupid Ragna. Stupid negotiations. Stupid king.

You decide to sleep on the reclining armchair in the study that night and every night since then. Every time you look at your empty bed, your mind makes you recall how it looked when he was there, so close to you, slumbering peacefully, not a frown sharpening his features. It hurts. You have to ask one of the maids to change your bed linen. Why? Because Lady Ragna, one of Lord Dain’s chief advisors, cannot be trusted to change her own bed sheets. If you had a chance, you would press your nose against the crumpled fabric, inhaling Thorin’s lingering scent, and then shed another round of helpless tears. All because of that one evening you spent together in your chambers, kissing and embracing. Damn him.

That one evening of wallowing in self-pity and drowning your sorrows in Dorwinion wine you promised yourself turns into three days. On the fourth day, Lord Dain finds you in your office sleeping on a pile of documents. You have completely forgotten about that inspection of the forges you were supposed to attend to together with him on that day. You mumble your apologies, trying to ignore the pounding headache and a wave of nausea. He sends you home, telling you to sleep it off.

On the fifth day, you come to your office completely sober and throw yourself into work. Somehow, you manage to survive the day without thinking of Thorin more often than twice every hour. Since then, every day looks the same: work, work, more work, and staying at the office until late evening, until you are numb with tiredness. This way you fall asleep before your head hits the pillow, even though your dreams do not bring you any relief. You don’t really care about it, because at the end of the third week you manage to work out a fragile truce between your heart and your mind (hey, you’re a great negotiator, after all!). The deal is simple: you don’t think and don’t speak about Thorin, making an effort to bury all the memories of him in the deepest corners of your brain. In return, the constant dull pain in your chest is becoming more and more tolerable every day. And then that bloody letter comes and turns everything upside down.

* * *

Three weeks after Thorin Oakenshield’s visit to the Iron Hills

You are staring at a piece of thick parchment emblazoned with golden letters, the Royal Seal of the King of Erebor proudly gracing its bottom part.

Your eyes glide over all the mandatory titles and lengthy niceties only to focus on a single sentence:

It is with great honor that we invite Lady Ragna, daughter of Eldi, to the annual Durin’s Day Feast in Erebor.

The letter is signed in black ink, and you recognize the handwriting:

Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain

The parchment is shaking. No, your hand is shaking. And your heart is beating fast, too fast. Ragna, calm yourself down! It’s just a stupid letter! You take a deep breath. Then you fill your goblet with water (you can’t even look at the Dorwinion wine any longer, not since… nevermind!) and drink it in one gulp. You read the invitation again, but the blasted letters don’t want to disappear nor form another name. It is clearly addressed to “Ragna”. You.

Thorin Oakenshield, the king of all the Dwarves of Middle-Earth, the dwarf who captured your heart and then tore it apart, wants you to attend his famous Durin’s Day Feast.

Shit.

* * *

The Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

Please let me know how you liked this chapter! 🌟🌟🌟Oh, and I have a small announcement to make! 🌟🌟🌟 This fanfic grew yet again (surprise), a bit more (surprise) than I thought it would (surprise). So next week you are going to get a new surprise chapter - showing what happens with Thorin after he returns to Erebor and before he sends that letter to Ragna.

Read it? Like it? Reblog it! Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @jotink78 @anyaspidergirl-blog @tschrist1 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @xmly-xo @justfollowtheroad @kirenia15 @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl

[expederest]

This is the Tea Ceremony Sweets Set, which was available at the Pokémon Cafe when I visited Tokyo last year, and featured Pikachu, Rowlet, Hisuian Lilligant, and Matcha Cream Alcremie as little desserts.

These desserts being a matcha & yoghurt mini parfait, a caramel pudding, a sweet cheese flavoured steamed cake, and (my favourite) a scoop of chestnut ice cream. At the time, you could also get the Poltchageist Teahouse’s Omotenashi! Drink and Sweets Set, which included a matcha latte alongside the desserts, served in a Sinistcha cup, with extra matcha in a Poltchageist tea caddy, and a Pikachu cookie.

I believe the matcha latte is still on the menu, but the sweets set was only available for a limited time only.

[hideandsqueek]

Should we talk about the Scottish Play? Yours truly has been privileged enough to see both runs of the DT/CJ led production. And I wish I were able to explain how it affected me. I’ve seen lots of Shakespeare. I’ve seen David Tennant do lots of Shakespeare. But in a way that sounds like I’m exaggerating but I’m totally not? This one changed my life. It’s complicated, it’s deeply personal. It’s hard to put into words. But what a perfect, beautiful, intensely moving piece of theatre (1000% totally worth flying across the world for twice). I don’t think I CAN put it into words that would do it justice. So have pictures.

Last year the theatre was much more strict about photography during curtain call. I guiltily dared once and I have one almost usable picture that proves I was there. And okay a really crap one but I love the blurry smile and the stark blood on the stage (the Pinter run didn't have blood at the end, i missed it).

Turns out, my pictures this year aren’t much better. Even with a house and production that was totally cool with photos and videos during curtain call. But I tried. The last time I saw it (13 Dec), you can just see the bandage on DT’s wrist from his new tattoo. My favorite thing is how relieved both he and Cush look after they’re done performing. I think even these kind of not great pictures capture that.

Just... look at them.

Bonus. A wee video from the penultimate night of the run. Cheering for wee middle child for his last performance. Bless him.

I guess I’ll do a separate post of stage door photos? I have... a few. They're a little clearer than these without stage fog and Birnam Wood lighting. And long post is long.

[sunstonespark]

happy 25th birthday to my favourite show ever (ft. the anniversary of my otp meeting) and of course, to my darling gf (@ichijokaoru)!! ❤ 👍

(bonus below)

[sysig]

Some possible* Tala stickers :D (Patreon)

[arttsuka]

have you heard of pygmy marmoset? it’s a monkey

How literal are we speaking here? Because I haven't 'heard' of them but I've seen them before (I just didn't know what they were called)

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent imageys

[zoekrystall]

Don't have much energy n all for boards rn but I am since days obsessed w a cute love song so have a moodboard of one of my all-time otps since I'm 5. 🩷 💙

Listened to:

Lollipop (Yum bi dum like Bubblegum) - Chromance

Runaway - Against the Current

Some Say (nightcore) - Nea

[knifefightandchill]

okay but i need to go to daiso more often because this egg light is the best thing ever rn and there was so much more i wanted to get.

[phantomrose96]

Okay I have a story.

So my birthday is this Sunday (May 26th). My mom ordered some presents for me but one of them (an Etsy purchase) was seemingly stuck in transit and might not make it on time. I tell my mom all good, no worries. She gets in contact with the seller. After a long delay in response they get back with "Right we'll fix it!" It ships, tracking label and everything, good to go! ETA May 22nd (yesterday.)

During the work day I check the tracking and it says it's been delivered in/at mailbox! I double check with my mom "hey, is it mailbox size?" because if not, I don't want it sitting at the front door where anyone walking by could snag it.

She says "it's definitely NOT mailbox size." Okay. I text my neighbors in the building "Anyone seen a package delivered? It's a birthday gift from my mom and I wanna make sure it gets inside!" Success! Floor 2 David (not to be confused with Floor 1 David) had brought it inside. Inform my mom. All good!

I stop by home briefly around 4pm, because yesterday was hot-hot and I just installed my window A/C that morning in the living room, and according to my cat cam my stupid cat hasn't spent a single second in the climate controlled living room and is, instead, voluntarily baking herself elsewhere so I'm like "great" and hop on my bike to go home (10 minute ride) to check on her.

I get in the building door. Patches is crying from the top floor because she heard me. I maneuver my bike in the front hall. The ugliest fucking 6-foot-tall cat tree(?)/totem(?)/statue(?) I've seen in my entire life is just. Standing there.

My first thought is "What the fuck is that." My second thought is "Oh fuck that is for me." I look around at the floor in case there's perhaps anything else that might, in fact, be the gift.

No. Me and Cat Pole.

It's taller than me. I turn it around to face me and its face is painted and this is, in fact, uglier than it looked from the back.

Um.

Patches is crying. So I just haul it up to my level. MAYBE it was supposed to come with twine that I wrap around it (and hide its face from the world) for Patches to scratch. Maybe this is a prank. Maybe this is an inside joke, because when my mom moved into her current house the neighborhood gifted her some ugly-as-hell totem that apparently, by tradition, each newest-comer to the neighborhood is required to have and display in their window so maybe this is a very good riff on that.

Patches rubs against it. She's not afraid of this horrid facsimile of her kind.

Great.

Meanwhile SHE'S fine and the condo is a little toasty but totally liveable so I'm like "Good, cool, you're not baking. You're having a good time. Enjoy your new sister, I guess, I'll see you later."

I go back to work because this is a problem for later me.

After work, after my run, after whatever, I get home and it's like 8:00pm and Patches is so happy to see me and the totem pole is still just. There.

I text my friends like "so a bday gift is here from my mom and it's the Biggest Ugliest cat pole I've seen in my life. Is this a bit? Did my mom go 'that's so ugly haha! send!' Maybe she genuinely found it cute. How do I navigate this." My friend Sarah has the good advice to maybe text my mom neutrally like "Got the cat pole!" and feel the waters whether my mom is like "Isn't it ugly? 😂" or "Hope Patches likes it! 🥰"

My mom goes to bed early so I don't do any of that yet. Problem for tomorrow me.

This morning, Patches wakes me up for breakfast. I get her situated and I'm staring at the fucking Cat Pole again. I wonder if my Mom's been wondering all night what I thought of it.

I take a picture. I text her.

Okay.

I get on call with my mom. I ask for clarity that the ungodly horrid thing is NOT my birthday gift and is in fact a mix-up from the seller who sent me this instead of my actual gift. She's wheezing between words. She thinks I'm being too charitable for the amount of Absolute Fucking Ugly this is. I have to gently talk her out of using the word "monstrosity" while messaging the seller asking what the hell happened here.

I tell her I need to apologize for harming her dignity with Floor 2 David, who thinks this fucking thing is my mom's idea of a great birthday gift for her to-be-28-year-old daughter.

My heart goes out to the poor soul who did actually order this cat totem and is lacking it on this lovely day.

[humanjarvis]

caught in a lie

synopsis: when you ignore caleb’s calls, he catches you trying to run from the consequences. you make a false promise to appease his anger, not expecting your lie to unravel. but almost immediately, it does.  

tags: based loosely on caleb's "hidden waves" memory, porn with plot, manipulative!caleb x manipulative!reader, brat!reader, mean(ish) dom!caleb, caleb makes out with your cunt for an hour, reader cries, belly bulge, 3 brother mentions but they’re done ironically/out of spite, humiliation, semi-public sex (caleb makes you call and cancel plans with that friend while he fucks you), lines lifted directly from hidden waves in bold pairing: caleb x fem!reader  word count: 3.9k

a/n: love the scene this is based on bc it reminds me of my favorite book from the wattpad era in 300 BC. also this is my first time writing full-on smut and omfg i don't know how people write like 10k of it u guys are wizards. but the response to this will determine how explicitly i write going forward, no pressure

As the Skyhaven nightscape twinkles around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting something. 

You’d had a great night: Simone had invited you to a cute café, the owners had given you a free muffin, and the raging storm from this afternoon had dwindled into a drizzle. But still, a sense of foreboding loomed over you, threatening to taint the precious memories you’d made tonight.

“...And next week we can go to this new bar downtown! I heard they have the best drinks, and there’s even a puppy mascot they let walk around and play with guests. Doesn’t that sound fun?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you agree absently, Simone’s words going in one ear and out the other. “I’ll be there.”

As you walk farther down the sidewalk, the vibrant city atmosphere melts away your worries. People of all ages were out splashing in leftover puddles, trying new food stalls, and window shopping in the strip of stores that lit your path. Gradually, you give up on trying to place your unease, surrendering fully to the comfort of the cool night air.

“Hey!” you exclaim, an idea popping into your head. “Do you want to find a photobooth and take some pictures? I want something to remember tonight by.”

“Oh my gosh, absolutely,” Simone responds. “There should be one not too far from here. I went with my brother a few months back! It was really fun.”

At her words, you stop in your tracks. Her enthusiasm is no match for the dread building in your chest. 

Caleb.

Caleb who’d told you to text him when you got to the café, when you were about to leave, and when you were almost home. 

Caleb was what—or who—you were forgetting.

Slowly, you reach your hand into your purse until you feel your phone, digging it out and staring as if it were a venomous animal. Taking a deep breath, you tap the screen awake and immediately lose the air you’d just inhaled. 

7 Unread messages

4 Missed calls

3 New voicemails

Fuck.

“Uh, actually,” you start, chucking the device back into your bag, “I just realized I didn’t bring a brush! There’s no way I can take pictures without fixing my hair—it’s like a bird’s nest up there,” you ramble, giggling nervously. “Can we end the night here?”

“O…kay?” Simone says, clearly confused by the sudden shift in your mood. “Yeah, we can go back now. Your hair looks fine, though.”

Thanking the universe for giving you such an agreeable friend, you walk back to her car, the quickness of your usually unhurried steps betraying your agitation.

He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, you think. 

As the familiar outline of Simone’s car comes into view, she turns to face you. “Do you want a ride to the train station? I told my girlfriend I’d be home at 1:30—I have another hour.”

“Wait!” you cry, throwing your hands out in front of you. She looks at you as if the intensity in your voice is unnecessary. Which is true, because she’s standing a foot away. Quieter this time, you ask, “Would it be okay if I spent the night at your place? Just this once, I promise.” 

“...If you really need to,” she agrees warily. “As long as you don’t mind cat hair.”

When you reach her car, Simone gestures for you to wait as she walks around to the passenger’s side. “I just need to clean up real quick. The granola bar wrappers build up when you’re constantly called in early for emergencies.” 

But when Simone pulls on the door handle, it doesn’t open. “Weird,” she mutters, wiping raindrops onto her jeans. “I swear I unlocked it.” 

She clicks a button on her keys and tries again. Inexplicably, the door still doesn’t budge. “It’s like some force is holding it shut or something,” she says. At that, an alarm sounds in the back of your mind. But before it can reach your consciousness, she continues. “Well, I have a locksmith on speed dial anyway—I’m always losing my keys. But before I call, seriously, are you ok? The way you asked me to stay over….Is there something scary waiting for you at home? Why do you look so worried?”

"It’s probably because I’m home,” the all-too-familiar voice rings out behind you. 

In an instant, your entire body goes rigid. Your now-pounding heart screams at you to run, but you can’t obey without making a scene in front of your friend. 

Plastering a smile on your face, you turn around slowly, as if the longer you took to face him, the more likely he’d be to disappear.  

You had no such luck. Towering over you, umbrella in hand, was Caleb, his normally expressive face a wall of stone. 

Despite his obvious anger, he steps forward to shield you from the downpour and you refrain from taking a step back—against your better judgment.

“Caleb!” you remark, your voice shrill with unease. “What a surprise!”

Ignoring your greeting, Caleb turns his attention to Simone. “Skyhaven isn’t very safe tonight,” he says coolly. “You’d better get home.”

The finality in his words makes it clear: you won’t be joining her. 

“Um, sure,” Simone trails off, wary eyes searching yours. “Will you be alright?”

“...Yes, it’s okay.”

Though your words don’t seem to convince her, Caleb’s penetrating glare does. She quickly walks to the driver’s side and effortlessly pops the door open—surprise, surprise—before jumping in. Giving you one last look, your only chance at salvation drives into the night.

The ride back to Caleb’s house is silent. You scoot as close as you can to the window beside you, paying no mind to the intensifying patter of rain against the glass. All that you notice is how he grips the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

When you pull into his driveway and exit the car, he walks closely behind you, preventing any more last-minute escape attempts. His imposing presence follows you inside and all the way to his bedroom. 

When you both cross the threshold, the air thickens with tension as you stand in silence, unmoving. 

“Well, goodnight!” you call when you can’t take it anymore. But before you can take one step, Caleb swings the door shut with his Evol. Huh, you think. Doors must be his speciality tonight.

“Where do you think you could possibly be going after the night you gave me?” he asks, steely voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Listen—” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“You ordered coffee three times. Burst out into laughter I could hear from outside six times. And yet, you somehow managed to check your phone zero times.”

“If you’d just given me more time, I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Because here’s what I think would have happened: If I hadn’t picked you up, you would’ve gone to your friend’s place, right? Then, you’d message me with an apology. Oh, throw in a cute emoji as the cherry on top,” he snorts. 

“With that done, you’d put your phone away and curl up into a ball to sleep. You wouldn’t even dare to check my response. You’d wait it out and believe I wouldn’t be upset. And once I’m away on a mission or somethin’...you would sneak back into the house and pretend nothing happened. Tell me,” he challenges you. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong—not about your habits, at least. 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you snap. “I thought you said you were ‘done playing games’? You don't have to act so big brother-y all the time.”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s head rears back, his eyes going wide in incredulity before he scoffs. 

Alright, you sigh, time to turn on the waterworks. 

Taking a deep breath, you force tears into your eyes. “Caleb,” you begin, “I really didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just having so much fun. S-someone brought their puppy to the café and I got distracted.” The café hadn’t allowed pets, but you needed all the sympathy you could get. You’d have to thank Simone for telling you about that new bar later. “I won’t do it again. I won’t even go out at night anymore—promise.”

As he takes in your pitiful expression, you see Caleb’s resolve start to crack, the twitch in his right eye giving away how much he wants to console you. Maintaining your pout, you internally grin like a Cheshire cat. He could never say no to you. He could never le—

Your phone rings.

You thought you’d turned it off in the car, but your fucking phone rings. Right when you have him where you want him. 

The shrill tone sucks the air out of the room, and with it, any hope for your escape.

“Answer it. Speaker.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Visibly shaken, you fish your phone out of your bag and accept the call. “H-hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s Simone. I’m calling to check on you—that guy who took you home was kinda scary. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything. Are you okay?”

At the insinuation that he’d ever harm you, Caleb’s face turns thunderous, his jaw clenching so hard you’re afraid it’ll snap. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Thanks for worrying though, that’s really sweet,” you add, your eyes darting up and immediately back down after meeting Caleb’s glower. 

“That’s great, I really was worried,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “Well, before you hang up, are we still on for same time next week at the bar I mentio—”

You hang up as soon as she reveals your plans, throwing your phone so abruptly it bounces off the chair where your purse sits and onto the carpet. But it was too late. There was no sweet-talking the irate scowl off of Caleb’s face. You’d lied. 

Like a deer in headlights, you stand frozen and helpless as Caleb stalks toward you. 

“You almost had me,” he chuckles darkly, squishing your cheeks between one hand. “And I bet you knew it, too. Remind me to thank Simone for being such a good friend later.”

His grip tightens when you try to respond, and he pulls your face closer to his instead. “I think I’ve had enough of you talking for now. No point in hearing it if you’re just gonna lie to me again.”

With uncanny speed, he lifts you by your legs and tosses you onto the mattress. When you attempt to sit up, hoping to crawl away, he captures both of your wrists in his hand and claims your lips in a bruising kiss. 

“Don’t talk.” A kiss. “Don’t move.” Another. “Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do, and I might not chain you to this bed.” You’re so distracted by his final kiss—the exclamation point—that you barely register when he yanks your loose pants down, baring your cotton panties to him. 

When he spots the wet patch spreading through the middle, he moans, shifting to push his nose into your center. The deep inhales he takes seem to calm him down, and his voice loses some of its earlier edge when he murmurs, “Can’t believe you were keepin’ her from me tonight. Look at how much she missed me.”

He demonstrates by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your panties, tasting you as you leak harder under his tongue. The whimper you let out falls on deaf ears as you remember his command: Don’t talk. 

Licking a stripe up your clothed folds, Caleb sighs into you in contentment. “Gonna see her in a second,” he breathes. “Just can’t give her too much at once, or she’ll get greedy.” 

He’s too far gone, you think, closing your eyes in preparation of what’s to come. But nothing prepares you for the way the seemingly sedated Caleb rips your panties open at the seam, exposing your hot skin to the cool air. 

With no hesitation, he plants a long kiss onto your core, his lips smacking against the fat of your outer folds. Covering your skin with a flurry of pecks, he moans into you, his intermittent licks becoming sloppy, appreciative kisses. 

Caleb was making out with your cunt like your brain wasn't in the room, kissing it like he hadn’t seen it in years. The sensations and lewd squelches make your arousal unbearable, but when you try to grind into his mouth—to get him to do something more—he pushes your hips into the mattress. 

“Don’t interrupt us,” he mumbles, lips still latched onto your unspread cunt. Heat rushing to your cheeks, you flop your head back down, defeated as the man ignores you to have his heartfelt reunion with your core. 

An agonizing few minutes later, you feel him press a last hard kiss against your skin before finally spreading your soaked folds. “Can’t believe you ever thought you could hide from me,” he growls, eyes sparkling. “I’ll show you you can’t. Make you never want to again.”

Slowly, he licks up and down your wetness, teasing his tongue around your entrance. You try to relax during his ministrations, knowing he won’t give you what you want this early, but he catches you off guard when he buries his tongue into your weeping, sputtering hole. 

A strangled moan escapes you as he fucks you with his tongue, twisting, turning, and circling himself inside you. 

One pulse has your walls flexing with desperation, and Caleb pulls back slightly when he feels you tighten around him. “Look at that, I think she’s kissin’ me back,” he coos, a string of his saliva refusing to part from your quivering cunt. 

Spurred on by the whine you give him, he flashes you a wicked grin before diving back in, plunging his tongue in and out at a punishing pace. 

All the while, he studiously avoids where you need him most, licking and kissing everywhere but your twitching clit—neglecting it like you did him earlier in the night.

Suddenly, he lifts his head up, flashing you a quick smirk. “You know,” he starts, licking his glistening lips. “When you were givin’ me all those crocodile tears and cryin’ about puppies earlier, you never did say sorry for trying to run. How about now, hmm?” he asks, pressing a wet kiss to your center. “You sorry?”

You pant out an incoherent moan, and he nips at your clit—the first time he’s touched it all night. Ignoring your squeal, he gives you another kiss. “I don’t know what that means. Try again.” 

You go to speak again, but Caleb suddenly rubs his nose against your clit, your resulting gasp sending your back shooting off the bed. He swiftly slams you back down with his Evol, giving you another nip. “Just two words, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Two words, loud and clear. Want to know you mean it.”

You don’t know what it is—the last strands of your pride clinging on for dear life, your stupor after being toyed with for almost an hour, or pure stubbornness—but you can’t bring yourself to say it. With a whimper, you clamp your mouth shut, staring at the ceiling in rebellion. 

“Hmmm,” he hums, looking up at you briefly. Before you can even process it, Caleb covers your clit with his mouth and sucks, simultaneously groaning into you. The combined sensations set your nerves on fire, and you come in his mouth with a prolonged cry. 

“I’m sorry!” you wail, the tears in your eyes genuine this time. As Caleb laps up your release, chants of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—oh—I’m sorry,” fall through your lips, your earlier defiance reduced to blubbering submission. “Should’ve checked my phone and called you back, I’m so sorry.” 

You’ve apologized ten times over, it feels, but he won’t let up. He suckles you until it aches, and there’s nothing you can do but lie there and sob as his Evol keeps you pinned down. When he’s finally had his fill, he presses a reverent thank-you kiss to your cunt before crawling up your body, nestling in between your thighs. 

“Aw, none of that, now,” he coos, wiping under your eyes. “I forgive you, alright? I forgive you for getting distracted, baby.” Still crying, you nod frantically, leaning into his gentle touch. “But if you ever run from me again, whoever you’re with won’t like what happens when I catch you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your forehead before plunging into you. 

Though his pace is relentless, your walls draw him in, his earlier date with your cunt letting you take his thick length with ease. 

When the pressure builds and you shy away from his brutal thrusts, he turns your chin toward him, pressing an ironically chaste kiss to your mouth. “No running, remember?” 

As you hurtle toward your release, he leans close, kissing you briefly before speaking into your lips. “The next time you wanna ignore me—next time you wanna hide from me and lie to me sayin’ you’ll be good from now on—I want you to think of this, to think of me right here,” he murmurs, palming his cock through your belly. You squeal at the foreign feeling, but he only adds more force, and you think you’re about to pass out.   

“My baby,” he chides. “Loves to act out but she can’t handle the consequences.” While he speaks, he folds your left leg up, pushing it to your chest so he can penetrate you deeper.

“Please, Caleb!” you beg, the new angle making stars float across your vision. As your body rocks with the force of his strokes, you cry, “I said I was sorry!” 

“Mm, you did,” he nods, absorbing a tear on your cheek with a kiss. “But I don’t think you really are. Not yet.”

Without warning, he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach before sliding back in. Resuming his thrusts, he uses his Evol to pick your forgotten phone up off the floor. “Call her back. Speaker,” he orders. 

At first, you're flustered into hesitation, but as he holds the phone ahead of you and taps through your history to do it himself, you pull yourself together. “Wait,” you wail. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

You do it.

When Simone picks up, Caleb shows you mercy by decreasing his pace so the sound of slick skin colliding doesn’t travel through the phone. 

“Hey Y/N, what’s up? Is it about earlier? …Did something happen?” she asks in concern.

Frantically, you twist your head to look up at Caleb, not knowing what to say. 

Leisurely, he folds forward over you, his chest flush with your spine so he can whisper in your ear. Throughout his dramatics, your time to respond without raising suspicion wanes, and you grow more desperate by the second.

“Hi Simone,” Caleb finally whispers, pressing kisses to your ear in time with his languid strokes.

“H-hi Simone,” you repeat louder, a slight tremble in your voice.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for checking in. That guy, the one from earlier—he can be so mean sometimes,” Caleb murmurs, pouting his lips in ridicule. 

“I just wanted…wanted to say thanks again for checking in. The guy from earlier—hah—can be so mean sometimes,” you echo, breathless from the impact of Caleb’s hips rocking into yours.

“Can we reschedule our plans for next week? My big brother’s,” he emphasizes, mocking your earlier jab with two deep thrusts, “coming home, and he really misses me.” As he feeds you lines, the taunts in his words break through the softness of his whispers. 

As softly as you dare to, you whimper for him, hoping it’s enough for him to end his torture.

But as the phone screen goes black from inactivity, you see his smirking reflection looming over your humiliated one. The only way out is by appeasing him. 

“C-can we reschedule our plans for next week? My…my friend—” 

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Caleb lifts off of you slightly, landing a harsh smack on your ass.

“Y/N? What was that noise? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you all but moan as he bites your neck, reprimanding you further for breaking his script. 

“My friend is visiting next week, and he really misses me,” you finish, waiting with bated breath for her—and Caleb’s—reactions. 

“Oh…sure, Y/N. That’s fine with me. That’s a lot better than I was expecting, you sounded like you were in trouble for a second.” Caleb smirks against your ear. “Just let me know when you want to reschedule.”

“Sounds good,” you breathe as Caleb’s thrusts return to a faster pace. “I-I gotta go, I’ll see you later!” you rush, almost squealing as you end the call. 

For the nth time that night, you want to burst into tears. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you whine, your voice mixing with the renewed slaps of skin on skin. 

Chuckling, Caleb lifts off of you, his sudden absence from your cunt making you shudder. In an instant, he flips you over so you’re face-to-face before entering you again. 

“Technically, you just did that,” he smirks, his thrusts now lazy and sporadic. “I don’t remember pressing ‘call.’” His matter-of-fact tone is teasing, but you knew that if you hadn’t canceled on Simone, he’d have made good on his earlier threat. He always does. 

As you open your mouth to retort, Caleb’s face grows serious, and all your neurons responsible for making witty comebacks seem to atrophy at once. 

Caleb leans down, light bites on your throat punctuating his confession. “I can’t stop at wanting you not to run from me anymore. I want you to stay with me. To choose to, for as long as we live, for the next hundred years.” 

“But what if…” you trail off, but he understands what you’d been implying. 

At that, his eyes darken. Rutting into you with renewed fervor, he grasps your chin tightly, holding you captive in his gaze. “You’ll be around for however many years I’m alive and kicking,” he growls. And you believe him. 

Nerves alight, mind numb, and core throbbing from your impending climax, you nod as much as his iron grip allows you to. “I’ll stay,” you whisper, kissing his thumb near your lip. “Wanna stay—with you.” 

Letting out a strangled huff, Caleb surges forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. He bites your bottom lip as he presses down on your stomach once again, and you careen over the edge, feeling the hot spurts of his release intensify the flood inside your cunt. 

With a shuttering groan, Caleb collapses to your left, immediately closing the space between you with a hug. You stay like that for a while, your sore body curled into his arms as you face each other on the bed. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly, rubbing circles into your hip. “I know it was a bit much.”

“Forgive you,” you mumble into his chest. “Felt good.”

He chuckles, tapping your nose twice. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily. Or else I’ll want to keep testing your limits.” 

When you fall asleep in his warm embrace, Caleb looks down at you intently, trying to brand the visual into any part of his commandeered mind that’d take it. Daring to disrupt the image, he gently untangles your bodies, lifting you before laying you back down on top of him. 

At peace for the first time that night, Caleb looks out the window, smiling to himself. The rain has stopped.