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Little Hellion

Vicious Little Mission

Faerie has always been an outsider, growing up under the weight of her father’s imprisonment for a crime he didn’t commit. Raised by her single mother, she learned early on that trust is a luxury she couldn’t afford. For years, she sought solace in books, burying herself in her studies to escape the whispers of her father’s alleged crime. But beneath her quiet demeanor lies a steely determination for revenge—she won’t rest until she clears her father's name and brings down those who wronged her family. When a scholarship opportunity to Hera Academy arrives, the world’s most prestigious high school for the elite, crosses her path, Faerie seizes it. It's a chance to infiltrate the very society that turned its back on her family, and maybe, find the truth she’s been searching for. At Hera, status is everything, with students divided by tie colors—blue for scholarship students like Faerie, red for the wealthy, and silver for the ultra-rich. But Faerie’s focus is on one person: Felix Riether, the influential heir to a business empire and the son of her enemy. She knows that getting close to him could be the key to her plans. Yet, as they clash and sparks fly, Felix becomes more than just a target. He’s charming, powerful, and maddeningly intriguing—everything she should avoid. But the allure of forbidden romance is hard to resist, especially when the lines between revenge and desire start to blur. With secrets lurking in the shadows and the stakes higher than ever, Faerie must navigate a treacherous path at Hera Academy, where danger and passion collide. Will she stay true to her mission, or will Felix prove to be the distraction that unravels everything she’s worked for?
houdini · 13.9K Views

~Eclipsed~

Excerpts~ Her blood is a curse—a sweet, deadly curse that I can’t stop tasting. It coats my tongue, warm and heady, like it was made to undo me. I hate her for how good it feels. Hate myself more for not stopping. She doesn’t pull away. No, she’s watching me, her lips curving like she’s already won. Her pulse pounds against my mouth, steady and unafraid, and it makes me want to devour her whole. “Enjoying yourself?” she asks, her voice soft, taunting. I don’t answer. Can’t. My grip tightens around her wrist as I pull back, her blood still burning on my lips. She tilts her head, mockery gleaming in her eyes, and I know she’s baiting me. “Does it bother you,” she whispers, “how easily I let you take it?” The words cut deeper than they should. Before I can think, I shove her back against the wall, my body caging hers. Her smirk doesn’t falter. It dares me. Push harder. “You really don’t know when to stop,” I growl, my voice rough, guttural. “Neither do you,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping to my mouth. And then I snap. I crush my lips to hers, tasting blood and defiance and her. She gasps against me, her fingers curling into my shirt like she’s torn between pushing me away and pulling me closer. Every ounce of self-control I had shatters as I press harder, deeper, desperate to consume her completely. She shouldn’t feel this good. Kissing her should be a mistake. But the way she responds—the way her mouth moves against mine—feels like I’ve just ignited something I’ll never be able to extinguish. **** His kiss is fire. A raw, scorching blaze that steals the breath from my lungs and sets every nerve in my body alight. It’s unexpected, wild, and completely reckless—like him. For a moment, I freeze, my hands against his chest, ready to push him away. I should stop this. I need to stop this. But the heat of his mouth, the way his hands grip my waist like he can’t let go, makes it impossible to move. “Damn it, Killion,” I whisper against his lips, trying to muster the strength to pull back. But then he groans—low, desperate—and it unravels me. He kisses me harder, deeper, and I’m drowning in him. My fingers curl into his shirt, dragging him closer, even as my mind screams at me to stop. This is dangerous. He’s dangerous. But right now, I don’t care. His hands slide to my hips, gripping me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. I hate how good it feels. Hate how much I want him in this moment, even when I know it’s a bad idea. When he finally pulls back, his breath ragged, his lips are swollen and red. His eyes lock on mine, dark and stormy, and I know we’ve just crossed a line we can never uncross. “You really don’t know when to quit,” I say, my voice shaky, trying to sound composed. His lips twitch, a shadow of his usual smirk. “Neither do you.” ***** In a world where power is the only currency and betrayal is a shadow at every corner, the fae and the demon must navigate a dance of lies and desires, where every touch is a weapon and every secret could shatter their fragile alliance. But as their game of cat and mouse spirals into something more dangerous, they'll discover the line between love and hate is thinner than they ever imagined. And in the Undercity, where hearts burn and, passion can be the deadliest weapon of all. Will she find the truth she seeks, or will she be consumed by the very darkness she's trying to escape?
_Hellion · 26.2K Views

Little Light Lord

[An Announcement from the Author: LLL will undergo major reformations! Expect a reboot of this confusing storyline sometime early January! Thank you for all of your support thus far.] Gods rule over the fundamental creations of life. Lords watch and rule over these Gods’ creations. Phos, the Lord of Light, found himself cornered by a sharpshooter in the dead of the night. This unlikely encounter led to destiny. — The marksman needed to kill a kind, beautiful man. From the photos, his target had crystalline orange eyes and glowing silver hair that cascaded down to the floor in waves. But, as with everything, the real man looked far more lucent and stunning. Like a soft light, like the first glimmer on the ocean’s surface as the Sun arose. Before he could raise his sniper’s rifle to extinguish this ray of light, however, the beautiful target pulled out a pistol and shot him straight in the abdomen. “I hope you don’t die. Good day.” With that, he swiftly turned and left, disappearing into the darkness, his long hair bouncing to his every crisp footstep. Leaving behind the confused marksman, who, dazed, clutched his new wound and slumped to the floor. Later on, the marksman managed to act stupid enough to gain his target’s trust. Showing his true colours, he toyed with a lock of his former victim’s hair, which was as silky and soft as he imagined. He held it to his lips, raised a corner of his black turtleneck to show the bulletwound on his abdomen, and whispered in a deep voice: “This wound, how will you repay it?” The original target, who shined like a dim candlelight under the rays of the moon, stretched up his bound arms to the hitman, brought a gentle hand to his skin, covered the wound… and with an unapologetic, professional business smile, he replied: “I’m sorry, are you really sure you have a scar there? How come I don’t see anything?” The marksman: … It’s because you’re covering it. The man he originally had to kill, who wore white silk pyjamas and a flame-like orange scarf every day and who looked like he could fall over with a slight push from the wind, was actually very resistant—and really, really pissed him off. Cover Art: nonsang_08 Upload Schedule: Every 3 days
E_S_Sonnomett · 21.2K Views
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