#manon blackbeak

[vampirebabeforever]

has this been done

[loccki]

“Weekend With You” — Manon Bannerman

[ Manon as your baby daddy AU! P.2]

— #Synopsis :: Manon returns for another weekend with you and baby Nova, showering her daughter with gifts and slowly rebuilding the fragile warmth between you as one night in the same bed blurs the line between co-parenting and old love.

— #Paring :: Manon Bannerman × Fem!Reader

— #Warning :: Emotional tension, soft domestic intimacy, co-parenting struggles, mild language, mention of alcohol/drugs (off-screen), lingering attraction, slow-burn reconciliation.

Themes include — Second chances · Parenthood · Healing · Domestic softness · Love after loss · Trust rebuilding · Fame vs. family || Masterlist. [ part 1 ]

You hear her before you see her.

The sound of tires crunching over the wet driveway, followed by the rhythmic thud of car doors closing — then Manon’s voice, muffled but bright:

“Okay, Nova-bear, your mama is ridiculous, but you’re gonna love these.”

When you open the door, she’s standing there with her arms full — bags upon bags. Tiny shoes, plush toys, a miniature gold bracelet with “NOVA” engraved in cursive, and a stroller that looks like it costs more than your car.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Manon… what did you do?”

She grins sheepishly, eyes soft. “Retail therapy. Don’t yell at me — she smiled when I showed her the teddy on FaceTime.”

You roll your eyes but step aside to let her in.

“Fine. But you’re feeding her dinner to make up for it.”

“Deal,” she says, brushing past you with that same scent of warm vanilla and leather — the one that always sticks in the air long after she leaves.

By seven, the house smells like stew and baby lotion. Nova’s in her high chair, giggling while Manon pretends to feed her tiny spoonfuls.

“Open wide, princess! No, not for me, for you!”

Half the puree ends up on Manon’s hoodie.

You laugh, and she looks up, feigning offense. “What, you think this is funny?”

“Yeah. You look like the world’s most glamorous babysitter.”

“Excuse you,” she says, flicking a bit of puree in your direction, “I’m a cool mom.”

You shake your head. “You’re definitely something.”

The way she looks at you after that — quiet, vulnerable, a little shy — makes your chest tighten.

Nova’s finally asleep.

You’re cleaning up the kitchen when Manon reappears, hair down now, wearing one of your old shirts. She’s holding two mugs — tea, the way you used to have it together before things fell apart.

“I didn’t want to leave yet,” she says softly.

You glance up. “You don’t have to.”

Something shifts in the air.

You both end up in your bedroom, not because of tension, but because it just happens. She lies on the right side — the side she always claimed smelled like you — and pats the mattress.

“Come on. I’ll behave,” she murmurs.

You climb in, hesitating for all of two seconds before you feel her arm slide around your waist. Her palm presses gently over your stomach — over the little softness she once teased you about after Nova was born.

She whispers, almost teasing, “You’ve got a little pudge now, huh?”

You laugh quietly. “Yeah, well, someone has to eat the leftovers when Nova throws them.”

Manon hums, resting her chin against your shoulder. “I like it. Feels… homey.”

Her thumb traces slow circles over your skin through the fabric. It’s not sexual — not yet. It’s comforting. Familiar. The kind of touch that says I missed this, not I want this.

When Nova cries around 2 a.m., Manon’s the first to get up.

You follow her into the nursery, leaning on the doorframe as you watch.

She picks Nova up with a practiced ease, swaying slightly as she hums a tune — soft, low, something in French. Nova quiets almost instantly, her tiny fingers curling around Manon’s necklace.

“She likes when I sing,” Manon whispers.

“She likes you,” you correct gently.

Manon glances over, eyes tired but bright. “That makes one of you.”

You sigh, crossing the room. “You’re doing better than last time. She’s calm.”

“She’s growing fast,” she says, brushing Nova’s cheek. “She’s not gonna need us this much forever.”

You whisper, “She will. Just differently.”

Manon smiles faintly, then leans forward to kiss Nova’s forehead. “Then I better learn the difference.”

When you both return to bed, the house is silent again.

You settle under the blanket, and this time she doesn’t hesitate — she wraps around you completely, chin resting against your neck. Her breath is warm.

“I didn’t think you’d let me stay again,” she admits.

You murmur, “You didn’t give me much of a choice. You came with an army of baby clothes.”

She chuckles. Then quieter: “I just… I missed this. You. Nova. The quiet. The normal.”

You shift slightly, facing her. “You could have this more often, you know.”

Her eyes flicker — nervous, hopeful. “Would you even want that? After everything?”

You study her for a moment. The woman who once set stages on fire, now holding onto you like she’s afraid to be told no.

“Start showing up,” you whisper. “Not just for the weekends. For her. For us, maybe.”

Manon swallows hard, then nods against your chest. “Okay. I can do that.”

And as her breathing evens out, her hand still resting over your soft belly, you realize something you haven’t in months —

you’re not angry anymore. Just scared. And maybe, finally, ready to hope.

@loccki

[genniearts]

Manon Blackbeak 💔

[acourtofquestions]

“If you were to ask me what Throne of Glass is about…

I’d say it’s about the epic journey of a teenage assassin in a corrupt kingdom.

But if you were to ask me on a deeper level, I’d say…

It’s about how small acts of kindness can change the outcome of the world.

Money to a barmaid, waiting an extra minute to shoot, a warning in a competition, a cloak in a cold dungeon, a message on a wall, sharing your lavender soap.”

[qwilla-art]

Manon Blackbeak 🖤

I am re-reading Throne of Glass right now and almost forgot how much I adore this series. I love ACOTAR, but TOG changed my brain chemistry. Manon is one of those characters that has stuck with me from the first moment I read about her, and her character arc is one of the best I've ever read.

[emily-e-draws]

escape from Morath 💥

[blosmie]

Marked on Her Thigh — Manon Bannerman

Synopsis :: a late night at Manon’s place turns heated when she calls out your restless stares, pulling a confession from you that you want her thigh — what begins as teasing, clothed grinding turns into bare, messy thigh riding, biting, and overstimulation, ending with her tender but smug aftercare and the promise that next time she’ll take you further.

Paring :: G!P Manon Bannerman x fem Reader

Warning :: explicit smut, thigh riding, nipple biting, dirty talk, dominance/submission dynamics, overstimulation, biting/marking, possessive behavior, aftercare, praise/teasing

A/n — Total! [ 2.6k words ] || Kinktober Masterlist.

The night had stretched on longer than either of you expected. Manon’s place was warm, filled with the low hum of some playlist she’d put on hours ago, now forgotten as the two of you sprawled out across her couch. Empty glasses sat abandoned on the coffee table, your laughter had softened into quiet murmurs, and now it was just… her.

Her thigh pressed close to yours, solid and warm, muscle shifting every time she leaned back or shifted position. You tried not to notice, but the problem was Manon knew when someone was noticing.

“You’ve been restless all night,” she said suddenly, eyes narrowing with that knowing gleam. She smirked, tilting her head as she leaned back against the couch. “Can’t sit still, hm? Something on your mind?”

You froze, throat tightening at the implication. “I—I’m fine. Just—”

“Just,” she cut in, that sharp tongue of hers curling around the word like she owned it. She adjusted her posture deliberately, spreading her legs wider, one hand resting casually on her own thigh. Your eyes followed without permission, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Manon saw it, of course she did, and her smirk widened. “Mm. Thought so.”

You swallowed, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Don’t—don’t what?”

She leaned in, lips brushing close to your ear, her voice a low, teasing growl. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been staring. My thigh hasn’t done anything to you, chérie… but you look like you want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitched. Heat pooled low in your stomach, and the ache between your thighs intensified just from her words. “I—”

Her hand came up, slow but deliberate, tilting your chin so you had to meet her gaze. Her eyes pinned you in place, dark and steady, and suddenly the words tumbled out. “I want to… ride your thigh.”

The confession hung heavy in the air, but Manon didn’t blink, didn’t falter. She just smiled—a slow, dangerous curve of her lips that made your heart stutter.

“I knew it,” she murmured, thumb brushing your jaw. “The way you’ve been squirming, chewing your lip… you’ve been dying to say that all night. Haven’t you?”

You nodded, breathless, ashamed and desperate all at once. “Yes.”

“Good.” She sat back, spreading her legs even wider, patting the thick line of muscle at the top of her thigh. “Then come here. I’ll let you. But…” Her gaze sharpened, voice dropping lower. “You’re going to do it my way. You understand?”

The command sent a shiver through you, thighs clenching instinctively. “Yes.”

Her grin deepened. “That’s my girl.”

She shifted back against the couch, relaxed but deliberate, her thigh flexing subtly as she tapped it once more in invitation. “Climb up. Let me feel you.”

Your breath quickened, nerves buzzing with anticipation as you moved, straddling her thigh, the pressure already enough to make you whimper. Manon’s hands found your hips, steady, firm, her grip hot through your clothes.

“Mhm,” she hummed approvingly, her voice thick with satisfaction. “We’re just getting started.”

Your breath came unevenly as you adjusted your position on Manon’s thigh, fabric pressing against fabric, the friction subtle but enough to make your stomach knot with anticipation. She sat back, watching you like she was in no rush at all, one eyebrow arched as her hands stayed planted firmly on your hips.

“Look at you,” she murmured, her accent curling around the words. “So eager. And we haven’t even started yet.”

You shifted slightly, the faintest drag of her thigh against your clothed core making you gasp softly. Manon smirked, fingers tightening on your hips. “There. You feel that? That’s mine to control.”

Your nod was shaky, your lips parting around a needy whimper. “Please… I need—”

“Shh,” she cut you off smoothly, her voice low and teasing. “You don’t need to beg yet. You’re going to work for it first.”

Her grip guided you, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate grind over the firm muscle of her thigh. The pressure was maddening, your body immediately responding, heat blooming low and fast. Your breath hitched, forehead pressing briefly against her shoulder.

“That’s it,” she coaxed, voice dipping husky. “Move for me. I want to feel how wet you’re getting, even through your clothes.”

You whined softly, hips moving against her, the rough fabric of your jeans dragging over your sensitive core. The sensation was overwhelming—frustrating and intoxicating all at once. Manon’s thigh flexed subtly beneath you, her smirk widening as you moaned.

“Already reacting?” she teased, leaning in to brush her lips against your ear. “We’ve barely started, bébé. You’re going to be a mess by the time I let you finish.”

The pace she set was torturously slow, her hands steadying your hips and forcing you to grind in tight, deliberate circles. Each movement sent sparks shooting through you, your clit throbbing with every drag of friction.

“Manon…” you whimpered, voice breaking.

“Mhm?” she hummed, feigning innocence. “Too much?”

You shook your head frantically. “No… not enough.”

Her laugh was low and husky, vibrating against your skin. “Good answer.”

She shifted slightly, flexing her thigh beneath you again, and the sudden increase in pressure made you cry out softly, clinging to her shoulders for support. “Oh god—”

Her lips brushed your temple, her breath hot. “That’s it. Let it out. Every little sound, every gasp… I want to hear it all.”

Your hips picked up pace instinctively, but she reined you back in with her grip, slowing you down again. “Not so fast. I said my way, didn’t I?”

You whimpered, torn between frustration and desperation, but obeyed, letting her guide the rhythm. Each slow grind built the tension higher, your body aching for release you weren’t allowed yet.

The teasing was unbearable, but the control—the way she held you steady, forced you to feel every drag, every twitch of her muscle beneath you—was addictive. Your body trembled, your thighs shaking as the heat coiled tighter and tighter.

“Good girl,” she whispered, pressing her lips just below your ear. “You’re doing so well for me. Keep going. Show me how much you need it.”

Your breaths were ragged, your body trembling as you clung to Manon’s shoulders. Every slow drag of fabric against her thigh set you on fire, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more. She knew it.

Her smirk deepened as she felt you shiver. “Poor thing,” she murmured, voice thick with amusement. “Already falling apart, and you’re still dressed.”

The words sank deep, and you whimpered, hips stuttering against her. “Please…”

Her brow arched, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Please what?”

You swallowed hard, the heat in your cheeks almost unbearable. “Please—no clothes. I need—”

She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, her voice low and commanding. “Say it properly. Tell me what you want.”

The words trembled out of you. “I want to ride your thigh… bare. Please, Manon.”

Her grin was sharp, triumphant. She kissed your jaw softly, mockingly tender. “That’s my good girl.”

Without breaking eye contact, her hands slid down, tugging at your waistband. “Lift up.”

You obeyed instantly, desperate. She worked your clothes down with deliberate slowness, her knuckles grazing your skin, teasing you even in the simplest touches. Finally, when your panties were peeled away, she patted her thigh again, smug. “Now. Sit.”

You lowered yourself back down, skin meeting hers, the heat of her bare thigh pressing against your soaked core. The shock of contact made you moan loud and unrestrained, your nails digging into her shoulders.

“Mhm,” she hummed, pleased. “You’re dripping already. Making a mess on me without even moving.”

Your hips twitched, desperate for friction, but her grip clamped down on your waist, holding you still. “Not yet,” she warned, voice husky. “I want you to feel how good my thigh is before you ruin yourself on it.”

She flexed, the muscle under you tightening, hardening, pressing right against your swollen clit. The sensation made you cry out, head dropping to her neck.

“Fuck—”

“Mm, you like that?” she teased, rolling her thigh ever so slightly. “Good. Grind on me, bébé. Let me feel you.”

This time, she let you move, guiding your hips with firm hands. Your slickness smeared hot against her skin with every drag, your clit throbbing as you rocked harder and harder.

The friction was overwhelming, raw, every nerve alight. Your thighs clenched around hers as you moaned helplessly, hips rutting without rhythm.

“Look at you,” Manon groaned, her own voice rougher now, turned on by your desperation. “So wet, so messy. All over my thigh.”

Her lips grazed your ear, her teeth nipping lightly. “Mark me. Bite me. Show me how bad you need this.”

The command hit deep, and you gave in, sinking your teeth into the curve of her neck as your hips ground faster. She hissed, then laughed low, satisfied. “That’s it. Good girl.”

Her thigh flexed again, harder this time, the muscle giving you something solid to ride. You cried out against her skin, the pressure perfect, the drag relentless.

“Yes—yes—Manon—”

She smirked, her hands forcing your hips to keep a steady pace even as you trembled. “You sound so pretty when you beg. Keep going. I want you to come undone all over me.”

The coil in your stomach was unbearable now, every drag of her skin against yours sending you higher, closer, tighter. You clung to her, nails scratching down her back, teeth grazing her throat as you sobbed her name.

“Manon, I—”

She cut you off with a sharp flex of her thigh, pressing you right where you needed it most. “Do it. Come for me. Make a mess on my thigh.”

The pressure in your body coiled tighter and tighter, your breath breaking into whines as Manon’s thigh worked you closer to the edge. Every flex of her muscle, every drag of slick skin against skin made you tremble harder, until you were clinging to her like she was the only thing holding you together.

“Fuck, Manon, I—”

“Shh,” she cut you off, her voice rough and commanding, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “You’re not asking. You’re coming. Right now.”

The words sent you over the edge. Your body arched, hips grinding desperately as the orgasm ripped through you, loud cries spilling out as you shook against her thigh. You came hard, wetness coating her skin, your thighs trembling uncontrollably.

She groaned low at the feeling, one hand gripping your waist, the other sliding up your back to hold you close as you writhed. “That’s it. Good girl. Make a mess on me.”

But she didn’t let you stop. Even as your body tried to pull away, trembling and spent, she held you steady, grinding you down against her flexed thigh. The raw friction against your oversensitive clit made you sob, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming.

“Too much?” she murmured, her tone deceptively soft. She pressed a kiss against your temple before whispering, “I don’t care. You’re not done.”

Your nails dug into her shoulders, tears pricking your eyes as you whimpered, “Manon, please—”

“Please what?” she teased, rolling her thigh again, her voice thick with arousal. “Please stop? Or please more?”

The truth was obvious in the broken sound that left your throat, the way your hips jerked helplessly against her. You wanted both—needed both.

She smirked, her own breath heavier now. “That’s what I thought. Keep going. You can give me another.”

Her grip was merciless, guiding your hips in rough circles until the overstimulation twisted back into unbearable pleasure. You sobbed against her neck, every drag making your clit pulse, your body twitching violently as the second orgasm slammed into you.

You cried out her name, nearly incoherent, your whole body shuddering as you soaked her thigh even more.

Manon groaned, low and guttural, her lips finding your ear. “Fuck, you’re incredible. Look at the mess you’ve made on me.”

You collapsed against her, trembling and boneless, but still she coaxed little aftershocks out of you, flexing her thigh until you whimpered, “N-no more… please.”

Finally, she eased her grip, kissing your damp cheek softly. “Alright, bébé. You did so well.”

Her tone had softened now, the rough edge replaced with warmth. She shifted, lifting you easily into her lap, her hands rubbing soothing circles into your back.

You buried your face against her neck, still shaking. “That was… insane.”

She chuckled low, kissing the top of your head. “You were insane. The way you begged, the way you marked me—fuck.” She tilted her head to show off the faint bite mark you’d left, smirking. “You’ll be explaining this tomorrow.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You just clung to her, breathing her in, letting her steady you.

Manon’s hand slid into your hair, gentle now, her lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “My messy little thing. I’ll clean you up in a minute. For now… just stay here.”

You nodded weakly, sinking into her chest, every muscle sore but every nerve humming with satisfaction.

And she just held you, smug and tender all at once, letting you bask in the wreckage she’d made of you.

The world felt quiet now, muted, like the storm of your body had left everything else still. You were slumped against Manon’s chest, her hand lazily stroking up and down your spine, the rise and fall of her breathing steady against your ear.

Your thighs still tingled, your core pulsed with faint aftershocks, and the sticky warmth between your legs was a reminder of just how completely she’d ruined you.

Manon, of course, was smug about it.

“You should see yourself,” she murmured, voice low and amused. “Messy, shaking, clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping you upright.” She tilted her head, pressing a teasing kiss against your temple. “Which, to be fair, I am.”

You groaned weakly, half-embarrassed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” she asked, feigning innocence as her hand slipped down to squeeze your thigh. “Don’t remind you that you just soaked me so bad I’ll be scrubbing my couch tomorrow?”

Your face burned. “Manon!”

She laughed, that husky sound rumbling through her chest, and pulled you closer. “Relax, bébé. I loved it.” Her voice softened, almost reverent. “You were beautiful.”

The sincerity in her tone made your heart stutter. You glanced up at her, lips parting, but she caught you before you could speak, brushing a gentle kiss over your mouth. It wasn’t teasing or commanding this time—it was slow, grounding, her thumb stroking your cheek as if she wanted to remind you she wasn’t just sharp edges.

When she finally pulled back, her smirk returned, though softer. “You bite hard, by the way.”

You flushed, remembering the mark you’d left on her neck. “…Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She turned her head to show it off, fingers brushing the faint bruise with pride. “I like it. Proof you couldn’t help yourself.”

You hid your face in her chest, muttering, “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re addicted already,” she shot back smoothly, fingers curling under your chin to tilt your face up again. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you begged for more, even when you swore it was too much.”

Your lips parted, but she hushed you with another kiss, this one harder, sealing her point.

When she let you breathe again, her voice dropped, low and deliberate. “Next time, I won’t stop at my thigh.”

The promise sent a shiver racing down your spine, your stomach flipping with equal parts dread and anticipation.

She grinned at the look on your face, satisfied. “That’s right, bébé. Tonight was just the start.”

You groaned, hiding your face again, and she only laughed, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you tighter against her.

For now, though, she let the silence settle, the two of you tangled together on the couch, her warmth seeping into you until your body finally relaxed completely. And as your eyes drifted shut, the last thing you felt was her lips pressing one final, tender kiss to your hair.

@blosmie

[tothestarsinvelaris]

Dorian "I'll bleed whatever color you tell me to" Havilliard

Dorian "he'd make her beg for the first time in her long life" Havilliard

Dorian "willing to let a little cruelty into the bedroom" Havilliard

Dorian "invisible fingers down her neck" Havilliard

Dorian "as tempting as seeing you naked and chained might be" Havilliard

Dorian "I don't think you can handle the sort of things I need, witchling" Havilliard

Dorian "I am never begging for anything again in my life" Havilliard

Dorian "I want to taste every inch of you." Havilliard

Dorian "magic gently pinning her wrists to the mattress" Havilliard

Dorian "I need to hear you say yes" Havilliard

Dorian "I suggest you listen" Havilliard