#OC: Red Rapid

[mirasmirages]

Fall In Line - Seven - Mission

First Previous

Contains: Arson, superhero fight

Henry stalked toward the small office building. It was dark outside, late at night, but light shone through a few of the windows on the fourth floor. He could see someone move.

Fuck.

He didn't slow down. Couldn't. His purple boots were quiet against the pavement.

Today was his first mission, Mr. Duncan had said. Mission. First. Henry had been out destroying things before, but never in a populated area like this. They had never called it a mission. He had never been in costume.

I want you to tear that building to the ground. No further instructions. The explosives on his belt lay heavy against his hip.

Henry walked in through the front door. Unlocked. Easy.

He could just set the explosives and leave. Brad had shown him how, kind of. It had been a while. And Henry wasn't sure if the explosives he had would be enough.

The safest option was to weaken the building by hand first. Punch through a few load-bearing walls to make sure it will all collapse. But there were people in the building.

He kicked the front desk in the lobby into the wall. He couldn't stop. Tear that building to the ground. How he wanted to do it was up to him, but he couldn't stop.

He walked a round to see what he was dealing with, how he could cause the most damage. And then he saw it. Fire alarm. Perfect. He pushed through the glass, setting off the alarm, and got to work.

The walls dented easily under his hands. Some of them were thin enough for him to walk straight through, but even the strongest ones barely hurt through his reinforced gloves. It felt good to be able to punch something without holding back. To release the rage that had been building for years under the helplessness of living under his dad, and then the doctors, and then Charles Duncan's mind control. The rage that built with each ring of the fire alarm, bringing memories he had no wish to remember.

He put his fist through a wall and tore it open, and saw a group of people on their way down the stairs. Three adults and two children.

The oldest child was a girl of about eight, and the youngest was a toddler who was clinging to the man carrying him. The two other adults raised their hands when they saw him, tearing through the wall, fully outfitted as a hero. As a villain.

Henry glared at them. "Out," he barked. "Get out!"

The group kept as far away from him as possible as they made their way to the door, and then they hurried away.

Good.

It didn't take long to set the charges and get out of the building after that. Henry could hear sirens in the distance. He pushed the detonator.

The heat from the explosion covered him. He closed his eyes against the light, didn't want to see it.

Someone pushed him to the ground.

He rolled over, threw his attacker off, and found himself facing a hero dressed in red, familiar from Henry's nightmares.

"Recognize me?" the hero grinned and threw a punch.

Henry dodged easily, his training allowing him to move without thinking. The hero attacked again, and Henry moved to the side, stepped back, avoiding being hit, but slowly being pushed into a corner.

Another hero hit the ground behind the red man. Her costume was white and blue, and she wore a cape.

"We gotta get out," she told the red hero. "Now. We've got first responders."

"Well, shit," the red one said. "You messed this one up, kid."

They both turned on him before he could process what was happening.

Hands were on him, his body flooded with pain, and he was out.

[gophergal]

Heyyyy it's my tf2 fankids! Sonya Bernhard "Kid" Mikhailovich Humboldt and Apollo Cusack-Mundy

[kumkaniudaku]

At Last: Part One

Summary: Patrice returns home to celebrate a birthday and a new beginning.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: None

In a little corner of Wilmington, NC, tucked behind towering Spanish moss trees and sprawling acres of lush green grass, the Habersham family were monarchs on ancestral turf. 

Enslaved Sierra Leonean men and women had tilled this land long before Patrice was a twinkle in her mother and father’s eyes. They hoped, prayed, and danced for a future where babies far down their lineage could have a place to visit for a connection to their love and guidance beyond the physical realm. According to some, their spirits still roamed the fields once holding them captive in great triumph.

Long-held West African customs preserved and passed down over time had transformed into the uniquely rich Gullah culture that still governed the eldest generation of Habershams and their children. While much of the language patterns had been lost, Sybil Habersham-Lewis and her baby sister, Rosalyn, worked tirelessly to keep the family home tidy and traditions alive. 

They never hesitated to tell stories of how their great-grandfather rebuilt the big house with his bare hands to rid his offspring of a torrid legacy from a man he reluctantly called father. They sometimes laughed about how he, a fair-skinned man with green eyes and a mean streak, met and married a slender songstress with blue-black skin within six months of laying eyes on her. Paul and Efua produced eight children in that home. Those eight children created a line of movers and shakers that stretched far and wide. 

One of those movers and shakers stared out of the passenger side window with eyes wide as saucers and a smile that rivaled the sun, watching trees donning brown, red, and orange leaves whiz past on the way to her favorite place in the world. Patrice was itching to get out of the car and kick her shoes off to feel the soft tickle of damp Bermuda grass between her toes. She longed to see her uncle’s horses, eat fresh seafood until her stomach ached, and recap moments in her girlhood with her cousins. She couldn’t wait to kiss Nana's face 95 times for her 95th birthday. She needed to smell the blue hydrangeas in her auntie’s garden. She needed to be home.

Terry stole glances at Patrice, finding joy in her enthusiasm. She hadn’t slept a wink the night before or in the nearly two-hour ride from Fayetteville. He knew she’d tucker out eventually, but seeing her brimming with unbridled happiness made his heart swell. 

“God, I hope my auntie made okra. Oooh and crab cakes. I haven’t had any in so long!”

Terry listened to the way her accent slurred and shortened words in rapid succession with a smile. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to understand you by the end of the weekend.” 

“You’ll be lucky to keep up past tonight.” she laughed. "My granny ‘dem Geechee tuh de bone."

“Y’all make everything sound like music. I like it.” 

“If you tell Moon Pie that, she might try to take you from me.” 

“You gon’ let her?” 

“Hell nah. I’ll whoop her ass. She ain’t crazy.” 

The thought of having to put hands on her cousin behind her man made Patrice scowl while Terry let off a loud, shoulder-shaking cackle. Though she was serious as a heart attack, she laughed along with him to release the tension building in her muscles. 

Terry reached across the center console to gently rub her arm before playfully caressing her chin to pull a smile from her lips. 

“No way I’d let you fight as pretty as you are. Plus, we’re celebrating all weekend. If you aren’t smiling from tonight ‘til Sunday, I didn’t do my job.” 

Patrice’s mouth twisted into a suspicious smirk. “And what’s your job? You know, if someone were to ask for a friend.”

“Keeping you happy.” His cheeky quip made her eyes roll as she kissed her teeth. 

For over a week Terry had been tight lipped about something Patrice couldn’t put her finger on. She’d tried to catch him in a fib or make him slip up and share whatever details existed behind hushed calls and unmarked deliveries. But, Terry was notorious for keeping secrets under lock and key. Whatever he was planning would sneak up on her like a thief in the night. 

“You nervous to meet everyone?” Patrice questioned to change the subject.

“Nah, I’m good.” He cut his eyes in Patrice’s direction and smiled when he found her already eying him skeptically. “Think I’m lying?” 

“Yeah, I think you’re full of shit. Either that or you’re truly unaware of how crazy my folks are. No way you aren’t a little concerned.” 

He shrugged. “I’m not too worried. I love you, so I know I’ll love them. We’ll figure out the parts in the middle.” 

Everything Terry knew about Patrice, in his mind, was a beautiful amalgamation of those who had a hand in raising her into the woman she’d grown into. He knew her mother and how the two shared the same heart for community service. From her father, she’d inherited an uncanny ability to stop a whole room from speaking with only a raised eyebrow. Though he’d only heard stories of her grandmother, he could tell that her independent nature was a founding feature. And, if those things could make his heart turn flips with one look across a crowded room, he’d have no trouble making space for his bonus family. 

Patrice tried to formulate a counterpunch to Terry’s levelheaded assessment of the situation but had a change of heart as smooth asphalt transitioned into the familiar crunch of gravel beneath her car’s tires. 

Black iron gates adorned with an ornate H were pulled open, giving anyone casually walking by a peak into an almost mythical land. Terry’s eyes darted from place to place, lingering on the hanging moss trees lining their path, then on the children gleefully chasing each other through fallen leaves around a small white gazebo, before landing on a magnificent wrap-around porch serving as a gathering spot for elder men taking inventory of fishing equipment for an early morning trip to catch the evening’s meal. The Big House, as Patrice affectionately called it, was a modern marvel, an oasis for every hue of black man, woman, and child with Habersham blood in their veins to feel like they were somebody in an otherwise cruel world. 

“Beautiful, ain’t it? Auntie did her thing with the last renovation.” Patrice asked, beaming as she started to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“Incredible. Is this al-” 

Whatever was left of Terry’s awe-inspired sentence was swept into the wind as Patrice hopped from the passenger seat and onto the concrete driveway before the car could come to a full stop. 

Like a child finally released from the confines of their classroom onto the playground for 30 minutes of recess freedom, she hit the ground in a slight jog to greet a woman about her age skipping down the porch steps to meet her halfway. 

“Imani,” Patrice hollered, her arms already outstretched in anticipation of a hug. 

Imani called her name back with equal excitement until the two women were joined in a tight embrace. Terry watched from afar, a warm smile tugging his lips to one side as he shut off the engine and exited the vehicle. 

The two women rocked side to side until they’d had their fill of one another. Imani pulled away first to get a look at her favorite baby cousin. 

“My girlfrieeend,” she sang, imitating the theme song from the only show they watched for a full summer in their teens. “You look so good. The skin, the hair, the body! It’s all working right now.” 

“Me? Look at you! I know for a fact this caftan is from like Paris or Bali or somewhere crazy.” 

“Oh you know, just a little somethin’ custom from London. Not too much, not too much.” 

“How you stand it there with that nasty looking food is beyond me, girl.” 

Imani laughed. “That’s for them other folks. People that look like us know where to get a good meal. You oughta come see me sometime. Book a flight and let me worry about the rest.” 

“Next summer?” 

“I’ll throw it on my calendar. Bring Mister Man, too.” 

Patrice didn’t need to turn around to know that Terry had made his presence known. She could feel the warmth of his hand on her lower back as he joined her side. 

If he hadn’t known her for nearly two decades, Terry would have easily gotten Patrice and Imani confused. Both women wore glowing deep dark skin like a badge of honor, soaking up rays of sun and reflecting them in the way that only ethereal beings could. Wide noses and plump, pink and brown lips complimented impossibly high cheekbones. Beauty marks at the corners of opposite eyes might possibly be a tell-tale sign if one could fight being lulled into a trance by the sheer grace they both possessed. The only difference was Imani’s slight height advantage and low, ash blonde haircut.

“Wow,” he whispered, the words catching him by surprise. He shook his head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I just - y’all are damn near twins.” 

“Don’t I know it,” they spoke in unison. 

Patrice took over after a chuckle. “They used to call us Frick and Frack. Mostly because they couldn’t always tell who was who.”

“Which Petey over here never wanted to use to our advantage.” 

“Petey?” Terry questioned. 

“Wait, she never told you her nic-” 

“And, that’s enough,” Patrice hollered, purposely eclipsing Imani’s voice to keep her cousin from going further. “Terrence, this Imani. Imani this is Terrence, my man.” 

Terry could feel a bolt of lightning surge through his body as he reached out to shake Imani’s hand. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what Patrice might call him in a simple introduction. He’d always given her a treasure trove of titles - his lady, the love of his life, maybe his wife one day if the Lord willed it so. He’d introduced her so much that they never explored how the inverse would work. But hearing himself be proudly referred to as her’s was a shock to the system that he hadn’t prepared for but welcomed all the same. 

Imani waved his outstretched hand away and pulled him in for a hug. “Boy, we family. Come here and get this squeeze.”

Like an old friend, Imani pulled Terry into a welcoming hug. Patrice looked on with a silent thanks to God. If what she knew of her cousin still held weight, they’d be fast friends and thick as thieves by the end of the weekend. 

Pulling away, she lightly tapped his chest and looked at Patrice. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet Terry Richmond in person. You’re basically her Nelly!” she laughed, recalling Patrice’s near obsession with St. Louis and their hometown hero after Hot in Herre debuted. Patrice rolled her eyes while Terry and Imani held on to each other through loud laughter.

“Got damn, Moanie, hold ‘em hostage why don’t you! You ain’t the only person they know ‘round here.” 

“Hey, Daddy!” 

“Hey, Baby Girl!”

The perfectly timed distraction took Patrice’s attention away long enough for the newest tandem to exchange hushed conversation.

“Yeah, but I’m the best!” Imani hollered back before winking at Terry and Patrice. “Go on. I’ll have the boys get y’all’s stuff. Make sure you get to the kitchen. Think Mama’s got some pound cake cut for you.”

The mention of other family members awaiting their arrival was a quick reminder that Terry had barely scratched the surface of new faces and connections. Every direction he turned presented another opportunity to be pulled into a spirited handshake or warm hug. 

With the men in her life, he was immediately received with masculine equivalents of praise for his physical form.

“Son, you look like ya 'bout tuh buss out dat shirt 'round ya arms. Petey, you don’t have to worry ‘bout no protection, huh?” was Uncle PJ’s way of saying he was confident in Terry’s ability to keep Patrice safe. 

“You comin’ out fishin’? Country boy like you probably catch catfish with your bare hands!” 

“Where you from?”

“Where your people from?” 

“They white? How you get them green eyes?”

“You got kids? You sure?” 

“You know you got some ears on you, don’t ya!”

Patrice’s father, Leon, interjected to save Terry from an increasingly invasive dive into his personal history. “Don’t answer none of that. But I would like you to come out on the water with us. Have a beer or two so we can finish that conversation from the other week.” 

“Y’all talking about me behind my back?” 

“Hell, I do,” Junior laughed. “She aggravating, bruh. You can say it. Go ‘head.”

“You better not.” 

Patrice playfully poked a perfectly manicured finger into Terry’s chest to force his silence, earning a chaste kiss on the forehead. Junior scoffed and sipped from his half-empty bottle of water.

“T, you grown now. Your big ass don’t have to let her boss you no more.” 

“That’s my favorite part,” Terry answered, finally speaking up for himself. “She sweet when she wanna be.”

“I ain’t seen it.”

“Because I don’t like you, Junior. How many times do we have to go over this?”

Terry tried to contain his wide grin from watching the siblings bicker like old times. He’d been in the middle of many a verbal tussle between them, always stepping in as the voice of reason. He still held the role of peacemaker all these years later. 

“She loves you, man. Still keeps your room up and everything.” 

Leon shook his head at his children’s antics. “Good thing you here. I couldn’t take that shit this weekend.” He pointed at the passenger seat of his truck and the open lunch box resting in it. “So, you comin’. Got food for you if you wanna ride.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Terry started before looking toward the house at the small audience of women crowding at the kitchen window. They scattered when he caught their gaze, making him laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. “Give us a few minutes. I think there’s some people inside I gotta meet first.” 

“Good luck, man. I would say you got five minutes but we both know that ain’t happening. We’ll wait a bit.”

With one trial by fire ending, another began. In their short walk to the front porch, Patrice had given Terry opportunities to gracefully bow out of the incoming circus and take her father’s invitation as a get out of hell free card. He’d refused every effort with a kind smile and unfounded reassurance that everything would be okay. In his mind, he’d hug a few necks, kiss a few cheeks, and be out of dodge before anyone could hold him long. 

Stepping into the home’s foyer felt like being in a museum. Photos of Habersham descendants living and passed on to Glory lined the hallway as a reminder of their history on this land. Eyes that carried an array of stories looked back at him, leaving goosebumps across his arms. Especially once he landed on a young woman with a familiar half-smile encased behind an antique picture frame. 

Patrice noticed him stop short to give the photo his full attention. 

“My great-great-great grandma,” she informed, adding extra emphasis on the final ‘great’. “Efua. Nana says she was barely bigger than the kids but ran this place with an iron fist. I believe it. She look like she don’t play.” 

“She looks kinda like you and Imani.” 

Patrice tilted her head to get a better look. “Hm. I guess you’re right.”

Clamoring in the kitchen pulled them away from Efua’s watchful eye and around the corner for their grand entrance. 

Women of every age, size, and shape filled the room from wall to wall, each one participating in the cooking process. On one side, a small group of teenagers huddled to inspect bushels of greens for bugs and cut them in preparation for a proper wash. On the other, small girls shelled black-eyed peas and giggled amongst themselves over TikTok videos. But in the center of the room, where spices and fresh ingredients intermingled for an almost intoxicating aroma and conversation was the loudest, all of the cornerstones of the family gathered to share gossip and wisdom alike. 

Terry’s appearance, tall and muscled with a winning smile to match, sent a hush over even the loudest woman present. 

“Oh God,” Patrice mumbled to herself, preemptively embarrassed by the storm she knew was sure to follow. 

Someone whistled. Then came a low “mm-mm-mm” from an auntie fighting hard to contain herself. Terry let every sound and look fuel his ego for just a few seconds before speaking. 

“Hey, ladies.” 

“Hey, Terry.” 

Every voice greeted him in unison like the Angels speaking to Charlie over that old speakerphone. Patrice screwed her face and pinched his shoulder. He’d been given strict instructions the night before, but being in the moment called for an audible that immediately made him a shiny new toy to be paraded.

Before he could have any say so, Patrice’s mother was ushering him around for every aunt and cousin to say a personal hello. He charmed each woman who met his acquaintance like a seasoned politician. If nothing else, they could all hang on to the memory of meeting the long-fabled Terrence Richmond. 

But, for all the pomp and circumstance, every breath hitched once Rosalyn led Terry to matriarch. 

She wore 95 years on Earth well. Chestnut skin covered in beauty marks crinkled around her eyes as she smiled back at him. Even as she sat in her wheelchair more slight and fragile than Patrice remembered, Terry could see her inner strength shining through.

Patrice watched her mother lean down and speak something into her grandmother’s ear before directing Terry to crouch down to eye level. He did as he was told, gingerly capturing her much smaller hands in his. 

“Hi, Ms. Ida. I’m so happy to finally meet you. My name is Terrence.” 

The softness in his voice ignited a chorus of heartwarming sentiments from every corner. Patrice had become so enraptured in the meeting she never thought would happen that she nearly missed her mother directing her to join Terry’s side. 

Ida didn’t say much back to him. Instead, she slid her hand from his grasp and traced her fingertips along the perimeter of his face. She examined him from all angles with a nostalgic look in her gaze. Terry tried not to let confusion come through in his expression, but Rosalyn caught the sliver of uncertainty. 

“You remind her of somebody close, that’s all. Same eyes.” 

He’d inadvertently sent her back to her childhood, bringing back memories so deep in her mind she thought she might never get them back. Even with slightly darker skin and broader features than Paul could boast back then, Ida still saw him clear as day. And that, all those years later, made her feel more alive than ever on her 95th birthday.

Ida tapped his jaw lightly and laughed. “Mhm. Petey, this him?” 

Finally joining Terry’s side, Patrice mimicked him and knelt by her grandmother’s feet. 

“Yes ma’am. He wanted to be here for your birthday.” 

“Nice looking boy, ain’t he?” 

Patrice giggled. “He cute, I guess. I heard he got you a gift for tonight, but he won’t tell me what it is. Can you believe it?”

“Well, hell, this all the gift I need. Give me anything else and I might not make it to 96!” 

“Mama!” 

Sybil hated when her mother made jokes about death, but Terry couldn’t help but laugh. He wanted to joke with her, see what else she might say knowing that no one in the house could tell her what to do, but the loud blast of a car horn in the front yard reminded him that he’d made a prior commitment. 

Gently, he squeezed her knee and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “Now, I go gotta go catch you somethin’ for tonight. You gon’ be here when I’m back?” 

“Oh yeah,” she answered, reinvigorated and saucy like her younger self. “I’ll be dressed up real nice too. Might leave here with two gals on your arm.” 

“You know I never been the sharing type, Nana.” 

Ida smiled at Patrice, nodding in approval. “That’s my girl. Keep that up.”

A second and longer beep let Terry know that time was running out. He quickly bid the group farewell, ending on Patrice with a simple kiss on the cheek and a promise to be back soon. 

While she became swept up in a whirlwind of who, what, when, and where, Rosalyn and Sybil slipped away to speak with Terry on his way out of the door. He’d become the center of attention, even long after his scent had faded. 

“Is he the one from high school?” 

“What’s he like?” 

“Is he always this nice?” 

“Y’all shackin’ up?” 

“When y’all getting married? What about kids?”

More questions, more prying, more assumptions than she could handle. Short, vague answers weren’t enough for them. They wanted the full scoop from the young lady they once knew as a shy girl who only focused on her studies. 

Patrice answered every question with enough detail to satiate their curiosity and maintain some level of privacy in her relationship. For a moment, that was enough. They’d unveiled the mystery of Petey’s other life and could move on to more pressing matters.

They quickly shifted to discussions of other people’s business. Who’d had a baby? Who was divorcing? Who’s kids were raising hell in the community? They took a winding road filled with chats about celebrity news and politics, nonsense about music, and, Patrice’s personal favorite, the old days. 

Those chats, full of lore and laughter, always took place in Nana’s parlor. A room covered in powder pink wallpaper and situated in the corner of the home where natural sunlight welcomed any guests that had the privilege of visiting. 

The older women sat side by side, crammed on expensive armchairs and soft couches, to convene at their leisure. Patrice stood by her favorite spot beside the window with Imani sitting on her right and her grandmother positioned in front of her. On her left stood a small table holding hair grease, a fine-toothed comb, and duck bill clips to help her pincurl Ida’s shoulder length silver hair. Her favorite pastime. 

“Everyone of y’all was bad,” Sybil laughed, referring to the crop of children that came up with Patrice. “Y’all came here every summer acting a damn fool.” 

“Not me and Petey!”

“Especially you and Petey. The worst of the bunch. Just sneaky and sassy!” 

“I don’t know what you talkin’ about. All I did was read and sit up under Nana.” 

Patrice’s highly inaccurate recollection of her time in the country every year made Ida laugh in her wheelchair. “Don’t let ‘em lie on you. I never saw my baby gettin’ in no trouble.” 

“Oh yeah right!” Sybil exclaimed. “Ros, wasn’t you there when these two let all the chickens out and had us chasin’ them ‘round out back.” 

“Sure was. They had all the grown folk out there huffin’, puffin’, and ‘bout to blow the house down!” 

The room fell into laughter watching Sybil imitate the group of adults fighting to capture livestock. Patrice remembered that afternoon and tried to defend their actions. 

“Okay, that is true, but I remember that being your daughter’s idea. I was only helping my sis.” 

Imani shrugged and sat back in her seat. “You raised an activist. Those animals were in captivity.” 

“Moanie, you eat meat,” Moon Pie commented. 

“I never said they didn’t taste good. I said we were holding them captive. The circle of life is different. Now let’s talk about how Moon had us sittin’ at the eating table all night because she wouldn’t finish her Frogmore stew thinkin’ there were real frogs in it.”

“Heaven forbid a girl need proof!” 

More laughter. The kind of laughter that healed deep emotional wounds. The kind that seeped into the walls, keeping the home full of love and light. The kind that made Patrice happy to not only be home but to share a piece of her heart with the man she loved. 

While she wished he could hear the silly stories and witness the exaggerated retellings, Terry was fidgeting with his fingers as he waited for Patrice’s father to meet him at the back of his truck. 

Across the way, the other men sat in small clusters, chatting their way through a midafternoon lunch break. As much as he wanted to talk shop with them about the fate of the Carolina Panthers, there was a more meaningful matter on the table. 

Leon grunted as he closed the driver’s side door and rounded the truck’s cab. “Let that down, will you?”

Terry sprung into action quicker than he meant to, nervousness making him move at hyperspeed. Leon laughed and lifted himself onto the truck bed before handing over a small cooler. 

“Grab whatever you like. We got plenty.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Just Leon. Kinda weird to call your father-in-law sir, ain’t it? Plus that’s that fool’s name over there and he ain’t worth a damn. Lazy sumbitch.” 

“I got you. Won’t happen again,” Terry chuckled as he pulled a piece off of his turkey sandwich and popped it into his mouth. They sat in silence for a few moments to enjoy the sound of nature around them until he reignited the conversation. “I appreciate y’all agreeing to all this. Especially so quickly. I hope things don’t feel rushed.”

“You ain’t doin’ nothin’ I wouldn’t want for my girl. She need somebody willing to go above and beyond for her. I know you always have and I don’t see you slowin’ down no time soon.” 

Terry nodded, smiling. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

“I know. Moanie got the ring, right?” 

“Yeah. We worked it all out a couple weeks ago. She’s hiding it for me and keeping Treece distracted. You know she’s nosey.”

“Her mama said to call it inquisitive.” 

“Hm. Inquisitive, huh?”

They looked at each other and spoke at the same time. “Nosey.”

“That’s her,” Leon remarked. “Time’s flyin’, ain’t it? I remember when it looked like you was drowning in your clothes. Now look at you. Big as a damn tank. What they feed y’all in the Corps?” 

“Shit, nothing but slop and a hard time seasoned with a dash of casual racism from some crazy white boy outta one of the Dakotas every once in a while.”

Their shared laughter disturbed a cluster of nearby birds, making the rest of the men look in their direction. Sir threw his hands up in the air. 

“Well, damn, Leon. Gone ‘head and fuck up the catch!” 

“Or I can fuck you up instead.” He looked over at Terry struggling to keep his face neutral and shook his head. “I can’t stand his ass. Or his daughter. Or his wife. All of ‘em get on my nerves. C’mon, so we can finish up.”

As high noon gave way to early evening and the sleepiness of fall pushed the sun into the west earlier than usual, Imani and Patrice sat alone in one of the guest rooms engrossed in conversation. 

Imani was the only sister Patrice had ever known. It didn’t matter what portion of the world they occupied or how long it’d been since they last talked, they always picked up right where they left off when they were reunited. 

Patrice focused on the vanity mirror to examine Imani’s careful twists and twirls to place her thick natural hair into bantu knots.

“You think I can grow my hair out like this by January? I’m going to Ghana and I wanna switch it up a little bit.” 

“Of course. Manifest it, my sister!” 

Imani laughed as she parted out another section. “If I ever need somebody to follow up my foolishness, I know I can count on you.” 

“What Whitney said on the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack?” 

Together, they broke into song, harmonizing to breathe life into the final track from one of their favorite movie soundtracks. Imani hugged her cousin from behind and kissed her cheek. 

“I love you, girl. I miss you so much. It gets so lonely being away from home all the time.” 

“I love you, too. Life be life-ing, don’t it?” 

“All the time. I gotta make my way out to Fayetteville and spend more time with y’all. Maybe learn some more about Mister Man.” Patrice tried to hide her bashful smile, making Imani squeal behind her. “So…tell me about Terry. I know you said something downstairs but I wanna know the real scoop.” 

Patrice sighed at the mere thought of their romance. “The way I love that man, girl, I can’t even explain it. I feel like I’m going crazy.” 

“Oooooh! Swept you clean off your feet, huh?” 

“Threw me over his shoulder and hasn’t put me down since. Never in a million years did I expect to end up here with him. I mean I hoped for it, but to be here is mind-blowing. He’s so sweet, Moanie. So, gentle. Kind. More affectionate than I think I was ready for. I don’t know. I’m just in love. I’m happy.” 

“It’s all over you. I see the glow.” 

“Well, that’s from other things,” she added, a cheeky grin spreading across her face.

“Not the choir boy!” 

“Please, don’t let him fool you. Can’t keep him off me or keep his mouth closed when he gets to talking.”

Their shared laughter spilling out into the hallway became a beacon of their location for Terry as he dragged his tired legs up the stairs in search of Patrice.

His knuckles rapping against the closed bedroom door halted the private conversation until they gave him permission to enter. He slowly pushed the door open before poking his head into the room. 

“Everybody decent?” 

“Mhmm. Come on in.” Imani invited over her shoulder. She looked back at Patrice through the mirror as her cousin adjusted her clothing and sat up a little straighter in anticipation of Terry’s avalanche of affection. 

His eyes seemed to close beyond seeing clearly from the sheer force of his smile. 

“Hey, pretty.” 

“Hey, love. You have fun?” 

Terry released a dry chuckle. “Yeah. A real hoot.” 

Imani watched the young couple flirt back and forth, her hand outstretched to pass a small black velvet box from a drawer in her vanity to Terry while he kept Patrice occupied with short kisses. He secured it in one of his cargo pockets before pulling away. 

“You stink,” Patriced joked, half lying.

“I know. I still have some set-up work to do, so I’ll bring your stuff. Don’t want you to get behind on account of me.” 

“Thank you, baby. You’re so sweet.” 

Patrice captured his chin with her fingers and pulled him closer for another kiss. 

Terry lifted an eyebrow in concern. “You sick?” 

“No. I just love you.”

“I love you, too.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The way she softened her gaze to scan his face. The way the gloss on her lips caught the sun. The way every one of her perfect features was on display with her hair pulled up and away from her face. He’d never been more confident in a decision in his life and, if not for the promise he’d made to half of her immediate family, he would’ve done what he drove all the way out to Wilmington for right then and there.

Knowing time was of the essence, Imani cleared her throat and gave Terry a look to urge him along behind Patrice’s back. 

“Well, Terry, think you oughta get down there and set up a table or something, right!”

Snapping out of his trance, Terry stood to his full height to look down at Patrice. “Yeah, you're right. See you a little later?” 

“It’s a date.”

He wanted to give her one more kiss to take with him, but a final reminder for him to scram was the catalyst to push Terry out of the room and leave the ladies to readying for the evening. 

She was all he could think about as he toiled away setting up tents and placing tables exactly how Rosalyn wanted them, sometimes several times over. Even as he casually sipped strong moonshine with Junior and the younger men under lantern light, all dressed in his most pristine white to fit strict instructions, he thought about Patrice and what might look like in the dress she’d chosen. He needed to see her.

His hands were sweating inside of his pockets. He casually caressed the velvet of that small black box, occasionally flipping it open to touch the cold metal inside. Time moved painfully slow. Hunger gnawed at his empty stomach. His mother’s constant phone calls for updates and reassurance didn’t help. Nervousness made his chest hot with anxiety. 

“You gon’ be alright,” Rosalyn assured while adjusting his collar on one of her many trips around the backyard to adjust the tablescape. “Breathe. Won’t be too much longer.”

He thanked her for her kindness and prayed she was right. Or he prayed for the dream he’d written down on a random Tuesday in his creative writing journal to come true. He wasn’t sure anymore. But, when he opened his eyes and lifted his head to check that sliding glass door for the umpteenth time, there she stood amongst the Habersham women as they escorted the guest of honor arm in arm. 

Angelic was the only way he could describe her. Cosmically beautifully and capable of bringing the strongest man to his knees just by batting those long lashes. A toothy grin helped him bare each one of his teeth as he watched her saunter down the decorated pathway to the event tent with Imani in tow. 

“Happy Birthday to you,” the group sang once Ida and all her ladies had made it to the long communal table packed to the brim with food and decorations. 

They serenaded the woman responsible for much of their existence until their faces ached from the singing. She bobbed her head along to the song with a smile on her face then quieted their loud applause with a simple wave of her hand. 

“Ninety-five of those and you’d think I’d be used to it by now,” she laughed. “Thank you. Each of y’all are beautiful. Young and strong. Blood of my blood and I’m glad to have you here with me. Even the ones who just came along to spend some time with an old lady. I love you. Eat, drink, and dance ‘til you bust out your clothes. That’s alright with me! We got a lot to celebrate.”

Teary-eyed and full of gratitude, Patrice reunited with Terry at the dinner table as soon as she ensured her grandmother was comfortable. He worldlessly dabbed at her waterline with his thumb and kissed the top of her head. 

“You okay? Need to step inside for a second?” 

“No,” she answered, laughing at herself for her dramatics. “I’m just really happy. C’mon. Let’s eat.”

Eat, drink, and be merry had a whole new meaning under the soft, warm light wrapping variations of black skin in its embrace. Loud pockets of conversation and laughter made for a melodious cacophony of sounds while music played in the background. 

Patrice clung to Terry the entire time, always staying connected by a hand on his thigh or their fingers laced together beneath the table. Every once in a while, they’d break from separate conversations and catch each other’s eye and smile like schoolyard crushes sitting at the lunch table together. 

The romance in the air between them was palpable enough for Imani to pull out her phone and covertly shoot Terry a quick text. 

Dessert’s out. Do it now or they’re gonna start dancing. 

Now?

NOW!

Terry eyed Imani across the table. She urged him to do something with a sideways nod. He chewed his lip and fiddled with the box in his pocket. The music was starting to pick up as a few small children hit the dancefloor. Imani gave Rosalyn the signal to make a video call.

Now or never. 

He nervously clinked his knife against his wineglass and cleared his throat. 

“Nigga, you gone break it! That’s Big Mama good crystal.”

“Shut the hell up, Sir! You ain’t pay for none of this.” Rosalyn’s reprimand came with visual daggers sent to her baby brother at the far end of the table that only softened when she looked back at Terry. “Go ahead, sweetheart.” 

Terry stood to look at every confused face in the vicinity while he waited for one of the teenagers to turn the music down. 

“Sorry, y’all. I just had a few words to say. I won’t be before you long. In the real way, not the pastor way.” His attempt at a joke fell flat. Patrice tried to keep him motivated with a smile, but her eyes begged him for answers that he couldn’t provide. “Um, I know I’m the odd man out around here. Y’all have been incredibly kind and welcoming. I really appreciate it because you didn’t have to. Especially you, Ms. Ida. Happy Birthday, again. You look beautiful.” 

“Thank you, baby.” 

He nodded his appreciation and continued. “I also wanna thank Ms. Ida and everybody else who gave me permission to ask a question of somebody really important to me. Because I know being here with all of y’all is really important to her. Can you stand up for me, Treece?”

Patrice allowed Terry to help her to her feet before whispering through her teeth. “What are you doing?” 

“Something I’ve been wanting to do since I met you.” 

There wasn’t time for Patrice to process his statement. Terry slowly dropped to one knee, not caring about the dust below him. He kept his focus on her the entire time, even as quiet whispers turned into fervent murmurs. 

“When we were kids you told tell me that, if you ever got proposed to, you didn’t want a big speech or any of the stuff they did in movies. So, I promise not to do that. What I will do is tell you how much I love you. And I’ll do that today, tomorrow, and every day after that if you allow me the privilege of being your husband.” 

“Terrence,” Patrice huffed out as she tried to contain her mess of emotions. He reached up to grip her hand. "Don't make me cry in front of my people."

“Too late. Patrice, I’m askin’ you scared as hell in front of all these people, will you marry me?”

Everyone watched as Terry presented Patrice with an open ring box and a sparkling diamond illuminated by the small light tucked into the inside.

“I knew it,” Patrice whispered, losing the battle against the happy tears pouring from her waterline. 

“No, you didn’t, girl! We got you. Answer that man,” Imani hollered.

Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears. The cheering from her family began to muffle. Her body temperature skyrocketed. She felt faint. The people were waiting. What would she say? 

Just as reality began to slip away, Terry’s eyes looking back at her quieted the external and internal noise. 

Driven by pure love, Patrice met Terry in a squat and grabbed his face with both of her hands. 

“What you doing tomorrow?” 

“Hopefully saying a couple vows to this pretty girl I know from way back. I brought a tux with me just in case she wasn’t too busy.” 

“From way back, huh? I think I talked to her and she has a little time on her books.” She took another look at the ring before plucking it from its box and placing it on her left ring finger. She examined it for a bit then leaned forward to kiss her betrothed with enough passion to send the crowd into a frenzy. Pulling away, she smiled and wiped gloss from Terry’s lips. 

“Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

----

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl

[joequiinn]

As We Combust | Emperor Geta x Priestess!reader

Summary | The Priestess is the only one who can ever tell Geta what to do...

Warnings & Notes | SMUT, fem reader, both praise AND degradation kink, fingering, oral (fem receiving), sub!Geta, dom!reader, 3rd person pov, historically inaccurate rep of Roman priestesses

Author's Note | idk I frantically wrote this in an hour like I was possessed. The Priestess is a character I've been working on since the trailer dropped - she's meant to be a reader, though in this instance the 3rd person pov sorta suggests she's an oc maybe she'll become that idk. Something about awful, cruel Geta becoming a pathetic sub for a woman speaks to my soul, so we'll be seeing more of these two in the future~~

WC | 1.1k

!!! MINORS DNI !!!

A blaze so high it lights the night / Long fingernails dug in my skin

Yourself so wet invites me in / Our lust increased feeds desire

As we combust, yeah we on fire / I feel you shake so deep inside

Oh scream my name and squeeze me tight / I'll do anything to make you come

“Look at you, being so good for me.” The Priestess praised in a husky tone, rolling her hips in time with the feverish lapping of Geta’s tongue. She watched through hooded eyes, lips parted with heavy breath, while beneath her the Emperor sat atop his knees, mouth ravenous as he licked at her core. The rumble of his moan vibrated against her sensitive nerves, causing her toes to curl as she threw her head back, “Gods, just like that…”

Her fingers pulled roughly at his hair, nails scratching fiercly against his scalp. Another elicit groan sounded from the Emperor, his own pleasure rapidly mounting as the leg hiked over his shoulder began to quiver. As one hand squeezed the soft flesh of the Priestess’s thigh, his other bounced up and down his cock in jerky, aching motions. He was so close now, the beads of precum wetting his fingers each time he squeezed the bright red head of his cock.

But the Priestess wasn’t there yet, and he knew she’d be displeased should his climax arrive before hers.

Practically whining as he extracted his hand from his pulsing cock, Geta brought that same hand to her slick lips, teasing them momentarily, only to have his hair yanked in disapproval - the Priestess wasn’t one to play nice when teased.

“Behave.” She gasped out, rutting her hips with a stutter against his open, drooling mouth. The command drew more desperate sounds from the pathetic Emperor, who promptly did as he was told and inserted two fingers between her folds, curving them once he was knuckles deep. The sound of intense pleasure that escaped the Priestess was a beckoning siren’s song to his ears, a wanton encouragement to bring her to the cliff’s edge. He dexterously sucked her clit while slowly dragging his fingers in and out, in and out, relishing in the sweet taste and quaking thighs of the Priestess now at his mercy.

“Yes, yes--!” Her pitch increased as she gripped his shoulders, nails so sharp that they broke skin. Her hips rolled with more and more fervor, her chest rising and falling in rapid shudders as Geta’s greedy mouth sucked and licked and nipped at her clit. His fingers slid faster and rougher, practically drenched in the Priestess’s desire as his knuckles slapped against her skin again and again and again. His cock was throbbing, desperate for relief, but he knew better - he knew that the Priestess must come first.

His jaw nearly hurt as he kept lapping her up, but the Emperor dared not disrupt his pace - she was so close, and he needed to watch her come. The Priestess’s leg tightened on his shoulder, her pussy clenching around his fingers, and in his need to make her come absolutely undone, Geta slid one more finger between her drenched folds, causing her toes to curl in eager surprise.

“Fuck--!” Her hands roughly grabbed at his hair, tugging as if her life depended on it. Her voice was a sultry, low moan as she instructed, “Look at me.”

A sound of desperation escaped Geta upon hearing her command; he opened his deep brown eyes and tilted his head back just enough to meet the dangerous, lustful gaze of the Priestess. His tongue swirled her clit, watching hungrily as her lower lip quivered, practically drooling on herself as she rolled her hips against his mouth. Sweat glistened down her neck and chest, highlighting the dip of her collarbone, the curve of her breasts - just the sight of the Priestess alone was nearly enough to ruin him, nearly enough for Geta to spill all over his quaking thighs.

The hooking of his fingers at just the right angle finally sent the Priestess over the edge, her pussy clenching selfishly around him, her eyelids fluttering shut as her head shot back; sounds of utter ecstasy leapt from her dangerous, sultry lips, the seductive call daring to beckon the attention of the entire palace.

Geta’s other hand held tightly to her quivering thigh, realizing with a gasp that he was too close, his coil unwinding to the sound of the Priestess’s gasps. His jaw quaked against her center as he withdrew his soaking fingers, roughly clenching his cock in his hand as if he could somehow control himself. But it was too late for the Emperor, the pressure of his squeezing hand sending him to the brink.

As his warm seed spilled out and drenched his already soaking hand, he withdrew his mouth from the Priestess, a near flustered look in his eyes as he watched the cum drip from his fingers and onto the floor, his moans loud and uneven as his chest heaved deeply.

Still riding out her orgasm, the Priestess clung to Geta for balance, her body shaking and shuddering as she saw stars behind her eyes while coming back down to earth. She finally met the Emperor’s gaze, taking a moment to drink in his dark eyes, his full lips, his flushed face; she realized, then, that he was staring back at her in guilty desire.

The Priestess’s eyes slowly crawled from his face to his leaking cock, staring with both satisfaction and disapproval as she eyed the puddle of cum between his legs. As her tongue traced slowly along her lower lip, her sultry gaze returned to Geta’s face, causing him to practically shiver in anticipation, a breathless gasp leaving his mouth.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” The Priestess scolded as she caught her breath, lowering her leg from where it had been resting atop his shoulder, “You know better.”

He nodded quickly, his hair sticky with sweat as he watched the Priestess as if hypnotized. She smiled wickedly, relishing in just how pathetic Geta was for her, and her alone. She delicately but firmly pressed two fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head back as she leaned down, the two of them almost nose-to-nose as she assessed him with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Her teeth were like fangs as she grinned largely and cruelly, looking between his face, his cock, and his mess.

“Clean it up.” Her words were but a hot whisper across his lips, causing the Emperor to shudder as she shoved his face back. She turned to walk from him, her strut slow and sultry as Geta stared at the shiny peach of her ass. She lowered herself into a chair, her stare commanding as ever as she raised a cruel brow, once more looking between him and the puddle of cum he let spill on the floor. She clicked her tongue in reprimand, “Oh, don’t start behaving poorly now. Do as you’re told.”

With a gulp, Geta slowly lowered to the floor, tongue hanging hungrily from between his lips as he dared not break eye contact with the Priestess. Her mouth gaped in intense desire, her eyes a dangerous pair of daggers piercing into his own, “See, you're so, so good for me…”

[writingjourney]

girasoli // secondo x f!oc

some manondo fluff in these trying times <3 ➽ 1.3k words

They leave Parma behind and head into a bright sunrise, open-top, the car thrumming over the empty road. As usual Secondo is hiding behind his sunglasses, casually-unbuttoned shirt and black slacks included. The old radio is blasting his Iron Maiden cassette, The Number of the Beast, and he taps along on the steering wheel, a heavy ring around his finger. The eponymous song fades out and his hand moves to her thigh instead, squeezing almost absent-mindedly as he directs them towards a small town just outside of Reggio Emilia.

Manon thinks he must be tired after she found him awake late last night, staring at the ceiling for Satan knows how long, only relaxing when she gently turned his head and kissed him back to sleep. But he seems to be in a decent mood, smiles when she fiddles with his fingers, toys with the ring.

It is still early when they park the car but they find a café that is just opening up, a kind young waiter serving them two much needed cappuccini and a small breakfast on a quaint little terrace. Manon is nibbling a chocolate-filled cornetto, watching some birds as they pick at the cracks between stone tiles, skittering, glancing around in rapid staccato movements.

“You are quiet,” Secondo observes and when she looks at him he’s taking off his sunglasses, revealing his two-coloured eyes with notable dark circles underneath.

“You’re not very talkative either,” she says, reaching out to run her knuckles over his cheek.

“Am I ever?”

“Sometimes.”

He smiles, gently takes her hand and presses a lingering kiss to her palm. “You are tired?”

“Mhm. I think so are you. You were up pretty late.”

“I could not sleep.”

“What kept you up?”

Secondo places her hand back on his cheek, palm against the freshly shaved skin. He looks at her for a moment, then shakes his head in a sort of half-shrug. “You, always.”

She smiles, her thumb stroking over the soft skin underneath his eye. “Did I snore?”

He huffs a laugh. “No.”

Manon pulls her hand away when he doesn’t elaborate, though he catches it and lets their joined hands rest in his lap. She wants to ask, at least get a vague sense if it is a good or a bad thing, but he is once again not very forthcoming with his feelings. He is empathetic enough to sense her withdrawing, though, leans in to kiss her, coffee breath and the taste of pastry on his tongue.

The waiter hides a grin when he brings them the bill and two more coffees to go. They walk through slowly rousing alleyways, hand in hand, on his doing, immediately fiddling for her whenever they somehow slip apart. He’s surprisingly sentimental like this, Manon finds. Whenever he can’t quite voice his thoughts he’ll make up for it in gestures, almost as if to make amends. Or perhaps it is wishful thinking on her part, that any of this means more than he lets on.

They’re not really aiming for anything but when they reach the town square they stumble upon a couple of vendors that set up for the day’s market. They’ll be accommodated at their next stop in Modena but Manon can’t help eyeing the bright red strawberries, fat and sun-soaked.

“Do you want to look around?” Secondo asks.

“If we’re not in a hurry.”

He presses a kiss to her hair and leaves her at the stall. Before she can ask where he’s going the vendor, an elderly man with a bushy grey moustache, strikes up a conversation in rapid Italian and she does her best to keep up when he tells her about his orchard just outside of town. When he notices her accent he slows down, kindly asking about her and what brings her to Italy. By the end, after reassuring her that her Italian is perfectly understandable, he offers a large basket of strawberries for half the price. She moves to retrieve her wallet but in that moment Secondo is back by her side, two large sunflowers under his arm, and quickly hands over a banknote.

“Ah, signore, il suo amore é una bellissima signorina,” the man says as he pockets the money. “Ancora più dei girasoli.”

“Non posso contestarlo,” Secondo says with a polite smile. “Grazie, signore.”

Manon takes the flimsy basket, filled to the brim with vivid red strawberries, and Secondo reaches for her hand again, not so subtly dragging her off.

“I didn’t know you like sunflowers,” she remarks.

“They are for you.” He glances at her, stopping in the shade of a building. “No more bleak guest rooms, hm?”

“They are lovely,” she says, not bringing up the subject of money again. He enjoys buying her things, she struggles to accept gifts, but when she looks at him, the sunflowers as big as his head, she feels quite unburdened by it. “Thank you, Secondo.”

He lifts her hand, places it flat on his chest. “No arguing today?”

“No.”

Manon smiles, uses the chance to push his sunglasses up his forehead. His sensitive white eye blinks before it adjusts but by then she’s already tiptoed up to kiss him. His free arm snakes around her, pulling her as close as possible with the strawberry basket between them.

“What is a flower compared to this smile,” he whispers, kissing her again, a little deeper than is appropriate in public. The glasses sit crooked on his head when Manon pulls away and she adjusts them back over his eyes, letting their hands join and dangle between their bodies once again.

They have no more than forty minutes left until they reach the abbey outside of Modena but Secondo takes his time, going slower than usual, and the landscape around them is worth the delay. Summer is still in full swing and they pass vineyards, orchards and open fields. Modena appears on the horizon but they’re not heading straight into the city, instead leaving the road to continue on a gravelly path that leads through the abbey’s own beautiful vine-covered hills.

The building is an old converted cloister, built in the typical medieval styles of the Emilia-Romagna region that Manon has already seen, red-tiled roofs and light stone walls, only this specific complex must have been modernised not too long ago. Once they have escaped the welcome committee of Siblings that immediately start fawning over the former Papa they are ushered into a fairly modern building that seems to house a handful of offices. Through another hallway they are entering a residential area and then the Sister leading them shows them into their room.

“His Dark Excellency said that you requested to share a room during your residency,” she says, almost as if she’s expecting him to contradict. “Is that… correct?”

“Yes, as long as we have a proper workstation in your library or a separate office,” Manon says. “Papa prefers simple accommodations. By the way, do you happen to have a vase?”

Secondo merely scowls and enters, ignoring the exchange. The Sister looks doubtful, likely not convinced of his humility considering his whole get-up and the designer bags he’s carrying. The room is once again a rather small twin bedroom, bleak as expected, but it offers a lovely view over the rolling hills beyond the cloister.

They unpack some of their belongings but then the Sister is already back with two rapid knocks, handing over a water-filled vase before she carries Secondo off to meet the Bishop in residency. Without him, the room feels foreign. Manon busies herself by cutting the flower stems and placing the vase on her nightstand, two bright yellow specks in the midst of a clinically white room.

Secondo was right – it is less bleak, the sight only sweetened by the fact that it was his idea. Manon sits down on the bed she claimed, the bed he will join in her in tonight, complaining about its size, and though sunflowers aren’t particularly fragrant she inhales them deeply. Perhaps tonight he can stare at the flowers, she thinks with a smile and grabs one of the strawberries from her basket. Or perhaps she’ll have to wear him out, for once.

[beckyninja]

The Assault

Pairing: Salamander oc x FemReader

Warnings: It's Nurgle. Things get... icky.

Description: Nev'ran fights to save his Diamond, while she struggles to maintain her sanity.

The rescue mission is ON, people! But will it succeed? (Check out the previous chapters of this story on my Masterlist.)

Lili raced through the warren of stone tunnels. Tears streamed from her wide eyes. Her palms and knees stung from when she’d fallen into the hallway beyond the vox center, shoved hard from behind.

“Run, Lili! Get help!”

A choked sob burst from her trembling lips as she remembered the Lady’s last desperate command as the door to the room gave way, crushing the transmitter, and loosing horrors upon them. Things that might have been human once. Things that had come for her that afternoon as she left the Lady’s quarters, dragging her down to the Governor’s laboratory.

Emperor have mercy, I recognized their faces!

What was left of them.

More tears and sobs. Her vision blurred, yet she never hesitated. She’d known nothing but these stone tunnels since her birth on this accursed colony world. If she could make it to the miners’ tenements, if she could find her family-

Screams echoed through the passages in front of her. 

She skidded to a halt, panting, listening. She heard the tramp of metal boots, crashes like doors being kicked in, the shouts and wails of men, women, and children.

The Governor’s servitors are rounding up the miners!

The abductions had been going on for years. A worker here, a child there. Lili had spent many a cold night huddled with her father and siblings, listening to the servitors drag victims from their squalid apartments, praying to the Emperor they wouldn’t come to her door.

She wept for her family, her friends. But, as the tramp of boots approached, she knew she could not help them.

Only one thing could help any of them now.

Spinning on her heel, she darted through access tunnels and crawled through vents to reach the great elevator. Frozen metal shrieked as it lifted her toward the surface. She’d never seen the surface. Her father had told warning tales of an icy desolation, deadly to anyone who tried to escape.

When the roof opened onto swirling white emptiness, Lili couldn’t contain a shriek of utter shock. She’d thought she’d known cold in the depths.

Ice like knives lacerated her bare feet in seconds as she stumbled from the platform. Red streaked the white, powdery substance all around her, the only splash of color to be seen. Her muscles gave way under the onslaught of howling wind.

I am going to die. Tears froze on her cheeks. Forgive me, Lady. I tried.

Then, a roar greater than even the wind. Lifting her eyes to the emptiness above, Lili watched a monster of metal and fire descend. Steam billowed around it as it landed mere yards away. 

And from that steam, emerged dragons.

***

Nev’ran’s body vibrated within his armor. He couldn’t remember the last time the rush of impending battle had hit him with such ferocity! Fire raced through his veins and tinted his vision.

The beast within clawed to be set free.

I am coming, Diamond. 

All three of his lungs expanded and contracted in rapid succession. Beside him, he vaguely registered the presence of four brother Salamanders in the Thunderhawk. They were the vanguard, sent to determine the severity of the chaos incursion while the Captain readied a more substantial force.

Normally, an Apothecary would not be present in the first wave. But Captain Xavus hadn’t tried to stop him.

It would have been futile.

Nev’ran leapt from the Thunderhawk before the ramp had even fully opened. Snow hissed and steamed all around him. He flexed his gauntlets around his heavy flamer, felt the chainsword at his waist.

“Wait, master!” Hur’reth landed beside him with a boom of ceramite against metal.

He didn’t respond. 

His fellow Apothecary laid a hand upon his pauldron. “We cannot rush in blind.”

He ground his teeth.

The other Salamanders formed up beside the pair, led by the Lieutenant. “What little intelligence we possess on this colony suggests the entrance to be-”

A green flicker appeared on Hur’reth’s auspex. “Life sign! Close!”

Nev’ran glanced at the screen, then charged forward. A crumpled figure appeared beyond the cloud of steam surrounding the Thunderhawk.

Diamond?

Ceramite groaned as he lunged toward the pale form, only to be met with disappointment. The girl, barely more than a child, lay shivering amidst the snow, her clothing woefully inadequate.

For a brief moment, the dragon within urged him to ignore her, to continue searching for his mate-

By Vulkan, no!

He shoved the madness, the obsessive drive, down deep, though it tore at his hearts to do so. He scooped the girl into one arm and returned to the Thunderhawk. 

“This one requires warmth, quickly!” His voice was a hoarse growl.

Hold on, my love. Just a little longer.   

***

The stench awoke you. It forced its way into your nose, your mouth, past your clenched teeth. You could taste it. Bile rose in your throat.

And yet, you refused to open your eyes.

Don’t look. Don’t see. Don’t think!

Don’t think about the monsters whose slimy, gnarled claws had gripped you, lifted you, carried you into darkness. Don’t think about their ravaged faces. Their slavering maws. The slime that oozed from every orifice and stained your skin with its vile-

Something writhed beneath you.

A shriek of sheer disgust ripped from your throat as you lurched upward. Your eyes opened involuntarily.

Sickly, green light gleamed from fungal growths on the walls, floor, and low ceiling of your stone cell. Twisted mockeries of flowering vines wriggled like worms across the floor, ragged blooms dripping with fluid. You shuddered as you realized you’d been laying atop them. Gasping the foul air, you stumbled away, only to feel solid bars against your back. You turned to search for a door…

… and came face to face with a half-rotted human face.

Maggots fell from empty eye sockets and writhed beneath shredded skin. A single, swollen hand reached toward you.

It wasn’t alone. A dozen barely human things stood outside your prison, bathed in the green glow. They swayed and moaned through hanging jaws.

Sobbing with horror, you reeled back into the vines. They struck. Before you could think to struggle they’d cocooned your body in their reeking embrace. 

Oh Throne, let this be a nightmare. I must wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up!

You screamed.

“Back now, my children.” 

You knew that voice. The screams died in your throat.

A tall, skeletal figure pushed through the crowd of corpses. You watched him move them aside with almost affectionate caresses, a benevolent smile upon his wasted face. Sunken eyes came to rest upon you.

Within your vine-cocoon, you trembled.

“You must not over-exert yourself, my bride.” Governor Ledyanoy crooned. “It upsets my pets, and our children.” He patted one of the corpses shoulders, seeming not to notice when its arm dropped away with a wet plop.

You gathered what scraps of courage you had left. “Let me go!”

The Governor shook his head and spoke as if to a dull child. “Now, now. I understand you’re upset. I was too when my grandfather first brought me here as a boy. How I struggled!” He giggled. “But soon I welcomed the Grandfather’s embrace.”

“Heretic!” You twisted against the vines, but they held fast. 

A sad, slow shake of his head. “The others said the same. I tried to show them the glorious truth, but they were simply too weak. You, however,” his eyes gleamed, “you are strong!”

Producing a key from within his stained robes, he unlocked the cell door and stepped through. The vines squelched around his ankles. With a crook of his finger, you felt your cocoon slide forward until his face nearly pressed against yours.

A single finger trailed down your cheek, the feeling of his icy skin somehow worse than the wet slime of the vines.

“Yes, strong.” He whispered. “Through you, the promise whispered to my grandfather in his dreams will be fulfilled. In but a few hours this sterile world will teem with life!”

Desperate fury burned through you. “Emperor curse you! May his Angels’ fire scorch whatever remains of your soul!”

Turning your head, you bit down on the finger and felt bone crack beneath your teeth. But the Governor only laughed.

“I know about the message you sent, my spirited bride.” He pulled his hand away, smiling at the broken digit. “I should thank you. The Marines will make such lovely additions to our family.”

His face twisted with deluded glee. “And, I must share the exciting news! As reward for my devotion, the Grandfather has sent beings of his blessed Garden to dwell amongst us!”

You didn’t fully understand, yet a dread more sickening than the desecration before you filled your soul.

God Emperor, protect them. Protect him!

***

“BURN, FOUL CREATURES! BURN!”

The flamer in Nev’ran’s hands roared like the beasts of Nocturne. With each shambling corpse turned to ash beneath its fire, he felt the rush in his veins intensify. The gentle Apothecary stepped aside for a snarling manifestation of the Emperor’s wrath.

Other flames lit the darkness. He sensed Hur’reth at his side, more battle brothers to the rear. The narrowness of the passageways made moving in a united line impossible. But Nev’ran found he didn’t care.

Tactics meant nothing. Strategy meant nothing. 

These abominations stood between him and his Diamond.

He bellowed a wordless challenge and thundered on. 

They’d revived the girl on the surface enough for her to tell them of the horrors afflicting this world. She’d wept as she described being forced to abandon the Lady she’d come to love. She’d told them of the secret laboratory, deep within the heart of the underground city. She’d pleaded with them to save the remaining colonists.

The compassionate side of Nev’ran regretted that they would not be able to fulfill the child’s wish. Even as he seared the walking corpses, he recognized fragments of miners’ uniforms still clinging to their violated bodies. 

The little ones were the worst.

Shutting his mind to the horror, he embraced the dragon within. He stalked forward. Charred flesh crunched. Smoke billowed.

Beside him, Hur’reth’s flamer flared, incinerating something that might once have been a woman.

“According to the girl, the laboratory is down this way.” His former apprentice gestured to a side opening.

“The heart of the rot.” Nev’ran growled.

Where the cursed heretic had taken his Diamond.

The girl had described the place in halting, gasping whispers. A great cavern like an abscess in the stone. Masses of glowing fungus. Slime-covered vines. Iron-barred cells. A ring of pulsating, oozing symbols surrounding a stained stone slab.

“Th-th-things came from inside the r-r-ring. Worse than the c-c-corpses. H-h-horrible d-d-d-de-de….”

She’d broken down into a shaking, sobbing mess, then. They’d left her in the care of the pilots.

Nev’ran had seen enough cultist lairs in his long life to imagine what had shattered the poor child’s nerve. His mind filled with images of you strapped upon a stone altar, writhing in agony as unholy chants arose around you.

“NO!” 

He shouldered past Hur’reth and charged down the passage. 

Chaos will not claim you. Be strong, Diamond. Your dragon comes!

He charged on, ignoring his brother’s shouts behind him. His boots cracked the stone. Sparks flew whenever his pauldrons skidded across the walls. Walking corpses rose before him, but he no longer bothered igniting his flamer, simply trampling them beneath his feet.

He was righteous fury. He was the avenger of the innocent. He was-

A groaning, gurgling howl rose out of the darkness before him. Nev’ran found himself surrounded by a swarm of flies so thick they blocked his vision. A pulse of his flamer scattered the insects and, for a heartbeat, his mind reeled with the utter wrongness of the entities lurching toward him out of the shadows. 

A dozen cloudy, single eyes rolled toward him. Pustulent tongues lolled out of gaping maws. Vaguely humanoid forms so swollen with decay they looked on the verge of bursting brandished rusted cleavers. 

Plaguebearers.

Shifting his flamer to one hand, Nev'ran lifted and revved his chainsword.

“Unto the fires of battle.” Within his helmet, he bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Unto the anvil of war.”

He pointed his chainsword at the daemons. “You will not keep me from MY MATE.”

And, in a hell of rot miles beneath the surface of a dead world, a woman prayed in desperation, and a dragon did battle for her.

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As always, comment if you'd like to be added/removed from the Taglist.

[a-leg-without-fear]

Entre, Rouge🩸🔥

this is very silly

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 18+

Wordcount: 666

Warnings: story is told from Wade's perspective. need i say more?

Phew!

Okay, that last Wolverine didn’t quite work out. Several stab wounds in the shape of adamantium kebabs aside, I just wasn’t a fan of his vibe. The puffy hair, the leather ensemble, and the missing hand? No thank you. I’d like an intact Wolverine with access to a shower and a hairbrush to help repair my universe.

I sat on the log I once shared with the extremely-departed Logan. Lots of blood and guts spilled everywhere, pieces of TVA agents and metal bones strewn about the snow, thick snowflakes falling through the naked trees and onto my illustrious red suit.

Oh, I should probably introduce myself.

The name’s Wilson. 

Wade Wilson. 

Wade Winston Wilson. 

Doctor… Esquire. 

Also known as the ever sexy and permanently alive Deadpool. Sure, I look like the gum-covered underside of a highschool desk, but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop in my quest to fix my universe and save my friends. Like Lancelot and his Holy Grail, I’m going to find a Logan and shove him into my timeline until he fits. Or do whatever happens in that story.

The little dimension doohickey I nabbed from discount Mr.Darcy sat in my gloved hand. Lots of retro graphics and shiny buttons made it look like a flip phone, but fancier. I was scrolling through universes to try and find my next target.

“420? No, I don’t think I want pothead Logan. 69? Now that’s just too obvious,” I muttered with a laugh while flipping through universes. The numbers scrolled by like etch-a-sketched fruit in a slot machine. Except without the pants-tightening excitement of winning a jackpot.

My yearning for walking through rows of old geezers sitting in their own piss puddles while mindlessly playing the slots was overtaken by a fascination in the universe that filled the screen. Confetti exploded in my head like an edged bottom who’d held out as long as he could.

“Bingo!” I said, jumping up from my spot on the crumbling log. My fabulous boots made a nice crunching sound as I walked through blood-stained snow.

Earth-80085.

The Legiverse.

A universe filled to the brim with horror, trauma, copious sex scenes, and hyperfixations switching faster than Nosferatu fiddling with his light switch. You know the one.

I jammed the “go” button on the doohickey and a huge portal appeared in front of me. Orange, glowey, translucent, door shaped. Kinda looked like jello if you squinted.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked myself, naïvely, “I’ll get burst like a blood-filled water balloon by Leg’s OC of the week? Nah, she wouldn’t do me like that.”

Taking in one last chilly breath of determination, I skipped through the portal.

What I was not expecting to step into was a bedroom.

Pale green curtains blocking out any sunlight, wooden walls with cutesy pictures, cat towers and toys scattered on the carpeted floor. And…

Is that… moaning?

My head whipped in the direction of that delicious sound. Rumpled and soaked sheets, wooden headboard slamming into the wall behind it, bed creaking under the rapid movement.

And there, tangled together in the way God definitely didn’t intend, were you and Logan. Him driving into you, toned abs flexing with each thrust and fluffy hair bouncing, with you squirming and moaning beneath him. Logan’s rough hands felt along your lucky hips.

“Damn,” I whispered. Why did you get to have all the fun? Can’t I get a little Lo-Lo action?

I hung my head, disappointed, as I pressed the “leave” button on the doohickey. It wasn’t fair! Readers get to fuck whoever they want, however they want, whenever they want. They even fuck me on a regular basis! And where does that leave poor Deadpool? Either in another fanfiction or taking care of myself the ol’ fashioned way.

Ignoring the growing discomfort in my rather-flattering pants, I stepped back through the stupid doorway to continue my search.

Why are all the good ones fucking, crucified, killing me, or Henry Cavill?

i got drunk and watched the third "night at the museum." this popped in my head while watching hugh be a silly man

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[annaswrites00]

We Probably Shouldn’t - Kimi Antonelli

Kimi Antonelli x Rory Bearman (OC)

(1.0k)

Chapter Three

Chapter Two

Chapter One

Summary - Kimi and Ollie’s sister start something they probably shouldn’t…

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻* *

The season was already starting to blur together. Melbourne felt like it had happened a lifetime ago, even though it had only been one week. Now the air was heavier, stickier, the sprawling Shanghai paddock buzzing with its own brand of energy.

Rory tucked her badge lanyard into her jacket as she moved through the crowds, weaving past engineers and hospitality staff. She still wasn’t used to all of it yet — the endless travel, the noise, the feeling like you were always half-lost. But somehow, it was starting to feel a little familiar.

Up ahead, a few drivers crossed the walkway, talking quietly amongst themselves. Rory caught a glimpse of Kimi laughing at something someone said. She slowed without really meaning to. He looked different.. a bit looser somehow, like the pressure of his first race weekend had bled off a little.

He caught her eye for a half-second and gave a small, easy nod. It was nothing formal, nothing awkward. Just the kind of quiet acknowledgment that came from moving through the same circles for years, even if they had barely exchanged more than a few words before.

Rory smiled back before she even thought about it, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she moved on.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻* *

The garages were buzzing, team radios crackling through the open air as engineers moved between tire sets and timing screens. Rory found herself lingering near the Haas setup, scanning the faces around her.

She spotted Ollie near the back of the garage, helmet in hand, joking with a couple of mechanics. He caught sight of her and waved her over with a grin.

“Took you long enough,” he teased as she weaved through the chaos toward him.

“Sorry, your Majesty,” Rory said, rolling her eyes. “Some of us get lost in the sea of identical black polos.”

“You should know your way around by now,” Ollie said, bumping her lightly with his elbow. “Or are you just sightseeing?”

Rory rolled her eyes again, hiding the small jolt of nerves she felt. “Just trying not to get in the way.”

Ollie laughed, that easy, familiar sound that always made her feel a little steadier no matter where they were. He slung an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the back of the garage.

“You’re lucky you’ve got an expert guide,” he said. “Stick close or you might end up at Red Bull.”

“God forbid,” Rory said, making a face.

“Exactly.” Ollie grinned. “You’re welcome.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻* *

She hung around the garage for a while, watching the final tweaks before practice. Rory perched on a flight case, swinging her feet slightly, feeling more like part of the background noise than anything else. She liked it that way — observing, absorbing.

When the cars roared to life for the afternoon session, Rory slipped away, making her way to the pit wall. There were a few folding chairs set up behind the main Haas pit monitors — not hospitality, not VIP, but a spot good enough to watch everything happen up close.

She settled in, pulling her jacket tighter against the sharp breeze that swept through the paddock. From here, she could see the pit exits clearly, the rapid-fire ballet of tire changes and timing screens, the low rumble of engines coming alive.

And, now and then, she caught flashes of silver — the sleek Mercedes gliding past in practice laps.

Kimi looked completely at home behind the wheel, smooth and clinical even as he pushed the car to its limits.

Rory tried not to watch too closely.

She failed spectacularly.

It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. He probably hadn't given her a passing thought. But there was something about him that stuck. She couldn’t help but blush thinking about their brief interaction last weekend.

She pulled her jacket tighter again, feeling ridiculous.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻* *

She found Ollie outside the Haas motorhome, chatting with a couple of the crew members. As soon as he saw her, he gave her a lazy wave.

“There you are,” Ollie said, falling into step beside her. “Long day?”

“I should be asking you that,” Rory said with a small shrug, brushing her hair back from her face. Her gaze wandered — and that’s when she saw him again.

Kimi, moving through the crowd like he had all the time in the world. Heading towards the Mercedes motorhome, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his stride easy, relaxed.

For a moment, Rory forgot how to breathe.

Her stomach gave a small, ridiculous flip. She felt her skin heat under her jacket, a slow creeping warmth that made her hyperaware of the way the breeze caught the edge of her hair, the way her heart seemed to stumble over itself.

She dragged her eyes away before she could get caught staring, pressing her lips together in a tight line.

God...Get a grip, Rory.

But even as Ollie’s voice pulled her back into the moment, the feeling lingered — buzzing just under her skin, impossible to ignore.

“You good?” Ollie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Rory said, her voice a little too quick. She forced a laugh, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Just tired.”

“Sure you are,” Ollie said, clearly not buying it but not pressing. “Let’s grab something to eat.”

They kept walking, and Rory tried to shake the feeling of her heart being in a weird place. Nothing about it was a big deal, she told herself.

But she couldn’t help the little spark of something. She just didn’t know what to do with it.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻* *

More Ollie and Rory!!

I’m really starting to love this!!

🧸ིྀ

[mirasmirages]

Fall In Line - Eight - Team

First Previous

Contains: Mind control, whipping

Henry woke up in his bed as if nothing had happened. The medical equipment made their usual whirring and beeping noises. The doctors took their usual samples. Henry was a bit sore, but that was all.

He wasn't sure if he should ask someone what happened last night. How he got back. They probably wouldn't answer him anyway. They never did.

It felt like a dream.

He could still hear the fire alarm ringing in his ears, feel the heat of the explosion on his skin.

Someone threw his costume on the bed. Skin tight and purple, with yellow patches of reinforcement. "Mr. Duncan wants to see you in his office."

Henry had been in Mr. Duncan's office a few times before. It was where he had been given his mission last night. A security guard led him through the maze of hallways and up several flights of stairs until they were outside the white doors.

Whatever Henry had been expecting when he entered that door, it was not this.

Five costumed heroes stood in a half circle in front of Mr. Duncan's desk. The red and blue heroes from yesterday. A man in blue and dark grey, a woman dressed almost entirely in black. His stomach lurched. A woman in a silver costume with blue details, her long black hair in a ponytail.

"Finally," Mr. Duncan said. "You're here. Come."

The heroes all watched him as Henry went to stand with them in the half circle.

"We're here to debrief your mission last night," Mr. Duncan said. "But first, let me introduce you to your team."

He started with the hero closest to the desk on Henry's right.

"Red Rapid, team leader and martial arts expert, with superhuman reflexes." The man in a red costume

"Silent Spark, with electric powers." The woman in blue and white.

"Wild Rage, our shapeshifter." A woman dressed almost entirely in black, with some dark green shimmering patches.

"Silver Sharp," the first hero on Henry's left. A young woman with long, dark hair in a ponytail. Her costume was blue and pale silver, similar to Silent Spark. "Can use her force field powers to attack."

And at the end on Henry's left in a grey and blue costume, "Phantom Storm," who could fly.

Henry didn't know what to make of all this. A team of heroes? Why had he never heard anything about this before? 

(Probably because no one told him anything.)

"Now," Mr. Duncan said. "Red Rapid. Walk us through what happened last night."

"Yes, sir. Henry arrived at the scene at 0:23am. The doors were unlocked, so he had no issues getting in. A few minutes later, the fire alarm went off. Henry stayed on the first floor, punching through walls to weaken the structure before placing the explosives. There were civilians in the building, and he let them leave unharmed before coming outside to blow up the building. When Silent Spark and I arrived, he took a defensive approach, easily letting himself be pushed into a corner. Thanks to the fire alarm, the fire department arrived early and we had to get out of there fast, so Silent Spark knocked him out with no problem. As far as I know, no one saw us leave."

Mr. Duncan nodded, not looking too pleased. "Silent Spark. Your thoughts?"

"I would be interested to know how the fire alarm went off. If that hadn't happened we would have had plenty of time to finish before the fire department showed up. I can't think of any reason that happened other than if Henry himself setting it off."

Mr. Duncan turned to Henry. "Henry?"

"I did. There were people in there. I didn't want them to get hurt in the explosion."

To his left, Silver Spark scoffed.

"Did I tell you to let people out of the building?" Mr. Duncan asked.

"No, but-"

"No. And you did it anyway."

"You didn't tell me not to! And there were kids there! If they hadn't gotten out they could've been killed!"

"Henry, be quiet. Red Rapid, will you take care of this?"

"Of course, sir."

The heroes all spread out to stand along the walls of he room. Only Henry and Red Rapid stayed.

"Henry," Mr. Duncan said. "Kneel."

His knees hit the floor before he could even think about it.

Red Rapid walked behind him. "Keep your hands on the floor," he said and started undoing Henry's costume, leaving it hanging off him with his back bare.

Henry put his hands on the floor in front of his knees. They were shaking. The air was cold on his back.

"How many?" Red Rapid's voice was familiar behind him. Henry didn't want to think about it.

Mr. Duncan hummed. "Ten for the pathetic display of fighting. Fifteen for pulling the fire alarm. Fifteen for letting people out."

Forty. There was silence. Henry looked at his hands.

Behind him came a swooshing noise, and the first lash landed across his upper back. Henry's scream stuck in his throat. Mr. Duncan had told him to be quiet.

Red Rapid waited for Henry to compose himself between each lash.

No one came to Henry's defense.

Henry struggled to hold hold himself up. He lasted for twenty five lashes before his elbows gave out and he collapsed forward, his head against the soft, beige carpet on the floor.

"Henry," Mr. Duncan said. "Look at me."

Henry looked at him. He could barely see Mr. Duncan over the edge of the desk.

"Get back in position. Hands on the floor. Arms straight."

Henry did. His back was screaming with every movement.

"You will stay in this exact position until we are done." Mr. Duncan looked over Henry's shoulder. "Continue."

The last fifteen lashes came faster. There was no longer enough time for Henry to remember how to breathe between each one.

Mr. Duncan sat behind his desk and looked Henry in the eyes the whole time. There was no sympathy on his face.

Henry wasn't counting. He barely noticed when it stopped, until Mr. Duncan told him they were done and he collapsed in a heap like someone had cut his strings. His back was wet with sweat or blood. Both.

Someone knelt next to him. Henry could see the dark grey and blue of his costume.

"Let's get you back to bed," Jordan said.

[ifiguredyoudloveme]

Unhuman (NSFW)

paul atreides x female!oc

summary: in the dark, a woman shows up in paul's room unannounced and gives him something he'll come to crave.

warnings: 18+, p in v sex, creampie, unnatural amount of cum, slight dubcon ? (paul is put under a spell to make him horny and in a trance-like state so idk), mention of knives, pure smut.

words: 1,852

a/n: i don't know where this character came from lol i just started writing. this makes no actual sense in the dune universe btw i just wanted to write about paul. also this took me over 10 days to write cus i kept procrastinating and i still don't really like it but oh well.

Paul awakens to a feeling that he is not alone in the bedroom he lays. A sense of unease creeps up the back of his neck, hairs standing, as he scans the room for the movement of shadow.

He sees it: a static movement in front of the closed door. He is able to make out the shape of the figure as his eyes adjust to the darkness. It's small but only seems to be a few inches shorter than Paul, however does not have the frame of any man he can think of. A woman, most probably.

"Who are you?" Paul asks. His voice is calm but his mind and rapid heart are not as he reaches for the dagger that usually rests without use under his pillow. He stands, hiding the weapon behind his back, the cold steel pressed against his bare skin.

The woman walks towards him with confident strides. Paul holds in a breath and tightens his grip on the knife. When she's mere inches from him, she draws a knife of her own from her side and presses the tip against the underside of Paul's chin.

"Drop it," she demands. He obeys on command despite the Voice not being used. Paul doesn't feel as though she possesses the ability to use it, and yet, he feels an odd inclination to do as she says.

Paul huffs out the air from his lungs. Her eyes are large and almost seem to be glowing; they're dark as a starless night sky, though he can't make out the colour. Her lips are plump and inviting. She pushes the knife upwards slightly, nearly breaking the skin, before dropping it herself. It clatters against the floor though Paul barely hears it. He has the overwhelming desire, suddenly, to kiss her.

"Who are you?" He asks. He wishes to be assertive in this moment, threatening to the unknown intruder, but he finds his voice will not obey and instead every word he utters comes out as a beg of a higher pitch. What is he begging for?

"It doesn't matter who I am." Her voice is soft and comes out unhuman, like an echoed whisper in the wind. Paul wonders if she's an angel, or a spirit, with her unnatural beauty. "I know who you are, and I'm quite surprised this is working so well on someone like you."

"May I...May I know, at least, what your purpose here is?" Paul's voice is low and hoarse and he can barely get the words out. He's been hypnotized by her - his hands squeeze together behind his back so as not to give into the urge to touch. She needs to leave.

She grins and looks down over Paul's half-naked frame. She rests a warm hand over the right side of his chest. His breath hitches. "I've come to give you something," she replies, her voice sweet and intoxicating. "I'm sure you'll like it, as will I."

Paul, without thought, places his hand over hers. "Has somebody sent you?"

She sighs and drops her hand. Paul's eyebrows furrow in worry; he doesn't want her to leave before she gives him whatever it is she's here for. All worries disappear when her hand returns to touch his face. "Yes, Paul, but I cannot disclose by who."

Paul's name on her lips make him gasp and lean into her touch. She's turned him into an obedient puppy, his eyes hazy and wide with anticipation and his red lips parted lazily. In a part of his mind that is usually far closer to him than now, he's disgusted with himself, his lack of the authority that's expected of him.

"May I see what you have come to give me?" His voice is a whine now. He wants to slap himself for his stupidity. He should tell her to leave, draw the knife to her throat and demand to know who she is, but he doesn't. Instead, he twists his head towards her palm and plants a soft kiss in the middle of it. She smiles at this gesture.

"Yes, of course."

Paul inhales deeply as her soft fingers slide from the side of his face and down his neck, fluttering over his collarbone then over his nipple, down his stomach. Her fingers leave a tingle behind on the skin she's touched. She stops once her hand is rested on his lower abdomen, edging dangerously close to his stirring arousal. "Please..." Paul whispers, barely audible.

"Will you lay down for me, Paul?" She asks sweetly. Paul nods, over and over, until he's rested on his back, his hands drawn up towards his chest in remaining insecurity over his fragile frame.

The woman is straddled over his lower hips in seconds though he didn't see her move, as if she used some sort of teleportation. She leans down until their mouths are barely touching, her breath light against his wet lips. "You're very beautiful, Paul. So delicate."

She reaches between their bodies and lightly grips his erection. A soft oh leaves his lips in a moan and he lifts his hips on instinct in search for friction. The head of his cock is wet and stains the thin material of his pants. He can almost swear, through the daze of his brain, that his erection is far bigger than it typically is, barely contained in the fabric. What he knows, for sure, is that his sensation to touch is amplified to an intensity he is unsure he can handle.

She connects her lips to his and they are as soft as Paul had imagined. He groans deeply into her mouth and pushes his wet tongue between her teeth. Their tongues dance together and her hand grips harder, stroking him frustratingly slow. "Please..." It's as if please is the only word he knows.

She pulls away and smiles, nodding in understanding, and grips the waistband of his pants to slide them down. His cock frees and makes a dirty slap against his stomach, loud in the stillness of the room. Paul reaches for her and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her back down so they lay skin to skin. She's so warm, and she's naked. Paul wonders if she's been naked this whole time, shadowed by the dark.

She leans into his ear, massages his curls between her fingers. "I'll make you feel good," she whispers so lightly Paul wouldn't have heard if it weren't for the deep silence of the room besides their breaths and his beating heart. He can't hear hers, nor can he feel it against his chest.

"Yeah?" Is all he can mutter, dizzy with desire as he feels her wetness slide over his cock, tip rubbing against her clit. Her pace is slow, too slow, so Paul grips her tighter and lifts his hips upward in a smooth rhythm, meeting her movements. She lets out a moan against his ear, so unhuman but so lovely he wonders if this is in fact a dream.

"Yes." With that, she lifts her hips and sinks down onto Paul's erection, filling her to the hilt. He shrieks an ungodly moan at the feeling and almost cums but manages to, somehow, hold it in. It's the best sensation he's ever felt.

"I can't, I can't," he repeats in huffs, "I don't think I'll last long, I don't—"

"Shh." She places her lips to his neck, sucking on the warm, salty skin. He goes pliant at this: arms slack and dropping to his side, his hands flexing and reaching for sheets to grip. He lets out a shaky whine. He wouldn't mind if his only purpose in life was to exchange pleasure with her, whoever she is.

Once she finally moves, her hips lifting slowly before coming back down again, his head pushes back into the pillow and a whimper escapes his throat. His neck is further exposed and she switches to the other side, sucking there. Paul lightly grips her hair, shorter than his own, and arches his back off the bed.

Her movements increase in speed and, against the sensitive skin of his neck where she's licked and sucked and nipped at, she asks: "Am I fulfilling my promise?"

A sobby whine vibrates in his chest as he nods, his cock leaking profusely with clear liquid inside of her. He's so blissed out he's unable to speak, eyes pricking with tears.

The noises that fill the room are unholy, wet slaps and heated groans of pleasure. She's mainly quiet besides the occasional soft moan when Paul bucks his hips upward to meet her in the middle.

She disconnects her wet, full lips from his neck and connects them to his lips once again, breathing in his steady flow of moans. She takes his cock fully and begins to rock her hips forward and backward, sucking on his tongue as she does so. He whimpers into her mouth at this sudden change of movement and grinds his hips to meet the rhythm of hers.

Paul turns his head to the side, disconnecting their lips, and throws his head back. He moves his hands from her hair to grip her ass and push her down, grinding harder with added force. He's close, and has a deep, forceful desire to cum inside of her.

"I'm gonna– Can I– Please–" Paul mumbles and whines against her ear, unable to form full sentences. His grinds become sloppy as his release climbs close and his grip on her loosens, hands flexed and shaking.

"Yes, Paul," she breathes against his ear, granting him permission. She plants a soft kiss against his cheek as he cums, calming him down with fingers through his hair as he writhes and moans loudly beneath her.

Tears run down his cheeks, cock pulsing inside of her heat and spurting out rope after rope of cum – an unnatural amount. He can feel the warm liquid seep out of her, pooling around the base of his cock and running down his tight balls. The feeling is so intense and delicious he knows that, if he is never to see her again, he may not be able to live with his craving for this. For her.

Once Paul has settled and his heart returns to a steady beat, she lifts her hips and his soaked, softening cock slides out of her and slaps against his thigh. More of his cum leaks out of her and onto his lower stomach. She smiles and places her hands on either side of his face, kissing him, then flips onto her back beside him.

Paul immediately rolls over and wraps his arms around her, unable to handle the lack of her touch. He rests his head against her chest and she lifts a hand to stroke his damp curls. "Don't go," he whispers.

The woman feels cruel knowing she eventually must. But she won't tell Paul this, not yet. Possibly she's been too harsh with her seduction, or Paul is far more sensitive to it than she assumed he would be.

"I won't," she fibs.

[doctorgirlsblog]

Bleeding Red (series) CL x OC! x LN

Chapter 1: Ferrari Legacy

Note: I'm back and so is drama. Join me on a new journey of Valentina Rossi, distant niece from Enzo Ferrari himself, Charles's ex, Ferrari's new team principal and Lando's wet dream. I promise drama! If you'd like to join the tag list for it, pls write to me. Hope you'll like it! ❤️

Bahrain

The crimson red of the Ferrari jacket clang like a second skin to Valentina as she surveyed the flurry of activities in the pit lane. Bahrain's heat shimmered above the asphalt, mirroring the simmering anticipation for the new season. Her gaze, sharp and analytical, tracked the movements of her mechanics, each gesture precise and practised. This was her domain now, the culmination of years of relentless study und dedication, a path that had, ironically, interwined with another driver in red for some time. Charles. Even now, as the familiar roar of his engine echoed from the track during the first practise session, his presence was a comfortable, almost ingrained part of this lifestyle for her. Their shared history, though their personal paths had diverged months ago, formed an unspoken understanding, a mutual respect for each others roles in the team. No one knew his driving style like she did, his strengths, his vulnerabilities, just like no one knew hers like him. And now, as the season streched ahead, her focus remained absolute: the race strategies, wins and bringing the glory back to Maranello. Personal distractions were non-questionable.

The checkered flag waved, signaling the end of the first practise session. A flurry of activity erupted in the pit lane as cars returned to their garages, engines cooling, and mechanics swarmed their machines. Valentina stood just outside the Ferrari garage, a tablet in hand, debriefing one of her engineers, her focus intense. The air was thick with the smell of hot tires and exhaust fumes.

The telemetry data on her tablet confirmed what her experienced eye had already noted: Charles was pushing hard, testing the car limits and leaving his teammate far, far behind. A flicker of pride showed on her lips. This will be his year, she will make sure of it.

Suddenly a voice, laced with a familiar British accent, spoke behind her as she concluded her conversation.

''Interesting session. Your guy look quick out there, Miss Rossi.''

Valentina turned, her gaze sharp as she scanned the boy before her. Lando Norris stood a few feet away, leaning against the wall of McLaren garage, boyish smile adorning his flushed face.

''Charles put in some strong laps,'' Valentina acknowledged, her tone coolly professional. ''Your pace wasn't bad also, Norris.'' She turned slightly, gesturing to her engineers who were beginning to wheel Charles's car into the garage. The subtle dismissal was clear.

Lando, however, was still glued to his spot, starring at her back, her attention fully on Charles as he climbed out of his car. They spoke in rapid Italian, their voices animated as they discussed the handling of the car and some race data. Occasionally, a smile would touch her lips in response to something Charles said, a genuine warmth that hadn't been present in her brief exchange with Lando. Their easy flow was evident, the comfort between the two silently gnawing at Lando's chest.

As he sat inside his driver's room, his mind kept drifting back to the short exchange with Valentina, if it could even be called that. She was..something else. That cool, almost impenetrable demeanor, the sharp intelligence that seemed to radiate from her, it was captivating in a way he hadn't anticipated. And then there was that damned laughter with Leclerc. He hadn't missed the genuine warmth in her eyes when she spoke with her driver, a stark contrast to the polite but distant way she had adressed him. ''I'm not jealous'', he told himself again. What had been between them? And why was she so cold? The challenge of seeing that genuine smile directed his way, suddenly felt a lot more compelling than just beating Ferrari on the track. There was a fire in her, he could sense it beneath the ice. And Lando Norris had always been drawn to a bit of heat.

The relative calm of the Ferrari hospitality unit offered a brief respite from the frantic energy of the garage. Valentina sat across her table from Charles, both with cups of espresso that had long since gone cold. ''You were quick out there,'' she said, her gaze soft. ''The car seems to suit you this year.''

Charles leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. ''It does. You've brought a real change in focus to the team, Val. Things feel different this year since you took the position.''

''It's my job, Charles. To ensure this team goes back to it's old glory. It's what's expected of me.''

''I know. Being directly related to Enzo himself puts you in tough position. At least media isn't talking about..''

''Us? They better not to. They made this,'' she gestured between the two of them with her hand, ''impossible. All the hate, the scrutiny..''

The bitterness in her voice made him wince.

Charles reached across the table, his fingers briefly brushing her hand before retracting them. ''I know. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. It's a toxic side of this world.''

Valentina nodded, her gaze distant. ''It taught me valuable lesson. Boundaries, Charles. They are essential. Professional and private must remain strictly separate. That's what those clauses are for. No relationships between collegues, means less complications.''

''So, you won't let anyone in again?'' Charles asked, a hint of sadness in his voice.

''It's not important what I want, Charles. Team comes first. You and your tittle this year, come first.'' And like that, her tone changed back to professional. ''Now, let's talk strategy for qualifying.''

The tension on Saturday didn't last long, because Charles snatched the Pole from Max by a big margin. Garage bursted into celebrations, and Valentina's voice broadcasted on his radio, pride obvious. ''That was a masterpiece, Charles! Amazing job today, let's repeat it tomorrow. Enjoy it.''

The post qualifying press conference had just concluded, and the drivers and team principals were beginning to disperse. Valentina was making her way towards her car, her phone pressed to her ear as she spoke in rapid Italian.

''Valentina?'' she paused, turning to see Lando approaching, a hopeful smile on his face. He had shed the serious demeanor of qualifying and was back to his more usual, approachable self. She held up a finger, indicating she would be just a moment, finishing her brief phone call. ''Si, va bene. Grazie,'' she said, before lowering her phone. Her expression as she turned towards him was polite, but undeniably cool. ''Lando. Congrats on P3.''

''Yeah, not bad,'' Lando replied, undeterred by her lack of warmth. ''Just wanted to say..you really turned things around this year. Ferrari seems so much stronger than last year.''

She managed a polite smile and nod. ''Thank you. We have a dedicated team.''

She took her keys out of her purse, ready to conclude the interaction.

Lando seemed to sense her desire to end the conversation, but made one last attempt. ''Um, maybe.. if you're free I mean..we could, like, grab a coffee?''

Valentina's polite smile didn't reach her eyes. And even if Lando was just 2 years younger than her and Charles, she still saw him as a new kid, someone unserious. ''Lando, with all due respect, my priority is the team. And frankly, fraternizing with competitors outside of professional obligations isn't really encouraged.'' The dismissal was firm but delivered with a veneer of professional courtesy. She offered a brief nod and then unlocked her car, opening the door. Yet, Lando being Lando, decided to go for it and spoke again making her freeze in her steps.

''But you make exceptions for Charles?''

She turned around to look at him again, her gaze cold as she swiped her tongue across her teeth. ''See Lando, this behaviour just proves to me how much of a child you still are. And about Charles?'' she stepped closer to him and his breath hitched. ''He earned that privilege.''

Then she stepped inside her car and sped away, leaving flushed Lando behind, half ashamed and half hard.

The warm air on Sunday crackled with anticipation. The stands were packed, a sea of faces under the desert sun, all focused on the twenty cars lined up on the grid. Valentina stood in the Ferrari garage, her usual composed demeanor even more intense today. The weight of pole position, the hopes of the Tifosi, rested heavily on Charles's shoulders-and by extension, on hers.

On the monitors, she watched the pre-race procedures unfold: the drivers in their cockpits, the final checks by the mechanics, the national anthem echoing across the circuit. She spoke to Charles over the radio. ''Remember the plan, Charles. Stay focused on your pace. I'll react as needed.''

Race was almost boring, Charles started well, speeding off and letting the rest of the grid fight it out as he drove peacefully to the checkered flag.

As he crossed the line in P1, a collective roar erupted from the Ferrari garage, Valentina's smile broke through, savouring the moment of the first win of the season.

As Charles climbed out of his car in Parc Ferme, the roar of mechanics and engineers was deafening, a wave of pure joy washing over the Ferrari camp. A wide, unrestrained smile lit up Valentina's face as she hurried towards him, her usual guarded composure momentarily forgotten in the thrill of their hard-fought victory.

''Charles! Magnifico!'' she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine emotion. She launched herself into a hug, a heartfelt embrace that spoke volumes of their shared connection. A rare lightness shone in her expression.

Charles hugged her back just as tightly, a wide grin splitting his face. ''We did it, Val! Finally! The car was perfect, you were perfect!'' he squeezed her arm, a gesture of pure elation and gratitude.

Stepping back, the professional mask began to gently settle back into place, but the warmth lingered in her eyes.

''Incredible drive, Charles! Absolutely textbook.'' If she noticed the lingering gaze on her, she gave no sign.

The podium celebrations played out on the monitors in Lando's driver room. He watched Charles, Max, and Oscar spray champagne, the familiar sting of not being in the top three settling in. But his gaze kept drifting to the Ferrari team standing under the podium, Valentina gazing up at him with smile on her face.

He saw their hug earlier. It was a different Valentina than the cool, composed figure he had encountered all weekend. The genuine joy on her face, the unrestrained embrace - it offered a fleeting glimpse into the person beneath that cold facade. A wry smile touched Lando's lips. So, the ice queen could melt, at least for him. It wasn't jealousy he felt, not exactly. The challenge now felt even more significant. He remembered what she told him the day before, how Charles earned it. Maybe he could earn it too.

Saudi Arabia

The floodlights of the Jeddah Circuit illuminated the track as the first practice session got underway. The high-speed layout, snaking along the Red Sea coast, demanded absolute precision. Valentina watched the monitors intently from the garage, the Bahrain victory giving her even more motivation.

She noticed Lando walking by the Ferrari garage on his way back to McLaren, and he caught her eye. She offered a small nod, he gave one in return, his expression neutral, his focus primarily on his own performance. Bahrain made them rivals, and Valentina was set on being this season's winner.

Charles was on a blistering lap in Q3, his Ferrari dancing on the edge of grip through the corners. His sector times were purple across the board, and he ultimately secured pole position once again. Valentina kept smiling.

After debrief and media, she was the last one to leave. Or so she thought.

As she moved through the empty paddock with her usual purposeful stride, a familiar voice cut through the quiet night. ''Valentina.''

She sighed, feeling deja vu with their meeting again, but turned to face him nonetheless. ''Lando,'' she acknowledged, her tone cool and professional, betraying no surprise. She stopped walking, a subtle indication that she would hear him out, but her body language remained reserved.

''Congrats on pole, again.'' he said, his tone sincere, devoid of any sarcasm.

''Thank you,'' Valentina replied, her gaze direct but guarded.

Lando took a step closer. The usual playful glint was in his eyes, but there was also a newfound confidence. ''I was thinking..Jeddah's a different beast altogether, isn't it? Requires a certain...rhythm. A connection.'' His gaze flickered down to her lips and back up, a blatant flirtatious move. ''Perhaps we could explore that rhythm..over dinner tonight? My treat.'' The invitation was direct, confident, and so Lando.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. ''My evenings are already occupied, Lando. Unlike some, I prioritize performance over...promises.''

Lando chuckled softly, undeterred. ''A woman of dedication. Admirable. But even the most dedicated deserve a little..distraction. The offer stands. Think of it.'' He winked, before stepping back with a casual shrug. ''See you tomorrow, Valentina.''

He turned and sauntered away, leaving her standing in the empty parking lot, a slight tension in her shoulders betraying a reaction to his bold approach.

On Sunday, Charles crossed the finish line to take another victory, further solidifying his championship lead.

Lando was giving interview to a Sky Sports reporter, when Valentina walked past him. Lando's eyes flickered towards her for a brief second, a ghost of smile playing on his lips before he refocused on his interview.

Valentina, seemingly oblivious, continued on her way, her practised PR smile firmly in place.

Yet, fans notice everything, and Lando's reaction on live television will be one to fuel the paddock gossip.

[readychilledwine]

About Last Night

Happy Spoil Me Sunday 💜

I was going to save this for a rainy day. It's rainy where I live 😉

✨️ Lucien Girlies, this is for you ✨️

Lucien Vanserra x Human oc/reader

Warnings - orgasm denial, oral (fem rev), slight dom/sub dynamics

🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂

I hated when he did this.

My legs were thrown over his shoulders.

His hands tightly gripped my thighs and ass.

The cold wall pressed against my back as he held me against it.

But Gods, Lucien's tongue running from my leaking hole to my clit, circling that bundle of nerves as I pulled his hair and whined was heaven.

The warmth of his mouth licking, sucking, and kissing its way along my core to chase me into the highs of euphoria only he could could bring was utter bliss.

My head hit the wall as he gently rolled my clit over and over before sucking on it. "Lucien," I whispered softly. "Please, bed."

He chuckled darkly against me before pulling away enough to speak to me, "Such a picky demanding little human." He tutted me, squeezing my ass tighter in his grip. "Are you in charge?"

"No sir."

"Then shut your mouth like a good little girl and let me enjoy my early morning treat." He dove back in, groaning as his tongue pushed into me. I felt my eyes fluttering shut as my back arched slightly. Every flick, long drag, and groan from him drove me closer and closer to the edge he was looking for. 

A tight coil in my stomach was spreading heat through my body as he pulled me off the wall and used his inhuman strength to walk us to the bed without stopping his assault.

I whined desperately when he stopped to lay me down. "Head on the pillows, pretty girl. Now." I moved without second thought as he ripped his shirt off. "Spread your legs." 

He looked like a God, pulling his long red hair into a leather before getting onto the bed and between my legs. His head was straight back at my cunt as he looked up at me.

"You and your sister are interesting little creatures, y/n." He licked my core again, my head falling back as I watched him from my propped up position on my elbows. "For two humans who hate fae enough to kill one, you're both more than happy here. Especially you judging by how wet this pretty pussy is." 

I would have smacked him had he not taken that exact moment to push a single long thick finger into me and curled it up. I cried out his name softly making him chuckle. "So desperate for me to let you cum, aren't you little bunny?" I felt a haze set in with his words and his finger beginning to push in and out of me, curling for that perfect spot every time. "Of course you are. Don't worry, baby. We both know I'm more than capable of taking care of you."

Lucien put another finger in, the stretch burning slightly as I moaned loudly. His mouth reattached to my clit, forming a vacuum to keep that sensitive bud in contact with his tongue and mouth. He circled it, flicked at it, and gently nipped at it as his fingers picked up pace.

"Lucien," I felt his name start to fall from my lips like a prayer, "Lucien, please." He chuckled again, knowing I couldn't find bliss with his permission. Knowing he had trained me so well within the past month that he had made my pleasure strictly his.

I began to whine and moan, breathing rapid but heavy. I was seconds from breaking his rules. I could feel myself tipping over the edge. I could feel myself sqeezing his fingers tightly, my clit becoming more sensitive as he continued his onslaught, but anytime that coil threatened to snap this morning, he'd slow down. Changing the flick of his tongue, fingers no longer hitting that special spot. I cried loudly, causing him to chuckle against me.

"Gods Lucien, please. I'm sorry! I'm sorry about what happened last night." I knew he wanted an apology. I knew this early morning attack was due to my choices during the celebration last night. My confirmation came when he kept his fingers going but pulled his mouth off of me.

"And what exactly happened to make you sorry, bunny?" Gods he was torturing me, fingers dancing tapping and pressing harshly inside me. I felt myself twitch and squeeze the digits again as I whimpered something that sounded close to his name. "Don't you fucking cum. Only good girls get to cum."

I whined, head thrown back, back arched. "I'm sorry I left my room. I'm sorry I talked to the dark haired male. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I just needed you. Gods, I need you. Please, sir please."

He hummed softly. "Someone else could have claimed you and taken you as their prize for the night," his thumb came to my clit, rubbing circles as he moved back up my body. He smirked as he looked me over. "Do you understand how dangerous that was?" I nodded. "Do you understand how embarrassed you should have been when I ended up fucking you like a beast on the forest floor?" I smiled and laughed lightly, making him groan. "Look at me, little bunny." 

I raised my eyes to him, feeling more wetness start to drip out of me as I thought about Lucien fucking me for hours in the forest. "I'm not sorry about that part. Just the rest," I moaned. "Sir, please."

"Fucking brat," his thumb pushed down harder on my clit and he grabbed and squeezed my throat. "Cum. Cum for me like you did over and over last night."

At his words, the coil snapped. I felt myself begin to ride his hand as I screamed his name. I felt him lean into my ear and begin whispering gently.

"Just like that, y/n. Gods you are doing so well, beautiful. Keep riding my hand and fingers. Just fucking like that, honey. Good girl. Good fucking girl." His gentle praises had me whining, tears coming to my eyes as he prolonged my high by continuing his attack on my core. "I love you," he whispered. 

"I love you," I whispered back as the last wave hit me and left my legs shaking. "I love you so much."

He smiled and leaned his forehead against mine. "I'm going to pull my fingers out, okay?" He moved his hand and brought his glistening fingers to my lips, "Clean me off, baby." He groaned as he pushed his two digits into my mouth. 

My tongue swirled around them, lapping at every ounce of my essence as we maintained eye contact. He pulled my fingers from his mouth before leaning down to kiss me. 

"I am sorry about last night. I don't know what happened. I just.. I thought I heard you calling for me. I ignored it. I really did, and then everything got warm and I needed to be with you. I felt like I was on fire. Like if I didn't find you it'd never stop."

He nodded and hummed, an eyebrow raised as he studied my face. "Interesting. It would appear the Rite called you to me. If you ever see the dark haired male again though, you do not approach him. Am I understood?" I nodded again and agreed as I ran my hands up and down his arms. 

He kissed me tenderly. "I think we should just move your things into my room today. Let's get dressed and go to breakfast. We'll see what Tam and Fey are doing, then maybe get started on that?" 

"Only if we're going to torment them extensively in the process."

Lucien's smile was feral, eye ablaze with a post lust high and amusement, "Always."

[dnsbarbie]

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Nepo!OC

Summary: here !!!

Next Chapter

Notes: It’s here! Hope you like it. Please feel free to share your thoughts in the comment section. Let me know if you want to be added on the tag list!

In the midst of the bustling crowd, the whispers of the cool wind blew past Sofina’s figure. Her honey brown locks cascades down her back, jostling the perfected curls on her head. She produced a well-mannered smile at the cluster of people beginning to narrow down her walkway as they approached her path. Their collective voices sync achingly in her ears as the volume increased in a rapid pace.

She bowed her head, an attempt to conceal the mischievous smirk plastered on her face. Her fingers adjusted the sunglasses shielding her eyes from the blinding flashes of the cameras pointing at her face.

“See, this is why I don’t particularly like arriving with you.”

Behind her shades, she gave a sidelong glance to her company. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. His lips thinned, brows furrowed at the earnest as he scratched the back of his neck.

“I don’t see a problem,” She shrugged, a whimsical tone carried in her voice.

Joris looked at her, a scowl decorating his lips. He gave her a once over, deepening the lines on his forehead as he observed the aching differences of their attire.

Sofina graced the paddock in a white oxford button up, cream-colored wool blend high waisted trousers that was secured by a leather belt and a pair of flats and a watch that certainly cost as much as his house. Her whole ensemble mercilessly trampled on the white tee and light washed jeans he’d probably bought in a thrift store.

“We agreed to dress casual,” Joris sighed, shaking his head but the slight simper on his lips betrayed his expression. “You said you’d follow this time.”

“This is casual!” Sofina argued, smirk growing every passing minute of this conversation. She knew it wasn’t.

On Joris’s part, he should’ve known better. Sofina was the daughter of a prominent business magnate. She was a part of a family far beyond their wildest imagination. Exuding the confidence and prestige she naturally had was an aura no common man could possibly learn.

“I look like your driver.” He droned.

“Nonsense, you look dashing!” She assured, nudging his brooding stature. “And besides, my driver is somewhere over . . . there,” Raising her palm, she pointed to their intended destination.

Sofina smiled victoriously as she noticed his quiet relent, hooking her arm around his and proceeding to drag him through the mix of bodies despite his protests. They ignored the media’s shouts for attention as they weaved their way towards the obnoxiously bright red infrastructure that was otherwise known as the Ferrari motorhome.

Upon their arrival in the motorhome, they were immediately greeted by the roaming staff in the lobby.

The first to come near was the French Team Principal of Ferrari, Frederic Vasseur with his usual jolly smile.

“Sofina! What a pleasant surprise!” He gushed, lengthening his hand for her to shake.

The brunette returned his infectious delight, baring a kind smile of her own and taking his hand. “Surely it’s not that much of a shock that I’m here, Fred,” She jokingly tutted.

To which the Frenchman bellowed out a hearty laugh. “Of course not! I just was not expecting you to be so early. Everybody’s just warming up, you see.”

Sofina hummed, looking around the room. It was indeed a latish time for her to be here. In contract to the countless media outlets fussing about outside, Ferrari’s motorhome maintained a tranquil commodious space.

The clank of her shoes echoed through the air as it hit the marbled ground. Strolling further inside, she has yet to spot the one she was looking for.

“Charles is getting ready in his driver’s room,” Fred supplied as if having read her mind. “He will be out shortly. Feel free to have a seat in the lounge.”

Sofina nodded, flashing Fred a grateful smile before he went on to do his job.

She went ahead and sat down on one of the red polyester armchair while Joris settled in a duplicate just across her.

After a several minutes of endlessly replying to company emails and submitting “between life and death” documents to her father, the faint squeaking of sneakers finally broke the cycle.

Sofina instantly glanced up from her torturous tasks to be greeted by a certain emerald eyed, Monegasque.

“Charlie!” She beamed at him, standing up with her arms already reaching for him.

Charles’s dimples pop out from the corners of his mouth at the greeting. He happily granted the excited girl’s request, elongating his arms around her waist.

He chuckled as her antsy limbs encircled his neck, never-minding the constricting grip she has on them. Bending down, he allowed her an easier access that was suppressed by their differences in height.

She gasped as she pulled away, sending Charles into a frenzy at the sudden reaction. He searched her eyes for answers but was only given a cutting glare.

“Have you been eating well?” She interrogated, voice low but filled with nothing but concern. “You look thinner than when I last saw you . . .”

Charles raised an eyebrow, corner of his lips twitching at her exaggerated statement. “We saw each other last week.”

“And?” She asked, genuinely confused by his utterance.

Charles laid his palms on both sides of her face, blaring out her displeasure with the mission to smooth out the distress on her.

“Ow!” She hissed, swatting away his arm as pain seared in her cheek from his the ministrations of his fingertips.

“I’m fine, bébé,” He assured, bitting his lip to prevent the further growth of his smirk. “You know training in the first week is the most crucial. It’s normal to lose weight.”

“By this much?” She scoffed, motioning to his face. His cheeks were hollower, making his cheekbones more prominent and the thinning of his face were generally noticeable.

Charles tried to ward away her worries, placing a soft peck on her cheek before shifting his attention to Joris.

Sofina watched them engage in pleasantries, Joris mentioning how dressed up Sofina was. She merely stifled a laugh at the scandalize look that resurfaced on his features once more at the topic.

“Oh come on,” Charles quipped, eyes traveling from her feet to the top of her head. “She looks fantastic,” He winked, “You look very beautiful,”

Sofina gave him a thumbs up at his specification, amused by his antics.

“What do you need now? More money? A cheque? A car?” She raised a finger up to silence his mirthful face. “My soul?”

His bubbly exterior exploded into a fit of hysterics at the reference she used. Sofina introduced him the hit reality show Keeping Up With The Kardashians when the pandemic started. It was her insistent persuasion that ultimately led them to binge watching every episode until they’ve had to wait for the newest one.

Joris rolled his eyes at the giggling pair, waiting for them to collect themselves. Sofina caught his eyes and began to explain. “It’s Khloe Kardashian.”

Truthfully, he didn’t gain any knowledge from the vague clarification. Nonetheless, he nodded.

“Do you need anything?” Charles faced Sofina.

“Aside from today’s testing results, not really.” She concluded, tapping at her phone to check her duties. “Sorry I wasn’t here for first and second day. I was drowning in paperwork.”

Charles omitted a sound of sympathy. Now that he was paying attention to her face, the dark circles under her eyes were more visible, matching the exhausted sigh that passed her lips.

“Did something happen?” He queried, gliding his fingers through the disarrayed curls from when she was sitting down.

She shook her head. “No, not exactly. But you know— I can handle it.” A buzz blossomed on her chest as the warmth of Charles’s palm radiated on her cheek.

Charles inhaled deeply, adjusting to the shift of the atmosphere. Instead of adding to the heavy pressure, he decided to change the subject.

“The car’s doing great,” He chided, hand falling onto her shoulder. “Ferrari finished on a high on both days. . .”

Sofina managed a smile, bobbing her head at the news she already knew. The information should have brought her more joy than what she was currently feeling but for some reason, a churning sensation struck her in the pit of her stomach.

“. . . Maybe even faster than Redbull?”

The claim got her to look up at Charles. A sheepish simper on his lips. Sofina couldn’t resist the amused huff hold hostage in her throat.

“With all improvements made, it’s a relief you’re more comfortable in the car than last year,” Her affirmation was met with a consensus from Charles and Joris.

Whenever Sofina was consumed by the sudden reminder of her intense duties, this was a place she often ran to. Ran to hide from the ridiculous demands of her supposedly unproblematic life.

With them, the biting tension of having to continuously prove herself didn’t exist in the here. It was without a doubt, easier to be. Especially in the eyes of whom knew her best.

Sofina met Charles’s eye. His emerald spheres dancing with a molten rays of the Bahrain sunlight. She would never tire of staring at them. The absurd amount of beguiling enchantment his eyes hold should be dubbed as illegal. If one were to stop and take a moment to admire he—

“GOOD MORNING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

The sonorous voice from the speakers woke Sofina’s consciousness from her trance. She swiftly blinked away the dolly lopsided smile stuck on her face, tearing her gaze away from Charles. She bore the boundless embarrassment in regards the drawn out time she spent gawking at him.

“You— you get out there and uh—” She cleared her throat, avoiding his teasing eyes. “—Do your best—Charles!” She squirmed, a hand shoving at his shoulder as he got into her face, trying to catch her adorably flaming cheeks.

Charles aired out a laugh at the deathly glare she sent his way, admiring the futile attempt to hide her blushing face from him.

“I’ll see you later?” He declared, soft and gentle.

“Of course.” She wheeled her eyes, struggling to keep her smirk in bay as she saw to giddy look in his face.

With one last peck on the cheek and a wave for Joris, he turned and went on his way to the garage.

The tremulous sigh she released nearly collapsed her lung. Another year of Formula One, and owning most of Ferrari’s sponsorship held a great weight on Sofina’s shoulders. The pillars of her chosen empire were bound to fall with one wrong move. Proving her father right was the last thing she wanted and she’d hate for all of this to be blown in a million pieces because of what her father referred to as her incapability to be a firm leader.

Alas, heavy is the head that wears the crown and so is the heart that weighs it down.

Tag-list: @seairsunset @mindflay3r @tangointhequango @bwormie @eugene-emt-roe @herondalism @comfortzonequeen @weekendlusting @nomie-11 @i-ship-bullshit-2020 @cc13723things @charlesgirl16 @namgification @charizznorizz @missenclod @outerudeth

[thetalesofaether]

I’m currently addicted to Block Tales, you know what that means!!

Rambles, doodles, and silly little screenshots under the cut :3c

I fear I might be a winged nooblet, that MIGHT be a picture of me fr

But don’t take it from me, take it from my new Block Tales OC/Sona(?)!!

They’re friendly, I swear! Ignore the rapid fire of arrows the second you enter Roblox HQ they’re NOT from them I promise

I’ve also gotten some real funny screenshots with my Blue cosplay

I’ve been doing some concepts for proper designs for some of the major characters in Block Tales and I decided I’d give Blue a sheep motif, Red a goat motif, and Noobador a gaur motif hehe

Those ideas created this image and I just need everyone to appreciate them

I absolutely adore this game and wish I found it sooner </3

My completionist self is trying to get all of the current obtainable badges just to give myself something to do in this game and the times on my saves are not something for me to be proud of OOPS,,,

Currently going for Bloxxer and whatever one that is beating BP without taking damage

My favorite characters are Blue, Cruel King, and obviously the winged nooblets, and HELMET NOOBS ARE THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE??? I CAN SOLO CRUEL KING WITHOUT TAKING DAMAGE BUT I CANT DODGE THEIR STUPID ATTACKS FOR SOME REASON I HATE THEM..

I talk to my brother about theories and things, like involving the Banished Knight or Toxic Spearmen/Dart guys which I probably won’t get into here, I’ll either do so later down the line with art to go with it or just make a wall of rambling text elsewhere.

Anyways I really like Block Tales expect more Block Tales stuff from me :3

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter 18 • Burning Out — Part I

TAGLIST FORM

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary: Alexis is sick with the flu.

Content Warning: Usual SVU and Violent Crimes talk • Mention of a new criminal ring, human trafficking, victims, police work | Alexis being sick with the flu

A/N: Hello my loves, another long chapter just for you! I didn’t think this one would be so long, so I made it into two parts. You have the first one today! I’ll leave you to wait and guess what might happen once Olivia drives Alexis home.

Also, just know that I’m still taking requests for Carol Hathaway x fem!reader or fem!OC

*

MONDAY, MARCH 20

Manhattan — 16th Precinct

09:52 AM

The PR internships had clearly worked wonders at the Bureau. If nothing else, they’d mastered the art of rapid dissemination. Information, gossip, photos–it all moved faster than a bullet down the hallways of the Manhattan office, as if the walls themselves had ears and the vents carried secrets faster than air.

It took a mere five hours for a single photo of a newborn baby to make the rounds, from the proud father in the Evidence Unit to the break room, where it became the centerpiece of a ten-minute debate over whether the kid looked more like his mom or his dad. The tech team got involved, analyzing the baby’s nose and jawline with the same intensity they reserved for surveillance footage.

Just over thirty minutes for whispers about Reynolds’ closed-door meeting with a Washington official to snake through the office like smoke, mutating from a routine check-in to a rumored shake-up in leadership by the time it reached the bullpen. By lunch, someone swore they heard Reynolds was being promoted to a Pentagon post. By mid-afternoon, it had somehow escalated to a full-blown conspiracy theory involving blackmail and offshore accounts.

But when it came to the flu, it was as if the Bureau had perfected its own brand of biological warfare. Germs spread like wildfire, hitching rides on coffee cups, doorknobs, and hurried conversations. One sniffle at the Monday morning briefing became a chorus of sneezes by lunch. By the end of the day, agents were walking around with tissues jammed into their jacket pockets, eyes red and voices hoarse, and the sound of coughing echoed through the hallways like a morbid symphony.

Alexis, despite her reluctance to accept it, was one of them.

She’d tried to deny it, of course. Chalked up the sore throat to last night’s stakeout in the rain, the pounding headache to too much coffee and not enough sleep. But even now, as she pushed open the door to the SVU precinct and stepped inside, the scratch in her throat was sharp enough to make her wince.

Miles followed close behind, his gaze tracking the way her shoulders slumped for just a second, the way her hand lingered against the doorframe as though she needed that extra beat to steady herself. It was subtle–the kind of pause most people wouldn’t notice. But he wasn’t most people, and he’d known the SEAL long enough to catch the way her jaw clenched, the way her breath came shallow and thin, as if sheer willpower could keep the flu at bay.

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched her pull herself together, her spine straightening as she pushed forward into the building. But when he fell into step beside her, hands shoved into his coat pockets and a faint smirk ghosting across his lips, the words slipped out before he could stop them.

—You know, you’re not as sneaky as you think.

Alexis shot him a sidelong look, eyes narrowed, but the glare didn’t have its usual bite. Beneath the fluorescent lights, the hollows under her eyes looked deeper, the skin beneath them faintly bruised with exhaustion. Her cheeks were flushed, a patchy, uneven red that had more to do with fever than the lingering cold outside.

—Don’t start, she muttered, her voice a rasp of gravel and smoke.

The words scraped against her throat, coming out thicker than she intended, more growl than threat. Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw tightened as she glanced sideways at her partner, who didn’t bother hiding the smirk twisting his mouth.

—Oh, I’m starting. You’ve been coughing into your shoulder like a Victorian orphan for the last twenty-four hours. I’m just waiting for you to faint dramatically into someone’s arms.

His tone was laced with a blend of concern and exasperation, his eyes flicking over her pale complexion. She was holding herself too rigidly, her shoulders bunched beneath her coat, as if sheer defiance could hold her upright.

—I don’t faint, she shot back, the words tight, clipped.

A bead of sweat traced a path down her temple, but she swiped it away with the back of her hand, her glare fixed straight ahead, away from the elevator. The street outside the precinct was a blur of cars and pedestrians, a cacophony of honking cabs, muffled voices, and the distant wail of sirens, all merging into a single, relentless hum that seemed to press against her skull.

The air pressed down like a wet, heavy blanket, each breath thick and laborious, every step dragging as though the floor were a few inches deeper than it should be. Beyond the glass doors, Manhattan blurred by in chaotic bursts of motion—too loud, too bright, too fast. Inside, each ache and shiver felt amplified, as though the walls themselves had grown heavy with the weight of it.

—No, right, of course. You just lose your voice, run a low-grade fever, and glare at thermometers like they’re FBI informants who lied to you.

Miles’ voice cut through the fog of her exhaustion, his tone threaded with that particular blend of frustration and concern that made him sound more like a scolding older brother than a partner. His eyes were sharp and unblinking, tracking her every move as if he were waiting for her knees to buckle. His hands burrowed deep into his coat pockets, shoulders squared, jaw tight–like he was chewing over words he knew better than to say.

His friend rolled her eyes, the movement slow and deliberate, as though even that small gesture required more effort than she could spare. The corner of her mouth twitched, the beginnings of a smirk that almost took shape before it fell away, her expression hardening back into that stoic, impassive mask as they drew closer to the Special Victims Unit bullpen.

Inside, the air was thick with the restless hum of detectives and officers moving between desks, coffee cups clutched like talismans against the fatigue weighing them down. Phones rang, voices rose in clipped exchanges, and folders slapped onto cluttered surfaces with the kind of sharp, anxious energy that suggested no one had slept much in days.

—You’re the one who gave it to me.

—Me? Langford scoffed, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and defensiveness. I’ve been living on Lysol and prayer since Charlie and Ava started coughing up lungs at the start of the month.

—Exactly. Alexis lifted a finger, jabbing it toward him as they neared the bullpen doors. You brought that plague into the Bureau. And then last Thursday, you let Heist–Heist, Miles–do my coffee run. Heist. Who literally sneezed into his hand and wiped it on a file the same morning.

Miles nearly choked on his coffee.

—That was a misunderstanding.

—I saw him stir it, she said flatly, her eyes narrowed to slits. With the lid. And then look around like he committed a war crime.

The man barked out a laugh, shaking his head as they reached the front desk.

—So instead of going home to sleep this off like a normal person, you’ve decided to infect the entire precinct out of spite.

—I don’t have time to be sick, Gray said, offering the reception officer a nod as they passed. We’ve got four potential victims still unaccounted for, two names we haven’t ID’d from yesterday’s interview pool, and Carisi is in court all day. I’ll sleep when the ring’s taken down.

Miles came to a halt in front of the conference room door, one hand braced against the frame as he turned to look at her.

—You’re gonna be a real joy to be around when you start hallucinating.

—Flu’s not gonna kill me.

—It might kill Heist if he brings you another coffee.

—Not denying that.

*

MONDAY, MARCH 20

Manhattan — 16th Precinct

11:03 AM

Olivia had handled a whole host of crises in the morning, but she hadn’t expected this one.

The bullpen was a cacophony of noise and movement, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and tension. Phones blared with insistent rings, keyboards clattered beneath frantic fingers, and voices rose and fell like crashing waves as detectives barked orders across desks, each one an anchor amid the chaos. The evidence boards were a patchwork of photos, maps, and scribbled notes, threads of red yarn snaking between names and locations, connecting dots that refused to align.

But amidst all that noise and fury, it was the scene unfolding just beyond Amanda’s desk that brought the lieutenant to a sudden, dead stop.

The blonde detective was seated, shoulders hunched forward as she watched the tableau with a frown etched deep into her brow. Miles stood beside her, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw clenched so tight that the muscles pulsed beneath his skin. His light eyes tracked his partner, who was leaning heavily against the wall just outside the conference room, her head tipped back, eyes closed, the line of her throat working with each shallow breath.

Alexis’s skin was flushed, a feverish bloom staining her cheeks, and sweat glistening along her hairline, dampening the loose strands that had escaped her small bun. In her hand, she held a half-empty bottle of Gatorade, its cap dangling from her fingertips, forgotten. The bottle wobbled as her grip weakened, but she didn’t seem to notice. The only movement was the subtle, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, each breath dragging as if it cost her something just to keep standing.

Olivia’s stomach twisted, a coil of tension knotting low beneath her ribs. The commander wasn’t just tired. She was running on fumes, and the fumes were burning out.

—What the hell is going on?

Amanda hesitated, her gaze darting to the agent as if searching for backup, but he kept his eyes on Gray, his jaw set, the muscle working beneath the tight line of his clenched teeth. Rollins’s lips parted, then pressed shut again before she exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping as she finally spoke.

—She won’t go home.

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, sinking between them like stones dropped into a still lake. The oldest’s gaze narrowed, the edges of her jaw tightening as her eyes darted back to the SEAL. The younger woman’s skin gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat, a drop tracing a slow path from her temple to her jawline before disappearing beneath her collar. Her head rolled slightly against the wall, and for a moment, her eyelids fluttered, as though she were fighting to stay conscious, to keep her eyes open.

—Won’t? Benson echoed, her voice hardening, sharpening to a point that cut through the surrounding noise.

Miles’ shoulders tensed, the muscles rigid beneath the fabric of his shirt, his jaw clenched so tightly that a vein pulsed visibly beneath his skin. He pushed away from the desk with a restless, almost frustrated energy, his hands coming to rest on his hips, fingers splayed as if grounding himself. But his eyes never left his friend. His gaze remained locked on Alexis, dark and intense, the concern simmering beneath his sharp, frustrated expression

—Told Reynolds to shove it. Said she’s not going anywhere until the case is closed.

Amanda shook her head, a weary exhale slipping past her lips. The coffee cup crumpled beneath her grip, the cardboard sleeve collapsing inwards, and she seemed to realize it only when a drop of lukewarm coffee dribbled onto her thumb. She hissed a curse under her breath, but her gaze stayed fixed on Olivia, her brows knitting together, a thin line of tension deepening between them.

—Their unit chief tried to send her home hours ago, she said, her voice low and edged with something close to apology, as though she were personally responsible for Alexis’ stubbornness. She said we still have potential victims unaccounted for. Names we haven’t ID’d yet from yesterday’s interviews. And with Carisi stuck in court all day, she thinks she can’t afford to leave.

The blonde’s shoulders slumped, her expression tightening as her eyes drifted back to the sick agent, who still leaned against the wall as though it were the only thing keeping her upright.

—She said she can sleep when it’s over.

Olivia’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding so hard she could feel the tension radiating up through her temples. The sight of her friend sagging against the wall, her eyes closed, head tilted back like she was hanging on by a thread, twisted something deep in the lieutenant’s gut. It wasn’t just exhaustion. It was the kind of bone-deep fatigue that dragged people down, made them reckless. Made them vulnerable.

—That’s enough.

The oldest didn’t wait for a responde, didn’t give either of them time to interject. She strode forward, her heels clicking against the linoleum with deliberate, unyielding steps. Each stride was purposeful, slicing through the chaotic buzz of the bullpen like a blade through a fog.

Alexis didn’t open her eyes until Olivia was right in front of her, the shadow of the older woman cutting through the fluorescent light. The SVU leader folded her arms, the lines of her jaw set in a hard, unforgiving line as she stared down at the SEAL.

Up close, the youngest looked worse than Olivia had anticipated. Her skin was flushed, the fever painting her cheeks in uneven splotches of red, and her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion and glassy with something dangerously close to delirium. The Gatorade bottle dangled from her limp fingers, the cap askew, a few drops trickling down her knuckles to splatter the floor.

—Gray. You’re done. You’re going home.

The agent pushed off the wall, the motion unsteady, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. She caught herself with one hand, palm splayed against the cool surface as if the wall itself were the only thing keeping her upright. Her shoulders rose and fell with each shallow breath, each exhalation a rough, wheezing rasp. Still, she tilted her chin defiantly, her eyes narrowing as she tried to muster some semblance of composure.

—I’m fine, she rasped, her voice a hoarse whisper that barely made it past her chapped lips. I just need a minute.

—A minute? Olivia echoed, her brow lifting, her arms unfolding as she stepped closer, invading the woman’s space with an intensity that left little room to escape. You need a bed, a gallon of water, and about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. Not another minute leaning against this wall like you’re trying to hold it up.

Alexis’ jaw clenched, the muscle ticking beneath her fever-flushed skin. A flicker of defiance sparked in her eyes, momentarily cutting through the fog of exhaustion. But it was brief, a flash of fire quickly snuffed out by the oppressive weight of her body’s betrayal.

—There are victims we haven’t found yet. I can’t just—

—You can, the lieutenant cut in, her voice sharp as a snapped wire, the words slicing through the space between them. And you will. You’re no good to anyone like this, Lexi. You’re burning out, and you’re gonna crash. And when you do, it’s not going to be pretty.

The brunette swallowed, her throat bobbing visibly, the muscles in her neck taut with strain. Her gaze dropped, her eyes landing somewhere near Olivia’s collarbone, and for a moment, it was as though she couldn’t quite focus, couldn’t quite find the strength to hold her head up.

But then, with a burst of stubborn resolve that was more desperation than strength, Alexis pushed away from the wall. Her spine straightened, shoulders squaring as if sheer force of will could hold her upright. Her hand trembled as she dug into her coat pocket, the fingers clumsy, fumbling, before finally closing around the familiar shape of her SUV keys.

The keyring jingled in her grip, the sharp metallic sound slicing through the bullpen’s ambient noise like a blade. Her jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath the fever-flushed skin as she forced herself to take a step forward, her legs stiff and unsteady beneath her. She moved toward the bullpen doors, eyes narrowed, gaze fixed on the exit as if reaching it were a mission in itself.

Benson’s eyes darkened, a shadow of irritation flickering over her face as she watched her friend retreating back. The sight of the keys in the younger woman’s grip snapped something tight inside her, a wire drawn too taut. She stepped forward, her stride decisive, each step sharp and purposeful as she closed the distance between them.

—You’re not driving, she said, her voice low and firm as her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Alexis’ wrist, a quick but gentle grip. With a swift, unyielding twist, she pried the keys from the agent’s shaky grasp, the cool metal pressing into her own palm, solid and unmoving. Not like this.

Gray’s eyes snapped up, a flare of anger igniting behind the glassy sheen of exhaustion. Her cheeks were blotchy with fever, eyes rimmed red, and yet she tried to muster a glare, the same fierce, unrelenting defiance she wore like armor.

—Give them back, she bit out, her voice raw and frayed, each word edged with a rasp that threatened to splinter. She lifted a hand to grab for the keys, but the movement sent a tremor through her frame, a shiver that rippled from shoulders to knees. I’m fine, Liv. It’s just a cold. I’m not a kid.

Olivia’s expression hardened, her jaw set as she slipped the keys into her own coat pocket, out of reach.

—No, you’re not. But you’re also not invincible. You can barely stand up straight, and if you think I’m going to let you get behind the wheel in this state, you’re out of your damn mind.

Alexis opened her mouth, her lips parting around what was likely a retort, but the words never came. Instead, a deep, chesty cough burst from her, the sound thick and wet, a jagged rasp that echoed through the bullpen like a gunshot. The force of it doubled her over, one hand flying to her mouth as the other shot out to grasp the edge of a nearby desk. The coughing fit racked through her body, each convulsion knocking the breath from her lungs, leaving her swaying, eyes clenched shut, face pinched with pain.

The bullpen went silent. Conversations dropped off, detectives exchanging wary glances as the sound reverberated off the walls. Amanda shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her gaze cutting to Miles, whose jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter. Fin, across the room, crossed his arms, eyes narrowed, his expression a mask of concern and frustration.

When the fit finally subsided, Alexis sagged against the desk, her shoulders heaving as she struggled to pull in air, each breath a shallow, wheezing gasp. Sweat had gathered at her temples, and a faint tremor ran through her hands, her knuckles white where they gripped the desk’s edge.

The SVU lieutenant stepped closer, the toes of her boots nearly brushing against Alexis’. The proximity forced the youngest to tilt her head up, the movement draining what little strength she had left.

Olivia’s expression softened, the rigid lines around her mouth easing just slightly, a flicker of something warmer, more compassionate, breaking through the hardened facade she wore like armor. But her jaw remained tight, clenched with a tension that pulsed beneath her skin, her eyes fixed on the woman with a steady, unwavering gaze.

—Alexis, she said, voice dropping to a low, insistent murmur, each syllable deliberate, a coaxing thread woven through the steel. You’re done. You’re going home.

The soldier swallowed, the motion visible in the taut line of her throat, her jaw working as she fought against the exhaustion pressing down on her like a weight. The muscles in her neck tensed, and her gaze flicked away, unable to meet Olivia’s eyes, instead focusing somewhere near the lieutenant’s shoulder. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths, the sound harsh and uneven, as if each inhale scraped against raw lungs.

—I can still—

—No. Not another word. You’re going home, and I’m driving you.

For a beat, Alexis’ mouth opened, a protest forming on her lips, but Liv was already moving. Her spine straightened, shoulders squared as she lifted her head, eyes scanning the bullpen until they landed on Fin, who stood by the coffee machine, arms crossed over his chest, brows drawn together in a deep furrow.

—Fin, she called, the authority in her voice slicing through the room. I’m heading out again. You’re in charge until I get back.

The former Ranger’s gaze shifted from his boss to the FBI agent, his expression tightening as he took in the younger woman’s pale, sweat-slicked face.

—Got it.

Olivia didn’t wait for a response, didn’t give Alexis another chance to argue. She moved forward, one hand wrapping around her bicep, firm but gentle, guiding her toward the exit with a steady, insistent pressure.

Alexis’ legs were heavy beneath her, feet dragging slightly with each step, and Olivia kept her arm securely around her back, a subtle support that kept the woman from stumbling. The younger woman’s body felt too warm against her, the fever radiating through the thin barrier of their clothing, each shaky breath catching as if the air were too thick to pull in.

Inside the elevator, the fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Gray’s face, accentuating the dark circles beneath her eyes and the unhealthy flush painting her cheeks. The lieutenant kept her hand at the small of her back, steady and unyielding, even as Alexis leaned against the wall, her head falling back with a soft thud. For a moment, her eyes drifted shut, lashes fluttering against skin that was damp with sweat, but then they snapped open again, hazy and unfocused.

—I don’t need you to babysit me, the brunette muttered, the words slurring together, voice raspy and thin, a strained rasp that grated against Olivia’s ears. I can take care of myself.

Benson’s gaze remained fixed forward, her jaw clamped tight, teeth grinding as the elevator descended.

—Yeah? she said, sarcasm coiled through every syllable, her eyes hard and unyielding. You’re doing a great job of that. You nearly coughed up a lung back there. You want me to call an ambulance next time?

Alexis’ brow knitted, the scowl trying to form but losing its shape beneath the exhaustion dragging at her features. Whatever retort she might have had withered before it could take shape, her eyelids sinking lower as another shiver rattled through her. She pressed her head back against the wall, the cool metal biting against overheated skin, eyes slipping shut once more as her breathing hitched, each inhale a ragged, congested rasp.

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to the lobby, and Olivia tightened her grip around her friend’s waist, bracing her as they stepped forward. The street outside was a chaotic blur of honking cars, shouting pedestrians, and the distant wail of a siren cutting through the din. Benson barely registered it. All her focus was on the SUV parked at the curb, its dark windows reflecting the gray sky.

She moved swiftly, unlocking the passenger door with a quick press of her thumb against the key fob, the mechanical beep cutting through the din. The door swung open with a groan, and the lieutenant turned to Alexis, one hand still pressed to the small of her back, the other sliding down to steady her arm. The muscles beneath her palm were tense, and the young brunette swayed slightly, her knees unsteady, the fever robbing her of any sense of equilibrium.

—In you go, Olivia said, her voice softer now, a gentle note threading through the firm command.

Alexis hesitated, her gaze drifting to the driver’s seat, her jaw clenching as though she could grind the tension away. A muscle jumped beneath the flushed skin of her cheek, and for a moment, she looked like she was going to argue. Her eyes were dark, glassy, and rimmed with exhaustion, a storm of defiance and fatigue churning behind them.

—You don’t have to—

—Yes, I do, Olivia interrupted, her tone sharp but not unkind, the words slicing through the fog of resistance that clung to the commander like a second skin. Get in. We’re going home.

For a long, weighted beat, Alexis just stood there, the Gatorade bottle still dangling from her limp fingers, the condensation dripping onto the sidewalk in slow, deliberate drops. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths, and the tension around her mouth tightened, the defiance slipping away like sand through a sieve. Then, with a heavy, defeated exhale, her shoulders slumped. The fight bled out of her in a single, weary motion, and she ducked her head, sliding into the passenger seat with the sluggish, heavy movements of someone whose body was beginning to betray them.

Olivia lingered there for a moment, eyes tracing the curve of Alexis’ cheekbone, the droop of her eyelids, the tremor in her jaw as she leaned her head back against the seat. Then she pulled in a deep breath, the air sharp and cold against her lungs, and shut the door with a firm, decisive click.

Rounding the front of the vehicle, the oldest moved to the driver’s side, her boots splashing through a shallow puddle as she adjusted the seat and slipped behind the wheel. The engine rumbled to life beneath them, a low, steady hum that vibrated through the cabin. Olivia adjusted the vents, angling them toward Alexis as she pulled away from the curb, the rain-slicked streets unfurling before them in a wash of gray and silver.

Beside her, the young SEAL had slumped against the window, her forehead pressed to the glass, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused. The Gatorade bottle rolled lazily in her lap, rocking back and forth with each turn Olivia made, the condensation smearing across her fingers. Her breaths came slow and thick, each one a ragged draw that seemed to pull too much effort from her already weakened frame.

Olivia’s jaw flexed as she tightened her grip on the wheel, her knuckles blanching as she forced herself to keep her eyes on the road. Outside, the rain fell in soft, rhythmic taps against the windshield, the wipers swiping back and forth with a steady, hypnotic rhythm that drummed in time with the heavy thud of her pulse. But every few seconds, she found herself glancing sideways, her gaze drifting over the curve of Alexis’ profile, the flush on her cheeks, the lines of fatigue etched into her brow.

—You want me to crack a window? she asked, her voice soft, the words slipping out before she could think better of them.

The brunette didn’t respond. Her eyes had drifted closed, the tension in her jaw finally loosening, the lines of her face softening as sleep began to drag her under. Olivia could still hear the slight hitch in her breathing, the faint rasp of congestion that clung to each exhale.

She swallowed, the movement tight, her throat working around something thick and unnameable. The knot in her chest twisted tighter, pulling at her ribs, as she forced her gaze back to the road, the world outside blurring beneath the steady sweep of the wipers. Beside her, Alexis slept on, her forehead resting against the cool glass, her breaths slow and even now, her body sinking deeper into the seat with each passing second.

And Olivia just kept driving, jaw set, eyes fixed on the road ahead as rain streamed down the windshield like a veil, her hands steady on the wheel despite the tremor in her chest.

*

TAGLIST: @ginasbaby @nciscmjunkie @thefatobsession @makkaroni221 @certainlychaotic @hi-i-1 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr @alexis042499

[calummss]

PREY | FLIP ZIMMERMAN

masterlist

summary: never trust a charming man. his charm might turn into your worst nightmare when the man seems too good to be true

pairing: fem! reader x flip zimmerman

words: 2.1k

a/n: this is the weirdest idea i’ve ever had, do not ask how i came up with it…i wrote this for english lit so if there a name or description to the my oc i changed to ‘y/n’ please ignore since i didnt proof read!!

TW! kidnapping, implied cannibalism

"I can hear you, sweetheart," taunting words fell between the rapid rustling and crunching of the autumn leaves, creaking branches, and the smell of wet weeds and newly bloomed wild flowers.

A thin layer of sweat covered the nape of your neck; your hairs stuck to the side of your face as you twisted and turned to see what direction was the way out of the forest maze—quickly and safely. Every second you pondered, you wasted time. Every wrong turn you took, you wasted energy. Every second, you were hopelessly running away from safety.

You felt a surge of adrenaline as the cold air bit into your lungs. You forced your legs to push harder off the muddy ground and slippery roots, anticipating the relief of finding someone who could help. A sudden ringing noise penetrated your ear; a waft of air shot past you. Your heart sank into what seemed like a bottomless pit in your stomach when you saw a shotgun shell embedded in tree bark. A meaningless piece of brass and plastic, the colour of gasoline fuel, but its shape solid; red like blood.

Your screaming burst through your lungs; it was the only weapon you had. Your breath was sharp and frantic, your eyes wide filled with tears. Fear washed over you as you thought of the possibility of your life being cut short just because you had trusted a man who turned out to be the kind of charming until he got what he needed.

"You broke my trust, Y/n." His voice sang through the thick air. "You know, my favourite game as a boy used to be hide-and-seek. Always played with my brother, friends, family,” A short but taunting silence made your heart race. "They always complained because I played unfairly and cheated," he said, to the sound of his gun clocking. "I disagree."

The soft ground blurred below you. You continued running for what seemed like longer than it should have, figuring it was because of the psychopath on your tail. The only things that could hinder you from survival were your physical limits and your doubt. But your exhaustion also came running after you, and your cramping legs gave in, falling into the pile of wet leaves. Your body shook as you pressed your back against the tree trunk, trying to regain some sort of power to keep on running, but it was no use.

His frame edged closer and closer, his black shoulder-length hair blowing in the low wind. His dark gaze fixed on you as his twisted smile sent shivers down your spine.

Your mind went frantic with the thought, ‘weak.’

He looked at you, jaw clenched, inches away from you. Nostrils picked up the scent of his cologne as your lips started to tremble, knowing you had failed to outrun him. What would he do now that you had tried to run away? You didn’t know.

"You look beautiful when you're scared," he crouches down, cocking his head. "But the fun is over now and I get really angry when people try to outsmart me. Will you try to outsmart me again?"

"Please!" Your voice cracks. "Please, you don’t have to do this!" You cry out, hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

"But I do," his voice now soft like it had been before he opened up the door to his cabin. "I have to do this."

Your crying intensified; your chest grew tight as bile rose in your throat. Blood pounded in your ears. Your hands shook. Your feet tingled. Your vision was disfigured, as if you were looking through a fish tank. There was nothing else you could do but give up. His strong arms scooped you off the ground and started carrying you away.

Your heart pounded even harder when you could see a street poking from behind the branches, realising you had given up before the finish line. Darkness was torn from your face, and a matrix of lights blinded you. Groaning, you shifted, attempting to jerk away from the brightness beyond your lids. Your hand hits your face, the drowsiness making you feel like a marionette. But even though your limbs feel heavy, like they had piled on imaginary weight, you tried to pull herself together. Pushing your torso off the ground, you noticed you were back in the living room you had been in moments before you took off running. Your eyes scanned for restraints—none.

But there he was. Tall, broad, muscular, wearing...black? A black blazer buttoned over something white, dark trousers, black shoes, all melting together into one until you blink a few times.

He must have noticed your surprise.

"Don’t worry," he took a swig of beer. "This manor is human proof. Both escaping," he huffed out, placing his hands on his thighs before talking towards the kitchen counter, "I mean like escape proof, soundproof, everything proof." He laughed.

"Why are you doing this?"

You spoke, your heart pounding and your voice cracking. "What the fuck is happening?"

He cackled, like he had one too many drinks, and laughed at a terribly awful joke. "Something very unfortunate for you."

"Let me go. Please. I swear I—I won’t tell anyone."

Silence.

“What happened, Flip?" Your gaze dropped to his frame, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took. His hands engulfed the beer bottle he held. "What did I do wrong?"

"You did nothing wrong, Y/n." Monotone. Dry.

"Then please tell me why you are doing this to me." You couldn’t stop your chin from trembling or your heart from wanting to explode out of your chest. "You treated me so well. We slept together. And now. What is this?"

Flip scrambled out of his seat.

Your eyes darted across the room—the drawing room at the cabin, nothing but miles of land and sheep. It stood close to the sea, just off the coast of the Atlantic Ocean, which at this time of year had the strongest and toughest currents.

Flip placed the beer on one of the coffee tables and braced his weight on the gold-encrusted sofa that stood perfectly opposite you.

"I mean don’t get me wrong, dear, the sex was incredible and probably some of the best I ever had but it was part of my scheme."

"What scheme? To lure me to the woods?” You wanted to shout, but every bit of effort you made to speak or move was tripled against the weight of you building fear.

"Look, it’s nothing personal, Y/n," he said, lifting the corner of his lips. "You took my bait and now it's on you. It’s not my fault when you’re so gullible when it comes to love. I mean seriously, falling in love within three dates?"

"Is Flip even your real name?"

"Yes. My full name is Philip Zummerman."

"You give your victims your government name?"

"Well, it’s not like any of them will ever tell the police," he chuckled, his white teeth shining between his black moustache and beard. "You asked me before why I am doing this. I have an answer to that but I don’t think you’ll enjoy it as much."

"What is the answer?"

"I am handsome, well proportioned and insanely wealthy. Those two components work rather marvellously together. I either charm my way out of any trouble or I’ll just pay off what I need to. Humans are leeches by nature, you know," he took another sip of his beer. "Humans crave luxuries and comfort, and what else?"

"I don’t know."

“Yes, you do. C’mon!" He slouched down with the biggest grin he had yet given.

“Ehm,” pause, “Money?"

“Ding Ding Ding…money. How much money do you think it will take to buy an ordinary man’s silence? Say less than a thousand dollars? Maybe even two if he’s desperate enough."

You had no idea how to behave. You felt like you were compelled to listen to him.

Flip stood back up again, beer in his hand, his back facing her as he paced around on the dark ebony floors, the squeaking penetrating your ears.

“And how much do you think you will need to persuade that same man, so dull and simple, to take a life?" His feet stopped moving.

A deafening silence.

What?

"Those dirty old men rummaging around the dirty cities of Colorado would do it for 5.000? Maybe 10. But in their eyes, you are worthless. Not worthy of anything except the price tag above your head that has compelled them to blindly follow any orders given to them. Just like dogs. I think there’s a psychology behind it but then again I am no psychologist,"

“What are you going to do with me?" You asked once more, collecting every ounce of calmness you had left, forcing yourself to make contact with him.

He sighed in response. Like he was... bored, annoyed, rushed? Perhaps all three?

"I’m going to kill and eat you."

His gaze went through you like a blast of ice, his sick smile making your stomach churn. Your muscles stiffened, paralyzed by fear. You could hear the slow, dragging beat of your heart. Fear became a tangible living force that crept over you like some hungry beast, immobilising you and your brain, holding you captive. Every muscle in your body screamed at you to try and escape again, but you remained frozen.

"What…" Bile started to rise again.

"I will kill you, and I will eat you." The clicking of his tongue enunciating his pointed finger on you. "A simple concept really."

Panic started to settle in again. Fear creeping from behind, the hair on the nape of your neck stood up.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no." Nothing but high-pitched whimpers. Shallow breaths made it impossible to think clearly.

Your mind was scattered. How to escape? What had happened? Was your hand numb? Why did it feel like little pinpricks?

"This isn’t happening."

"It’s happening." His dark, monotone voice penetrated past your thoughts.

"It’s not happening. It’s not happening. This is all a bad dream."

You never had a heart attack but if someone had told you this is what it felt like, you wouldn’t doubt them. Your breathing was laboured, and your palms felt wet. You couldn’t think of anything but that your chest might get crushed any minute. "Oh, Lord," you started, "save me just this once."

You were trying to breathe, but you couldn’t. Someone was clutching your throat, stopping you from taking full breaths. But there was no one stopping you. Tears started trickling down your cheeks as panic crept over you again. This time, panic was unavoidable. It felt like forever. You sat there and panicked. He kept trying to say something, but nothing but mumbles made it past your ear. What he tried to tell you was inaudible.

‘Y/N!’

So suddenly his shouting erupted, bringing your mind back to reality as you stared blankly at him. You could feel a tear sitting at your lower lash line.

“There you are," Flip’s voice was half way between a whisper and a shout, deep and rumbling like the earthquake below you but still full of the danger you felt whenever you noticed his eyes on you. "Y/n."

“You’re a cannibal?" You choked back the fear and guilt you felt in your heart, speaking to yourself .

“Don’t insult your own intelligence," he tuts. "I do have a tendency to strongly dislike people who belittle themselves for the sole reason of incompetence or lack of confidence."

“And you just eat people?"

"I have refined tastes," he answers, his expression emotionless, but you could see the coiled tension in his body, the rage ready to spill forth. "You have complimented me on my cooking just earlier this evening. I remember the way your eyes fluttered, enjoying the thigh fillet. I would say your tastes are the same as mine. Why don’t we get you relaxed, dear? Hm? I have a room just for you and we’ll talk about this once you are back to normal."

"Normal. Normal."

You could feel his arms underneath you as he brought you to his chest. Feet dangling in the air as he made his way towards a wooden door that led down a spiral staircase, a red carpet greeting you as he walked past another long hallway until he came to a halt in front of the second-to-last door.

"You know, my dear, normally in these types of situations there would be some revulsion at the revelation that you’ve consumed a person. I see nothing of that in your demeanour. You don’t seem to care about the fact that others have suffered to land on my plate, yet you only seem to panic after you found out that you would meet their same fate... Tell me why? Do you think you are more important?"