#Robes. Nothing...just...robes. Bath robes.

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Of Soap and Steam~

Jinshi x reader

NSFW fem!reader x jinshi

warnings; bath seggs tehe, dom-leaning reader, handjob, massage gone steamy, riding, creampie (wrap it before you tap it yall), semi-established relationship, the bath is kinda like what lady Lishu had (raised edges?), idk what else

Note; there is not nearly enough Jinshi content on this app.

Enjoy~

It has been a while since Jinshi has gotten any time to himself, the past week (if not more) has been so hectic that he's barely had a minute to even breathe. And it's only now, after the sun has long since set that he can finally let out a sigh of relief and relax for a while.

And so, he finds himself making his way over to the bathhouse attached to his residence. It doesn't take long for him to get settled, robes discarded as he allows himself to finally relax in the warmth of the water and revel in the silent solitude that he had been denied for the past weeks, letting out a small groan as he tilts his head back against the edge of the bath.

He's so exhausted, everything had seemed to come one after another, leaving little room for anything but work, and in all honesty, he felt almost numb after. Drained and numb, but at least the work was handled...

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted when the door swings open. He turns his head to be met with you, carrying a stack of towels.

"Oh- my bad, I'm not looking-" you swiftly apologise, covering your eyes with a hand "I'll be out in a second master Jinshi, I just forgot to fold the towels earlier and didn't want them out all night."

He lets out a small sigh, shifting slightly as he averts his eyes from you, more out of relief than embarrassment.

"It's fine, you don't have to go... it's not like there's anything you haven't seen before anyway..." he trails off, keeping his back facing you, but you can faintly make out a slight blush on his face as he says that.

You simply hum, walking over to the cabinet and putting away the towels "Well I suppose there's no harm done if I stick around for a while longer..." you reply, making your way over to sit on a stool behind him, placing your hands gently on his shoulders as he relaxes slightly under your touch. "Long week?" you ask softly.

"Very..." he simply sighs, almost melting when your hand slide over his shoulders, thumbs applying light pressure to seemingly the exactly correct places.

"I can imagine..." You speak, voice almost a low purr as you lean in, pressing your lips softly to the side of his face, causing him to shudder slightly, "but you've been handling it rather well..."

"If only... I feel like I've died and been dragged back from hell..." he replies almost bitterly, tilting his head back against you as he lets out a shuddered breath, "it's been nothing but work, then more work... then even more. I'm not sure how much more I can last if it keeps going like this..."

"I'm sure it'll settle down eventually... they'll run out of work eventually..."

Your remark makes him chuckle slightly as he turns his head back slightly to look at you, lips just barely turned upwards in a tired smile, "Maybe... I do hope you're right" his voice comes out soft, gentle as his eyes meet yours.

With another hum, you slide your hands away from his shoulders, moving them to gently hold his face as you lean in closer, "it'll all be well in the end, it always gets better at some point..." you whisper, closing the gap between your lips before he has time to reply.

The action causes him to let out a soft moan, closing his eyes as he revels in the way your lips gently meet with his and remain connected for a few moments. Once you pull away you're met with a slightly flustered looking Jinshi, though the way he lights up doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"Do you just always know what to do..?" he trails, eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips as you lean back, shrugging.

"Sometimes, no more often than you do."

He lets out a small huff, turning away from you as he leans against the bath, crossing his arms. If nothing else, then your brief moment of affection had seemingly at the very least breathed some life into him.

"Must you always be like this? I was trying to be... romantic, or something..."

His petulance is short lived however, as he lets out a shudder at the way you slide your hands over his shoulders and down his chest, leaning over him with a chuckle of your own.

"Were you? I'm sorry... seems your romanticism slipped past me..."

He lets out a shuddered sigh, closing his eyes at the way your hands rest against him, "Now you're just teasing..."

"Teasing? Me? Never~" you purr, letting your hands trail over him, smiling at the way his breath hitches and he swallows, addams apple bobbing as he tilts his head back even more, "really though, I'd say it's due time you relax a bit~"

"You're going to help me relax?" He raises a brow, grinning as he looks up at you.

"mhm~ unless you've got complaints about that..."

"No, no complaints here... do as you wish."

His quick response brings a smile to your face, giving you all the confirmation you need to let your hands slip lower down his torso. The way his head instantly shoots forward, eyes widening just a bit as his gaze stays fixed on the way your hands dip into the water forces you to suppress a giggle, and his new position allows you to lean closer to him, chest pressing against the back of his head in the process.

"You'll get your sleeves wet..." he manages to say quietly, suppressing the soft groan that threatens to spill from his lips as he feels a hand wrap around him.

"So? I hardly think the dryness of my sleeves is of any significance at the moment" you hum, one of your hands gently wrapped around him, moving in slow strokes as the other emerges from the water to rest over his knee, allowing you to lean onto it and reach your other hand more easily under the water, "the water's cold, how are you in there so comfortably?"

"My life is hell right now, I don't need to bathe in it too..." he replies half jokingly, chest rising and falling as his breathing becomes heavier, mind focused almost solely on the way your hand moves from base to tip, squeezing slightly when it reaches the head before it moves down once more.

You chuckle at the reply, drawing a moan from him when you flick your wrist, leaning down to press your lips softly to the top of his head, "good?"

"Very, you should join me."

"In the bath?"

"Mhm."

He keeps his replies short in an attempt to remain quiet, though some noises still spill from his lips every time your hand does something particularly bold.

"You can even warm the water up if you'd like, I can deal with it if it's the price it takes to have you here..."

His willingness to accomodate you draws a soft laugh from you and you can't find it in you to deny him. Pulling your hand away and out of the water forces a groan from him, head turning to you as he opens his mouth to say something but promptly closes when he's met with you undoing and discarding your robe.

"It's fine, you'll keep me warm, won't you?" you tease lightheartedly, stepping into the water once you're fully bare, watching as Jinshi averts his eyes with a slightly flushed face.

"I can try..." he replies almost bashfully, cheeks flushing further when he feels you settle yourself in his lap, thighs on either side of him as your hips settle over his thighs. His hands instinctively move to hold onto your hips, and he fails to suppress a shiver as your hands find purchase on his shoulders once more.

You let out a small hum, shifting slightly in his lap, pressing yourself against his length, watching as his breathing stutters and his grip tightens on your hips. The moan he lets out as you begin to grind against him is unmistakable, and he can't help but twitch beneath you, letting out a soft curse as his eyes close and his head tilts back ever so slightly.

"You're so pretty Jinshi... I'm kinda jealous, you're prettier than me~" you purr, and though your words are said teasingly, there is an air of truth to them, and that causes Jinshi to groan.

"Don't say that... you're pretty too"

You shrug, continuing your grinding as another shudder runs through his body, hands sliding over your sides as a way to get his mind off of the persistent ache between his legs. As your grinding becomes more firm, the water in the tub begins to splash slightly, not that either of you seem to notice.

"fuck- it's been so long..." he groans, head tipped back, exposing his neck to you and you promptly take advantage of it, pressing your lips gently to his skin, drawing an almost needy sounding noise from him.

"I know... there's hardly been time lately..." you sigh against his neck, hands trailing down his chest as you do so and he simply lets out a hum in agreement.

"too long... I missed you"

You smile, pulling away from his neck to lean in, "and I missed you." your voice is no more than a whisper as you bring your lips to his, earning you a quiet groan from him as his lips swiftly match your movements, softly meeting yours as his hands trail up your back to hold you closer. When you swipe your tongue against his bottom lip, he wastes no time, meeting it with his own.

You don't pull away from him as your hand travels down his body again, wrapping around him again as you align him with yourself, tip prodding at your entrance as a gasp escapes his mouth. He breaks the kiss, eyes widened slightly as he catches his breath.

"but- I- we didn't-"

You bring your lips back to his, effectively shutting him up as you slip the head of his cock inside, mumbling quietly against his lips, "it's fine..."

"But it's going to hurt..."

"It'll be fine, your shameless moaning turned me on quite a bit, I'll manage"

Your remark causes his cheeks to flare up again, face feeling incredibly hot as he avoids your gaze shoulders tensing slightly.

"You can't just say that... but I guess if you say so..."

With that you begin to sink down on him, taking him inside inch by inch. The slight burn of the stretch is overridden by the way his brows knit and his eyes close, hands finding their way to your hips as he grips you slightly tighter than he intended. Once you take him fully, you settle down at the base for a few moments to allow yourself to adjust to the intrusion, and to allow Jinshi some time to breathe.

Judging by the way his breathing becomes irregular, and the way he seems to throb inside you, it's pretty obvious that he's quite affected. You let out a small hum, pressing your lips softly and briefly to his, hands holding his face, "I'm gonna move, ok?~" and he gives you a silent nod.

You move your hands down to grip his shoulders for support as you draw your hips up along his length, before sinking them down again, taking him fully once more before repeating the actions. Every time you sink your hips down, his tip pushes against that spot, causing you to bite your lip. Your grip tightens slightly on his shoulders, hips speeding up their movements as a string of groans slips out of him, and the longer this goes on the closer you get to that sweet sweet release you both crave.

"fuck- I'm close..."

"y-yeah, me too..."

It doesn't take long for you to finish, a small groan leaving your lips as you tighten around him, his breath hitching as you continue to ride him. His nails dig into your hips, and not long after you sink your hips down on him one final time as he lets out a loud moan. Your hips press down on him and you feel the way he twitches inside you, hot cum spilling from his tip and filling you up. His thighs twitch under you slightly, grip eventually loosening on you as he comes down from his high, breathing gradually coming back to normal. You remain on top of him as his arms move to wrap around your waist, pulling you against his chest as he rests his chin against your shoulder.

"Well, that may have just made my week..."

You let out a small laugh, pressing your lips firmly to the side of his face.

"Glad I could help then~"

Masterlist.

Requests are open!

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (14/20)

I did not post it at midnight cuz I was decorating my wall, I'm the worst at it, but I think I'm making this right...

And I wrote the chapter after I saw the interview Kathryn Hahn gave to Jimmy Fallon. Omg, the woman is so funny!

I can't!!

This chapter let me sooo: 😭😩🫶🏻🥹🥺🥺

Enjoy!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, sex, smooth and angst

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: you go on your first date with Agatha.

MUSIC RECOMMENDATION:

Opening

noun

1. It can be characterized as a new open for a move within the game.

The ceiling was dark wood, with exposed beams and marks of time. You could see where the paint was starting to peel, where nature was creeping in despite the varnish. 

Even here, in this silent room in the middle of nowhere, everything about her seemed flawless. Everything around her was like her: reserved, solid and effortlessly beautiful.

You were lying on her bed, wearing only the sweater that barely covered your bare legs breathing in the scent of the sheets—of her. Something spicy like sandalwood and woody like honeysuckle.

Dinner had ended a while ago, and the playful, easy mood had dissolved, giving way to silence and your insecurity. Would she send you away? Pretend nothing happened again?

But no.

She did none of that.

In fact, she had simply looked at you and said: "I need a shower."

She went upstairs, and now here you were.

In her bed. 

Turning your face into the pillow and breathing in the fabric like it could calm you.

It didn’t.

Your body still pulsed. Not from adrenaline, but from a strange, low, warm hunger. The kind that starts in your stomach and ends in places no one dares to name aloud.

Sex still clung to your skin like old sweat, but it wasn’t just that. It was her! Agatha. That damn woman who touched you like she was disarming a bomb and always left you in the middle of the minefield, totally alone.

Honestly, you didn’t know what to do now. You’d never made it past this stage.

The bathroom door opened slowly and you turned your head quickly and tried to look relaxed, as if you hadn’t just been caught lost in dirty thoughts about her body.

Agatha appeared in a thick robe, her hair pinned up, still damp in places like she’d taken a bath. She didn’t look directly at you right away, just walked past the bed in silence, went to the dresser, picked up a hairbrush.

Only then did she turn.

"Are you okay?" The question was direct, and it made you rethink your whole life.

"Yeah, I..." you thought, and thought, and nothing came to mind except, "I’m really tired."

She nodded, brushing her hair. She looked away, then looked again.

She wanted to say something, but it was clear the weight in the air was heavy for her too.

"You can sleep here if you want."

The phrase was tossed with the same calm as "I need a shower." As if it meant nothing. As if you weren’t clenching your thighs under her sweater, already wet again just from looking at the curve of her collarbone peeking out of the robe.

You wanted to ask what it meant, but you knew if you did, you'd ruin everything. Agatha was the kind of woman who offered a bed the same way someone offers an abyss: you jump if you want to. 

The choice is yours, the fall too.

You just nodded. 

"Okay." Your voice came out soft, almost like an obedient child.

She went back to brushing her hair, and silence settled in the room like a third presence—uncomfortable, intimate and loaded.

You shifted slightly in the bed, crossing your legs to relieve the hot pressure building between them. But the sheet slipped, revealing your bare thigh. By the time you noticed, the fabric was already on the floor.

You held your breath.

Agatha stopped too.

Her eyes landed on the space between the edge of the sweater and the beginning of your skin. She didn’t smile or look away. But she didn’t move closer either, just stood there, watching.

Slow and controlled, almost cruel.

"Are you cold?" The question came as a whisper, and you didn’t even know what to say.

"A little." You lied.

It was hot, too hot. It was her. 

Always her.

Agatha walked to the edge of the bed, calmly picked up the sheet, and placed it back over your legs, like someone tucking in a child.

The touch was light, but her fingers brushed your thigh a second longer than needed and she knew it.

You looked at her. Up close, her skin looked even softer. The scent of honeysuckle and sandalwood returned, now with something more intimate.

You couldn’t resist.

"Agatha..." 

"Huh?" She murmured, looking at you, but not quite focused.

"Are you going to keep doing this?" 

"Doing what?" 

"Leaving me like this." Your voice trembled, so, did your breath.

She came closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheet now between you. Her hand rested on it, but didn’t touch you.

"Like what?" Still that venomous calm. But her eyes... they were different. 

You held your breath.

"Like it was just another night."

She smiled, just one corner of her mouth, and it seemed almost sad.

"I don’t know... this all feels so unexpected. I can’t..."

"Control it." You said, finishing her sentence with precision.

She froze. The smile died slowly on her lips, as if you’d touched a tender and deep nerve.

"Yeah," she quietly admitted, like she was confessing it to herself too. "Control it."

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, it was full, tense, but also... intimate. A space where neither of you quite knew what to do and still, you stayed.

You raised your hand, hesitant, and touched her face. Her skin was warm, maybe from the bath, or maybe something else. 

She didn’t pull away, just closed her eyes. And that simple gesture, of trust or surrender, completely disarmed you.

"I keep trying to understand what this is," you whispered, brushing your thumb along her cheek. "And at the same time... I just want to feel."

Agatha opened her eyes and there was something there you’d never seen before. Not during the debate, not at dinner, not even when she looked at you with desire.

It was fear, and want, and a deep—ancient exhaustion from pretending she needed nothing.

"You’re so young," she said, almost in lament. "And yet... you see me so clearly." 

"Maybe because of that."

She went quiet. Her face still close to yours. Your breaths touching again, searching like lost hands.

You slid slightly on the bed, offering space. She hesitated for a second, then lay down. This time there was no sheet between you. Just two bodies, under shared warmth.

She pulled you gently, like drawing in a good memory and you fit.

Her hand on your waist. Yours on her chest, feeling the rhythm of her heart.

"I’m so scared of liking this." She confessed, voice almost inaudible against you.

You shut your eyes, feeling a knot rise in your throat.

"I know. Me too." You whispered back, your faces almost touching.

She exhaled into your mouth. "God. What the hell are you doing to me?"

Your bodies rubbed together with longing, like you hadn’t had each other just hours before.

The first brush of lips was like lighting a fuse—slow, calculated, a flame growing between shared breaths. Agatha hesitated for a fraction of a second, like she was still fighting herself, before surrendering to the kiss.

Her lips were softer than you remembered, yielding under yours with a vulnerability she never allowed during the day. Her taste filled your mouth as your tongue ventured forward, timidly and hungrily.

You felt the exact moment she lost control.

A husky moan escaped her throat when your hands found her hips, pulling her fluidly on top of you. Agatha broke the kiss for a moment, her dark eyes dilated, heavy breath filling the space between you.

“Slow.” She ordered, though her voice wavered. More plea than command.

You obeyed, letting your hands glide down her thighs as the two of you settled into a perfect hold. Your legs entwined like ancient roots, your humid warmth meeting at a single, scorching pressure point.

Your first movement was almost accidental but the electric impact rattled her. Agatha gasped, her fingertips dug into your shoulders as you repeated the motion, this time with purpose.

“Like this?” You whispered, feeling her body tremble above you.

She didn’t answer in words. Instead, she captured your lips again in a kiss more hungry. Your tongues met in sync with your bodies, an erotic waltz with each movement prolonging the electric tension growing between you.

You felt the second she began to unravel—the slight tremors in her thighs, the weight of her breasts pressing down with each move, the muted moans slipping between kisses.

“I see…” you murmured against her lips, your hands finding hers and weaving your fingers together. “I see all of you.”

That confession broke Agatha entirely. Her body arched over yours in a perfect curve, her lips parting in a silent cry as wave after wave of pleasure shattered her. You held her safe through every tremor, every spasm, every intense piece of ecstasy.

When she collapsed onto you, exhausted, her eyelids fluttering as she let herself sink, you simply wrapped her in your arms, feeling her rapid heartbeat against your chest.

What followed wasn’t tense—it was peaceful, like a promise.

And when she finally opened her eyes to look at you, you knew: you were fucked.

Agatha rested her head on your chest. Your skin touched, warm. The smell—not perfume, but skin—so comforting, and suddenly… you didn’t want to leave.

“I never really loved him.” She said, breaking the reverie.

You frowned, the single thought surfacing. 

“Thanos?”

She nodded with eyes still closed, serene, relaxed.

“He was kind,” she said, nostalgic.  “Held the car door, flowers on birthdays… made coffee before you woke.”

You waited for the but. You knew it had to come.

“But he always made sure I knew I was the better half. That I should be grateful for having him.” She let out a quiet laugh, a self-conscious one. 

Her head was still on you.

“He hated when I talked about running. Said I’d humiliate myself, turn into a caricature. That people would laugh, dig up dirt.”

You swallowed, unsure what to say. You wanted to hold her, but also... to understand.

“For a while, I believed him,” she continued. “Thought he was just worried. Protecting me.”

She turned her face into your skin, silent for a long moment. You wondered if she’d cried, but when you looked... her eyes were dry.

She wasn't crying.

She was remembering.

And something inside you tightened—a quiet anger, a protective instinct—even though she was older, more powerful, colder.

Or maybe she wasn’t any of this, and now you could see her cracks.

“He wasn’t violent,” she said softly. “But... he had a way of making you feel so small I sometimes believed I was shrinking for real.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, meaning it, thinking of all she’d endured. Years of silence, of submission.

“I thought something was wrong with me. It was so… painful,” her tone was nostalgic. Agatha lifted her head, looking at you with ocean eyes and furrowed brow. “But it’s so good when I’m with you.”

She looked truly confused and you understood perfectly.

“I really am irresistible, babe. Not your fault.”

She laughed and it shattered something in the air. A crack in the current moment between memory and desire. Your heart surged at that laugh—not sarcastic, not polished—real. Something she felt now, not just defending from the past.

Agatha dropped her gaze, bit her lip. A teenage gesture, so out of character that it broke you.

“You don’t need to understand it all at once,” you whispered as softly as her, voice shaking with tenderness you could no longer hide. “Just… stay.”

And she stayed.

She lay down on you again, but now the touch was different. Less strained, more rooted. Her hand rested on your stomach, fingers tracing slow, imaginary lines—like learning the map your skin was.

And there, in that damp hush of wood and night and entwined breath, an inevitable idea formed.

She deserved to know the truth.

Thanos might have been murdered.

Agatha had believed those three years it was a quiet tragedy.

You looked at her, chest rising under your hand, her face serene, her fingers still drawing patterns across your skin.

She deserved to know.

Deserved to know that maybe the man she thought erased her had been erased first.

You knew it was confidential info. You didn’t even know why Natasha leaked it.

She deserved to know.

But how to tell her? How to break it to her without unraveling this fragile thread you’d woven fingertip-by-fingertip, breath-by-breath?

Her hand stilled on your stomach.

“You’re thinking too loud.” She murmured, eyes still closed.

You forced a smile.

“Sorry.”

Agatha lifted her head. She studied you, as if reading the silence between your words.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” She asked, looking at you. 

You could see the sparkle in those eyes, as if she was coming back to life little by little.

You opened your mouth.

But nothing came out.

Air passed your throat, but your tongue didn’t move. Neither jaw nor courage. Because you didn’t yet know who, or why. Didn’t know if you should say it at all, and worst of all: you weren’t sure what Agatha would become once she knew.

You closed your mouth slowly.

She lifted her head again, searching you. But this time, she didn’t ask again.

“It’s okay,” she finally said, as if deciding not to force someone teetering on a tightrope.

She lay back down, face up to the ceiling.

“When you’re ready.”

And she stayed like that.

The silence wasn’t heavy, it was just too full, like a breath that hasn’t quite released or a question you know you need to ask but aren’t sure you can live with the answer.

Agatha moved slowly, seeking comfort. Her body slid against yours again, more to the side this time, cozier. Her leg found yours and her arm came to rest across your abdomen naturally, like it belonged there.

You were still for a moment. Your heart racing, your stomach twisting with nerves. Her breath steadied, tickling your ear, and you stayed wide-eyed, refusing to sleep. You wanted to look at her, see her face, so serene and softened by sleep.

In the warm rustic bed, between sheets that still smelled of honeysuckle, sandalwood—and something of her you now recognized without name—you finally drifted off.

And you don’t know who fell asleep first. 

You just know that when sunlight streamed through the curtain, soft and honey-golden, your bodies were so intertwined you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Her arm tightened around your waist. Your knee between her thighs.

Your cheek was so close to hers that your breath warmed the nape of her neck, and the scent of bare skin—no perfume, just skin—made you never want to leave.

The first movement was slight. One hip shifting. A touch by accident. Then another. Rubbing, sliding slowly, a soft sigh. You felt her skin tremble at the contact.

Then you opened your eyes and so did she.

Her irises were nearly gray in the sunlight. 

You realized neither of you wanted it to stop, maybe you didn’t even know how.

The kiss came like the sun. So warm and inevitable. Just mouths, tongues, the taste of sleep mixed with desire.

She pressed her body to yours, and you moaned against her lips, a whispered secret.

There was no yesterday anymore.

No more doubt.

Only now. 

And now was hot, wet and full.

You simply couldn’t hold back. Maybe it was the kiss, or the warmth between your thighs, or how her hip pressed so naturally against yours that it felt right.

Her hand rose along your waist, firm yet reverent and it nearly unraveled you. She touched you like she was starving, and terrified of breaking you. 

And you wanted her to break everything.

When she slid between your legs, you moaned into her mouth—low and urgent. She captured the sound with her lips, her teeth, her tongue. 

She moved.

Her first hip slide was slow, just feeling. Still, you arched into her, breathlessly hungry.

She smiled against your neck.

“Slow…” she murmured in that rough, half-awake voice. “I want it gentle.”

But you didn’t want gentle. You wanted to devour her, to trap her so that she could never escape from you again.

Your pussies rubbed together with such ease, such desire

Her hand slid between your bodies and touched you without asking. You were hot, dripping, bare, and she moaned, not surprised but desired, like she’d been holding it back.

She touched you with two fingers while her hip moved in rhythm.

You clutched the sheet. Then her shoulders. Then the life rising between you. Her touch was slow, but precise. She knew your body, as if she’d memorized every reaction.

“Look at me,” she said and you did. Her eyes were misty of sleep, pleasure and feeling. “I love it when you obey.” She said and you melted.

She was here. With you.

The orgasm hit you both in waves. You bit her shoulder to stifle your cry.

But she didn’t stop. She kept touching you until you collapsed, until your body gave in, until you couldn’t tell air from moan anymore.

She kissed you afterward. Tasting like victory and sweetness, like home.

And then, when your eyes were still half-open, your breathing erratic, your heart racing back to normal...

Agatha smiled against your lips. 

“Good morning.” She whispered without breath.

And she looked stunning—with clavicles glistening with sweat, her face framed by sun backlighting—she seemed angelic.

Fuck. You felt lost.

L.O.S.T

You blinked, grounding yourself.

“You’ve got stamina for a woman your age.” You teased, even though your chest felt heavy.

Agatha laughed in disbelief, tilting her head back.

“For your information, I was the biggest club hopper at Yale.”

She leaned back into the pillow, still laughing as her fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare stomach.

“Club hopper?” You raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a smile.

“Every weekend. Friday in New Haven, Saturday in Hartford. My friends and I danced until our knees gave out.”

“You?!”

“Yes, me,” she feigned indignance. “What’s so hard to believe about that?”

You turned on your side, your arm sliding onto her hip. “You seem so… elegant. So contained.”

“I am,” she nodded, leaning her face toward yours. “But before I became… this, ”she gestured vaguely to herself. “I was just another insufferable youth with existential crises and terrible taste in cheap wine.”

“That’s unbelievable!” You laughed freely.

“Believe it,” Agatha said with an annoying, beautiful confidence. “I held the debate team presidency and was the dance-floor assassin.”

“Assassin?” You teased against her lips, catching the scent of her again.

“I took it very seriously.” She squeezed your bare ass and chuckled.

“Prove yourself.”

“I doubt you can handle it.”

“Oh yeah?” You growled, straddling her as your bodies pressed together like you’d never parted.

She squeezed your waist.

“You don’t know what you’re asking, honey.”

“Prove it.”

She sighed, either tired or amused by your persistence.

“It’s in my yearbook. Last line of the profile.”

“You’re lying.”

“‘Poetry writing, club hopping, and art,’” she quoted. “‘Like I was fucking Virginia Woolf dancing reggaeton.’”

You laughed louder, leaning your forehead against her sweaty shoulder.

“That’s so specific.”

“I am very specific.” She sighed, dramatic.

You pulled back just enough to look at her face. “And what about poetry writing?”

“Okay, that was bullshit! Every poem had the word hollow at least three times.”

“Wait. You were a goth?”

“I was intense,” she answered, feigning offense. “And the hollow was… metaphorical.”

“Ah, right. How could I forget second year’s existential chasms?”

“And third. And fourth. And there's the grad school too…”

You both laughed, and your chest felt light—full of something warm growing each time she poked fun at her past.

It was rare to see Agatha like this: stripped of everything but herself.

You traced her sweaty clavicle with your finger, still beautiful, still here.

“Take me to dance, Governor.” You whispered to her skin, so low only she would hear it.

Agatha opened her eyes, surprised, still lazy like someone waking from a sweet dream.

“Dancing… like, tonight?”

“Yes,” you said, your smile blooming with challenge. “I want to see what those hips can still do.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling with mischief. “I thought I already proved that last night.”

Her hand slid down boldly, cupping your mound with surgical precision and you moaned, open and deep, not bothering to hide it.

“Bitch.” You muttered, already laughing against the pillow.

“I’m older. Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to dance.” She said, teasing like she was making a promise.

And before things could escalate again—the heat still pulsing between your legs, her touch still lingering—you were already on your feet, energized by what felt like your first official date.

“Where are you going?” Agatha asked, her voice already sounding… needy, like she didn’t want you too far.

“Making breakfast!” You announced like it was a grand mission. Not even bothering to dress, you wrapped her floral robe over your naked body and walked barefoot across the wooden floor. “Coffee, no sugar, right?”

You were already at the door when you heard:

“Actually…” you turned. Agatha was propped up against the pillows, her hair tousled like dark silk, eyes half-lidded but alive—already dancing. “Today, I want to try new things…” she said, with a deliberate pause. “Sweeter things.”

You smiled and it wasn’t just about the coffee.

The day passed like a lazy dream. The coffee was sweet, lunch was some improvised pasta because Agatha hadn’t gone shopping. 

Time felt suspended between stolen kisses, gentle touches, and small discoveries about each other’s tastes.

You never imagined how soft the future governor could be.

And now that you know, you can’t afford to lose it. Maybe… maybe you shouldn’t tell her about Thanos. Not because it’s not your place—though it isn’t, really—but because you don’t want to lose this.

Her smile.

For you.

That night, reality knocked like a damn sledgehammer. Holy shit. It was really happening.

You and Agatha. 

Going out.

Together.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your earrings. The black dress left your arms bare, your clavicles prominent.

When you turned around, she was there.

Leaning against the closet doorway, her hair in perfectly undone waves. A dark blue satin dress hugged her waist just right. Long legs. Elegant neckline. And her lips… tinted a soft baby pink that made her look alive.

She looked… young.

Not in appearance, in spirit.

You forgot how to breathe.

She didn’t notice at first. She seemed nervous, uncomfortable in her own skin, like she was revealing too much.

“What?” She asked. “Too much lipstick? Is the dress too shor—”

“Agatha.”

You cut her off, your voice firmer than you expected from yourself.

She looked at you, startled.

“You look beautiful.”

And then you saw it, something in her broke, like an invisible wall, built with years of control and self-defense, finally cracked down the middle.

Her shoulders dropped half a centimeter. Her eyes softened. Her mouth opened just a little, as if to thank you, but no sound came.

She looked… vulnerable. 

And stunning. 

And yours.

For a second, she wasn’t the political witch, the calculated mother, the untouchable woman.

She was just Agatha. Undone by a compliment. By you.

The club in Oregon was smaller than the ones in the city, but pulsed with raw, young, sweaty energy. Neon lights painted the crowd in lilac and electric blue while the bass made the floor vibrate.

You walked in hand-in-hand with Agatha, slipping through the dancing bodies like you were home.

But she hesitated.

Stopped just at the edge of the dance floor, eyes scanning the crowd with an unreadable expression.

It wasn’t the noise or the heat, it was deeper, like she was observing a planet she hadn’t lived on in decades.

“You okay?” You asked, leaning close, your mouth brushing her earlobe to be heard over the music.

She nodded, forcing a smile.

“It’s been a while… since I was in a place like this. A long while.”

You squeezed her hand. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. Being here with you is already everything.”

You smiled so hard your jaw hurt.

Agatha looked at you. You swore she saw something, because her brow furrowed, her jaw tensed.

“What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

She cupped the back of your neck and held you there.

“You’re so good to me, aren’t you?”

She sounded enchanted, like she was touching something she’d been denied for too long.

You didn’t know what to say. The way she said it… Like a confession. Or an apology. Or the first time she let herself believe.

The music shifted—something sensual and magnetic—and snapped you both out of it.

Agatha blinked slowly. Something changed in her face. Her shoulders relaxed and a smile bloomed.

“I used to dance to this in the back of campus, you know? Drinking cheap wine and wearing a blue eyeliner.”

Your mind raced, picturing a younger Agatha—intense, wild, no pressure from the world—dancing with no pressures.

A life taken from her, a life stolen by a patriarchal society.

But before you could respond, she pulled you in.

No asking.

Words like violence

Break the silence

Come crashing in

Into my little world

Her hands gripped your hips, and your bodies molded into each other like they belonged.

The sultry melody wrapped around you both, but all you could hear was her breathing.

Agatha danced like she remembered.

Who she was. What she wanted. What she could do with her hips.

And she did.

Painful to me

Pierce right through me

Can't you understand?

Oh, my little girl

Her body moved with dangerous grace. Slow and precise. She leaned back against you, head on your shoulder, hand clasping yours.

You tried to breathe.

Failed.

She turned again, pressed her forehead to yours. 

“You make me forget everything.” She murmured, eyes burning with something unspoken.

Then her lips captured yours, fierce and desperate.

The kiss grew, heated, your bodies rubbing together in the middle of that sweltering crowd.

When she pulled your head back, you saw it, wildness. The hunger of a lioness.

She dragged you off the dance floor. The music still pounded under your feet.

All I ever wanted

All I ever needed is here in my arms

Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm

The club’s bathroom was a tiny white-tiled box lit by blacklight, smelling of disinfectant and her expensive perfume.

She shoved you against the door with a thud, eyes smudged and burning like coals.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” She whispered, trembling hands cradling your face. 

The kiss was fire.

Teeth biting, tongue claiming every inch. Your hands found her hips under that tight skirt, fingers sinking into her soft flesh as she ground against your thigh with a low groan.

Vows are spoken

To be broken

Feelings are intense

Words are trivial

“I want to feel you,” she panted, bunching your dress up to your waist. “All of you. Now.”

Her skirt slid up in one smooth motion, revealing the tiniest lace underwear.

You laughed against her lips, breathless from shock.

Pleasures remain

So does the pain

Words are meaningless

And forgettable

"Planning this, Mommy?"

She answered with a bite to your neck and a roll of her hips that stole your breath. "Good old Agatha was crazy for this."

Your hands trembled as you tugged down the straps of her dark blue dress, exposing her perfect breasts—full, rosy, nipples already hard. 

When your mouth captured them, she cried out, her fingers digging into your hair with near-painful force.

"Yes, just like that, fuck," she growled, guiding your hand between her legs. "You suck Mommy so well."

The wetness you found there made you moan. She was soaked, pulsing against your fingers like a wild heart. When you pushed two fingers inside at once, her legs shook violently.

"Slower," Agatha ordered, but her body betrayed her words, her hips rising to take more. "I want it to last... want to feel every second..."

Your foreheads touched, breaths mingling, bodies moving in a rhythm that was less a dance and more an ancient ritual.

All I ever wanted

All I ever needed is here in my arms

Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm

You saw the exact moment when she lost herself. Eyes rolling back, mouth open in silent moans, fingers leaving marks on your skin as if afraid she’d disappear.

When her orgasm hit, it came with a muffled scream against your shoulder, her body writhing like a live wire. 

All I ever wanted

All I ever needed is here in my arms

Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm

You held her through every wave, kissing her closed eyelids, her damp cheeks, the corners of her mouth that kept curling into a smile.

"Look at me." You asked when she came back to herself.

Her eyes were two black oceans. No longer stormy, but free. She kissed you then with a sweetness that ached, her trembling hands cradling your face.

"Thank you." She whispered against your lips, and you knew it wasn’t for the orgasm.

It was for reminding her who she was.

For letting her be.

When you left the bathroom hand in hand, the music was still playing. And Agatha—your wild, free Agatha—pulled you into another dance, this time without fear.

All I ever wanted

All I ever needed is here in my arms

Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm

The door clicked softly behind you. The muffled sounds of the night city faded in the hallway as Agatha dropped the keys on the table with a quiet sigh.

You could still feel the heat of her body on yours—her hands, her taste, the mingled scent of expensive perfume and unrestrained desire.

Agatha moved past you, removing her earrings, her heels, slowly unzipping her dress as if shedding a role that had constricted her more than the fabric itself.

"I haven’t had fun like this in… years," she murmured, not looking at you, her voice caught between exhaustion and joy. "I’m going to take a shower."

And she disappeared down the hall.

You stood there alone in the dim bedroom. Sat on the edge of the bed, still in your crumpled satin dress, grinning like an idiot.

Then you realized.

You were lost.

Not in fear.

In the fall.

In the passion.

You thought of Thanos. Of Barkley. Of her son. Thought maybe you’d crossed a line you shouldn’t have.

But when she gripped the back of your neck, when she told you how good you were for her… that felt truer than anything you’d ever known.

You pressed your hands to your face, trying to steady your breath. This wasn’t the time to drown in the feeling.

Not yet.

The phone buzzed.

On the dresser, Agatha’s iPhone lit up, the screen casting a glow in the dark room.

Maybe it was Barkley. Or Nicky.

You hesitated, but instinct won out. Better to check, make sure it wasn’t urgent.

You picked up the phone and swallowed hard at the notification.

Tony Stark

Confirmed our dinner for Friday?

Your body turned to ice.

You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that he was still around, or the casual, intimate use of our.

Our dinner.

Friday.

You glanced toward the bathroom door. The shower was still running, the sound muffled. You could hear her humming a song.

And then it hit you. No matter how much Agatha had freed herself tonight, no matter how much she was with you, there were still locked doors inside her.

Doors where Tony Stark still had a key.

And you… you didn’t know if you were just a guest or if you were building a home.

You read it again.

And again.

The smile still lingering on your face slowly faded, like snow touching hot iron.

Your chest tightened in a strange way. Not fear, not sadness. It was…

Jealousy.

A hot, acidic and stupid jealousy.

You hated feeling it.

But you hated even more that he could send a message like that, in the middle of the night.

With that kind of freedom.

And the cruelest part? Maybe he could. Maybe he still had that space. Maybe he’d never left it.

You locked the phone again with an automatic flick, as if the glow of the screen could burn your skin.

From the bathroom, Agatha’s voice escaped between the shower’s spray. She sang softly, perfectly in tune, as if the world wasn’t shaking beneath her feet.

You fell back onto the bed, the fabric riding up your thighs, irritating your skin.

Your mouth still tasted like her, your body still burned from her touch. But now… now your heart was pounding out of rhythm.

You turned your face into the pillow and whispered to yourself, so quiet no one would hear:

"It’s just dinner."

But you didn’t believe it, not even a little.

And when you heard the bathroom door open, steam spilling into the bedroom, you pretended to be asleep.

Because if she looked at you now, she’d see.

She’d see you were already boiling inside. She’d see that, of all the dangerous things she’d awakened in you…

You were jealous.

And completely, hopelessly in love with her.

~*~

urghhh, the bad vibes... sorry. And don't judge our girl about not tell about thanos bc it should hard to be in her place too :/

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly @xblinkx2 @rmaximoff @loveshineslikethesky

[ncsdlr]

Willing (To Be Manipulated And To Manipulate)

Eva x Reader

Warnings: Dubious Consent & Manipulation

------------------

You grew up with Eva.

Before the sermons, before the followers with glassy eyes and matching linen dresses, before the voice that dripped like honey and stuck to everything it touched—there was just her. A girl who burned bright in every room. Who spoke like she’d swallowed poetry and made you believe in things you couldn’t name yet.

She was radiant. Even then.

You used to follow her everywhere. Down cracked sidewalks and into abandoned parking lots, flashlight in hand because she said she saw something “magical” in the dark. You believed her every time. You always did.

Eva made you feel like you could be something more. Not prettier. Not louder. Just sharper. Like the way she looked at you made you clearer.

You started writing because she told you that your words mattered. You tried harder in school because she said you were smart. You kept your voice steady, even when you were scared, because Eva never flinched—and you wanted to be like her.

She inspired you.

She shaped you.

And then she ruined herself.

You don’t know exactly when it changed—maybe after that first “gathering,” maybe after she shaved her head and started speaking in metaphors instead of full sentences. But at some point, the girl you loved became someone else entirely. Someone you didn’t recognize.

Someone who knew exactly how to make people fall in love with her, and did it anyway. Over and over. Just to prove she could.

She started calling herself a guide. A vessel. A mirror. She built something from nothing—pulled lonely people into her orbit like it was gravity. And the worst part? She looked good doing it. Barefoot. Angelic. Untouchable.

You stayed away at first. You told yourself you were done.

But something in you cracked when she texted you out of nowhere. “Come see what I’ve built.” Three years of silence, and that’s all it took.

Now you’re here. Living on the edge of her little commune, in a guest room with no locks, surrounded by people who whisper her name like it’s sacred.

You hate her for it.

You hate how easy it was for her to change. You hate how beautiful she still is when she talks to a room like she owns it. You hate that she remembers your favorite wine. You hate that you drink it with her.

You hate her.

God, you hate her.

****

Eva’s in the kitchen when you walk in, barefoot and bathed in golden light like she fucking planned it that way. She’s pouring coffee—slow, precise, theatrical. The steam curls around her like it worships her too.

For a second, you almost forget.

Then she speaks.

“You sleep okay?” she asks, not looking at you, like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.

Like you didn’t grow up next to her heartbeat.

You open the fridge. It’s mostly wine and some sad, untouched fruit. Typical. You close it again with a soft thud.

“I made you a cup,” Eva offers, already holding out the mug she definitely poured for you.

“I’m not drinking your cult brew,” you mutter.

She chuckles. “You think I laced it or something?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Eva finally looks at you. Her eyes are so annoyingly soft it almost stings. “I missed you, you know.”

You ignore the weight of that. The way it slides under your skin.

“Still giving me the silent treatment?” she teases. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”

You shoot her a look. “Dramatic says the woman who made twelve people quit their jobs and live in the woods for ‘spiritual alignment.’”

“They wanted something real.”

“They wanted therapy and maybe a hobby. Not a prophet in silk robes with a god complex.”

Eva smirks, leans against the counter like she owns the whole damn world—and maybe, in her mind, she does. “You’re jealous.”

“Of what?” You fold your arms. “Your aesthetic?”

“My attention,” she says, eyes flicking to yours. “And maybe the way I still get to you.”

Your pulse stutters.

You keep your voice even- just like how she taught you. “Get over yourself.”

“You used to like the way I talked.”

“That was before you turned every sentence into a sermon.”

Eva shrugs, unbothered. “Still hanging on every word, though.”

She moves closer. Two steps. No permission. No hesitation. Now she’s near enough to make your ribs tighten.

“You're impossible,” you say quietly.

She smiles like she knows. “And you’re still here.”

That lands heavier than it should. Your throat tightens, just for a second.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you whisper.

Eva softens. Just slightly. “I’m not. I’m just… surprised you came back.”

You hold her gaze, and for a moment it feels like you’re sixteen again—sneaking out after curfew, laying side-by-side on the roof of her parents' house, trading secrets and daring the stars to fall.

And then you blink. And it’s now. And she’s not yours anymore.

Maybe she never was.

You step back. Put space between you.

“You’re not the person I grew up with.”

Eva’s smile fades into something else—sadness maybe, or understanding. Or just a really good performance.

“I could say the same about you,” she says softly.

You walk out before you let it sink in.

****

You try to stay away from her that night.

You tell yourself you’ll stay in your room, read something pointless, maybe pretend to journal even though your pen’s been dry for weeks. You hear the soft laughter of her followers outside by the firepit, the clink of bottles, the low hum of someone playing guitar like you’re all in a damn indie film.

But it’s the way the house feels that gets to you. Empty. Hollow in places. Like Eva took all the air with her when she left the room.

So you drift out to the living room eventually. Not to talk. Not to join. Just to sit on the edge of the couch with your legs pulled up and your arms crossed like armor.

You don’t even notice her watching you until she sits down.

Not next to you. Not right away.

But closer than she was before.

You sip slowly from your glass, eyes on the flickering candle in the center of the table. It smells like sage and eucalyptus. She probably made one of her followers hand-pour it.

“You always drink like it’s a punishment,” Eva says, voice soft and amused.

“I’m drinking because it’s the only way to survive your bullshit.”

She laughs gently, like that didn’t sting. “Still got that bite.”

“You still got that god complex?”

“Only when I’m around you.”

That earns her a look.

She’s already moved closer. Just enough that you can feel the heat of her thigh near yours. Not touching, but near enough that it makes you acutely aware of the space between you. And how fast it’s shrinking.

You down half your glass in one go.

“Slow down,” she murmurs, brushing a fingertip along the rim of her own. “No one’s chasing you.”

You glance at her. “You say that like you’re not the one doing the chasing.”

She tilts her head. “You think I’m chasing you?”

“I think you’re always chasing whoever gives you the best mirror.”

Her eyes flicker, just for a second. You hit a nerve.

But then she smiles, slow and deliberate. “You always did know how to read me. That’s what I missed most.”

“You didn’t miss me,” you say. “You missed how easy I used to be to control.”

That’s when she gets bold—shifts a little closer. Her leg brushes yours, and she doesn’t move it. Her voice drops, syrupy and low.

“I don’t need to control you,” Eva says. “You always came willingly.”

The heat that flushes your chest has nothing to do with the wine.

“You’re disgusting,” you mutter, looking away.

“And yet… here you are.”

You laugh bitterly. “Here I am. Wasting wine and oxygen.”

“Sharing space,” she corrects, smiling like she’s won something. “You could’ve stayed away. Could’ve gone home. Blocked my number. Burned your little yearbooks.”

You don’t respond.

She pours you more wine.

You let her with a flaming glare.

You’re not sure when the conversation fades.

Somewhere between the third glass and the fourth, the words start to feel too careful. Like she’s guiding them, steering the night like a slow river, pretending to drift while secretly pulling you toward the rocks.

She’s always been good at that.

Eva lounges beside you, glass loose in hand, eyes soft and calculating. She watches you like she already knows what you’ll do next. Like she’s already counted your moves.

“You always looked better like this,” she says gently. “Unwound. A little flushed.”

You glare, but your body betrays you—cheeks warm, breath just slightly uneven.

“I think it’s the wine,” she adds, tilting her head. “Or maybe it’s me.”

“You really can’t go five minutes without making it about you, can you?”

Eva smiles like she’s proud of the observation. “I only talk about what’s in front of me. And right now? You’re glowing.”

You roll your eyes, but your legs have stopped tensing. Your shoulders have dropped. Just a little. You don’t realize it yet.

She leans back, swirling her drink lazily. “I missed this. You, getting all riled up. Always so sure you were above me, but still sitting at my table.”

“I’m not sitting at your table,” you mutter.

“You’re here.” Her voice goes quiet. “You didn’t have to be.”

You say nothing. You know she wants you to fill the silence.

“You could’ve left a hundred times,” she continues. “But you didn’t. You stayed. You stayed with me. Why?”

You clench your jaw. “I wanted to see for myself what you’d turned into.”

Her smile softens. “You wanted to make sure I wasn’t lost.”

Your breath hitches.

“You wanted me to still be her.”

You shake your head. “No.”

“You lie to yourself more than you ever lied to me,” Eva says, and it doesn’t sound cruel—it sounds like a prayer. “That’s why I never hated you. You wanted goodness so bad it made you blind.”

“I wanted you to be good,” you whisper. “And you turned into this.”

“And yet you still drink with me,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers along the stem of her glass. “You still sit close. You still look at me like you did when we were seventeen.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

Her voice drops. Low, coaxing. “Do you remember that summer? The one where we snuck out every night? You brought a blanket. I brought that old CD player.”

You blink. You do remember. You hate that you do.

“You said the stars made you feel small. I said that meant you were lucky—because I’d never felt small a day in my life.”

She leans in just a little, her hand resting beside yours on the couch.

“I think that’s when you started loving me.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Eva—”

“Shh,” she whispers. “You don’t have to say it.”

She’s too close. Her skin warm. Her breath impossibly steady. Her eyes locked on yours like a dare, like a promise, like a trap.

“You always liked it when I got close,” she says. “Didn’t matter what I said.”

You want to push her away. You want to pull her in.

You hate that you’re still here. You hate that she knows it.

“Eva…”

“Shh,” she murmurs again, and her fingers brush your cheek. “Don’t overthink it.”

And before you can—before your shame catches up to your pulse— She kisses you.

****

The kiss deepens before you can stop it—before your brain catches up to your body. Her lips move like she’s been waiting for this, like she’s trained for this. You hate how easily your mouth parts for her, how natural it feels to fall back into something you promised yourself you’d never touch again.

Her hand slides over your thigh, and somewhere in the haze you realize: you’re in her room. You didn’t mean to end up here. But you’re here.

Everything smells like her—jasmine, wine, something sweet and burning in the incense dish by the window. The lighting’s low and warm, amber from the salt lamp on the nightstand. The sheets are soft. Of course they are.

This whole room is a trap.

“Let me fix it,” she whispers against your skin. “I’ve been too distant with you.”

You’re still catching your breath when she pulls back just enough to look at you—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, voice syrupy soft.

“Take this,” she says gently. “As an opportunity to take what you lost.”

And because the room is warm, and your chest aches, and the way she’s looking at you feels like a dare—you give in.

You move first.

You touch her like you’re owed something. Like reclaiming her body might heal what she stole. You kiss her throat, trail your fingers lower, drown her in pleasure until her back arches and her breath comes in choked sobs against the headboard.

The sheets twist under your knees. She clutches the pillows like she’s breaking.

You think you’re winning.

But the whole time, she watches you. Quiet. Sharp. Like a queen surveying her most loyal follower.

You don’t notice.

You just think—this is it. This is mine again.

"I've already made you cum so much, Eva...think you can still take this?" You grin as you speak because you think you're the one in control- that's how it feels.

Eva's wet velvet walls flutter around you as you curl your fingers just perfectly. The slow yet deep thrusts of your fingers are what takes Eva right over as you coax another orgasm out of her, her mind unsure of whether or not she can take more of this. She really underestimated how good at this you could be.

"F—fucking hell, Y/N! You're really—ah... you're really taking me, huh?"

The small, smug grin on Eva's lips makes you tick. It makes your finger curl inside her harder. Reach deeper. And it makes Eva cum one more time with a violent moan, one of her hands reaching for your forearm and holding onto it as if it would help her in anyway.

But it doesn't.

If anything, it only makes you fuck her more- claim her more. And with a suddenly quick pistoning of your fingers in and out of Eva's cunt, her orgasm gushes out of her, jetting around you finger and soaking everything within range.

The look of utter exhaustion on Eva's face makes you stop just to give her a minute to breathe, at least. You pull your fingers from her depths and cup her cunt gently. Almost as if you're afraid she'll blow away in the wind. Like now you want to cradle her after all you've taken back from her.

But like you didn't just give her transforming orgasms back to back, she flips you over. Like you've always belonged beneath her. Like she's been waiting to have you under her since forever.

The flip makes your breath catch, and the air feels a little too thick. You notice how soft the sheets feel now. Like you're more open and more vulnerable now than ever before.

And then it begins.

Eva's hands move like they remember you better than you remember yourself. Her mouth finds all the places you thought you buried. Her fingers slip inside like they belong there.

"Holy fuck." You moan into the air, the feeling of Eva's fingers deep inside you, feeling like a soothing balm.

You come too fast. Then again, "Shit, Eva!" Then again, gasping into her neck like you’ve forgotten who you are, "Oh, my god."

It’s effortless for her.

And that’s the worst part.

By the time your body stills and your chest stops shaking, you’re half-draped across her lap, legs limp, heart pounding in your throat. You can still hear your own voice echoing in the room. You hate how loud you got. You hate how smug she looks, all calm and golden in the afterglow.

She kisses your temple like she didn't just ruin you.

“See?” she murmurs. “You didn’t lose anything.”

But this bed doesn’t feel like sanctuary. It feels like a throne. And you—you’re not lying next to her.

You’re laid out in offering.

****

You wake up sore, warm, and furious.

The sun is barely up. Pale light spills across the room, lighting the sheets in gold, and you’re still in her bed, tangled in her sheets, still tasting the night before on your tongue like a crime you meant to commit.

She’s not beside you.

Of course she’s not.

You sit up, hair a mess, throat dry, heart hammering. The room smells like sex and incense and smug satisfaction. You find your clothes scattered near the foot of the bed—your shirt inside out, your underwear nearly under the nightstand.

You dress quickly, almost violently. Like every second you spend here makes it worse.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, Eva’s already there.

Barefoot again. Mug in hand. Wearing one of those thin white shirts that might as well be transparent. She doesn’t even flinch when she sees you.

“Morning,” she says casually, like she didn’t have you begging under her last night.

You don’t answer. You go straight for the sink and splash water on your face like it’ll burn the memory off your skin.

“I made coffee,” she offers.

You look at her. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

You blink at her like she’s insane. “Don’t ‘what’ me. You don’t get to act like nothing happened.”

Eva shrugs, completely unfazed. “I’m not acting like anything.”

“You’re humming.”

She sips from her mug, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re grumpy in the mornings. I forgot how cute that was.”

You stare at her, jaw tight. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

She sits on the counter like it’s hers—legs dangling, eyes glinting. You hate how calm she is. How put-together. How she looks like last night only confirmed something she already knew.

“You’re not going to ask if I regret it?” you say bitterly.

Eva raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

You pause.

And that pause—that one second too long—gives her all the confirmation she needs.

Her smile widens just slightly.

You glare at her, throat tight. “Don’t think this means anything.”

“I don’t.”

She sips her coffee again. “You do.”

Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter. You want to scream. You want to grab her and kiss her again. You want to leave.

Instead you mutter, “It was a mistake.”

Eva hums. “Maybe. But you make mistakes beautifully.”

Your heart skips.

She hops down from the counter, brushes past you on the way to the sink, and whispers as she passes:

“You looked so good falling apart.”

You don’t speak. You don’t move.

You just stand there. Burning. Remembering. Wanting.

And hating that you still do.

You stare at the back of her head as she hums and washes her mug, like last night wasn’t carved into both your bodies. You wonder if she’ll ever bring it up again. You hope she doesn’t. Because if she does—you’re not sure you’d be strong enough to lie.

[slimgenie]

Excerpt from latest TweekxCraig fic on ao3

art by Morgan Treat in Pinterest

After dinner, they had both retired to their room.

Tweek got out of the shower. Mr. Goberts’ basement really had everything. It was like a home under another home. He dried his wild platinum blonde hair with a towel and put on white bath robes. His face had a hint of red blush, from the warm shower. 

He saw Craig. Sitting on a single couch chair. A glass of wine in his hand. His piercing blue eyes looked at Tweek when he got out. 

“Why are you lying.. For me?” His voice was almost. Angry. 

Tweek ignored him and plopped  down on their guest bed. 

Irked. Craig repeated his question.

“W-why do y-you think, Craig?” Tweek asked, his voice almost polite, like how a kindergarten teacher would ask a question to a toddler. 

“Does it not bother you? You’re hiding a murderer.” 

Again. Silence. 

Tweek got up. His emerald green eyes. They almost seemed black. Like a forest in the death of night.

He walked towards the still seated Craig, snatched his glass from him, and threw it on the floor. Craig flinched as the glass shattered to pieces, wine spilled. Staining the floor maroon. 

Craig got up and grabbed his shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. 

“What?  You think I’m an innocent little s-saint, don’t you? W-well, what i-if I told you, r-right this FUCKING instant, that I would kill . On purpose, unlike you. Just to get rid of this FUCKING guilt you’re using to make us apart.”

Craig’s eyes widened. What was he saying? 

“D-do you n-not love me?” Tweek asked. 

“Of course I lo-”

“T-then why don’t y-you trust me? Trust me that I’m g-gonna get US out of this situation! You don't even remember that night! Maybe, there are t-things, about that n-night that needs to be looked i-into further!”

Craig couldn’t understand the words Tweek was saying. Why? He has nothing to do with this. This was Craig’s problem. Why doesn’t Tweek understand that he feels guilty for involving him? Involving the boy he loves the most out of anything in this universe.

Blemishing his life with his sins.

Tweek, who was the only light he saw in 18 years at South Park… How can he corrupt him?  

Tweek then undid the waist knot of his bathrobe. Revealing to Craig, his...

Craig looked, and gulped. Blood rushing to his face. 

Tweek raised his light eyebrow and his statement that followed pierced through Craig’s veneer. 

“I don’t wanna make love r-right now, C-Craig.  I want you to f-fuck me.”

[kalwithatrenchcoat]

I'd like to imagine that he was the wizard all along.

[holeforzenin]

I can’t stop thinking about DILF kento who’s the best husband and father in the whole world <3

He’s always up early before work—blonde hair perfectly styled, his tie neat and snug around his neck. But his hand’s already on your ass in the kitchen while you’re trying to pour cereal for the kids. He leans in close and murmurs, “Bend over a little, sweetheart. Just like that,” as if it’s just another casual morning—which it is, in the Nanami household.

He’s so calm about it too. Nothing riles him. He could have your panties pushed to the side and rubbing little circles on your clit under the dining table while the kids are still brushing their teeth and still be checking the weather app calmly on his phone with a straight face.

He’s sooo big on discipline too, but only when you’re alone. If you’re being a tease, he’ll wait until everyone’s asleep, then bend you over the edge of the bed and say, “This is for acting out in front of the kids. Now count” and before you get anytime to protest, the loud sound of his palm colliding with the swell of your ass echos in your shared bedroom.

And Kento loves routines. Saturday morning grocery run, followed by fucking you in the backseat of his car while the groceries sweat in the trunk. Sunday night after bath time? He has you on his lap in the living room while he watches the news and the kids are staying at their grandparents house, his cock buried deep inside of you, with occasional slow little rolls of his hips every time you shift.

His aftercare is immaculate. Fuzzy robe, your favorite drink, rubbing lotion into your thighs with those big, warm hands. He says it’s so you’re not sore for the school run tomorrow—but you know he just likes taking care of what’s his.

And he definitely pulls your hand under the table at PTA meetings and makes you rub him through his slacks while he calmly discusses bake sale logistics.

He’s also very big on household rules—he enforces them. You sass him in front of the kids? You get a quiet, “We’ll talk later,” and your stomach flips. Later means he’s dragging you across his lap, voice low and calm while he pulls your panties down and says, “We don’t use that tone in this house, Darling”.

His love language is ruining you before 7 a.m. and leaving a sticky note on the fridge that says “You were perfect this morning. Don’t forget to drink water”. And he texts you at noon: “Thinking about how you looked bouncing on my cock. Proud of you, sweetheart”

The other dads are always late and tired for everything. But kento? He’s freshly shaved, in cuffed sleeves, and already made you came twice before breakfast.

[teaboot]

One time I read that post that goes "once upon a time an adult put you on the ground and never picked you up again" and it made me sad so now I lift everyone. I'm 5'3" and kinda dumpy but the trick is to plant your feet, get 'em in a gable grip low near the hips with your knees bent, and then just tuck in your Elbows and straighten your legs. Gets those fuckers right on up there. I'm the oldest of eight and also the shortest but that sad shit lives with me so I'm hauling around these kids around like it's nothing. My little brother is a hockey player and a full head taller. I carried him around when he was a baby and I carried him around last weekend. My Papa is a 230lb Bavarian man who watches Stargate in a bath robe, he's smoked a pack a day for forty years. You think I haven't lifted him? I have. He said I couldn't do it but I did. God didn't give me social skills but I'm full of love and jacked as hell and he's not here to stop me

[bizarrelovetriangel]

spoiled.

this was going to be sylus' portion of this fic but it ended up being exactly like what i wrote for rafayel so i changed it. i then planned on posting it for his birthday week but i ended up writing something else. but i figured i'd post this one too anyways. kinda short and unedited sorry !!

mdni. 18+ only. bathroom sex.

It's the morning the 19th of April, the day after Sylus' birthday.

After karaoke night with the twins and Mephisto, you and Sylus stayed for a few more hours past midnight. You enjoyed a little more dessert before getting tangled up in each other's bodies on the sheets of his bed.

You woke up to the sight of marks all the parts of your body that would be hidden by your clothes. You also can't ignore the soreness that took over your muscles, particularly on your legs.

You hoped that a warm bath would help, so you abandoned the comfortable bed earlier than planned and threw in his bathtub one of the bathbombs that you bought for Sylus and yourself.

As you were humming to a song and coating yourself with a flowery-scented soap, you suddenly got company.

Dressed in nothing but his sleeping robe, Sylus wore a soft, small smile as he admired your figure. He recalled the fresh memories of stripping you down as if unwrapping a birthday gift, and eating you up so that he could remember how you taste for the next set of days that you'll have to be separated.

His own thoughts caused blood to rush down to his hips.

He wants to feel you again.

"Won't you make some room for me, sweetie?"

His bathtub is more than big ebough for the two of you, so you didn't even really need to move. He only asked if you'd be comfortable with it. After folding your legs against your chest, you told him to go ahead.

Sylus slipped off the robe of his body and you flushed at all the marks that you left on his skin. Well, it's only fair, you suppose: he wears your marks, and you wear his.

He sat on the opposite side of the bathtub, facing you and resting his arms on the rim. Even though the bathtub is spatious, his long legs playfully nudges yours as placed them alongside each other.

In return, you flicked some soap bubbles towards him, sending splattering on top of his head.

He chuckled and shook his head. "You don't have to sit so far away, kitten."

You jokingly narrowed your eyes at him. "If I come closer, you're not gonna do anything weird, are you?"

"I won't make any promises."

You joined him in his side of the bathtub and rested your back against his chest. Almost immediately, Sylus rested his chin on your left shoulder while grabbing your right hand and intertwining your fingers together.

His eyes were fixated on your face while you helped cover his arms in soap, making him smell like flowers just like you.

After washing off the soap from your bodies, you relaxed against him with your eyes closed. You felt his arms enclose around your figure before planting a kiss on your forehead.

For a moment, you two sat in peaceful silence, just enjoying each other's presence.

Then, you felt something poking your back.

"Sylus..."

His cock twitched as you called his name. You felt his warm breath hitch by your ear, and his chest moved up and down.

Your right hand went to this thighs and slowly made its way between them, wrapping him around your fingers. He grunts before biting your ear and cupping your breasts with his hands.

You moved your hand up and down his cock faster as you him get harder. Soon enough, he was thrusting his hips into your hand and leaving his teeth marks onto your neck.

"...need you...."

You gasped quietly as Sylus spun you around and put you onto his lap before putting himself inside you.

The water rippled as your bodies moved up and down, mirrors and windows fogging up as the room becomes steamy.

Sylus lets out an annoyed grunt, not liking the lack of space for himself to move.

"Hold on, sweetie."

"What — ah!"

He stood up and carried you with him to leave the bathtub, all while his cock is still inside you. He stood by mirror but he didn't set you down.

He kept you hanging onto him and grabbed your ass before pushing you up and down, while at the same time his hips thrusted back and forth.

The sound of your skin slapping echoed throughout the room, and you recalled Sylus saying it wasn't soundproof so you muffled your moans by pressing your mouth onto his chest.

Sylus, however, didn't bother holding back his groans as he increases his pace pounding into you.

Still, he feels like it wasn't enough.

He couldn't get enough of you.

He wanted to see your face as he hits the deepest parts of you.

Sylus suddenly came out of you and gently set you down, only for him to softly push you against the vanity, spread your legs wide open and fuck you even harder and faster.

His eyes focused on your expression as he drilled into you right before pulling out and messily cumming all over your thighs and stomach. You came not long after him, resting your forehead against his chest as you catch your breath.

Sylus planted a kiss on top of your head. "My birthday is already over and yet you've given me such a wonderful gift this morning. So, this is what it feels like to be spoiled."

[acosmicbee]

Child of War

God of War x GN Child Reader

"Only the best for me." Was the demand the war god made of your village. It was a small village, but one that dedicated itself to solely worshiping the bringer of war. It was a controversial opinion as villages usually paid homage to gods other than their direct patrons, but here it was different.

Here, when the god of war took it upon himself to speak to lowly mortals, it was seen as an act of favoritism for being so loyal. So when the priests had reported his words, people scrambled to listen.

Everyone sacrificed their best to him, from wedding rings to fancy dresses to the ripest fruit. For you, that meant watching as your beloved toy bunny was burned at his alter. You watched his fur turn to ash as his button eyes melted from the heat.

Your father and stepmother had demanded it of you, and while you could vaguely remember the lessons on how sacrificing was a great act of devotion, it didn't make it any less of a loss. The only thing that kept you from bursting out into tears was being told how much the war god would look down at you favorably for taking part, even as a child.

What you didn’t expect was to find your little bunny back on your bed at home. He was sitting right where you always left him by your pillow. His fur was just as soft, even if he carried a faint smell of smoke and something a bit more metallic.

You just laughed, hugging him tightly. You didn't hear your parents' whispers about what this might mean for you. How you were clearly favored by the war god for him to return your toy so readily.

There was talk of having you become one of the tenders of his temple, dedicating your life to him. They called over the priests and elders when the next sacrifice was met with a similar result.

The cloak your parents had told you to burn, the only one you had as winter approached fast, was back on the hook by the time you got home. In fact, the broken clasp that was prone to slipping loose had been fixed with an actual silver button.

That earned you the envy of several of your peers, all of whom also wanted to be noticed by the war god, but it never happened for them. When the god demanded a sacrifice they would also burn their toys and cloaks, hoping for a sign.

Instead, they'd receive nothing in return. Soon that jealousy would turn into hatred. Why did you get to be the special one? Why not them? They'd never touch you, but you could hear them as they mocked and teased you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁🗡˖ . ݁

"The god has asked for another sacrifice. This time it seems he wants something other than material possessions." One of the priests said, sitting with your parents. You were listening from the other room, as your father and stepmother whispered back and forth for a while.

"Y/N has always been favored." Another priest chimed in. "Their death would not be in vain as they would be doing the greatest duty to the war god. In fact, he may even call upon their spirit to serve him even in death."

"How much are you willing to give us in return?" Your stepmother asked. At that you stopped listening, crawling into bed as you pretended this was all a bad dream.

When you were taken to the temple the next day with nothing but your bunny and cloak you knew what was happening. You saw the way they lied, saying they'd see you soon, as you were handed off to one of the priests and escorted deeper into the temple.

They had some of the priestesses bathe you in scented water, scrubbing you clean. Your hair was washed and brushed out, styled neatly. Then you were dressed in white robes before you had been whisked off somewhere to meet your doom.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁🗡˖ . ݁

Your bunny and cloak had been taken somewhere along the way, and that's how you knew it was almost time for you to die.

You cried as they tied you to the table, preparing the knife. It was only once the chant began and the priest was standing over you, about to end it when everything stopped.

The priest's arms faltered before the knife slipped from his grasp as something shot from his chest. He fell down, narrowly missing you, with a sword stabbed through his abdomen. The priests in the room gasped, bowing down to the man who stood in front of you. He shielded your prone form with his own, wearing battle armor made of gold and stained with blood.

"When did I ever say that I wanted my sacrifice killed?!" A voice hissed. It sounded angry and held a power to it that immediately reminded you of a war cry. "You need to listen, fools. Such stupid mortals."

The ropes holding you fell away and you were lifted into strong arms. You looked up at your savior with tear filled eyes, which made him frown. In an instant, your bunny was being placed into your arms as he wrapped your cloak around your shoulders.

"Some things shouldn't be seem by such a young child, even if you are my child now. Sleep little one, even war can feel mercy sometimes." He placed a finger on your forehead and sleep instantly clawed at your vision.

"My siblings always said I had a big ego," he started, staring at the other priests who had just attempted to sacrifice you. "As the god of war I've always been sacrificed the best of the spoils. I've always gotten the best, and I deserve the best."

His voice suddenly dropped as he gently set you aside, his eyes blazing with anger. They were the color of freshly spilled blood with the practiced control of a soldier. "But however big my ego may be, my anger towards this disgusting mortal town is a million times bigger."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁🗡˖ . ݁

When you woke up next, it was in a beautiful bedroom among the clouds. The home of gods and goddesses... and you now. Although it wasn't long before you had also been made immortal, given a title by your new father.

Y/N. The child of War. Immortal of mercy and the innocence of childhood.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: obsession, obsessive thoughts

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about when the playboy finally falls in love…

It’s so silly, soft as it may sound, untrue even given his record of sleeping around, but sometimes all he wants is pure unadulterated love. A hug once in a while would be nice – maybe a chaste kiss on his cheek – or cuddles.

You hadn’t believed a lick of it. You’d only laughed in his face with a shake of your head, telling him that must have been the worst pick-up play you’d ever been the victim of. 

It’s cliché, but he’s been obsessed with you ever since.

He feels like such a loser thinking about it – for real now – rolling his eyes with a hidden smile while looking at the candid picture he’d snapped of you. 

Chewing on this tongue while fantasizing such ridiculous things – virginal nothings such as handholding or resting his head in your lap and feeling you play with his hair. Sleeping together with your clothes on – spooning each other all clingy and soft...

Whispering sweet little nothings against the shell of his ear – teasing him. Playfighting – making you squeal and giggle as he grabs you and pins you beneath him in the bed. Tickling – making you laugh. Or kissing your nose and head and hand. 

Oh, and making breakfast together, eating lunch, and sharing dinner. 

Don't get him started on showering – helping each other wash – backrubs and headscrubs. How good your hands would feel carding through his hair as you rub in soap and rinse it out. Or just face masks. A whole evening in the bubble bath.

Watching some stupid romcom in fluffy bath robes afterward with your dopey tired head falling to rest on his shoulder. Snoring and mumbling small sweet little nothings to each other.

Saying good morning. Saying goodnight. Have a nice day. Good luck. I love you. I love you more. I love you most.

And there’s more.

Baby-names.

You haven't even gotten his dick wet once – he hasn’t even scored a kiss yet, and he’s already thinking about knocking you up and putting a ring on it.

You would look too good with his brat on your knee…

Bouncing them, breastfeeding, playing peek-a-boo games, zerbert, and doing the Simba from The Lion King – all with a great big beaming smile on your face. A smile that even the sun would envy.

Not to mention the kid itself. 

He would love the ever-living life out of a little baby version of you – pouty plump lips and mochi cheeks – spluttering and hiccupping on earth-shattering sobs when scuffing her dainty little knees on the pavement – asking for piggyback rides and candy before dinner.

Or a little miniature of him. Seeing you lull little devil-faced Junior to sleep.

Fuck it, you should get both. A truckload.

He’s shaken from his thoughts when his friend snaps his fingers.

“You’ve been staring at your phone forever. What’re you looking at that’s so important?”

He can’t believe how far down the rabbit hole he’d just spiraled. Thinking about a girl without picturing her naked. He must be losing it.

“… I’m not sure…”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Denki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Bokuto, Oikawa, Miya twins, Suna ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido, Aiku ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ WB – Suo, Kaji, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[woso-dreamzzz]

Goddess

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: Alexia just can't help herself

WARNINGS: Minor sexual content

Alexia's mind doesn't wander during sex usually.

Why would it?

She's got you right where she wants you, like an angel as you moan out your pleasure.

You're beautiful in this position, perfect like you always are but, still, Alexia's mind wanders.

She's an attentive lover even as her gaze shifts to the bedside table.

It's from IKEA, she's pretty sure. She doesn't actually know. All she knows is you disappeared one day and came home with two flatpacks that you made Alexia build as you sat on the bed and watched tv.

You'd rewarded her with kisses, of course, but you'd also insisted she build them then and there and refused to make dinner until she did.

Your bedside table is cluttered now. There's a lamp that Alexia's never seen you use perched atop it along with your phone charger. All three of your drawers are filled to the brim with your jewellery - rings, bracelets, necklaces.

It's unfair really, Alexia thinks as she thrusts deeper, drawing a loud whine from your perfect lips as you bite at the pillow so the neighbours don't complain again.

It's so unfair that you can so easily switch between gold and silver jewellery. It's unfair that no matter what you wear, you always achieve that ethereal quality like how you always look like you've descended from upon high.

You can close your eyes, dip your hands, gentle and careful like always, into your bedside drawers. You can draw your jewellery out like they're sacred threads on a loom, reverent and awe-filled always.

It doesn't matter what you put on your body.

You have a timeless beauty that Alexia can do nothing but marvel at, in awe of you like always no matter what you're wearing, no matter what you're doing, no matter the time of day.

Marvel at you like she is now, momentarily pulled from her thoughts by you writhing under her, gasping and whining like it's all you can do.

She leans down, kissing your shoulder and hooking her chin over it so her lips can brush against the shell of your ear.

"Are you doing okay, beautiful?"

You whine, a beautiful, broken thing that has pride filling Alexia's chest.

"S-So good," You moan out as Alexia hits that one spot she could find blindfolded.

"Yeah? You feeling good?"

"Y-Yeah."

Alexia draws back, laying another soft, reverent kiss to your shoulder as she thrusts a bit harder into you.

Her mind wanders again, eyes lazily looking over at her bedside table.

Unlike yours, hers is neat.

There's no lamp on the top of it.

Her phone charger is plugged in elsewhere.

It's just a water bottle for her to drink from when she wakes up in the morning.

Her three drawers are practically empty. The bottom one holds her passport usually but that's currently packed away in her travel bag for her next away trip.

The other two are empty usually.

But not today.

They haven't been empty for the past two months actually, no matter what Alexia tells you.

Two things rest there.

Two potentially perfect things.

If Alexia could ever make a decision.

Sometimes she would open up the first ring box and stare, imagining the golden band and the beautiful diamond sparking in the early morning sun as you stretch out in the golden sunlight, sitting out in on the balcony with a coffee made lovingly by Alexia with a book that she'd recommended to you months ago.

But then the second ring box would catch her eye.

She can picture it so easily in her mind.

The silver band snuggly situated on your ring finger, bathed in the silver moonlight. You'd be fresh from your shower, wrapped up snuggly in Alexia's robe. Your head would be thrown back, laughing at whatever Alexia's said.

Both of the rings would look perfect on your finger and that's the problem.

You look perfect in anything. Any clothes. Any jewellery. Any makeup.

With or without it all.

You gasp under her and Alexia gently coaxes you down from your high, careful hands steadying your shaking body as she holds you so tenderly.

"Marry me," She blurts out when you pull away from the lazy kiss you share.

For a moment, Alexia's heart misses a bit, eyes grow wide at her own audacity.

You don't deserve a proposal like this.

You deserve to be wined and dined. You deserve a big speech filled with all the things Alexia loves about. You deserve all the promises Alexia knows how to make.

You don't deserve this even if your post sex glow has Alexia free falling for you, plummeting closer and the closer to the ground just so she can look up into the sky to gaze upon you, to look at you how you were meant to be viewed.

Like a goddess.

You deserve so much more than a post-sex proposal.

"Yes," You whisper against her lips," Do I get to choose my ring now? Or did you want me to wear each of them on different days?"

[deikshen]

The Shen Yuan that dies - really dies. He actually dies and doesn't transmigrate, but well, you know, death is a timeless thing and the flow of time itself in the world of the dead is so weird lol So, well, let me make up that all the demons and ghost kings and cultivators inhabit this powerful timeless space where the dead also go, and oh, there's Shen Yuan now -

So, Shen Yuan is just a silly ghost fire filled with pent-up rage, damn shitty novel, damn shitty author. Is he “alive” for something? Because of how much he hates PIDW and its fucked up ending. Get a lower-ranking ghost body because he's just... angry at Airplane. His new form is, ah, well, different and weird, but he can grow his hair to go unnoticed, and can steal some robes.

Get a small job eventually just because he was bored and although he don't need to eat, it would be nice to have extra money - and the tea house owner doesn't care if he's a human or a ghost as long as he's not creepy with the customers and serves their tables. It's a routine that gives him the quick financial support to get bad books, complain more - and maybe he's getting stronger because of it? Because of his anger at mediocre authors and repressed anger? Does it even make sense?

At some point, Tonglu opens. Shen Yuan has headaches and the desperate feeling that he must go, as if he summoned. He tells his boss he's going to be out for ghostly reasons - his boss is like, oh, you needed a vacation anyway. And Shen Yuan goes.

It's a massacre, of course. A mix between the Hunger Games and the Purge, but Shen Yuan has something they definitely don't: a lot of knowledge in shooting video games. And he doesn't have a gun, but hey, he can shoot resentful spiritual energy and it works like bullets or something - he soon discovers that the more ghosts he overcomes, he becomes stronger. He has more power to throw, more skills, a stronger body.

Go to the kiln. Have bloody fights. At some point he gets a sword and it takes him forever and nothing like a training sequence to use it properly. And finally, the kiln opens and Shen Yuan comes out looking... Well, stronger.

He returns to the teahouse to change and take a bath. The owner tells him that it's been thirteen years, what the hell, but lets him in and gives him hot water and clothes.

Shen Yuan's new body and new abilities are strange to him. He notices himself taller. Stronger. His hearing and smell have improved. His abilities seem to be more wordy, as if he could persuade people if he spoke to them in a specific tone, as if his words could bind them. Well, it's not a bad way to be dead.

Shen Yuan tries to continue working at the tea house, but the humans are clearly terrified by the powerful ghost king aura in their area, so there are hardly any customers. Shen Yuan just sighs and decides to leave. He has some savings anyway.

Ghosts run away from him. Humans either try to kill him or hide. Shen Yuan is fed up; no matter if it is in the mortal world or the ghost world, people are gossiping about him and how he has not taken a Territory, about how unorthodox he is, about how they are waiting for him to start his killing spree one day.

Shen Yuan learns to change his appearance from creepy ghost to normal human, hide his resentful energy, and camouflage himself in the human world. It's a long way from his old tea house, and so many years have passed that the kind owner has probably already died, so Shen Yuan gets another job at a bookstore. Nothing unusual. Just a boy who was once from a wealthy family and was disinherited when his older brother took over the family leadership because of their bad relationship. Now he must work to live.

People swallow that story like a good meal, some even feel sorry for him.

And Shen Yuan is having a decent afterlife. Boring, mostly, but with good days. He reads a lot, gets angry a lot, writes authors letters that reach their desks without them even realizing how the hell did this crazy guy find his addresses. Let's just say he's having an interesting life.

Then one day, he meets Luo Binghe.

He... He literally knows that he's Binghe. It couldn't be anyone else but Luo Binghe. He does his investigations, and apparently, Emperor Luo Binghe exists, he has been there all along. It's not like Shen Yuan knew it; the ghost realm and the human-demon realm are divided, and even if they have a common mortal ancestor, demons and ghosts don't usually meddle in their own things.

Not that Shen Yuan wants to be cannon fodder anyway; he keeps his distance in Binghe, works at that bookstore, gives friendly greetings to his customers, and keeps sending angry letters to authors.

And one day Shen Yuan receives a direct visit from Luo Binghe at his door. With a letter in his hand.

"This letter was on my Second Wife's desk," Luo Binghe says, with a fake smile. "No one but her can open or read it, so this Lord wonders after discovering the resentful energy signature on the paper, what missives does this Ghost King exchange with one of the Emperor's wives?"

Shen Yuan is not surprised that Luo Binghe knows who he is - ever so OP the Protagonist! However, it is more difficult to explain that his wife actually writes cut-sleeved novels that the fact that Shen Yuan was reading and criticizing them in the first place.

Well, he's been dead for over a hundred years, really denying that he's at least bisexual at this point in his life...

[hearts4sammonroe]

needy anakin coming back from a mission and just wanting to cuddle with his secret wife?? like start of rots type shit xx

pairing: rots!needy!ani x secret-wife!reader

contains: fluff, needy ani, secret relationship, lots of pet names, bathing together but nothing sexual.

a/n: thanks for requesting!! :) I added some more things to the request lolz but I hope you like it!!

divider credit: @saradika

Anakin Skywalker, your secret Jedi husband, just got back from his mission. The second his eyes landed on you he was jogging over with a giddy grin on his face.

“Hello, my love.” He says, picking you up and smothering your face in kisses.

“I missed you, Ani.” You say, hugging him tight.

“I missed you so much more. Words can not explain.” He murmurs.

“Come on, let’s go to my apartment, love.” You say, nodding your head towards that direction. “Can’t let anyone see us, right?”

The second the door clicked behind you, Anakin grabbed your waist and kissed you. “Missed you so much.” He repeats.

“I know.” You giggle against his lips. It took a few tries before you could pull away and you lead him to the couch.

You sit down on the couch but Anakin snuggles his head into your neck. “Love?”

“Hm?”

“Can you… can you hold me? I want to cuddle but I want you to hold me this time.”

“Of course I can hold you, Ani.”

With that you lay back on the couch and Anakin snuggles in, lying his head on your chest and wrapping his large arms around your waist.

“Mm.” Anakin hums happily as you stroke his hair. “My gorgeous, beautiful, lovely wife.”

He probably called you every pet name and compliment under the sun while you lay there for an hour.

Anakin started the bath while you undressed. This was normal for you two to take a bath together but tonight it felt different. More intimate. More romantic. And it was always that way but tonight it was another level. The atmosphere was just pure love.

“Come here, rest back on me.” Anakin murmurs as you step into the tub after him.

You sit back against him and he wraps one arm around your waist and the other tracing circles on your arm.

“I love you so much.” Anakin whispers softly, kissing all over your shoulder and nuzzling his nose into your neck.

“I love you too.” You smile, breathing in the calming scent from the soap and Anakin’s natural scent.

Anakin may be serious during his missions, or his meetings with the council, but with you he’s completely different. Needy, so affectionate, always has an arm around you or his lips somewhere on your skin.

He washed your body even though you were clearly capable of doing it yourself, then washed your hair ever so kindly before you did the same to him.

After the bath, you were out on your balcony brushing your hair in your nightclothes.

Anakin walked up behind you in his dark sweatpants and robe, taking the brush out of your hand and brushing your hair himself.

“Ani, you don’t have to do everything for me. I’m able to myself.” You chuckle but don’t pull away from him.

“I missed you. I want to do everything for you.” Anakin smiles, brushing through your tangles gently. “Your hair is so beautiful. Always been one of my favorite things.”

“Thank you, love.”

After Anakin finished brushing through your hair he set the brush down and wrapped his arms around your waist, just embracing the moment and the night air.

At bedtime, you crawled into your (sometimes) shared bed. You pulled the blanket over your waist then turned to the nightstand to look over your book.

Anakin, being needy as ever, panicked slightly, thinking you were rolling on your side away from him. “Love, cuddle with me. Please.” He nearly whined.

“I am, Ani. Just grabbing my book.” You laugh softly. “You’re so needy tonight.” You laugh once more before turning back and pecking his lips.

“I know, ‘m sorry. I just want you in my arms.” Anakin murmurs, wrapping an arm around you and resting his head on your shoulder while you open your book.

“Don’t be sorry.”

You open your book to where you left off last and read aloud until Anakin falls asleep.

You look over at him, smiling softly and pushing his bangs away from his eyes gently. You set your book back onto the nightstand and peck his cheek lightly enough to keep from waking him and settle into bed.

Your precious, sweet, loving, but very very needy Anakin. Annoying at times but you love it.

taglist: @anakinstwinklebunny @haydenismyman @anisangeldust @cassielunaaa @madsluvsdilfs @mvst4far

[honeyluvender]

୨୧ You Tell The LADS LI They Can’t Shower With You ୨୧

ꔫ Warnings: Slightly suggestive, but 95% fluff! ꔫ Requests: Open (feel free to DM if you have questions!)

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿ ♡ Xavier

Showering with Xavier was always a highlight to your day. The perfect way to wind down in your opinion. Both your bodies would be aching from being out in the field and nothing was more relaxing then leaning back against your partner and lover as he ran washed your hair.

Though you'd seen videos circulating of girls turning on the shower and telling their boyfriends they wished to shower alone. Thus, you decided to give it a try.

You waited till the weekend to strike. A time you were both ready to do nothing more than shower, eat some take out and binge some cringy movies until you fell asleep. Your robe was tied loosely around your waist, clothes discarded into the laundry hamper and your plan ready for action.

This weekend Xavier would be staying in your apartment. He was currently finishing up ordering the take out you had requested, none the wiser to what was going through your devious mind. Once you heard his soft voice tell the restaurant goodbye, and call out to you that they'd be there in thirty minutes, did you strike.

It was amusing how quickly you heard soft footsteps speeding down the hallway at the simple gesture of turning the shower on. You'd placed your hand inside the water, feeling for the perfect temperature. It wouldn't surprise you if he teleported the rest of the way into your bathroom, because by the time you turned around his pants were already around his ankles and he was working on his shirt.

"What are you doing?" You'd asked innocently, peering over your shoulder.

Xavier blinked, startled by the question. "About to join you for a shower, as usual." He stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it definitely was.

You gave a sweet pout, walking over to your boyfriend and gently cradling his face. "Awww, bunny, that's sweet. But, I'm wanting to take a shower by myself tonight," You chirped, slowly pushing him back towards the door and closing it on him. You bit at your bottom lip trying to contain your giggles.

However, as soon as you turned around, you collided with a hard chest. Xavier stared at you with the most innocent puppy dog eyes. Well, as innocent as they could get when they were narrowed with a hidden darkness behind them.

"Did I do something?" He'd asked, hands reaching out to grab at your hips.

The way your body trembled at his touch did not go unnoticed by him. Such a simple bodily reaction had given you away.

"We had a rough day in the field," Xavier whispered, slipping his hands towards the front of your robe and pulling at the pathetic knot keeping it together. "I think I need to check every last inch of you, just to make sure you didn't get hurt anywhere." His voice was like honey, smooth and sweet. Just like he was as he slid down your body, dropping to his knee's.

You released a whimper as his warm breath kissed you where you needed him the most.

"I think we need to have a long, thorough inspection of each other."

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

♡ Rafayel

Refusing to let Rafayel join you for a bath was like taking his breath away. Kicking him in the gut. Telling him you were breaking up with him and spitting in his face.

And no, you weren't being dramatic, because you were staring at your boyfriend as he peered at you in absolute horror, having just said those things to you.

"May I ask what has caused this sudden hatred, cutie?" He'd asked, hand upon his chest in hurt.

What was meant to be a silly prank may honestly lead you to wanting to take a long relaxing bath alone. "I don't hate you Rafayel, it's just you have such a big bath tub and I was to experience it by myself for once." You insisted.

Honestly, it wasn't a lie. The artist had so many delicious smelling shampoos and body scrubs, you were giddy to go in and try them all inside the large tub. You were already planning the ultimate bubble bath.

"So, what I'm hearing is and correct me if I'm wrong, you want to take a bath by yourself," Rafayel stated.

You smiled and gave a quick nod of a confirmation.

"Okay, so that mean's you don't want me in the bath with you," He continued as if connecting the dots.

"Yes my love, that would be correct." You agreed.

Silently, you watched as your lover crossed his arms and began to nod in understanding. Almost as if he was finally coming to term with what you said.

"So, what I've come to understand, is that you now despise me," The sigh he released was dramatic. Hand back upon his chest, gripping over his shirt where his heart lied.

You stared at the scene happening before you, before releasing a tired sigh. "Fine, you can come in. But, I want to soak by myself for the first ten minutes." You insisted.

Rafayel visibly perked up at your words, following after you and insisting he'd give you all the time in the world to rest and relax.

He was in the tub with you in less than five minutes.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

♡ Zayne

Honestly, you felt a little bad for what you were about to do. Tara had been showing you some of the latest couple trends at work on her phone. And sadly, one that had caught your attention was telling your partner you didn't want them to shower with you.

You knew Zayne's days were always long at the hospital, but to see how he would react was all too tempting. Thus, once he texted you that he was on his way home did you finally start getting things ready.

Laying out comfortable pajamas, choosing your favorite body wash and lotion, and making sure you got in the shower as soon as you heard him come through the door. You could hear him faintly call out your name as he made his way further into the house. Sadly, you barely caught his voice over the sound of the water beating against you. However, you called out to him, letting him know where you were at.

He seemed to stop for a moment due to the sound of running water, before slowly starting his way towards his conjoined bathroom.

A gentle knock on the door let you know he had officially made it.

"May I enter please, love?" He called out, voice laced with exhaustion.

Your heart ached at the sound. Truly, you wanted nothing more than for him to join you so the two of you could wash away your rough days together. However, you barely remained strong.

"Sure thing!" You responded.

Within seconds the door was opening and from detail of his foggy silhouette could already tell he was beginning to unbutton his shirt. "It wouldn't be an intrusion if I were to join you would it?" Zayne asked, ever the gentleman.

You bit back the smile that threatened to give you away, forcing the giggle down that bubbled inside you.

However, with ease you rejected him, "Actually, I was kind of wanting to take a shower by myself. You know, rough day."

The silence within the bathroom was deafening. Almost leaving you to believe he had caved to your wishes and left. Curiously, you pulled the glass door away to peer out.

There stood Zayne in all his glory. Shirt unbuttoned, pants half unzipped revealing the delicious lines that led straight to what was hidden within said pants. You anxiously bit your bottom lip at the sight.

However, your eyes quickly shifted back to the person before you. The exhaustion on his face was evident. Though he seemed shocked, there was also understanding.

"Understood, please take as much time as you need, I'll wait on the shower. Is there anything specific you want for dinner? I can prepare something while you finish up." He offered, preparing to zip his pants back up.

Your heart lurched.

"No, Zayne, I was kidding! I want you to join me in the shower," Your plea caused the doctor to halt. Once he turned back towards you, his eyes gave the silent question, asking if you were sure about this decision.

You smiled at his gentleness, stepping out of the shower and reaching over to help unbutton his clothes. In no time his clothes was on the floor, and his body pressed against yours as you ran shampoo through his hair.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

♡ Sylus

You should've known better. Sylus is a brilliant man, who can sniff out a scheme better than a bloodhound. Be it from enemies or by you and the twins, he knew the outcome of your plans before any of you did.

So you have no clue why you thought this would be any different.

It had been a couple weeks since the two of you had last saw the other in person. During those restless weeks you continuously texted, called, and may or may not had a spicy video call or two.

Anyways, once your schedules finally managed to even out, Sylus had been insistent on taking you on a romantic evening out. On one hand, you had expected a romantic dinner and private time together. On the other, you had not expected for him to take you to one of his private homes that barely had any cell service to give you just that.

However, with the delicious food he had prepared and the soft music playing in the background, you almost caved to just crawl into the mans lap and make up for lost time.

But you must stay strong!

Instead you picked up your plates, insisting you prepare for bed. He seemed a bit surprised by your eagerness, but quickly his eyes softened. He smirked as you grabbed for his wine glass. Instead of handing it over, he stood, taking the plates from your hands as he did so.

"How about you head upstairs and I'll handle the dishes, kitten?" His voice was smooth as usual, and the wine in your system wasn't helping matters either.

Instead of arguing, you quickly turned and headed towards your shared bathroom.

The time you had was limited. Quickly, you began lighting candles, bringing out your most expensive products and pulled up the romantic playlist you had put together on your phone. By the time you were adding some bubble bath to the warm water, Sylus had knocked on the door.

"May I enter, kitten?" He asked, waiting for your confirmation before proceeding forward.

You called out to him, and within seconds he was behind you.

He raised a brow, smirking at the bubbling tub. "What's this? Have you gotten into potion making?" Sylus joked, earning a playful eyeroll from you.

Cool and collected, you turned in his embrace, trying your best to give an innocent smile. "I'm just wanting to take a bubble bath before bed, have a bit of time to myself before bed," You'd lied.

Though you had expected to get some form of reaction out of him, be it quite small, you had not expected him to give a nod of understanding.

"I see, if that's what you wish then so be it. But, just know," He purred, one of his hands sliding from your waist to the back of your neck. He massaged your lower neck, working out the tension that work had caused. Not only was tension being released, but soft moans from your lips. "I'm here if you need me. And I really think you may need some special attention right now."

His words had you biting your lip and pressing your thighs together. In no time were your clothes on the floor, and half the water from the tub joining them.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

♡ Caleb

Caleb knew you like the back of his hand. Always paid close attention to you, ever since you were young and even as you had entered adulthood. So maybe this wasn't exactly the best prank to play on him. Knowing Caleb, he's going to find a way around one way or another.

It also didn't help that ever since you had become a couple the two of you were nearly inseparable.

Out in public? His hands were somewhere on you. Be it your lower back or his hand in yours.

At home? You were always lounging on each other, Calebs hands carding through your hair or massaging your aching feet as you watch some type of awful reality TV show.

Even in bed the two of you were never separated. Any pillow that threatened to find its way between the two of you would be found on the floor the next morning.

So maybe you shouldn't be surprised by his stubbornness to leave the bathroom.

"Are you sure you want me gone? I thought you said I do good washing your back!" His voice was filled with shock and concern. His body refusing to move as you push against the wall of muscle trying to push him out.

You puffed out your cheeks in irritation. What had been the idea of a simple prank, was instead leaving you wish your genuinely wanting your boyfriend out of the bathroom by this point. Not because he had done anything in particular.

The begging and whining had been expected, but not even being able to move his body out the door had not.

"Are you using your evol right now?!" You growled, shoving your weight against the colonel.

Caleb laugh, "Nope, your just not as strong as you think pipsqueak." He reached up, ruffling your hair that had been neatly tucked away.

"You should know my strength by now, you got a taste of it last night," He mused, watching as you tensed at the thought of last nights intimacy. "If you don't believe me, I'd be more than happy to give you a show as proof."

Anxiously, you watched as his hands reached for the bottom of his shirt. And quickly, you shoved him out the door and slammed it close. "I knew you were using your evol!" You growled, twisting the lock into place.

Instead of banging on the door, you had simply heard Caleb laugh on the other side in amusement. Deciding to actually take a nice and relaxing bath, you began to peel your robe off your shoulders.

"Come on pips, be a good girl and open the door for me," Your boyfriend purred on the other side of the door. "I know you've had a rough week and just need to be taken care of."

His words were clearly laced with a promise of more than just a relaxing bath if you were to let him in. You began to chew at your bottom lip as your felt heat begin to pool between your thighs.

As he continued to whisper sweet words behind the door, after a few minutes did you finally cave.

"That's my girl." Caleb whispered, happily lifting you from your spot in the bathroom and kicking the door closed behind him.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

(づ˶•༝•˶)づ♡ I hope you enjoyed reading! I've been a fan of LADS for a long while and have decided to finally get into writing for it! Remember, notes and hearts help encourage me to push forward into writing more with my busy schedule! I hope you all have a wonderful day! ♡

♡ Social media:

Twitter: honeyluvender <- see LADS posts and fic updates here! I’m the most active on twitter and tumblr.

Archieveofourown: honeyluvender

[fixated-cookies]

Royal Claim

A visiting dignitary makes the mistake of flirting with you—innocently, unknowingly kissing your hand at the royal banquet. What he doesn’t know is that you belong to the King. And while Dark Cacao Cookie doesn’t correct him in public… he makes sure you understand who you belong to in private. Slowly. Deeply. Again and again.

Pairing: Dark Cacao Cookie x Reader Word Count: ~2,000 Rating: Explicit / 18+ Warnings: Jealousy, possessiveness, rough sex, size kink, marking, mild overstimulation, deep penetration, filthy talk, breeding kink vibes, aftercare

COMMISSION

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

The citadel was alive with warmth tonight, bathed in the golden light of chandeliers and the soft hum of diplomacy. The long hall echoed with the chatter of dignitaries, the clink of goblets, and the polite laughter of guests exchanging pleasantries. It wasn’t often that so many foreign officials were allowed within the Dark Cacao Kingdom’s stone walls, but tonight was an exception.

You stood off to the side, holding a small crystal dish, uncertain of what to do with it now that your conversation partner had wandered off. The rich food, the heavy silks, the strict posture—everything felt just a little overwhelming, though you did your best to smile and stay attentive.

That’s when he approached.

A tall Cookie dressed in crimson formal robes, edged with sun-gold embroidery. A diplomat, if you recalled correctly. He introduced himself with a soft accent and a graceful nod, his words laced with honeyed charm.

“I must confess,��� he said, voice low but clear, “I’ve seen many wonders in this land... but none quite like you.”

Your cheeks heated. You laughed softly, politely, unsure if he was joking or simply being kind. “You’re too kind, sir.”

He didn’t retreat. If anything, he stepped closer. “Kindness has nothing to do with it. I simply speak the truth.” His hand reached gently for yours, lifting it with practiced ease. “May I?”

You blinked, confused, but nodded. And before you could really process what was happening, he brought your hand to his lips and pressed the faintest kiss to your knuckles.

It wasn’t lecherous. It was gentle. Formal. Old-fashioned.

Still... your heart skipped.

“I hope you’re being treated well here,” he continued, eyes meeting yours with calm intensity. “If not, I’d be more than honored to keep you company during your stay.”

You didn’t quite know how to answer. A shaky smile formed on your lips.

Up on the throne dais, Dark Cacao Cookie sat silently.

He had not moved in over an hour. Stoic. Quiet. Watching.

Only a few attendants glanced up to notice the slow, deliberate tightening of his gloved fingers around the throne’s armrest. The faint clench of his jaw. The way his gaze never left you.

He said nothing. He made no scene.

But the temperature in the hall felt colder all at once.

The feast began to wind down as the night deepened. Goblets were drained, dignitaries bowed their thanks, and polished shoes clicked against marble floors as guests slowly filtered out.

You were helping a servant clear a tray when a familiar voice interrupted, low and clipped.

“The King has requested your presence in his chambers.”

You blinked. “Me?”

The servant gave a stiff nod.

Your heart fluttered, confused but not alarmed. It wasn’t uncommon for Dark Cacao to call for you, though it usually involved gentle conversation or shared silence over tea. Still, something about the way the servant said it felt... strange.

By the time you reached the king’s private chambers, the vast corridor outside had gone still. The guards posted at the entrance bowed silently and stepped aside, allowing you in.

The doors shut behind you with a soft but final thud.

You stepped in cautiously. The chamber was dim—lit only by the soft flicker of a hearth and a few candles that lined the stone walls. The fire crackled, casting gold along the dark floor.

He was already there.

Standing with his back to you, half in shadow, his great cloak draped over one shoulder. The armor was gone—only the long dark robes remained, unfastened slightly at the throat. One gauntlet still adorned his hand, the other had been set aside on a table nearby.

He didn’t speak right away.

You hesitated in the doorway. “You called for me, your majesty?”

His head turned slightly. Just slightly. Enough to confirm that yes, he had heard you.

And then, after a long pause—

“You let him touch you.”

The words struck like stone. Flat. Emotionless. But his voice was too calm.

You blinked, taken aback. “I—? Oh... the diplomat?” You gave a small nervous laugh. “He was just being polite. I didn’t think anything of it.”

Dark Cacao turned fully now.

His gaze landed on you, and your breath caught. It wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t even angry.

It was still.

Composed.

But the silence behind his eyes made your stomach twist.

“You didn’t stop him.”

You fidgeted, suddenly unsure of your footing. “I didn’t realize I needed to. I’m sorry—was I not supposed to...?”

He crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate, heavy boots echoing softly on the stone. You found yourself stepping back without meaning to. The air between you began to thrum with something tense. Something unsaid.

“You are mine,” he said, voice still low. “Not a prize for others to sample. Not a flower for stray hands to pluck.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. You weren’t used to hearing him like this.

“I didn’t know it would upset you.”

His eyes narrowed faintly. “That is the only reason you are still standing upright.”

Another step. Closer. The flicker of the fire made his broad silhouette swell, casting a long shadow behind him.

He reached out—not harshly, but firmly—and took your chin between his gloved fingers.

“You didn’t know,” he repeated, voice like stone ground to dust. “Then allow me to show you.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the grip on your jaw shifted, tilting your head up, his thumb brushing the edge of your bottom lip.

“You will not forget again.”

He released you.

And then began to slowly remove the remaining glove.

He didn’t give you time to speak.

His glove hit the ground with a soft thud, and in the next breath, your back collided with the nearest stone column. A gasp caught in your throat—half shock, half something else entirely—as his hand braced beside your head, shadowing your body with his own.

His voice remained composed. But his touch was not.

Large, calloused fingers slid along your side, down your waist, before curling tight around your hip. You whimpered at the sudden pressure, your head tilting up to meet his burning gaze.

“I will not raise my voice,” he murmured, nose brushing against your temple. “I will not shame you with rage or accusations.”

His knee pressed between your legs, parting them, guiding you back until your spine kissed cold stone.

“But you will remember.”

You could feel the hardness in his pants already, pressed against your thigh—solid, demanding, heavy. And when he leaned in to kiss you, it wasn’t a kiss at all. It was a claim. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging it slightly, his tongue slipping past the protest you hadn’t even tried to make.

You moaned against his mouth.

“You let him hold your hand.” His hand slid beneath your shirt—warm, rough, firm. “Tell me, did you imagine what else he might’ve touched?”

“No—no, I didn’t—”

He chuckled, low and humorless.

“I don’t believe you.”

In one swift motion, he lifted you—effortless, strong—and carried you across the room to his massive bed. You didn’t have time to react before he was laying you down, hands already tugging your clothing open, baring your body to the cold air.

Then he paused.

Just looked at you.

His jaw was clenched. His pupils wide. His breathing heavy.

“I am not a man given to possession,” he said, fingers trailing down your chest, over your stomach, until he reached your thighs. “But you are the one thing I will not allow to be touched by another."

The mattress dipped beneath your back, firm and cold from the castle stone. You hadn’t even caught your breath from the walk over when he was already on top of you—kneeling between your legs, shadowed by the firelight. But he wasn’t rushing.

No, that would be too kind.

His hands came to rest on your sides, thumbs pressing lightly against the hem of your shirt. You expected him to tear it. You wouldn’t have blamed him.

Instead, he took his time.

“You wore this tonight,” he said quietly, his tone unreadable, “when you knew others would be looking.”

You blinked. “I—”

His fingers moved, finding the first button. Undoing it. Then the second.

“You chose something soft. Innocent. Easy to touch.” He tugged the fabric open just enough to expose your collarbones. His eyes followed the line of your skin like a predator eyeing something precious—and already his gloved hand slid upward to trace your throat.

“Did you want to be touched?” he asked, not coldly. Just... genuinely. Cruelly. “Did you want someone else’s fingers where mine should be?”

Your breath hitched.

Another button undone.

He opened your shirt fully, baring your chest to the flickering firelight.

The chill of the room made you shiver, but his hands were so warm. One trailed along your ribs, the other pressed flat over your sternum. The weight of it made you squirm.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured.

You shook your head.

“You are.”

His hand slipped downward, stopping at the waistband of your pants. He didn’t move immediately, just rested there, watching you with dark, half-lidded eyes.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “If you don’t want this, say it now.”

You didn’t.

Of course you didn’t.

His fingers hooked under the waistband and began to pull. Slow. Deliberate. The scrape of your trousers against your thighs echoed louder than anything else in the room. When they caught around your knees, he helped you kick them off—tossing them aside like they were in the way.

You were half-naked now. Exposed. Breathing hard.

He didn’t touch you right away.

Instead, he leaned down. Kissed the hollow of your throat. Then lower.

And lower.

By the time his mouth wrapped around your nipple, warm and wet and sucking slow, your back arched off the bed. His teeth scraped just enough to make you whimper. His tongue soothed it. Then he did it again on the other side—lazily, like he had all the time in the world to devour you inch by inch.

One of his hands slid between your thighs. Just rested there. Heavy. Teasing.

You squirmed.

He looked up at you, expression unreadable. “Are you getting worked up over this? Or is it still the thought of that man touching you?”

You whimpered his name.

He growled softly—and finally, his fingers pressed against your heat. Rubbing through the fabric, slow and steady. So little friction. So much pressure.

“Dripping already,” he murmured. “And I haven’t even put my mouth on you yet.”

He leaned in closer. His breath ghosted over your inner thigh. His fingers curled under your last piece of clothing.

“Shall I make you beg for it?” he whispered. “Or will you give yourself to me without shame this time?”

Then he kissed the inside of your leg.

Then higher.

And higher still.

Just before his tongue finally met your skin, he glanced up at you again.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he said, low and deep. “And remember this the next time another dares touch what’s mine.”

His mouth was so close you could feel his breath against the thin, damp fabric still clinging to you.

But he didn’t touch you.

Not quite.

His hands settled at your hips, fingers slow as they slid beneath the last barrier between you and him. You squirmed, instinctively trying to close your thighs—but he gave you a single sharp glance, and your body fell still.

He exhaled slowly, reverently.

"These," he said, voice low and scathing, “should’ve never been worn for another’s eyes.”

He pulled.

The fabric stretched at first, clinging pitifully to your skin before giving way. You whimpered at the sensation—the drag of it, the air kissing your wetness, the humiliation of how soaked through they were. He didn’t mock it. But he did pause.

He held the ruined undergarment in his hand, looking down at it like it was some offensive thing—something tainted. His jaw flexed.

Then he tossed them aside.

Now you were bare. Laid out. Thighs parted. Your chest rose and fell in soft, shuddering breaths, and still he said nothing.

His eyes took you in.

Every inch.

Every twitch.

And then he undid his own trousers.

You heard the belt first—the sharp clink of the buckle unfastening. Then the whisper of fabric. Your eyes widened. He didn’t tease. He didn’t ask if you were ready.

He just moved closer, pressing the broad, flushed head of his cock against your entrance.

Thick.

Hot.

Bare.

The moment the tip pushed in, your breath caught like you’d been struck.

"You’ll remember this," he said softly, his voice a low thunder beneath your skin. "The next time someone thinks to kiss your hand. You'll remember how I ruined you for anyone else."

He began to press deeper.

Your body stretched, pulsing tight around him. You whimpered, tried to breathe, tried to relax—but he was so big and so slow, dragging every inch of himself in like a punishment.

His head dipped. His breath was rough against your ear.

“Take it,” he growled, voice shaking, “Take all of me.”

He bottomed out with a sharp, final thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs.

And then he paused.

Buried inside.

Your body trembling, clutching around him like it didn’t know how to hold something so wide, so deep, so utterly unrelenting.

You gasped, a sound high and helpless, and his hand reached up—tangling in your hair, pulling your face toward him.

“Now scream for me,” he said, “and let them all know you belong to their king.”

He was trembling. You could feel it—every inch of him was shaking above you, inside you. His arms, braced at either side of your head, trembled with the effort it took to hold back, to stay composed. But his body was losing the war.

He pulled out slowly, all the way to the tip—your walls clenching down, unwilling to let him go—and slammed back in with a sound so wrecked you barely recognized it came from him.

“Ah—fuh—hhnnh—”

His breath stuttered out of him in bursts. His pace turned uneven. Sloppy. And you were so wet now—each thrust echoed with obscene slick sounds that should’ve humiliated you, but instead made your toes curl.

You moaned, helpless. He gasped. His hips stuttered.

You were unraveling him.

And he knew it.

“C-can’t…” he rasped, barely audible. “Too—tight—fuh—”

His jaw dropped open. No words came, just a sharp cry as he drove himself deep, deeper, his weight grinding you down into the mattress.

His hands were everywhere—clutching your thighs, your waist, your chest. Desperate to hold you. Anchor you. Claim you. His mouth found your shoulder and bit down—not enough to hurt, just to mark—his groan muffled against your skin.

He was panting now. Each breath dragged from somewhere deep, primal. His forehead pressed to yours, sticky with sweat.

You whispered his name.

His hips bucked.

A noise punched out of him, cracked and shuddering.

“Can’t—can’t stop—”

His thrusts turned punishing. Slamming. The sound of his body against yours filled the chamber, thick and fast, wet and hard. The bed rocked beneath you. Your body shook.

Every time you clenched around him, he sobbed—yes, sobbed—tiny gasping sounds that spilled from his mouth like he’d never known pleasure this raw.

You felt his release before he said a word.

The sudden snap of his hips.

The way his cock twitched, buried impossibly deep inside you.

Then—

A sound.

Low.

Shattered.

“Ah—ah—hnnnh—” he cried out, loud and broken and beautiful. His whole body convulsed as he came, his hands digging into your hips, his chest shaking from the force of it.

Warmth spread through you, thick and pulsing, as he poured himself into you. Not once. Not twice.

But over and over.

His moans didn’t stop. He didn’t go silent. He kept groaning—like he couldn’t hold it in, like every second inside you was too much and not enough. His head dropped to your shoulder, teeth biting into the flesh there as he spilled himself inside you like it was his right.

You whispered his name again.

He whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

His arms wrapped around you, crushingly tight, keeping you in place as his cock throbbed one final time.

Then silence.

No—almost.

Because he was still panting. Still shaking. Still moving his hips in slow, tiny thrusts like he wasn’t done.

Like he couldn’t be done.

Your legs trembled. Your fingers dug into his back. You could feel him twitching, hard and warm inside you, even after the climax had passed.

And then—

He spoke.

Barely.

“Don’t… move,” he whispered. “Need to—need to stay in you… just a little longer.”

His voice cracked on the words. Like it hurt to say them. Like he was ashamed.

He kissed your cheek, lips hot and soft.

“Still mine. Still full of me.”

You nodded weakly.

“Say it,” he rasped. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

He groaned again.

And didn’t pull out.

--

ahhh I didn't realize just how many people LOVE dark cacao cookie hehehe

[lorasdolly]

𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚊 𝚡 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Mothers day was a special day for every mother, they'd receive appreciative gifts and support from their kids, jewelry and bouquets from their husbands.

For Ambessa, the well known warlord of the noxian nation, it was just an ordinary day. It wasn't as if her and Mel were going to reconcile any time soon, and what was the point in celebrating an ordinary day?

Ambessa was in nothing but a maroon red robe as she sat on her balcony, gazing at the view in front of her as you, her personal servant, stood next to her, ready to tend to her.

She glanced at you for a few seconds before turning back to look at the view of her nation, clearing her throat before deciding to say something.

"It is truly a shame you do not celebrate Mother’s Day and have to be by my side instead, my dearest." Ambessa lied through her teeth, she was only curious of what your answer might be.

"I have no husband, miss medarda." you spoke smoothly, not hesitating to answer her inquiries.

Ambessa shrugged and leaned back into her chair, crossing her legs and resting her chin on her knuckles on her jaw, a habit she does quite often when she ponders about something. "You could have a boyfriend." She said bluntly.

You shake your head swiftly, pursing your lips together. You turned to the wine, refilling the glass she had waiting to be poured into.

"Happy mother's day to you anyways, miss medarda."

"Oh? How sweet of you, dear." She chuckled, glancing at you from her peripheral vision, still leaning back into her chair.

"Thank you, I suppose." She muttered, taking a few long seconds before asking another question, it piqued her curiosity.

"You are quite young, it is surprising that you are not interested in starting a potential family." She spoke, not shying away from usually personal questions.

"I busy myself with work, miss medarda," you spoke with a soft tone, an edge of indifference towards the idea.

"I don't plan on marrying a man anytime soon." you said this part more quietly, not sure if continued context was appreciated at the moment.

She chuckled a second time at the answer, it was quite amusing to her how simple and straightforward you were. "Good point. What about women, then? Any luck in that department?"

A flush appeared on your face, coughing slightly when she threw the out-of-the-blue question. "No ma'am." you said, not elaborating any more.

But she decided to dismiss the subject for now, shifting back to facing the view in front of her.

Ambessa let out a somewhat tired exhale and shifted herself a little before asking, "Could you do something for me?" 

You nodded, making eye contact with her stern gaze. You've seen her in ceremonies, she's firm with her words and actions.

You were one of the few who saw her resting, but far from vulnerable.

She stood up from her chair, still clad in nothing but her loose red robe, it exposed a good chunk of her thick muscular thighs and a little bit of cleavage too, of course. 

"Prepare a nice hot bath, will you?" Ambessa said casually before making her way inside the room, with you following behind her.

Your hands constantly rested behind your back unless you were serving her.

You entered her bathroom, it was larger than any other one in the estate. Ambessa knew the importance of relaxation, and she took it to heart.

The tub was large and deep, filled with water so hot that steam was coming off the surfaces of it. It was just how she liked it.

Ambessa was untying her robe, letting it loosen and fall carelessly to the floor, she then started walking towards the tub, letting out a satisfied sigh at the sight of it.

You've been her undressed many times, but you never failed to avert your gaze in nervousness.

She looked over at you, you seemed to be still staring at her, so she decided to be a little cheeky. "Are going to watch me in the bath the whole time?"

You took your spot behind her, a small stool for you to sit on. Carefully, your hands massaged her back, untying any knots she carried on her back. "Would you prefer of me to leave, ma'am?"

"Mhm, please do continue." She spoke, body releasing tension.

Ambessa closed her eyes, leaning back and letting out a small sigh as you started to massage her shoulders, those strong yet tired muscles. Your hands were gentle and pleasant, yet firm and efficient. 

"You do such a good job. It’s almost like you have done this a thousand times." She spoke with a pleasant tone.

"You deserve mental repose, ma'am." You spoke close to a whisper, not wanting to disrupt her peace.

"Especially on Mother's day." you added.

"You’re too sweet," She opened her eyes and glanced down at herself and then at you before smirking a little.

Her eyes were mostly focused on your hands massaging her shoulders. She was just imagining how else your hands could be used, perhaps in other kinds of massages.

Ambessa shook her head slightly as if dismissing a thought that suddenly popped into her head. 

"You surely carry the figure of a warrior, ma'am." you spoke, the praise falling off your tongue easily. It was far from a lie.

Ah, she truly adored when people praised her.

Ambessa’s smirk grew wider, her eyes still fixated on you. "You’re flattering me, little one," She said in a smooth and sultry voice, mixed with her raspy tone.

"Are you this nice and gentle to everyone you serve?" she half joked, but expected a response of some kind.

"Maybe. Perhaps far more towards you, ma'am." You had served many people from the Medarda house, even Mel Medarda at some point when she was only a child, but a sense of familiarity came from serving Ambessa.

She chuckled at your reply, taking it as an interesting answer. "And why is that? Why treat me any different, hm?"

Ambessa leaned her head back a little, giving your hands access to the base of her neck, still smirking and looking at you.

"I have served you the longest," you said, but more words rested at the tip of your tongue. You didn't allow them to slip, silently swallowing them.

Ambessa’s smirk changed into a small little smile as her gaze turned from a somewhat sultry one to a more warm one, an unexpected change, a rare one, too.

"I suppose I don’t mind your presence either, little one," She let out a deep and relaxed exhale, closing her eyes again.

"You’re actually more pleasant to be around than my own offspring at times." She spoke with a hint of bitterness in her tone now.

"I'm sure that's far from the truth, miss medarda." you said in a poor attempt at comfort.

You knew she didn't require comfort, nor pity. She was a strong woman.

"Many consider you.. Intimidating, miss medarda." you began, wishing to change the subject.

"Intimidating, huh?" Ambessa smirked again, opening her eyes and glancing at you again, now amused at your words.

"You’re not afraid, are you?" She chuckled, her gaze shifting from a more casual one to one with a slightly more suggestive look now.

"I..i don't think i have any reason to be afraid. i don't do anything to anger you, and you're a woman of reason." You spoke, a hint of tenderness behind your words.

"You wouldn't hurt me without reason." you finished.

"Correct," She spoke in her sultry tone again, still smirking

Her gaze was fixated on you again, her eyes slowly and slowly looking over you head to toe, as if she was inspecting you. Her smirk grew wider as her eyes traveled further and further down. 

"You seem to have a good head on your shoulders, smart girl." She paused for a moment, still looking you over intently.

Her gaze was nearly frightening.

She looked around before continuing. "And a lovely body as well."

A gentle smile graced your face, compliments from Ambessa Medarda were unusual.

"Thank you, Miss Medarda."

Ambessa hummed to herself, seemingly pleased by your appearance and your words, but that was not the only thing that was currently pleased.

She leaned back and closed her eyes again, "Keep massaging, will you?"

Her tone was commanding and assertive, like she expected you to do without arguing.

Your hands kept skillfully massaging, digging into ever tense muscle she had.

She closed her eyes and let out another satisfied hum, enjoying your massaging skills.

Ambessa sat still for quite a while, feeling your hands on her shoulders and back, until she finally spoke once more.

"You’re skilled at this," She said, a hint of satisfaction mixed with desire in her tone. 

One of your finger tips traced over her scars, they were scattered all over her arms, back, and shoulders.

They were healed, meaning they were old enough to forget. Gently, you traced the last one and spoke. "You have a handful of scars. You've been in war quite a lot."

She opened her eyes for a moment, glancing at the many scars all over her lower arms, but not giving it too much attention, she's had them for years now after all.

Ambessa chuckled a little as you asked that question, it was such a harmless yet casual question to ask a renowned warlord.

"Most of them, yes." She replied, her tone indifferent, as if she was merely talking about the weather.

"I'm sure it's exhausting to always be carrying the pressure of being on the frontlines." You said, your massaging becoming slower and softer.

Her expression became somewhat solemn for a moment as she remembered all the battles and wars she was involved in.

There was a pang of tiredness and exhaustion within her, but she quickly dismissed it and her expression became one of indifference again. 

"It’s just part of life," She replied bluntly, like it was just a simple task, like having breakfast or taking a walk. "I was born, bred, and raised to be a warrior."

You hesitated for a moment, deciding whether or not to mention something. A moment of relatability. "I have.. a couple of scars, too."

You backtracked for a moment, "Not any as brutal as yours, I'm sure."

That piqued her interest.

Ambessa lifted her head up again and moved her head to the side, looking at you, she let out a scoff and raised an eyebrow at you, a mix of surprise and curiosity in her eyes.

"A couple, you say?" She spoke in a slightly intrigued tone.

You remembered moments of weakness, seconds of vulnerability that have coated your identity all your life.

It's been a part of you for as long as you've known, much different than Ambessa.

"Near my thighs and belly." you clarified, clearing your throat.

She looked down at your thighs on cue as you spoke, her gaze lingering there for a few moments.

A little hum escaped her lips as she did so, but she was still somewhat interested in knowing how you received those scars, of course.

"How’d you get them?"

Ambessa spoke with an interested and curious tone, but there was a hint of playfulness in there as well. 

"I wasn't.. always a Medarda servant, ma'am." You spoke quietly, an edge of uncertainty in your voice.

Her eyebrow raised again, her interest grew even more now.

Ambessa turned her body a little to the side and leaned an elbow on the tub’s edge, looking directly at you and now giving you her undivided attention.

And she was also somewhat fixated on your thighs again, eyeing them, she was visibly somewhat distracted.

You tensed, sitting straight with your hands now resting on your lap. "I come from Zaun. Then.. the Medarda family found use for me."

"I'm eternally grateful." You spoke, gratitude coating the tip of your tongue.

Ambessa kept her eyes fixated on your thighs for a few more seconds before she shifted her gaze to your stomach instead, fabric covering the scars there too.

She let out scoff before speaking in an almost mocking tone. "Eternal gratitude to the Medarda house, you say?"

You nodded. Your eyes gazed at her features, the firmness behind them. Your eyes differed, sparks in every corner of your eyes.

She chuckled again and looked over your body, taking in the scars before returning her gaze back to your face.

"Is that so?" Ambessa smirked before shifting her body even more towards you, she leaned a little closer to you now, eyeing you expectantly, waiting for your reply. "And why is that?"

"I would have much more scars if it weren't for the Medarda house." You thought of the possibilites, where you could've been right now.

Pained in the middle of Zaun, stuck working in the same place.

She hummed, seemingly pleased with your answer. Ambessa nodded in response and continued.

"And why do you think they took you?" She inquired with an intrigued expression.

"I'm useful." You replied curtly, knowing your place, why you were there.

The clock from her bedroom ticked, and silence encircled you and Ambessa.

That answer left her somewhat unsatisfied and wanting more, she wanted to know how exactly you are of use, though it was not difficult to see that you were pretty. 

Ambessa leaned closer again, her voice lowering and becoming huskier, her smirk growing wider. “And how are you useful, hm? Do tell me."

“They say I am a good listener. And pliant.” Your voice didn't crack as you spoke, unashamed of who you were, how you were.

It got you this far.

"Pliant, hm? An obedient little thing, aren't you?" Ambessa’s tone was still lower, even, and her smirk grew wider upon hearing those adjectives, those descriptions of you. 

Her eyes flicked to your thighs again, looking over them in an almost admiring manner. Your hands covered certain scars on your lap. You felt judged, to a certain extent. Like she judged you for not disobeying, for not rebelling.

Quickly, you came to your own defense. “It makes my life easier. I know I won't be above anyone anytime soon, so why attempt?” you kept being respectful even though her gaze secretly made you feel uneasy.

That made her chuckle again, amused and intrigued at your answer.

Ambessa’s smirked widened slightly before leaning down farther, now looking down at your body sitting below her, and looking over it intently, her gaze stopping on your thighs again.  "It is wise to know your place in life," She said in a low, almost murmuring tone, like she was speaking that as a piece of advice to you.

"You know yours, don’t you?” she knew you did, but she wanted clarification. She wanted you to say it. To admit you're beneath her and all of those you served, or at least that's how you understood her question.

“Yes ma’am,” you said, not specifying what your place is. You didn't want to. "Good," She said plainly, still looking over your body.

Ambessa let one of her hands gently rest on your thigh, caressing the scars that were there and enjoying the sight of your thighs, before letting out a very satisfied hum. “I do enjoy pliant and obedient people, they really are more useful, aren’t they?”

“I’d hope so.” You said softly. You didn't deny the breadth of your subordination, how that did make you beneficial or simply convenient to keep around.

At this point, there was no denying that she was intentionally letting her hand rest on your thighs, no doubt enjoying the feeling of your skin under her finger tips. She chuckled again before speaking in a slightly more commanding tone. "Have you always been this good and useful, little one?"

Your hands rested on your lap, apprehension in every crevice of your bones. “To be truthful with you, I worked in a brothel at Zaun.” You chose not to be ashamed. “I needed to be flexible. That is where I got these scars..” Your voice had grown confident speaking about it.

Others in the Medarda house knew about your origin, but not Ambessa.

Ambessa’s hand continued to rest on your thigh, now beginning to slowly and gently caress it. She seemed somewhat surprised by hearing that you were a brothel worker, her hand stopped moving and her expression changed for a moment, seemingly somewhat disturbed and displeased.

Then a few seconds passed and her hand started moving on your thigh again and her expression became somewhat neutral again, though there was still a hint of dislike visible in her eyes.

"Hm." Ambessa hummed, her tone becoming a little more authoritative again. “And how… utilized were you in the brothel? How pliable were you?” Ambessa asked that question in a somewhat commanding and definitive tone, wanting an honest reply, she looked at you with a more grave facial expression.

“I allowed many things to happen to me.” You looked down, making direct eye contact with Ambessa. “I needed to let them do it.”

Her expression changed to one of displeasure again once you spoke. She let out a scoff and looked you over for a few more seconds, still with a slightly discontent expression. “A poor woman in need, then? A woman desperate for money to survive." Ambessa spoke with a mocking and almost condescending tone, but there was also a hint of curiosity in it as well.

“They’d pay more depending on how much I’d let them do.” You spoke softer this time, hinting at the nonexistent limit you set on your “clients.”

Your lips continued to purse, tense at the thought of how much you were sharing. That made her chuckle again, this time it wasn’t a satisfied chuckle, it was more of a sinister one. "Did they treat you cruelly, then? Were they cruel to you?" Ambessa spoke in an almost sneering tone as she looked you over again, eyeing your body and taking in your scars once more.

“Yes, Miss Medarda.” You replied firmly, not sugarcoating your experiences. You stood your ground, refusing to feel guilty for doing what was necessary to survive. At your blunt response, her expression changed yet again, a sinister smirk appearing on her face now.

Ambessa’s hand still continued to gently stroke your thigh as she spoke in a more mocking and even cruel tone, an odd excitement visible in her eyes. "And you allowed it, didn’t you, little one?”

Your thigh had goosebumps from her calloused hands running over them, trying to keep eye contact. “Yes, I did.”

Her hand suddenly stopped moving, now gripping your thigh more firmly, her nails digging into your skin a little, but not enough to break it. Ambessa’s smirk became even wider, clearly enjoying holding some power over you like this, enjoying that submission from you. 

Her tone was still mocking and cruel, even as she spoke. "How… pathetic.”

“Please excuse me if this tarnishes the perception you had of me.” you said, hoping she didn’t think any differently of you. You weren’t apologetic but craved her approval, her validation.

Her smirk slowly faded after a while when your words sunk in. Ambessa’s grip on your thigh lessened, her hand and fingers no longer digging into your skin so firmly.

“Tarnishes?” She spoke that word with a scoff and a hint of irritation in her tone.  "You think I think less of you because you were forced to do that?”

Ambessa then looked at you with a slight glare, her gaze more intense and serious now, it was as if she was trying to see right through you, reading your true thoughts. “You have mistaken what I said.” you corrected, averting your gaze this time. “I wasn’t forced to do anything.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, her glare softening slightly to one of surprise. Ambessa was taken back a little by your answer, clearly surprised by the revelation that you weren’t entirely forced to work at the brothel, that you permitted yourself to be treated like that. 

"You weren’t… forced? You… did it of your own will?" She spoke that question with an almost dumbfounded, surprised tone. “I am a desperate woman, ma’am. I walked into that brothel out of my own will.”

That realization further widened her eyes, she stared at you for a few more moments with her wide open eye, her expression now becoming a mixture of surprise and vexation, even confusion.

She had clearly underestimated exactly how desperate you were.

Ambessa leaned back slightly, her eyes now darting between your thighs and your stomach again, as if she couldn’t figure out exactly how to feel about this.  “You went in on your own? Simply to make money?"

“I was on the verge of death if I didn’t get paid-“ you quickly got defensive, hands clenching into fists at your lap. Your eyebrows furrowed, not enjoying the judgement that radiated off of her.

Her eyes widened again after hearing that.  Ambessa was taken back again, and surprised once more, but more than that, she was… pitying you.

The powerful, warlord of Noxus, pitying you.

Her glare softened even more and her expression slowly changed to one of a somewhat insight and pitiful one. "Was that the only option you had?”

You shake your head quicky, “Gosh, no.” You squeezed your eyes shut fora moment, all emotions rushing through you. “I had other options, all over Zaun.”

Desperate, yes, that would be the best word to describe you.

Ambessa’s eyes narrowed slightly as that thought crossed her mind. “You had other options." She repeated that part while looking you over again, her hand still gently caressing your thighs.

“And you chose to do that instead?” she emphasized, referring to your previous line of work as if it were horrifying. “I know,” you replied, aware of the lack of self-respect and dignity you had allowed yourself to acquire by letting anyone treat you however they pleased.

Her hand gripped your thigh firmly again when you said that, her eyes narrowed even further. "Why?" Ambessa asked that single word in a firm, curious tone, wanting to know the exact reason behind your choice.

She gave you a chance to explain yourself but you knew it would be in vain. “It was the quickest way. a few clients in one day, letting them do anything, i'd earn not a lot, but more than enough to live.”

That answer left her with a bitter taste in her mouth, almost sickened. Ambessa’s hand tightened again around your thigh as she let your answer sink in, she looked at you with a more serious and judging expression. ".... and that’s what you did? Every day?"

She never had to experience being in that spot. Sure, she’s requested brothel workers before, but only from the finest of places. “Yes,” you replied simply.

Once again, her eyes widened when you answered in a blank and firm tone, confirming her question. That disclosure only made her feel more pity for you, but that was mingled with a hint of contempt and disruption as well. 

She looked over your scarred body again and just couldn’t help but look at your thighs in particular. “Does this make you think any less of me yet?” you said, humor in your voice.

Ambessa’s hand squeezed your thigh again when you said that, almost in a gentle, yet firm way. "Yes, you’re used and.. pathetic.” She almost spat those words at you, her expression becoming more stern and serious, almost cruel and judgmental.

"But I don’t feel any less of you, little one." Ambessa spoke in a lower, softer but firm tone, her free hand lightly stroking the part of your thighs without scars, and her grip still tight.

“I never imagined you’d be the one to spare me humiliation, Miss Medarda,” you said with a scoff. “I’ve gone through enough of it, no need to hide it from me.” your eyes rolled as you finished your sentence, feeling infantilized.

Her hand moved from your stomach up to cup your cheek, she gently but firmly gripped your face and forced you to look directly at her as she spoke. “Why would I admit that I feel less of you even though you’ve been exploited?”

Ambessa’s tone still held that firm and authoritative quality in it, but there was an element of gentleness to it as well. "Just because you allowed it to happen doesn’t mean you deserved it. You do not deserve that disgrace."

You despised how she spared you her wrath, the way she sympathized. The sweetness is her tone was little but sickening, you hated the pity.

“Forgive me,” you spoke quickly. Silence diverged in the small space between you and her.

“Tell me dear, have you ever been given what you wanted?” she tured back around in the bath, motioning her hand for you to continue the massage. Your hands resumed their movement.

Doubt began to surface within you, uncertain of how to react to her. “No, ma’am,” you ultimately said.

“Have you ever wanted much?” She kept questioning and this time you nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

“Can I give it to you?”

She had laid you down on her bed, her body still damp from the recent bath. She hadn’t put her clothes on yet, the water drop falling onto your uniform. Your lips were parted in a level of suprise unmatched.

“Miss Medarda-“ You began but she cut you off, a hand on your chin roughly. She held your chin there to make sure that you kept eye contact with her. “Are you nervous, dearest?” she said, teasing, almost mocking.

She brought her hand away from your chin and placed two fingers on your pulse. She counted silently. "Think you are." She leaned down to whisper that, her knee finding its way between your thighs.

"Do you want me to take off..this?" her finger toyed with the white apron tied around your uniform. She cocked a brow once you nodded.

"Words.." she dragged, tracing the finger down her body.

"Yes, miss medarda.." your breathed out, eyes shutting.

Carefully, she undid the apron, throwing it someplace on your luxurious floor. But still the fabric of the uniform covered your body, held her back from what she wanted.

"Miss medarda.. take it off.." she chuckled at your words, at the way your vision narrowed towards her. The desperation in your gaze.

"Needy little one, hm?" She began unbuttoning the back of the dress, her arms encircling you.

"Ambessa. Say it." Ambessa asked of you, waiting for her to name to slip off your tongue.

"Ambessa.." you spoke the moment she threw the dress on the floor. All you now had on was a bralette and lace panties.

She traced your panties and the waistband, then cupping one of your breast with her hand.

"Should I remove these barriers, too?" She asked, knowing the answer already.

She enjoyed seeing you submit to your pleasure, also knowing this would be one of the first times you'd do that.

"Yes, yes please, Ambessa." you were just oh so well-mannered. She loved hearing you plead, hearing you be so respectful and ready for her.

She slid the bralette off, then meticulously the panties. She watched as you huffed and whined. "Can.. can I touch you, Ambessa?" you asked sweetly, a pathetic and doe-eyed expression painted on your features.

She nearly let out a cackle, a dark smile graced her lips. She brought a hand to graze your bottom lip and then your forehead. "Sure, dearest."

You immediately clinged to her, needing to remove any article of clothing. "So impatient.." she chuckled and removed you small hand.

The difference between your hands brought a spark straight to your clit, she could hold both of yours in one of hers.

She made it easier for you, removing her shirt and pants as she kneeled on the bed. You layed down, spread out for her.

She was left in panties only, no bra, just her panties.

She came back to her original spot, cupping your tit with her big hand, squeezing and stroking it.

She was far from gentle yet it seemed so tender through your perspective, much more gentle then anybody at the brothel.

She slowly brought her mouth closer to the other breast, staring at you through her lashes before beginning to suck on your nipple. Slowly, and gently latching onto it.

She suckled, eyes closed and pleased. Her hand left your other breast, traveling down to your cunt.

With no ounce of patience, she entered one thick finger into your slick cunt. A moan left your mouth, arching your back which caused your breast to go further into her mouth.

Did i mention she had rather large hands?

She started curling it, pressing down onto your g-spot. Your spongy walls squeezed around her finger, making wet and sloppy noises she's never heard before.

She laughed darkly onto your tit and then let it go with a "pop" noise.

She looked at you, the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head in pleasure. "Feel nice, dearest?"

You nodded, whine and whimpers coming from the utter depths of your chest. Remembering her command to use words and not gestures, you spoke. "Yes.. so- so good.."

With that, she entered another digit into your sopping cunt. You were just being so damn good and obedient for her, she had to make you feel good.

Her fingers pumped in and out of you at a pace you've never felt before, squirming endlessly. She held you down with one arm, stopping your squirming.

"I-I'm so close.." Your words echoed through her mind and she smirked.

"Stay silent." She said firmly, bringing her breast to your mouth as she kept her extended arm fingering you deeply.

You moaned on it, basically feeding on your tit. You were so close, just about to be pushed over the edge.

"Cum, dearest." she spoke in a sultry tone, causing you to come undone, squirting on her hand.

She helped you ride your high, pressing into your velvety spot multiple times till you backed away.

Your fluids coated her fingers and she didn't hesitate to clean them with her tongue. She smothered the liquid on her lips and then the rest into her mouth.

You reached up for her, needing some sense of closure. Your hand tangled into her hair. "K..kiss-" you said softly.

"What's that, dear? Do you wish for a kiss?" She teased, her clean hand touching your cheek gently.

A nod from you was enough to make her kiss you, not even a single word needed.

She asserted dominance in the kiss quickly, exploring your mouth with her tongue. Even if she expected patience from others, she was not a patient woman.

It was a passionate kiss, leaving you pushing on her chest with a small palm, desperate for air.

She broke the kiss with a string of saliva connecting your tongues. You breathed with your tongue resting slightly outside your mouth.

You tugged at her panties, needing them off, needing to please her.

She made you feel so good, how could you now return the favor?

She did as you asked and took off her own panties the kneeling on the bed. You knew what she wanted and you were prepared to serve it to her on a sliver platter.

She lowered her pussy onto your face, the wet mess of arousal on your lips and nose. "Eat, dearest." She demanded, a smile on her lips as her hands founds the headboard.

You nodded, a muffled "Yes ma'am" as you began to suck on her clit. She had a bush above her pussy, tickling your face but you didn't care, it just made you more needy.

You ate her like some sort of candy, starving for something to eat.

It was messy, sloppy, uncalled for. She moved one hand to grip your hair. She bucked her hips against your face, her clit getting friction against your nose.

She came on your face quickly, savoring the moment.

Collapsing besides you, she held your arm. Both of you panted, breathing heavily in inexplicable pleasure.

"Think you're the one that requires a shower now." she spoke, a breathy laugh at the back of her throat.

You whined, a "hngh" leaving your lips. Turning your body and resting it on top of hers.

Wasn't that a nice mother's day gift?